Song of the Mockingbird: My Journey with Josefina

I tell Tía Dolores and Josefina that I want 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 expected just Andres, but instead finds his daughter and littlest granddaughter too. 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 to wash. When we join Tía Dolores and her grandparents in the sala, cups of water with mint leaves wait for us.

Josefina’s abuelita asks her daughter if the road was terribly dusty. I want to scream that it was, but I know not to speak until spoken to. Quietly, Tía Dolores says it wasn’t so bad, and Josefina nods in agreement. Weren’t we all in the same wagon? Then I realize. They did find the journey dusty and hot, but they don’t complain, because 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 never complain about anything. Except for Francisca!

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

Josefina recalls a time her grandfather brought her and her sisters a cone of the finest chocolate, so creamy it spread across their tongues. Josefina doesn’t have as many things as I do, but she doesn’t seem unhappy. Maybe the way you see your life matters more than the things you have.

Josefina asks if she can show me her favorite hill. We clear away the teacups, and I follow her out the door into clear, sparkling air, climbing a steep hill behind the house. At the top, I catch up to Josefina 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 fields of ripe crops around the city, with pine-dusted mountains and snowy peaks beyond. It’s a different kind of beauty than the skyscrapers and bridges of Chicago, quieter and closer to the earth. For the first time, I can see why Josefina loves this place, and I think I could grow to love it, too.

I unbutton my waist pouch and draw out my flute, stroking the soft clay with my thumb. I was Birdy the musical girl once, but I lost her somewhere between here and Chicago. 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.