Song of the Mockingbird: My Journey with Josefina

“No!” I clutch the flute to my chest. The spell is broken. This flute is my only link to home. Josefina sees the distress on my face and quickly steps between me and the patrón. She firmly says we are not interested in trading. Señor Jaramillo looks at us narrowly, but nods and moves over to Josefina’s papá.

I’m breathing hard, and my palms are wet with sweat. Josefina says we should sit by the wagon. We walk slowly back, and hoist ourselves up to sit on the seat with our legs dangling below. I bow my head and think carefully. Josefina loosens my fingers on the flute. I will shatter it if I squeeze too hard.

I look at the concerned face of my friend, who is so caring, even if she doesn’t know what’s wrong. I wish I could explain to her why I could not trade. My link to my home is more precious than ever now, and I almost lost it. I love Josefina’s world but I want to go back to my own. And suddenly, I can see how much home means to me, and how much I would miss my family if I couldn’t see them again.

I realize that Josefina is still watching me. I tell her that I’m all right. Josefina says we should go visit with Mariana. Señor Montoya nods and tells her that he will be over soon to greet Esteban. We weave our way over to Mariana through the piles of goods displayed. On our way, a rider with spurs on a black horse crosses in front of us. He has a rifle stuck into a scabbard, and a sword hanging from his hip. Josefina whispers that it’s a soldier. They travel with caravans bringing goods from Mexico City. It is their job to protect the goods from bandits.

I follow Josefina over to a gray-haired man who sits calmly. His hair hangs to his shoulders, and he wears a piece of cloth tied around his forehead. His moccasins are also white, like Mariana’s. Spread out before him are pottery jugs and bowls in neat rows. They’re made of reddish clay. I’ve seen jugs like this in Josefina’s rancho. I wonder if Señor Montoya trades for them with him.

Mariana introduces me to her grandfather. She speaks with her eyes downcast, just like Josefina does. Her grandfather, Esteban, does not say anything more, but one by one he offers us each a little open-faced pie filled with some sort of berry fruit. The pies smell delicious, and I suddenly remember how hungry I am. We all sit on the ground near Esteban and devour them.

Josefina asks Mariana if Esteban will let her come to see the horses for trade at the other side of the plaza. Mariana doesn’t reply but catches her grandfather’s eyes. He silently nods and smiles, because Mariana takes one of my hands and Josefina takes the other and they both skip me across the dirt to the other side of the plaza nearest the big church.