Into the Beautiful North(87)

“We broke it.”

Irma unleashed several of her time-tested epithets.

Nayeli reported on the journey and the breakdown.

“Well,” Irma complained, “so much for that! Take a bus here, unless your good-for-nothing father drives you back. We’ll round up something for the seven. The other twenty cabrones can find their own goddamned way to Tres Camarones! Show some mettle! Oh, by the way, I called my comadre Carmelita Tovar in Tecuala. She’s flying up here next week to interview the rest of the seventy.”

“Excuse me?”

“You started something, m’ija! I am trying to figure out how to organize the women to send expeditions to Chicago and Los Angeles. Drag some of these fools back where they belong.” A male mumble in the background. “Yes, dear. Chava says I will become president of Mexico on a repatriation ticket!”

Nayeli grimaced: there was a long smooch.

They made up some chatter. Everyone was all right—Vampi was in love; Yolo was in love; Atómiko was still a complete, indefensible idiot (said fondly); Nayeli’s mother was doing well and had recently screened a Godzilla film festival to great local acclaim.

“I am so tired,” Nayeli finally confessed.

“Don’t despair,” Irma told her. “You changed the world.”

“I did nothing, Tía.”

“Look,” Irma said. Nayeli heard her order Chava out of the room. Shuffling. Then: “Are you still there? Good. Look—you did something I could never do. You came here on a mission. Why do you think I allowed you to come? Eh? Why? Because you are the future. You had to be tested. And you passed.”

Nayeli said, “I am not strong like you.”

“Let me tell you something, Nayeli,” Irma replied. “And I will deny ever having said this. You are stronger than I’ll ever be. Yes, I am Irma! Yes, I am La Osa! Yes, I am the women’s bowling champion of Sinaloa! But I am only that person in my village. Do you see?”

Nayeli was silent.

“I am a coward, Nayeli. I can’t be a hero in the big world—it scares me. Exhausts me. I belong in Tres Camarones. They need Tía Irma to run things. But the rest of the world? Ay… Why do you think I needed you to be the warrior? Now, go get your father and kick his ass.”

She hung up.

In the dark, Tacho said, “Nayeli? I want to go home.”

She sat beside him and put the washcloth on his forehead.

“Tachito-Machito, mi flor,” she cooed. “What about Hollywood? What about Beberly Hills?”

He shook his head under her hand.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “People like us? We don’t marry Johnny Depp.”

She sat with him until he fell asleep.





Chapter Thirty-four



In the morning, Nayeli tucked Tacho in and put the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob. She wore her running shoes and the big sweatshirt. High orange-and-black clouds scuttled toward Indiana. She tucked her postcard back into her pocket. She was utterly on her own.

She walked down to El Gallito and tapped on the window.

“Hey,” the guy inside said, “this is a drive-through. You’ll get run over.”

“Hola,” she said.

“Quiubo,” he replied, nodding once. “Want a taco?”

“I’m looking for my father,” she said.

“Do you live here?”

“No, I came from Sinaloa.”

“Ah.” He stirred a pot of beans. Made her a burrito with cheese.

“What do I owe you?” she asked as he handed it out to her.

“One smile, Sinaloa.”

She smiled like the sunrise.

“I am Nayeli.”

“What’s your jefito’s name?”

“Pepe Cervantes.”

“Don’t know him.”

“He came here a few years ago.”

“I probably feed him. But I don’t ask anybody their names. You know.”

A car pulled up on the other side of the shack.

“I got work,” he said. “Try the library.”

“The library?”

“It’s the big silver building downtown. They help everybody.”

“But… I’m, we’re…”

He laughed.

“This is Kankakee, morra! They like Mexicans here!”



She marched. Court Street was long and old. Behind her, the Mary-crest Lanes bowling alley: she idly imagined La Osa decimating opponents there. City Housing Authority. Youth for Christ City Life. Aunt Martha’s Youth Service Center. Trendz Beauty. King Middle School. She was shocked at how out of shape she was: her feet and legs hurt. Back home, she would have run this as a warm-up for a game.

“I am getting old,” she said out loud.

When she got downtown, she approached the big silver monolith with caution. She followed the sidewalk down a hill and went to the lower doors of the library. She had never entered such a beautiful building before. Come to think of it, she had never been in a public library, either. A small group of Mexican kids sat on the bench outside, murmuring and laughing. She nodded to them and stepped through the glass doors.

So many books!

She stood there, looking around. Tables with computers. Elevators. A huge desk with white people to her right. She felt stupid and rural. She started to walk back out but was embarrassed to walk past the Mexican kids again. She went back in and sat on a soft chair and looked at the brightly lit room.