“Okay, that sounds good,” he replied, and left with his plate. The exchange always ended the same way. Marisita always ground the corn herself. Time kept getting away from Theldon. Rain fell on Marisita; moss grew on Theldon.
A knock on the open door preceded the appearance of a solid-looking young man with considerable dust on his boots and white T-shirt. This was Pete, who had already been working that morning.
“Good morning,” he said. “Am I in the right place?”
“That depends on what place you are looking for,” Marisita replied.
“Antonia said that if I asked you, you might have something I could take with me to eat while I work.”
Marisita disliked the delay but liked his gentle expression. “Then you are in the right place. Take a seat.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but I’ll stand. I don’t want to get your furniture dirty—I’m a mess.”
This gesture was difficult for Marisita. She appreciated that he did not want to get her stool dusty, but seeing him standing rather than sitting made her feel that she needed to hurry as she cooked, even if he didn’t mean it that way at all. She could have asked him again to sit and could have explained that she did not mind the dust, but that seemed like it might make him feel bad about his decision to stand. So instead, she just asked him in her head and said nothing out loud. He kept standing there, making her feel urgent. She hurried.
Pete asked, “Can I do anything to help?”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” she replied.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that. I just feel strange watching you do all the work, is all.”
Marisita was surprised by how he just said this out loud, freely, and also by how it made her feel better about his question. She wasn’t sure which part startled her more: that he expressed his discomfort so easily, or that she was put at ease by the explanation. Of course, if she thought about it, she knew this was the way to do it. If a pair had come to her for advice back in Texas, she would have advised them to be free with each other no matter how foolish it seemed. She did not know why she found it difficult to take her own advice. Now, hesitantly, she tried it for herself. “I don’t mind. But I feel the same way about you standing. It makes me feel strange that you are standing instead of sitting—like I should hurry.”
It did not feel comfortable to say it out loud instead of in her head, but Pete let out a surprised laugh that was not at all put out. He clapped his hands against his dirty pants for a moment and then sat on the stool. She gave him a bowl of cherry tomatoes to eat and occupy his hands while she worked. In this way they spent a few minutes in easier quiet while Marisita finished the empanadas for Pete.
“I hope it’s not rude to ask,” Pete broke in, “but why don’t they fly away?”
The butterflies on Marisita’s dress opened and closed their wings, over and over, as water dripped over them.
“They are too wet,” Marisita explained.
“One day the rain will stop, though?”
“Perhaps.”
“Will you miss them?”
No one had asked Marisita this before, and she had to take a moment to consider the answer. It was difficult to imagine life without them. The butterflies were beautiful, but it was more that she had now been with them for so long that she could not picture what she would look like without them.
“I think I’d rather they flew away,” Marisita said.
Pete was satisfied by this answer. “Good.”
“Have you already performed the second miracle?” Marisita was surprised at herself for saying this out loud instead of simply in her head, but since she had already been forward once with Pete, it was easier the second time.
“Oh, I’m not here about a miracle,” Pete said. “I’m just here about a truck. Oh, hey, that reminds me … I feel like a total heel for asking you to do more work, but I better ask ’cause I bet he hasn’t been able to and even though we’re not buddies, I’ll feel bad if he starves. Do you know if Tony has gotten anything to eat?”
“The giant?”
“That’s the one.”
She was certain he had not eaten yesterday. In her distress, she had not cooked for anyone since Daniel’s vanishing. The other pilgrims had fended for themselves; they had a kitchen of their own, after all, and leftovers. But Tony had not been given food and could not have fit into her kitchen to cook for himself.
“I’ll make sure he gets something,” Marisita said, feeling more impatient than she sounded. Time pressed heavily on her and her mouth felt dry when she imagined Daniel possibly without water. But when she remembered that Tony probably had not eaten since the day before, guilt won out over her impatience. She could be quick. “Here’s your empanada.”
“Empanada,” Pete repeated. “Gosh, thanks. It looks great. See you later! Sorry about the dirt on the chair!”
After he had gone, Marisita hastily prepared Tony some food. She assembled a pile of crusty bolillos, a cantaloupe cut into a bright orange moon, a covered bowl of fried red beans, a thermos of creamy minguiche, two empanadas, three dark-red tomatoes from Nana’s garden, and a fried bit of beef that had looked a little friendlier the night before. Although it would have been a tremendous amount of food for an ordinary man to eat, Marisita thought it nonetheless seemed insufficient to feed a giant. It was better than eating only memories, though.
Halfway through this process, she had a third visitor, although this one took her longer to spot. It was Jennie, the schoolteacher pilgrim who could only repeat what others said to her. She had been standing in the doorway for quite some time, trying to decide how long it would take Marisita to notice her, as of course she could not say anything original to get her attention.
“Oh, Jennie! I didn’t notice you,” Marisita said.
“Oh, Jennie!” Jennie replied. “I didn’t notice you.”
Marisita wanted to ask how long she had been there, but she knew from experience that it was pointless. She was sure Jennie wanted food, another delay that made Marisita want to snap, but she knew that she would only hear her ugly, short words echoed back at her in Jennie’s voice. So Marisita just made her another empanada with the scraps of what she’d made Pete, and then she indicated the food she had just made for Tony. “Could you bring this tray to the giant? I need to go out.”
“Could you bring this tray to the giant? I need to go out.” Jennie echoed. But she held out her hands for the tray. She seemed to be trying to say something else to Marisita, but nothing else escaped her lips.
Marisita was quite suddenly overcome with frustration with all of them. Daniel’s sacrifice hadn’t healed her, because she was too tormented by her terrible past, and Jennie couldn’t find an original word no matter how hard she tried, and Theldon kept growing moss, and they all seemed beyond hope. She missed Daniel, though she felt she had no right to. He had never been hers to miss, because she was a pilgrim, and he was a saint, and more importantly, because she would never stop being a pilgrim. She would always be Marisita and her butterflies. Tears were prickling in her eyes again, but no one would even know if she began crying once more, because this rain would never stop.