Perdida de Vida & Emptiness

Maria was a can collector; she often came by on trash pick-up days…or on any day to see if there was anything for her. Her signal was the crick-crick sound of the small wheels of an old laundry cart she used to carry her aluminum finds in. She wore a large beachcomber hat made of straw. It looked like a large sun always beating down on her from far away. She walked everywhere.

Sometimes the children saw her by the library; sometimes she would appear down their street. What was odd about Maria was that she didn’t seem like a typical homeless woman. Maybe she wasn’t even homeless. Maybe it was just her shabby dress and the strong scent of sweat and her aluminum cans, but we all seemed to think she without a roof over her head.

What seemed perplexing was all the gold she wore. Her hefty gold earrings and gold medallion that clung to her neck on a thick gold chain over other chains and gold bracelets to boot. They were the flashy type my mother said that gave narcos away. I didn’t know what that word meant, but her distasteful tone said everything. Maria didn’t seem bad though. She was just an old woman. No one knew where she lived, only that it was somewhere between zip codes 92114 to  92174…

***

One day, we saw her outside our own front yard. Under the shade of our bougainvillea's perfect arch. Under the fuchsia fringe, she sat.

        With a tall glass of water in hand, my mother went out to greet her, “¿Quiere agua?” she asked, extending the glass towards her as she bent down to crouch on the step above her.

        “Gracias” the woman nodded in appreciation, accepting the water eagerly. Almost immediately after her first sip, Maria’s cloudy eyes began to clear and brighten. The liquid restoring her spirit, her body now began feeling somewhat recuperated after the cruel evaporation of her perspiration in the heat under the violent summer rays.

        Her tongue, now moistened, began to awaken and Maria began to talk. I ran from window to window in my tiny home, straining my ears to catch her words. I watched, from behind the lacy curtains, behind the glass.

Beneath the shade of fuchsia leaves, Maria spoke. My mother, now sitting beside her, listened to her voice. It had a rough texture, the sound of two grinding stones grating against each other. She spoke of the children she’d left behind in southern lands.

“Have you spoken with your children?”

“No, not really,” Maria answered in her own tongue.

“You should communicate with them, let them know where you are,” my mother said, probably already thinking of lending her our phone, but Maria’s answer only seemed to perplex me even more.

“Oh no, they have their own lives over there, I don’t want to be a burden to them. Each time I call them they ask me for money.”

“¡Hay!” my mother covered her mouth in surprise.

“They think I must be well off because I live in this country.” Maria went on, “the truth is, I am barely getting by, but I don’t want to go back. I have nothing to give them. It´s better I just stay here now than return empty handed. I thought life would be better here, but it just never worked out.” she touched the largest medallion with the shape of the Aztec sun god engraved into the gold. The god whom required human sacrifices but offered little in return. “I guess I should have stayed there” she laughed dryly.  The shame of her family knowing of her failure was at least one thing Maria probably thought she could avoid. “I rather stay here and have them think bad of me, that I am greedy, but at least that I am well, and not feel sorry for me and see me like this.” Her free hand extended to point towards herself, from her mismatched bohemian pants to the dark sun spots on her weather-beaten skin.

“How long have you been here?”

“Almost 36 years. My husband left me. And you know women’s lot.” My mother nodded. She seemed to understand what that meant, but I was confused, What does she mean? I wondered. “I thought I could find him, but this is a big country. Then, a friends of a friend told me they saw him in L.A.”

“That’s like finding a needle in a haystack,” my mother shook her head. “Did you ever find him?” Maria cocked her head to the side.

“Found him? Found him AND almost scratched his eyes out. That dog was with another woman, younger, stupid. She wasn’t even beautiful. I went crazy, thinking about my five children I left only to find him like that, living like a single man without responsibilities.” She murmured a word I never hear before, but I didn’t think it was a very good one. My mother’s eyes suddenly enlarged; a look I always feared when directed towards me.

“Why did you stay?”

“How could I not? I didn’t have enough money to go back. I couldn’t even bring back my own husband. I was stuck here, but then I found this,” Maria pointed to her can collection, “could get me by, so I have been saving almost every cent I’ve made to for my children. Ten to twelve dollars is peanuts here you know. You can’t live on that here, but it could keep my children alive over there. Never told them how I earned it and now, they never ask. They don’t know me any more. They just know I have always sent them money, and wonder why I don’t send more.”

