The Book of Unknown Americans(27)

He stood and said, “You could come with us, too, Alma. If you’re worried about it.”

“Yes!” Maribel said. “You come, too.”

“It will be like the old days. Remember when you used to come? Sitting there in your dresses.”

“You wore dresses?” Maribel asked, surprised.

“She used to try to look nice for me,” Arturo said. “She was almost as pretty as you are now.”

“Almost?” I said, and when he laughed, at last I gave in.

The building was simple—walls built from mud bricks and straw, a roof made of wood beams and clay. There were plans for a swinging, louvered door at the front that the men hadn’t yet installed. The roof was nearly complete, although Arturo pointed out a few areas where sunlight filtered through, which needed to be patched. That’s what he was working on that day.

He climbed a ladder that was leaning against the overhang and settled himself onto the roof with a bucket of clay and a trowel he used to spread it. Maribel hurried around, handing things to the men when they asked for something, smiling at me giddily as she trotted from spot to spot. She hammered a row of nails into a board. She sanded around the latch on the door. She rinsed out the towels in plastic buckets of water. I stood off to the side, watching her and Arturo, and, when I thought it wouldn’t distract them, speaking occasionally to the men on the crew, some of whom had been at our wedding and some of whom had been at the hospital the day Maribel was born.

The air was still damp from rain the night before, but the sun had burned through the haze of the morning and shone brilliantly in the sky. One of the workers—a husky man named Luis—gave Maribel his hat when he saw that she didn’t have one. She laughed. “It’s too big on me,” she said, letting the brim fall to her cheeks. “Oh, come on. You look preciosa,” Luis told her.

Arturo was on his knees on the roof. He was pulling clay out of the bucket with his hands and slapping it into the crevices between slats of wood. He was smoothing it with his iron trowel. And then he ran low on clay. Maribel was just below him, talking with Luis.

“Luis,” Arturo yelled, “I’m going to need another bucket of clay soon.”

Luis nodded and Arturo turned back to what he was doing.

“I’ll get it,” Maribel told Luis.

“Do you know where it is?” Luis asked.

“Of course,” Maribel said, and ran off to find another bucket. When she returned, Luis offered to take it from her.

“It’s so heavy,” he protested.

Maribel grinned. “I’m so strong,” she replied.

“Do you have it?” Arturo yelled down.

“I got it, Papi,” Maribel said.

“It’s heavy,” Arturo said.

“She’s strong,” Luis yelled up, and Maribel and I laughed.

“Let Luis bring it up,” Arturo said, and turned his back again, smoothing clay.

Maribel pouted.

Her whole life, I had watched her climb trees and scale stone walls in the courtyards in town with ease. Arturo usually frowned when she did those things—they didn’t fit the Mexican conception of what girls could and should do—but I loved that about Maribel. The ways she was unconcerned with trying to be like everyone else. She and Arturo were similar in that, although he didn’t seem to recognize it.

“Can I take it up?” Maribel asked me.

“Let me,” Luis said, reaching for the bucket.

But Maribel moved it away from him. She looked at me again with her big, expectant eyes. I never could resist her.

“Go ahead,” I said.

I stood at the bottom to hold the ladder secure.

“Cuidado,” Luis cautioned as she started climbing.

When she reached the top, Maribel shoved the bucket onto the roof. “Here you go,” she said.

Arturo turned. “I thought I told you to let Luis bring it up.”

“Mamá said I could do it.”

“Alma!” Arturo shouted down. “She shouldn’t be up here.”

“She wanted to surprise you,” I shouted back.

Arturo walked like a crab over to the bucket, careful to keep his footing on the slanted roof.

“I’m stronger than you think, Papi,” Maribel said. From the ground, I watched her hold one arm out and make a muscle. Such a small muscle. Like a torta roll.

Finally, Arturo softened and laughed. “Superwoman,” he said.

“Come back down now, hija,” I said.

“Are you holding the ladder?” Arturo shouted.

“I’ve got it.”

“Go on down,” I heard Arturo say.

And so she started. One rung. Two. Then, a noise. Something clattered off to the side. I startled and turned. I must have jerked the ladder. It slid in the mud on the ground from the rain the night before. And when I turned back again, it was as if the world was unspooling in slow motion. I saw Maribel’s body tilt backwards. She let out a sharp scream. She reached her hand for the ladder, but her fingertips only grazed the rung. Arturo yelled. Maribel dropped two stories to the ground below. Her body smacked against the mud, sending it splattering into the air, all over me, all over Luis. Her neck snapped back. Her eyes closed.

Luis got to her first. Arturo scrambled down the ladder, jumping off when he was halfway down. “Maribel!” he was shouting. “Maribel!”