Telling Fortunes in Phoenix

Chui

Chui was too frightened to cry for long. Once he had himself under control he hurried to the rooms imprisoning his family, unlocking each door as he came to it. This was not a simple task as the large ring had thirteen brass keys but there was no indication of which door they opened.

The moon was westering and the porch roof kept all but a glimmer of radiance out so Chui worked by feel to rouse the grown-ups. In the first room a man lay on the bed, warm but otherwise lifeless. Chui shook him. He whispered in his ear. Only the rise and fall of his chest showed he lived, but he would not be shifted.

The boy repeated this performance in each room he opened with the same result; he shook a sleeping parent or uncle or aunt and whispered in their ears. They took no notice and did not even swat angrily or roll over as he’d seen his father do when he’d had too much to drink. They just lay like warm statues, breathing shallowly.

In the last room he found a woman in a larger bed with the little ones stacked like cordwood around her. His tears started again, though his fear of the Ghost Woman kept him from making a sound. It was like a dream where you needed to race but could only slog slowly through water.

His little Rosita, his baby sister, was lying near the end of the bed. She would always hug him tight when he carried her, even when she was asleep, but as her blanket unraveled her arms and legs and even her head flopped loosely. He had not realized that tears still coursed down his face until he began sobbing as he held her over his shoulder and stumbled from the room.

The moon in the west bathed the bare yard and when he stepped into its light he stopped crying. There was no one to help him, no one would come to his aid. Something was wrong with everyone but he did not want the Ghost Woman and the White Devil to touch his sister ever again. He looked swiftly around and heard a burro bray.

He lugged Rosita to the stable where he’d heard the noise but giant locked doors faced him, sized for large animals and machinery. With Rosa on his shoulder he circled the barn, looking for a normal door. He found it at the rear but it was also locked. Beside it was a burro cart. He put Rosita into the cart and went through the keys again, knowing that at any moment the Ghost Woman would appear behind him and snatch him up. Twice he dropped the keys as he tried each of them in the lock, looking for the one that would open the door.

The burro heard him coming and brayed again. Hush, Burro! Chui thought frantically. I will be there soon, unless that Ghost Woman hears you and captures me.

He found the correct key at last. The darkness seemed complete after the brightness of the desert night, but moonlight shone through a window and after a moment Chui could make out familiar shapes. Desk and chair, tack on the walls, bags in the corner. He pulled a halter down and went deeper into the black of the stable.

“?Burrito, donde esta?” Chui whispered.

The intake of breath was nearly in his ear as the burro prepared to answer him.

“Shh, shh,” he begged, but the donkey ignored him and cried out again, nearly deafening the small boy.

“Ah, there you are.” Chui patted him on the nose and slipped the halter onto the little beast, reaching for some straw to occupy its mouth.

Jesús was very familiar with burros. Burros and chickens were the main livestock in his village and he worked with the friendly, stubborn beasts frequently. The halter went on smoothly and, after taking the harness from the wall, he led the donkey through the office and out into the bright night. When would the White Man return?

He harnessed the beast to the cart and went back into the office where he found bags with grain, carrots and apples. He took them all. He tethered the burro and put a handful of parched corn on the ground to keep him quiet.

He had his sister. Should he run now? And leave the others?

No. He would be sorry always if he left them. Better to be caught by the White Man and Ghost Woman than to leave without them. He ran across the yard and carried Maria away. She was seven and, wrapped in her blanket, nearly slithered out of his grasp. He held tighter to keep her from falling and broke into a burdened trot as her weight dragged him forward. She was hard to place in the cart, long and limber, but he finally had all of her extremities within. He hurried back to the room, breathing hard.

Flora was easier, only five and tiny. He trotted back with her and wedged her between Rosa and Maria. He had saved Pablo for last (the little porker was so fat), and as he lumbered across the yard he heard an engine whining on the highway. It slowed and he saw lights bobbing along the dirt road coming this way. He stopped as his heart thudded in his chest, then started running, his knees nearly giving way under the weight of his cousin. He slipped behind the stable just as the car wheeled around to park in front of the house.

He was glad now that the children were unconscious. He knew Pablito would be talking non-stop if he were awake. He plopped him into the cart then ran to the corner to peek around at the car. It was sitting there, making little clicking noises, but the door did not open. He heard the whir of automatic windows opening but no one left the car. He waited a long minute, watching and wondering. No door opened and no light went on inside of the car. What was the man doing? Was it safe to leave?

Well, it was not safe to stay. He tiptoed to the cart. The only possible way he could go was straight away from the stable, letting it hide them in case the horrible White Man was watching. He clicked his tongue and got behind the heavily laden cart, pushing it and using a stick to urge the donkey forward. Good burro.