Song of the Mockingbird: My Journey with Josefina

I tell Tía Dolores and Josefina that I would like to go with them. Josefina’s eyes light up at the thought of seeing her grandparents. At a large adobe house on the outskirts of the city, Señor Montoya stops the wagon and helps us down. A cheery-looking older man with a big gray mustache hurries from the doorway. He says he was expecting just Andres alone. But instead he sees his beautiful daughter and littlest granddaughter! He kisses Tía Dolores and takes Josefina’s face in his hands.

Tía Dolores introduces me to them. I clasp my hands and bow my head the way I’ve seen Josefina do. Tía Dolores explains my cautiva story, and Josefina’s abuelito looks at me kindly. Bienvenida. He welcomes me to their house.

Their house is built like Josefina’s with big, thick walls and a central courtyard with rooms surrounding it. In the main sala, an elegant gray-haired woman dressed in all black looks up from her sewing. She says that Tía Dolores is covered with dust, so she must go wash immediately. Josefina has told me that her abuelita bosses everyone around.

A servant pours cool water into a bowl for each of us, and it feels lovely on my dusty face. Josefina looks refreshed, too. When we join Tía Dolores and her grandparents in the sala, cups of cool water with mint leaves are waiting for us.

Josefina’s abuelita asks her daughter if the road was terribly dusty. I want to scream that it was, but I know to not speak until I am spoken to. Quietly, Tía Dolores replies that it wasn’t terribly dusty. Josefina nods in agreement. What? Weren’t we all in the same wagon? And then I realize—Josefina and Tía Dolores did think the journey was dusty, and hot, and probably uncomfortable, too. But they don’t complain. What is the point? There’s no other way to get from the rancho to Santa Fe. I’ve been in Josefina’s world long enough to see that they just don’t complain about anything. Except for Francisca!

A servant serves tea and licorice flavored bizcochito cookies. Josefina’s grandfather tells us adventures from his last trip with his caravan. He apparently travels back and forth between Santa Fe and Mexico City, buying trade goods in each place and selling them in the other. He keeps talking about El Camino Real which must be the road between Mexico City and here.

Josefina recalls a time he brought her and her sisters a cone of the finest chocolate. It was so creamy, and the taste spread across their tongues. It seems odd that Josefina would be so enchanted by just chocolate, but even though she doesn’t have as many things as I have, she doesn’t seem unhappy. Actually, she seems happy. Maybe the way you see your life matters more than the things you have. Josefina is just as happy in an adobe house with no running water as I was in a big city apartment.

Josefina asks if she can show me her favorite hill. Quickly, we clear away the teacups and I follow Josefina out the door. There is no dust, just clear, sparkling air. The wind blows our head back and we climb a steep hill behind the house. When I catch up to Josefina at the top, I see her looking out over the rooftops. We can see all of Santa Fe from here—the low, flat houses with narrow roads between, a silver slash of a river, and big flat fields of ripe crops around the city. The mountains are dusted with dark green pine trees; the snow on the tops of the mountains seem almost close enough to touch. It is beautiful. It’s a different kind of beauty than the lights and soaring skyscrapers and bridges of Chicago. It’s quieter, closer to the earth. And for the first time, I can see why Josefina loves this place. I think I could grow to love it, too.

I unbutton my waist pouch and draw out my flute. I hold the flute down by my side and stroke the soft clay with my thumb. I was Birdy the musical girl once, but I lost her somewhere between here and Chicago. I wonder if maybe I can find her again.

I tell Josefina that from up here, I think I can almost find my way home. Josefina turns to me, surprised. I tell her that I think I just had to climb this high first.