Becoming Naomi León: Chapters 13–21

“Naomi, are you going with us?” called Gram.
I stood behind a giant zucchini plant with Owen and Rubén, gawking at the garden spider that was as big as my hand.

Even though they were out in the neighborhood, Fabiola and Flora still wore long bib aprons over their clothes. (Gram had not deviated from her pantsuit and running shoes.)

In five minutes Beni was back and the men pored over the sketches again. I thought it was funny that he got mad and then came back and pretended there hadn’t been a cross word between them.

They traipsed through the grove to Fabiola and Bernardo’s and found them gone, too. Mrs. Maloney watched them come back and get into the car.

“Maybe I’m letting my imagination run pell-mell. I just wouldn’t put anything past Skyla at this point.”

I wore a new white peasant blouse with puffed sleeves that Gram had bought at el mercado. I touched the gathered neckline and blue and yellow embroidery down the center front.

Finally we headed down a road that was nothing more than a dirt path lined with ramshackle fences.

As we walked to the front yard, Bernardo said, “There is something else. All the participants for the festival must register by December eighteenth at the municipal building. Pedro, Beni, and I, we already put our names on the papers.”

Graciela whispered, ‘“Come in, holy pilgrims. Welcome to this place. Although this house is modest, our heart is big.’”

“¡Finalmente!” said Fabiola as I walked into the kitchen for breakfast. “They would not tell us what they decided to carve until you got here.” She turned back to the stove to flip a tortilla on what Gram called the black trivet.

A few minutes later Beni arrived. He backed a truck into the yard and unloaded tubs filled with twisted and gnarled, knotty and contorted red vegetables that didn’t resemble any delicate little radish that came from Gram’s garden.

Panthers prowled across a limb. Crocodiles and lizards lounged on the lower branches. A tiny row of elephants walked tails in trunks above them.

Fabiola translated. “Next is our division, categoría libre, Free Design, meaning carvings of any imagination. This year the carvings have been extraordinary and compelling. Starting with third place...and receiving a cash award...and a commemorative certificate...are the Pérez brothers.”

Fabiola translated. “Next is our division, categoría libre, Free Design, meaning carvings of any imagination. This year the carvings have been extraordinary and compelling. Starting with third place...and receiving a cash award...and a commemorative certificate...are the Pérez brothers.”

We clapped politely and knew exactly where the Pérez brothers were standing due to the rousing shouts on the other side of el zócalo.

I turned in a circle for one last look around. The band began to play a loud march in the gazebo in the middle of the park. The colors and sounds blurred as if the world was spinning.

We caught up with them in front of a street vendor selling buñuelos, fried tortillas with a syrupy glaze, served in a shallow terra-cotta bowl.

Owen ran forward. Santiago put his hands on Owen’s arms. I could hear bits and pieces of Owen’s nonstop jabbering.

The occasional pop of a firecracker kept me awake to revel in my thoughts.

He held up a curved branch. “Each piece has a personality. Sometimes you can look at the wood and see exactly what it might be. The promise reveals itself early. Other times you must let your imagination dictate what you will find. How do you see your soap today? It is a dog, right?”

So why did we seem to plod along? Did the weight of our memories slow us down?

The truck jolted as Bernardo downshifted on the highway. Oaxaca had long disappeared from our view.

“I have had some trouble, your honor, but that has all changed. I admit I have been in rehabilitation but I have recently been successful in completing a”—she looked at Clive—“a comprehensive program.”

“I have had some trouble, your honor, but that has all changed. I admit I have been in rehabilitation but I have recently been successful in completing a”—she looked at Clive—“a comprehensive program.”

“Oh, yes, your honor. I only want what’s best. That’s what I told the woman the other day when she interviewed me. That’s why Naomi, especially, needs to be with me. She needs her mother, not a great-grandmother, who is so far removed from the...from the...contemporary issues of her life.”

Skyla immediately composed herself. “Yes. That’s all I want, your honor. My daughter.”

Skyla seemed flustered and looked at Clive. “Well...when he was born...he had so many problems that I never really connected with him...bonded with him. I only had him one year of his life so he doesn’t even remember me, and I really don’t remember much about him...."

But I believe she did not understand the issue in its entirety, especially since Ms. Jones was not forthcoming. I am extremely hesitant to separate siblings who have lived together their entire lives.

At lunch, Mr. Marble said, “Naomi Outlaw! I’m ecstatic to see you!”

Mr. Marble considered me in a thoughtful way. “I can already tell you are a different girl since you went to Mexico. Before you were a mouse, but now you have the countenance of a lioness.”