The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina (65)
The minivan turned down a paved road that led to the river. The houses were run down and many of them had dark windows, boarded up. A team of surveyors watched them drive past, and Ana Cruz simply waved but didn’t stop. Tatinelly tried to imagine her grandmother running down this unpaved road. She imagined Orquídea with her head held high. Those defiant, midnight eyes. She imagined that when these houses were torn down and new ones erected, that this road might be gone, and so would be another little piece of her grandmother.
They parked as close to the river as they could, and when they disembarked, local kids crept up around them, pointing at the flowers that always made people so curious. Jefita made quick work of snapping at the little ones, and though they scattered, they still lingered. Others walked over, recognizing Ana Cruz and wanting to shake hands with Orquídea’s family. Tatinelly didn’t understand everything they said, but she smiled, and it warmed her whole heart when these strangers said “?Orquídea!” One of the middle-aged women grinned deeply. “She always had a fish for us, so we’d have something to eat.”
What a strange feeling it was, to learn about their grandmother in this way, as if they gathered enough anecdotes, enough smiles and memories, they’d be able to complete the pieces of Orquídea Divina Montoya.
The locals let the family get on their way, but not without offering prayers and well wishes. Tatinelly held Rhiannon’s hand tightly as they walked up to a rickety pier. There were rusted canoes and wooden barges that were more splinters than vessels. Fishing nets covered in algae and muck. Bottles, cans, and broken glass littered the ground. But the view of the distant bright horizon, and the wide river was a beautiful thing.
“There’s a monster in the water,” Rhiannon whispered to Rey, who only patted her head and said, “That’s nice, kid.”
Tatinelly thought of the first time her dad had taken her fishing. He’d play his old songs, and dreamed of one day learning to sail, really sail. Félix Montoya’s heart didn’t belong on land with the others, but he’d never get to follow that dream. Not living, at least. Her father had given her so much love. He’d taught her how to fish, how to be patient. He taught her that one love was enough. That when she found it, she should reel it in, not rush it, hold it tight. When she’d left home so young, started a family so soon, he’d only reminded her that she was her own person. If she passed that down to Rhiannon, then she’d honor him. Tears ran down her cheeks and onto the pier.
“This is where Orquídea fished as a little girl,” Ana Cruz said.
Rhiannon squeezed her mother’s hand. “You can do it. Grandpa says he’s ready to swim.”
With her family, old and new, gathered around her, Tatinelly twisted open the urn. She tipped it over above the water and returned her father to a place he’d never set foot in before but was connected to because of his mother. He’d been a part of her trying to get back.
They watched the river run.
A silver fish leaped out of the water, and she knew, Félix Montoya had said his last farewell.
20
THE FORTUNE-TELLER WHO IS NOT ALWAYS RIGHT BUT ALSO NEVER WRONG
Agustina Narvaez did not make predictions because she thought others would believe them. She made predictions because she had been burdened with the ability to read the heavens, to decipher the whisper of planets as they related to the affairs of humans. Agustina had never enjoyed it, but she knew, more than anyone, that no matter what people believed to be true, at least she would always be able to make a living without having to be on her back. Not that she looked down on people who did, but she saw the toll it took on the body and spirit after years of watching her mother do the very same at the turn of the century.
Agustina’s parents had fled Málaga during the height of the phylloxera plague. Without wine to make, they sought refuge in several South American towns before ending up in Santiago, Chile. Her own journey would take her to Medellín, Colombia, where she waited for the celestial coordinates to be right. For the boy to find a fallen star and begin her new adventure.
She didn’t want to be right. Not always. When she’d met Orquídea Montoya, she saw a whisper of a girl who wanted to become a scream. She hated the future she saw for the girl, and most of all, that she was powerless to stop it. But Agustina wanted to try to save her some heartache, if she could.
That was the problem with getting close to people when you were burdened with a magical gift. You wanted to help them. You wanted to save them. You wanted to make everything better because that’s what you tried to do when you had good intentions.
When the Londo?o Spectacular Spectacular made its way across eastern Europe, Agustina wanted nothing more than to stop Orquídea from making a mistake that would alter the course of her life. The girl had already been born under a cosmic whirlpool of bad luck. She didn’t need Bolívar Londo?o III adding to it. Then again, she knew better than to try to alter destiny. The way she saw it, they were all fucked either way.
On the eve of opening night for their tour across the Netherlands, Agustina and Maribella were fitting Orquídea for a new costume, a flower that bloomed as soon as the spotlight fell on her. It had been Bolívar’s idea, and the plans for the invention had simply spilled out of his pretty little brain after he’d made a wish. Handing it over to the show’s stage engineers, they created the glamorous, never-before-seen dress.