My mother still seemed shocked by the first revelation of her husband’s betrayal and only asked, “Have you eaten already? Let me go make something for you, it’s almost lunch ti…” but Maria shook her head, refusing her offer.

        “No, I am fine. I’ll just sit here a while longer.”

        “Ooo-ookay,” my mother seemed to look at her dubiously. I was perplexed at Maria’s refusal and wondering whether my mother would insist. Instead, Maria handed her the empty glass, “I could get you some more water…?” my mother added.

        “That’s fine,” Maria nodded while turning away. She looked silently towards the empty street and removed her straw hat to fan herself, revealing her burgundy dyed curls at the nape of her neck. Slowly, my mother rose and re-entered the house.

        “What happened?” I attacked my mother with questions as soon as she closed the front door. I thought it was weird that Maria didn’t want any food, isn’t she poor? I thought. That didn’t make sense to me, but then neither did her gold jewelry and her aluminum cans.

“Here,” my mother gave me the glass refilled with cold water, the condensation already forming on the outside like dew drops. “Take this to her.”

“Me?” I looked at her incredulously at the surprise of her request. Why does she have to send me for? I was content with watching from far away, hearing her converse with the Jehovah Witnesses, the sales people, the Mormons whose white signature shirts foretold of their eventual retreat as they returned empty-handed without new converts and now, Maria. I racked my brain for something that would save me,“I thought you said not to talk to strangers.”

“Go Ary!” My mother seemed annoyed now, so I complied.  I had never met anyone like Maria before. I guess I was afraid of her; I don’t know why. I didn’t like strangers in general who disrupted the harmony of everyday life. But Maria was different, she wasn’t selling anything, no newspapers, no religion. She was just sitting there, she didn’t even want our food! What kind of poor person doesn’t want any help? I thought. Maria was just content to be left alone under the bougainvillea.

She took the glass as before. I couldn’t help but stare at the engraved image on her medallion. I stood hypnotized.

“¿Te gusta?” she seemed to caress her medallion. I shook my head. I thought it looked scary. It was a large shiny sun surrounded by a dragon and other wild looking creatures with sharp teeth and sneaky eyes. It had a face in the middle that looked like a demon with a leering expression and a long tongue that stuck out between its’ bottom lip and tiny upper teeth. I felt it staring at me and turned my face away to break the spell of fear. I don’t think even the tooth fairy wants those nasty teeth, I thought.

“Are you a narco?” I whispered. Maria only laughed, rather than reprimand me.

“No mija. I’m just a foolish woman.” I eyed her laundry cart wondering if...was her whole life  was in there?

“Is that from Mexico?” I asked, returning to the discussion of her medallion. If she was poor, why didn’t she just sell her jewelry for money? I knew I’d rather have money than have that ugly thing touching my neck. Maybe she didn’t have to live like this.

“Yes. These are all I have left from my family, from my home.” That’s why she didn’t sell it? I remembered my mother’s tea saucer with the golden rim from her grandmother. I was never allowed to use it for my tea parties. Maybe her medallion was like my mother’s saucer. Maria didn’t speak anymore, as if dismissing my presence, sipping her water. She no longer seemed to see me.
Finding my chance, I dashed away, hiding back inside my home and watched her again from behind the curtains. When I peeked again, she had already gone, disappeared, returning under the unmerciful rays of the sun. for what? I wondered. Was she too ashamed to face her children? Why didn’t she just say she was sorry? She preferred instead to carry her own heavy load, not on her shoulders, but in that old laundry cart. She seemed to be sacrificing her own life without a purpose like the victims that died for Huitzilopochtli, the sun god, to bring bountiful harvests, but all in vain.
When I went back outside, the crick-crick of wheels could be heard distantly. The only thing that remained of her presence  now was the large empty glass that stood like a lonely figure on our front steps, tall and proud, but empty nonetheless, under the shade of our bougainvillea plant.
She never did revisit our front steps again, but I saw her often on other hot days, more consumed than before, her life slowly seeping away. She walked proudly, but had nothing to be proud of.