The Girl Who Could Silence the Wind Read online

  Sonia felt her smile harden as she placed her hand on Manuel’s forehead and closed her eyes. She started to pray that he would not be lonely, but Manuel slapped her hand away before she was done. He scowled at his mother.

  “¿Dónde vás?” he demanded angrily.

  Ramona gave an apologetic look.

  “Mami is going on an adventure again, Manuel. I am going to ride this big train over our mountains to see the president’s house. I’m going to the capital, where important people live.”

  “I want you to stay,” he whined.

  “But how will I have money to buy you things? You want me to buy you a new toy, don’t you?”

  Manuel leaned his head into her bosom and sucked his thumb.

  “My mother babies him too much,” she whispered over his head. Sonia nodded and held out a piece of her sugar cookie, but Manuel turned his head away and clutched his mother more tightly.

  “Come along,” Ramona told him, sighing. “Let’s find your abuela outside. We can tell her what song to sing at bedtime tonight.” She took Sonia’s cookie and put it between her teeth before climbing down the steps.

  Sonia watched them go. Manuel had not been fooled for a moment. He would miss his mother; no magic in the world would change that. His only option would be to learn to forget her a little bit each day until she was no more real than a photograph. Why hadn’t she prayed for his courage to do that, instead?

  Outside, Sonia’s father stood smoking a Winston and guarding her bags as the workers tagged the pieces and tossed them inside the luggage compartment. Sonia felt too guilty to look into his face.

  And Rafael was still nowhere to be found. That morning his bed was found unmade but empty. Their father, who was nursing his own headache from the party, had erupted like a boiling pot.

  “Where is that boy? Doesn’t he have any sense to know he has to see his sister off properly?” On and on he went until Blanca had begged him to calm himself.

  “Rafael has always been a little sentimental, husband. He probably can’t bring himself to see her go,” she said.

  Sonia felt a nervousness building inside her as her mother climbed aboard with last reminders.

  “You remembered your money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your sweaters? The personal woman items? The milagros from the party? You can’t forget those!”

  Sonia held up a satchel, nearly bursting at the seams. Twice she had tried to leave it behind at the house, but Blanca kept finding it and placing it with her bags.

  “Sí, claro. Everything.”

  Then her mother’s eye fell on the sparkling charm at Sonia’s neck. She held the unusual eye between her fingers.

  “Que bonito. I haven’t seen one that pretty in a long while.”

  “A going-away present from Rafael,” Sonia explained, trying to sound casual.

  “Rafael,” Blanca said, shaking her head. “Where could he be? I can’t find him anywhere, and your father is about to explode.” She peered down the road for a sign of her son. “How could he let his own sister leave without saying good-bye?”

  Sonia swallowed hard. She was beginning to hate herself for not having stopped him.

  “You know Rafael, Mami,” she said loyally. “He was out late last night — probably romancing someone. He’s sleeping it all off, that’s all.”

  Worry clouded her mother’s face, and Sonia saw her mistake at once. Nothing plagued Blanca Ocampo more than her son’s flirtations and the thought of where his transgressions with girls might lead. She had known more than one man in life who had died as the result of a jealous brawl.

  “Scoundrel,” she muttered. “He’ll be sorry the moment he realizes he’s missed you.”

  Sonia kissed her mother’s hand to comfort her. “It’s all right. Don’t worry. Just tell him to start picking the color for his new truck.”

  Just then, Marco appeared at the top of the aisle. “¡Atención, señores! All passengers take their seats. Tickets in your laps, please. Those who have no tickets must exit at once.”

  Her mother hugged her tightly. “Remember us, daughter. Never forget your mountain or your people.”

  Sonia watched her go. Then she pounded on the window until Felix turned at the vibrations and looked into her face. He tipped his hat and smiled with sad eyes.

  The doors folded shut, and the train exhaled a burst of steam from its brakes. With a mournful whistle to announce their departure, the cars creaked into motion.

