Into the Beautiful North(88)

One of the white men behind the big counter saw her and went to a slender white woman and whispered in her ear. She looked up at Nayeli. She had short brownish hair and wore glasses. Nayeli liked the big hoops in her ears. Expecting a frown, Nayeli ducked her head. But the woman smiled when she looked back up. Nayeli smiled. The woman nodded her head and went back to her task.

Nayeli searched all the faces. She didn’t recognize anybody. She wondered if she would know her father now if she saw him. Had he changed?

She sat down at the computer tables and clicked on the Internet. She started trolling. She Googled Tres Camarones.

“Do you need help?” a voice said.

Nayeli looked up. It was the smiling woman. Her name tag said: MARY-JO.

“?Habla espa?ol?” Nayeli asked.

Mary-Jo laughed and held her fingers in the air, forming a li’l pinch.

“?Muy poco!” she said.

Nayeli laughed.

“I look for my father,” she said in English.

The young man from the desk walked by and said, “Miss Mary-Jo runs this city!” Mary-Jo waved him away. “You’re in good hands,” he called.

“Are you the… mayor?” Nayeli asked.

Mary-Jo laughed again, shook her head.

“My aunt is mayor,” Nayeli explained, “in my town.”

“Where’s that?”

“Sinaloa.”

Mary-Jo put a finger to her chin, thought.

“Come with me,” she said.

Nayeli matched her brisk pace as they went behind the desk. She felt self-conscious, like everybody was watching her. But of course no one even looked.

Mary-Jo tapped on a chair back with her fingertips. Nayeli sat.

“We have some Sinaloans in town, I think. Working in the greenhouses. But most of your paisanos come from Guanajuato.”

She grabbed a phone.

“Our sister city.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes.”

Mary-Jo punched in some numbers.

“I’ll call the police.”

Nayeli started to jump up, but Mary-Jo took her wrist.

“Sit,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

She smiled into the phone.

“Hi. It’s me. Yeah, I always need something. Librarians never rest, didn’t you know that? Can you run over here for a sec? I’ll give you a cookie. Oh, good! Bye!” She smiled at Nayeli. “How about you?” she asked. “Would you like a cookie?”

Baffled, Nayeli accepted a vast sugar cookie and a pink napkin.

After a few minutes, a huge Mexican American detective walked in. He wore a suit, but Nayeli could see the cuffs on his belt. He had a badge on his jacket.

Mary-Jo said, “Nayeli’s looking for her dad. From Sinaloa.”

“Cervantes,” Nayeli said. “Pepe.”

“You come all the way from Sinaloa?” the cop asked.

“Excuse?” Nayeli asked.

“?Viniste desde Sinaloa?”

“Sí.”

He whistled.

“That’s a long trip.”

He got on Mary-Jo’s phone and made several calls. Mary-Jo smiled at Nayeli. “I love Mexico,” she said. “It’s such a fascinating country!”

“Yes,” Nayeli managed to say.

Mary-Jo patted her arm.

“Mexicanos,” she said in accented Spanish, “son nuestros hermanos. En Kankakee—todos son bienvenidos.” She beamed. So did Nayeli.

The cop dialed around for half an hour, jotting notes. He finally hung up the phone. Looked at his notebook.

“There’s a gentleman,” he said, “on the north end, around the corner from Donna’s. Might be our man.”

“Donna’s is our pink building,” Mary-Jo said. “It’s quite a sight.”

“Yes, I saw. Pepto-Bismol!”

The librarian and the cop burst out laughing.

He jotted down the address on a sticky note.

“Got a car?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Mary-Jo said. “I never went for lunch. Why don’t I take her myself.”

“Are you sure? I can take her.”

“No, no. I’ll be glad to do it.”

“I don’t mind.”

“No, that’s all right.”

They were actually arguing about doing something nice for Nayeli. She loved KANKAKEE, ILLINOIS. It was the strangest place she had ever been.



It’s not far,” Mary-Jo said as they got into her car. “Just take a minute.”

They pulled out of the lot and turned up the hill and beat it through the yellow light at the intersection.

“Our town,” Mary-Jo said, “has seen some hard times. But it’s a wonderful place. We’re bringing it back.”

They drove through the northern end of town, past the bathtub Jesus, to a small street near Donna’s pink emporium.

“This is the street,” Mary-Jo said. She slowed to make the turn, stopped at the stop sign.

“Is OK. I walk from here.”

“Oh no, dear. I couldn’t just drop you off.”

“Yes, please. I must go. Sola. Yes? Is my father. Ha pasado mucho tiempo, y usted sabe que es difícil para mi.”