Mañanaland: Chapters 4–8

“It shouldn’t bother you. She’s not your teacher any longer,” said Papá. “And she only told me how much she is going to miss you in her class next year. She said you were very innovative in your approach to solving problems.”

“It was gliding in circles.” Max waved his arm in the air to demonstrate. “Papá said it was a peregrine. Then I saw it again when I was with Chuy, Ortiz, and Gui.”
“Twice in one day? Very auspicious,” said Buelo.

“I am starting a new footbridge near the outdoor market next week,” Papá continued. “That bridge, not the falcon, will bring prosperity to the village by making it easier for people to trade and sell.”

“If his parents agree,” said Papá. “I could use the help. I’ve already cleared the site. And the foundations and abutments are laid and mortared. I’m going to the ruins on Monday to collect more stones. You two can start unloading them at the bridge site after that.”

Buelo nodded. “A serpent that could not make up its mind. Perhaps that is why anyone who travels the river’s path is plagued with uncertainty and apprehension.”

Max smiled. "You know. Once upon a time...” he prompted.
Buelo cleared his throat. “Once upon a time, a grandfather told his grandson a true story…”

“Who is telling the story?” said Buelo. “But you are right. At the back of what looks like a cove is a bridge that is so overgrown with vines and shrubs that it creates a wall of greenery, obscuring anything on the other side. There, a peculiar gatekeeper, a guardabarrera, lives beneath the bridge."

Buelo smiled. “I will only confirm that she is a creature of great wisdom and intrigue with a mesmerizing aura. She is a keeper of lost things. A collector of sorts."

“Perhaps you lost something of deep meaning when you were on a picnic on the riverbank, a piece of jewelry or something of sentimental value. Or maybe you’ve lost your way in life. Or cannot find the answers to perplexing questions. She can help.”

Max smiled and sat a little straighter. He was glad Buelo presumed such a thing, even if it was only in a made-up story.

The world was moonlit and on the distant cliff top, La Reina Gigante glowed, diminutive and delicate, as if he could reach out and hold her in his hand.

Disappointment smothered Max all over again. “You know Papá. He worries about everything. He said that he and Buelo could train me as well as anyone else.”

“It’s okay, hermano. I promise I’ll remember all the fancy drills so we can practice together on weekends.” Chuy tried to console him. “And we can still go to the water hole.”

Papá tousled Max’s hair.

He picked up an empanada and licked a dollop of filling oozing from the small turnovers.

“Yes, of course all that is true,” said Tío. “But he’s a young coach and probably ambitious. He may want something bigger and better. It would be good for the village if he stayed for at least a few seasons though, especially for our boys who want to make the team this year and move up in the league.”

Tío cleared his throat. “There was a council meeting yesterday. We’ve had a letter from Coach Cruz. Seems he’s a stickler for details. We must be sure to enforce the league rules about who is eligible to play. Which means we need to have all the documents on file. No exceptions.”

Max raised his hands, palms up, as if to ask why, then dropped them. He knew it was useless to argue. Reluctantly, he whistled for Lola and headed toward the shed next to Dulce’s corral.

Papá lectured about precarious ledges and the importance of wearing work gloves to protect from spiders, rusty nails, and cracked stones.

It was slow going with Dulce and the wagon. After almost an hour of climbing the switchbacks, they came upon a wrought-iron gate with spear-shaped finials and fencing that stretched in either direction like a parade of stalwart soldiers.

At the far edge of the rubble, on the cliff overlooking the village, La Reina Gigante stood majestic. Her height was staggering, every stone intact, the masonry interrupted only by a large wooden door and the loopholes where guards once stood watch, or shot at attackers.

The tower was even more imposing up close, yet at the same time familiar and welcoming.

With each trip, he gazed at the tower, which stood defiant in the midst of all that had fallen around it.

“The tower was a safe apartment. And the well worked. On the other side of the ruins, there are remains from an old chicken coop and a small goat pen, so there were eggs and milk. And as you can see, berries. But there were people...helpers who brought them provisions, too.”

Papá bristled. “The guardians helped for compassionate reasons. And the hidden ones were not murderers or thieves. They were soldiers who fought on the wrong side of a dictator, and innocent women and children.”

“Max! No one must ever find out. You may talk only to Buelo about this, and in private. Do you understand?” The look on Papá’s face was sobering.

“My mother was a guardian?” Max’s mind leaped. She was a hero, too! He imagined a valiant caped protector helping those in need.

“No, no. Nothing like that. When I searched for her, I was told she had continued on with them.” Papá looked distraught.

Papá’s eyes begged forgiveness. He took a deep breath. “Before your mother and I moved back to Santa Maria, we lived in San Clemente. That’s where you were born. A doctor came to the house to deliver you. Afterward, he signed a notice of live birth, which we were supposed to take to the municipal offices to file for a birth certificate. But when your mother left, she took everything.”

The repercussions mushroomed. “How could I ever move up to a club team? Or any team ever again? I will need a birth certificate for other things, too, won’t I? To work or drive or—”