Tortilla Sun (16 page)

“That,” she said pointing her finger to the ceiling, “is the secret.”

I squeezed her small frame and smiled. I guess some secrets are meant to be kept. “I love you, Nana.”

I sprinkled out some of the contents of the amber bottle just like she had shown me, and began to round out the edges. Slowly, the
tortilla
began to take shape. Rounder and rounder it grew until I was done. I stood back and stared in disbelief. I had done it: a perfect circle. “I can’t pick it up.”

“You must pick it up.”

“But what if it falls apart?”

“Then you will start again.”

I peeled the edges carefully, hoping they wouldn’t stick to the board. Each section of the dough lifted up without resistance. I placed it on the
comal
as if it were a fine piece of china. The dough bubbled and browned.

I counted,
1, 2, 3, 4—turn, 1, 2, 3, 4—turn
. And held up the hot
tortilla
for Nana to see. “I did it! I did it!”

There in her magical kitchen we laughed like we hadn’t in weeks.

“Look.” She beamed. “A perfect
tortilla
sun.”

I carried the batch in a
tortilla
basket and stood tall in front of Maggie. “First one on top goes to you. A tortilla sun,
princesa
.” I knelt like a knight in a fairytale.

Maggie tore off a piece of the
tortilla
and handed it to Frida, who gobbled it up.

That night, Maggie crawled under the bed and came back out with something tucked under her shirt.

“What is it?” I asked.

She lifted her T-shirt and pulled out a round piece of yellow colored glass, covered in cracks, but intact.

“My truth catcher! How did you put it back together?”

“When you left that day, me and your nana got all the pieces in a pile. Then we just glued ’em together with super glue. It was like doing a puzzle. You wanna hang it back up?”

I studied the remade truth catcher. None of the pieces were an exact fit with the next and yet it was perfect.

Kneeling down, I hugged Maggie tight. I held the truth catcher by its long yellow ribbon and hung it in front of the window. The morning sunlight cast a hundred tiny rainbows through the prisms of glass.

A constellation of dancing lights spread across the floor. I gasped, and pointed to the
Saltillo
floor. “Maggie do you see that?”

“The rainbow?”

I bounced across the room toward the colorful rays of light. “It looks like the village.”

Maggie knelt down for a closer look.

I pointed toward the image. “See the pink lines? That’s the church, see the cross? And look at the blue. It’s the river. And the center of the village, with the
adobes
all around is a perfect square.”

Maggie waved her hand in front of my face. “Are you crazy, Izzy? ’Cause I can’t see anything but a bunch of little rainbows.”

I grabbed a pencil and traced the lines across the tile. I stepped back and removed the truth catcher from the window. There on the floor was a rough sketch of the village.

Maggie pressed her small hand to her mouth and giggled. “That’s cheating. You drew that.”

“Now do you see it?” I smiled to myself and whispered, “It’s home.”

Nana’s backyard soon swarmed with visitors and well- wishers. Mom talked and laughed with old friends, catching up on all that she’d missed. Every once in a while her eyes would grow wide with surprise and she’d say, “You’re kidding!” Like it was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard.

I stood alone beneath the cottonwood in the middle of the yard, watching the party from a distance. Someone tapped my shoulder and I turned to find Socorro standing in front of me in a soft yellow sundress. Long turquoise earrings dangled from her ears.

“Hi, Socorro.”

“Are you enjoying the
fiesta
?”

I nodded. We stood together in silence watching the villagers.

“I know what the story means now.”

She smoothed her dress. Her sage eyes glistened in the afternoon sun.

“The family from the story only cared about what they didn’t have instead of focusing on what they did have. Everything wasn’t completely gone. They still had part of their home, the floor. And they didn’t realize that maybe they could rebuild their home without the silver even though it would be harder,” I said.

Socorro studied my face. “Sometimes we long for what the world tells us is missing, and miss what is right in front of us.”

I watched Maggie blow bubbles across the lawn for Frida. “I want to thank you.”

“For what?”

“I let my story simmer, like you said, and I wrote one. From beginning to end.” Two bubbles floated toward me, suspended on the breeze.

Socorro side-hugged me and said, “You’re welcome. Now go finish your surprise for Maggie. And maybe you’ll find your own surprise.”

After we finished eating, Mateo and I led Maggie to the mesa above the village.

“Where are we going?” she asked every two minutes as we wound through the trees.

“It’s a surprise. Now close your eyes. We’re almost there,” I said.

When we arrived on the flat desert above the river, I said, “Now you can open ’em.”

Maggie opened her blue eyes and squealed. “Are we gonna ride it?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

“It’s our chariot for the day,” Mateo said smiling.

Red flames shot like a hundred dragons’ tongues into a blue hot air balloon. Pictures of big, billowy clouds stretched all around it, blending into the perfect summer sky. Maggie hopped up and down from one foot to the other while the flames filled the balloon with windy gusts of hot air.

“Look, Izzy. We get to float near heaven!”

I squeezed her small hand and smiled. We settled into the basket with Mr. Castillo, and within a moment, the balloon lurched forward; a blast of fire and wind and we lifted off the ground, rising into the July sky.

Maggie laughed. “That tickled my tummy.”

The ground fell away as the balloon rose higher and higher. We soared high above the earth, like a puffy cloud inching across the sky.