  Ramona stared straight ahead as little Manuel held his ears and screamed. Sonia searched the faces of taxi boys until they all looked the same. Her parents waved and waved as the train gathered speed. She kept them in sight until they were specks in the distance, consumed in the yellow dust at the foot of their mountain.

  IT WAS DIFFICULT to frighten a man like Felix Ocampo, Tía Neli mused. Darkness had never scared her brother. Blasts had not made him quiver. Not even the threat of being swallowed up in a crush of black earth had ever made him blink. He liked to brag that he was as hard and unyielding as the mountain itself.

  But two days later, stooped in the garden over his tomatoes, Tía Neli could see that her brother was lost. He had stayed at the railway station long after Sonia’s train disappeared and had then paced the kitchen floor, waiting for Rafael, who still had not appeared after all this time.

  Finally, he’d sought refuge in the garden. He watched with disinterest as Tía Neli picked off the worms that were eating his vegetables.

  “Fearing for one’s children is far worse than any death,” he told Tía Neli. “But they don’t think about that, do they?”

  “There’s no use in becoming so melancholy,” she scolded gently. “We will have word soon.”

  But he put his finger to his lips and pointed to his ear. Listen.

  Tía Neli cocked her head and frowned. “You’re hearing things again.”

  Felix Ocampo closed his eyes and concentrated stubbornly. “No, no. I am not hearing things. And that is exactly the problem. I should be hearing my children laugh and argue,” he snapped. “This hush is burning my ears.”

  Tía Neli took off her apron and sat down beside him.

  “Stop exaggerating,” she said, biting into one of the few tomatoes that had survived the onslaught. But even as the words left her lips, she realized how quiet, indeed, the whole mountainside had been that day. Missing family left a space she had never imagined, especially with a new worry rising. She fingered the lace collar of her pretty dress and fell into somber thoughts of her own.

  One problem solved, and another one on its heels. Where are you, Rafael?

  “It’s a bad omen, I tell you,” Felix said, as if reading her mind. “Who knows what other troubles await us?” Rafael’s name hung in the air unspoken.

  Tía Neli gathered her sweater around her shoulders. She was a woman who prided herself on never letting life bully her, but now she felt unsure. She hated to admit it, but Felix was right: Who knew what lay ahead when children were cut free? They could become like loose kites on a windy day.

  She helped Felix to his feet and walked him slowly inside the house, where Blanca was warming his tea. There was only one thing to do.

  Seeking the path toward the plaza, Tía Neli set out to find some answers.

  “He has been very busy today, señora, and it is nearly closing time,” the secretary, Carmen, said firmly. “Come back again tomorrow.”

  Tía Neli considered the darkened sky, her swollen feet, and her tired back. She had been making inquiries about Rafael for hours, walking all over town until the heels of her shoes were worn to slants. She had already visited Capitán Fermín — useless as always; Juan, the barber; even the clerks at los baratillos, the shop where Rafael often bought cheap gifts for his endless stream of girlfriends. Señor Arenas, with his greedy fingers on so many purses, might be just the man with answers.

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible. I know it’s late, but it is urgent.” She sat down and crossed
her legs primly. “I’ll wait.”

  Señor Arenas continued to shuffle papers as Tía Neli explained the delicate situation. When he had heard enough, he put up his hand.

  “So what’s the mystery here?” he said. “It sounds like your nephew has joined the parade north, señora. And if that’s the case, what is it you think I can do for you? I run a legal operation here. I don’t get mixed up in things that bring me headaches.” He snapped shut a folder. “Carmen! Put away the files for the window factory!”

  Tía Neli forced a polite smile while Carmen hurried about the room.

  “Certainly, you are not a man of that underworld. No! It’s just that the Ocampo family is most distressed. We thought an important man like you might hear things from time to time. Workers needed in far places who don’t mind risk and are looking for a . . . less complicated way over?”

  Carmen turned from the dented metal cabinet and lay down the file slowly. “¿Algo más, Carmen?” Señor Arenas said.

  The secretary took her leave as Señor Arenas stood up and grabbed his hat from its hook.

