Song of the Mockingbird: My Journey with Josefina

Señor Montoya parks the wagon in the central plaza and unhitches the mules. They eat out of the nosebags while Señor Montoya takes out some folded papers and looks them over. Meanwhile, I watch a settler setting up his trade goods. He arranges stacks of blankets and strings shiny, dark red chiles on a canvas cloth. He also has some sort of small seed that Josefina says are pine nuts.

Then, a voice calls out to Josefina, and I turn around to see another girl running up to us. Her heavy bangs fall almost to her eyebrows. She wears moccasins like us, but hers are white. She has a blanket draped over one shoulder and tied around her waist with a sash.

It is Josefina’s friend, Mariana. Josefina introduces me to her. Mariana has the kind of smile that makes everyone else feel like smiling, too. She invites us to meet her grandfather, Esteban. He’s brought pottery to sell. I’m about to go with them, until a man steps up beside us. I can tell that he’s a patrón, like Señor Montoya. They greet each other, and Señor Montoya calls him Señor Jaramillo. Señor Jaramillo pulls Señor Montoya away to talk about the acequia near the edge of the village.

And then, something catches my eye. Señor Jaramillo has a clay flute strung around his neck on a cord. It’s a bird too, but not like mine. His is smaller and there are no wing or feather markings. Josefina tells Señor Jaramillo that I have a flute, too. I look up, startled. I didn’t expect Josefina to remember or mention my flute. I think of it as a private thing, even if it’s not a secret.

Señor Jaramillo asks to see my flute. He says fellow musicians like to see new instruments. I untie the pouch around my waist and bring out my flute. He says it is skillfully made. Finer than his own flutes. He asks if I would like to trade it.

Immediately, I say no. But then, Señor Jaramillo pulls out a small blue rock. It’s the size of a quarter and it gleams bright blue green. I gasp, and Josefina’s breath catches. It’s a piece of turquoise. Señor Jaramillo says turquoise is not valuable, but it is beautiful. It glows in his hand like a piece of sky falling to the earth. With the other hand he reaches for my flute.