“Hey Maggie, we brought you a present. Actually it’s the reason for the balloon.” I pulled her yarn from the canvas bag.

Maggie pulled the ladder from my hands. She looked up toward Mateo. “It’s a ladder! You made this for me?”

“It was Izzy’s idea.”

Maggie reached up toward my ear with her hand cupped on the left side of her mouth. I bent down toward her as she whispered, “Do you think she’ll catch it?”

I nodded and smiled.

She smiled a gap-toothed grin and leaned over the edge of the basket. Closing her eyes she tossed the ladder into the wind. “Now Mommy can have her yarn back.”

The yarn drifted across the breeze, staying aloft as long as we could see it.

Faint, slow whispers clung to the breeze and as we rose higher the wind spoke clearer.
Tesoro
. Treasure. I turned my face to the wind and imagined Dad riding the skies in this balloon, loving the wind in his face, and the whispers on the breeze. We were the same that way. Just as I’d always imagined.

We climbed higher and higher into the heavens, and the clouds seemed close enough to touch. Maggie reached her hands out toward the sky.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I want a piece of a cloud.”

Mateo laughed. “You can’t catch clouds, Maggie.”

Maggie’s face fell.

“Sure you can,” I said. “Give me your hand.”

Maggie placed her hand in mine and I stretched it out toward the softest one in the sky. For just a moment the clouds seemed to stand still.

“Now close your eyes and picture that cloud right in the center of your palm.” I waited a moment. “Is it there yet?”

She nodded.

“Good.” I held open her back sack and said, “Now put it in here so you can take it home, and remember, you might not be able to see it but you can feel it. Like magic.”

Gazing at the village below, I blinked twice before I was sure. And then, I was so sure I shouted, “Mateo, do you see that?” I pointed toward the northern part of the village. “It’s the
B
from the map. See? Those bushes form a perfect
B
.” I laughed. “And remember the map said something about soaring with fire?”

Mateo’s eyes darted across the earth below. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the map. He read the directions, “‘There you must soar with fire, to see the treasure you desire.’ Izzy, you’re right! I can’t believe it. We only needed a new view to see it. Do you really think there’s a treasure down there?”

I gazed toward the village, my home, and smiled. “I’m sure of it.”

With loving gratitude to my mom, Anna, for giving me my first words, roots to keep me grounded, and wings to help me fly—you saw the light before I did; to my entire family for their love and encouragement; to my husband, Joseph, for giving me the freedom to explore the Land of Enchantment; to Alex for being the head plotmeister even during football season; to Bella for keeping Maggie alive and giving me cooler words than I could have thought up alone; and to my Julie Bear for asking me to write her a story and for reading it through in one sitting.

Special thanks to Laurie McLean, agent extraordinaire, who believed in a first-time author and who, thank goodness, was hungry the day she read the manuscript; to my tireless editor, Julie Romeis, for saying yes, and taking the time to unfold the story and excavate the magic from the pages; to everyone at Chronicle for being committed to creating a special book.

Many thanks to my generous critique partners, David (for re-reading chapters on short notice and helping me make them shine), Louise, Loretta, and Andi, for their generosity; to Char/Lena for keeping me sane during the revision process with good humor and great writing.

And in remembrance of my grandmothers, Gertrude and Priscilla: Thank you for giving me Nana.

When I was a young girl, I spent time in the natural beauty of the New Mexican desert. My grandmother’s house was nestled among cottonwood trees where the rhythm of the cicada bugs hummed me to sleep on dreamy summer nights. Her tiny kitchen was filled with the sweet aromas of Mexican spices and homemade
tortillas
. There was something timeless about her kitchen. Perhaps it represented a moment long drawn out by the hustle and bustle of our modern hurried life or a place where magic still existed for those who believed. Today, I challenge you to slow time to a stroll and make a batch of homemade
tortillas
. I have included the recipe my grandmother used, although there may be a secret ingredient left out, but maybe you can create your own as you make your very own
tortilla
sun!

NANA’S FLOUR TORTILLAS

YIELDS 12 TORTILLAS

4 cups all-purpose flour

1½ teaspoons salt

2 teaspoons baking powder

4 tablespoons lard or shortening (sometimes my grandmother used bacon grease for this)

1½ cups warm water

Combine dry ingredients in a mixing bowl. Use a fork to cut the shortening into the dry ingredients, or do it like Nana and just use your hands. Make a well in the center and slowly add the water to form the dough. Knead as you add water to incorporate and make the dough. Knead the dough in the bowl until it is smooth. Remember, no stickies. Cover the bowl with wax paper and set aside for ten minutes.

Form the dough into small balls and flatten between your palms. Sprinkle a little bit of flour onto a smooth surface. With a rolling pin, roll each ball into a six-inch circle, or whatever shape yours turn into at first (this part takes lots of practice and they’ll taste just as good if they turn out looking like Texas). Remember to roll from the center out. Lift the dough and turn with each roll.

Heat a
comal
or cast-iron skillet on the stove for two to three minutes on medium to high heat. Cook
tortillas
on the
comal
, usually one to two minutes on each side. They should have brown speckles all over.

Drizzle with butter, tuck in the bottom end, roll and enjoy! Place the remainder of the cooked
tortillas
in between wax paper and place in a large resealable plastic bag for another day. If well-sealed, they should keep for two weeks.