Song of the Mockingbird: My Journey with Josefina

I tell them that I would like to go to the plaza with Señor Montoya. Josefina squeals and squeezes my hand. She says it’s the most exciting place in the world. Señor Montoya clarifies that he has a lot of important business to do, so we can come with, but we must keep out of trouble. I nod hastily.

We drop Tía Dolores off at the door of a big adobe house that looks like Josefina’s. She waves to us as we disappear back into the dust cloud that surrounds the road. Soon, we see more wagons and walkers on the road. We see people leading horses and pack mules. We are driving so close to them that I can almost touch them from inside the wagon. The houses are crowded close together, and they extend as far as I can see.

Then, in front of us, I catch a glimpse of an open space lined with adobe buildings on all sides. It’s the plaza. Señor Montoya points across to one of the long low buildings with a wide shaded veranda that takes up one whole side of the square. He says it’s the Palace of the Governors, where the officials work.

Josefina says it’s wonderful. Her eyes are shining beneath the rebozo drooped over her head. So many people. You can see everything in Santa Fe here. There’s something familiar in her words and the expression on her face. It’s just how I used to feel when I went downtown back in Chicago. This is the most sophisticated and modern place Josefina has ever been to. I will try to think like that, too.

We ride right up to the plaza. In an instant, everything I thought about Santa Fe being sleepy and dull is blasted apart. There are so many people and things I hardly know where to look. Josefina points out different people and sites as we drive across the edge of the plaza. Priests in sober, black robes, people from the surrounding farms and ranchos leading goats, horses, mules, and oxen to sell. Cages of chickens, and dogs running around with their owners. Along one side of the plaza, horses are lined up, and men walk around, padding their necks and inspecting their legs. Josefina says those horses are available for trade. Our wagon rounds a corner of the plaza, and Josefina points to a group of Pueblo Indians. They’re sitting on the ground with melons, pumpkins, and apples spread out on a hide in front of them. Their hair is cut differently from Josefina’s family. They have bangs going straight across their foreheads, and their white shirts are draped with shawls over one shoulder.

Josefina gazes across the plaza, and says that Señor García is coming. He owns more land than anyone else. He looks very elegant as he rides in on a bay horse. His saddle is mounted with silver, and he has on tight pants of green silk with buttons all the way up the leg. Half of his buttons are undone so that his white stockings show through. Josefina says that that is the latest fashion.

Another man comes in riding a burly horse. He has a bushy beard and long matted hair, and he has a big pile of furs tied to the horse behind him. Josefina says trappers like him live up in the mountains alone and then come down to trade the furs when they have enough. I nod with understanding. How could I ever think Santa Fe was dull?