  “As I said: None of this concerns me. Now, with your permission, I’m afraid I am closed. I have an important meeting tonight that begins exactly now.”

  No doubt at the corner bar, Tía Neli mused.

  “Of course. I’m sorry to have taken your time, señor. A thousand thanks. You are very kind.”

  Señor Arenas was already outside walking past his window by the time Tía Neli had bent to gather her purse.

  “What are you doing there in the dark, brat?” she heard him shout. “Get your rusty contraption out of my way!”

  Tía Neli crossed to the small window in time to see him give a young man an enormous pinch on the ear. When the boy looked up, she recognized him at once.

  It was Pancho, the bike-taxi driver, caught eavesdropping at the window. His hair was uncombed, and he was out of breath. He stared at Tía Neli with his large eyes as he rubbed his ear.

  “Well, you’re certainly a rude one. My lovely niece, Sonia, will be very disappointed to know her school friend listens to other people’s conversations,” Tía Neli said through the window. “And look at the consequences! I have a good mind to pinch your other ear.”

  “Oh, please don’t, señora. Forgive me! It is only that I was told you were here in the plaza asking questions about Sonia’s brother, and I thought it best —”

  Tía Neli paused.

  Why hadn’t she thought of the taxi boy before? Every town had its eyes and ears — and always in the place one least expected it.

  She hurried out to the street and examined Pancho’s swollen ear. It was beginning to look like a pink cauliflower.

  “Ice will fix that. We’ll get some, and then, Pancho, you will tell me what you know.”

  “A la orden, señora. But remember I’m only a taxista,” he said, keeping his eyes down. “What can I know?” he asked.

  Tía Neli patted his cheek. “Yes, you taxi boys are just as quiet as mice, but you’re not stupid. Perhaps with a stop here or there, you’ll think of the perfect someone who can tell me what I need to know.”

  He flashed her a quick smile and helped Tía Neli step aboard his cab. Soon Pancho was pedaling as hard as he ever had, moving like an arrow to its target.

  ¡AY! THE TROUBLES of a taxi boy had no end.

  Pancho tried to think of anything but the throbbing at the side of his head, which made him feel lopsided as he guided his bike taxi along the street. One day pompous men like Señor Arenas would think twice about taking such liberties with him, he mused darkly. The nerve of it made him want to punch out blindly. One day no one would call him Pancho. They would say, Ah, Francisco Muñoz, of course, he’s the famous poet from Tres Montes, the man who brings grown men to tears using only his pen! He is the president’s favorite entertainer! Never again would anyone say, Pancho the Orphan, bike-taxi driver, whose ears you can yank like bread dough.

  He pedaled along the darkening streets, dodging dips and holes to keep Tía Neli comfortable. He had only been a full-time taxi boy for a few weeks, and while he was Señor Pasqual’s favorite worker, he had found it was not an easy job at all. To be a good taxi boy, one had to live by absolute rules. You had to be stronger than a mule to haul fat passengers without grunting. You needed large eyes to see where you were going and sensitive ears to overhear the private conversations in case a passenger had plans to rob you. But the mouth? Mute, mute, mute. No secret overheard was ever to be shared.

  “You’re a taxi boy, not a parrot,” is how Señor Pasqual put it.

  Luckily, prudent silence came easily to people who were used to being insignificant. It was not hard at all for an orphan to be discreet with all he learned about people on his many rides. It was quite easy to ignore the names of lovers arranging clandestine meetings at midnight. Simple to forget picking up the drunken chief of police from a bar’s doorstep. Facilísimo to close his ears to the many dark deals between men. He watched and listened and learned about surviving in the world, even in a tiny and seemingly simple place like Tres Montes.

  In fact, he had only found it difficult to hold his tongue about two things in his entire life. One was his love for Sonia Ocampo, about whom he dreamed every night. Even awake, thoughts of her were distracting.

  Why hadn’t he kissed her when he had the chance? If he had, maybe she wouldn’t be on a train going far away. Worse still, he had not come to see her off at the train station, and now, after discovering her letter, he was loathing himself. What if she never forgave him? Her letter filled his mind as he pedaled.

  Pancho —

  I carry you in my heart to the capital. While I’m gone, take care not to listen to anyone who tells you what you can and can’t be in life. It’s a terrible fate, Pancho, one that both of us have to escape. If it’s a poet you dream of becoming, then a poet you will be. Don’t forget: You promised you would recite one of your poems for me.

  Until we are together under our tree again . . .

  Love from Sonia Ocampo

  Love, he thought. Love from Sonia Ocampo.

  The words made his heart pound. What would he have said to her if he had gone to the train station?

  For here was the second thing that he had ever found hard to keep from saying. It was a secret that would have clawed at his lips when he saw her. Alas, a taxi boy with large eyes and acute ears learns even the most dangerous plans of those he ferries here and there as they chase their dreams in the night.

  And one of those young men had been none other than Rafael Ocampo.

  “HERE?” TÍA NELI looked around skeptically. “You want me to go in here? Alone? What kind of madman are you?”

  Pancho had stopped in front of La Jalada, a dark establishment at the end of town. The stench of whiskey reached to where they stood on the street. Two sleeping drunks slumped like bookends on either side of the doorway.

  “¿Sola? Not in a million years, señora.” He stepped off his bike and offered his elbow gallantly. “I will escort you.”

  “You’ll tell me this instant why we’re here,” she said, unimpressed.

  Pancho thought of the taxi-boy code of silence. Such a bother at times like this! “Do you mind if we at least get ice first, señora? In truth, my ear is killing me. Why, I can barely hear you!”

  Tía Neli took his muscled arm and held her nose as she followed him inside.

  Everyone knew that Conchita Fo, proprietor of La Jalada, had been fatally beautiful once. A singer in her youth, she had traveled to the capital and beyond, to cities far and wide in the North, enchanting men of every nation and leaving the resulting green-eyed children scattered along the way. She sold her deep voice for as long as she had been able to hold a tune. But time, drink, and a string of trouble with the law had left her with only La Jalada to her name — that and the distinction of knowing the secrets of more or less every man between Tres Montes and the capital. Even now, her figure could stir the longings of the many men who visited her
establishment, including the taxi boys who came looking for fares or scraps of food. They could not help staring guiltily at her narrow waist, the seductive dip at the back of her neck. The plunge of her neckline made them wonder.

  Conchita sat at the bar. She turned her shrewd eyes to Tía Neli and Pancho and let out a long plume of cigarette smoke in their direction.

  “Look who’s here, Mongo,” she said to her tattooed barkeep. “Your favorite diversion.”

  The massive man looked up from the counter he was buffing and flashed a frightening smile. Mongo’s teeth were all filed to sharp points, and a sleeve of tattooed flames rose along his arms and ended at his thick neck. He was frightful at first glance, but Pancho knew better. Mongo had once been an orphan himself, and all orphans knew about the loneliness of living like a parasite. So Mongo could be counted on for leftover snacks in exchange for one of Pancho’s stories, especially if the tale involved knives — his passion.

  “A new tale today, Pancho?” he asked. “Grab a stool.”

  “I’m afraid not this time, Mongo,” Pancho replied. “Actually, la señora and I have come on important business.”

  Conchita Fo turned to them and regarded Tía Neli coldly. “Let me guess: You’re looking for your man. Well, you can see he’s not here, unless he’s one of those two, in which case, you have my condolences.” She pointed at the drunks. “If not, come back a little later. You can never tell who might turn up.”

  Tía Neli’s mouth fell open, and her cheeks grew crimson.

  “I happen to be a widow,” she said. “And I can assure you, my husband wouldn’t have ever come here. He was a decent man, who had the bad luck to be killed in a mine collapse. He never touched a drop of liquor in his life.”

  “What did you say your name is?” Conchita Fo asked.

  “I didn’t, but it’s Neli Ocampo de Arroyo.”