Family

PROLOGUE   I am a guardian angel. I am retelling one of my missions to earth long ago. It was my first mission; I was proud of my abilities. And to go to a foreign country made me excited. *          *          * The radiant noon sun shone brightly as the cool breeze ruffled the palm branches near the Mekong in Cambodia. It flowed from China and went past several countries and ended in the South China Sea near Vietnam. The Mekong River flowed smoothly, running its course to the ocean; the water glittered like a jewel in the light. A small fishing boat village was huddled together on one side of the four-mile-wide river, the small brown boat homes bobbing up and down. Children swam playfully in the water without a care. I noticed especially one small boat house where a family of four lived. Their living quarters were small and cramped. Like all of the other boat houses, they all looked alike. The boats were a much larger version of a wooden rowboat with a platform overtop and a tent-shaped roof. But this one I noticed was older and needed more repair; there was a thin rope holding the boat from drifting away. The mother and the father and their two sons that lived there were eating their meager dinner. The children were six and four years of age; their rag-like clothes hung loosely on them. Their parents’ faces were tired but happy. The catching always reached an all-time low in the flooding seasons *          *          * Gloomy clouds filled the sky and a cold breeze ripped through the air. The family was in a small paddleboat heading for the schoolhouse. The parents were dropping off their children at the school and then would go to work after. The paddle dipped slowly in the water getting closer to the school. *          *          * The mother and father paddled to the middle part of the river where fish were abundant. The rainy season had started last month and steadily the water had begun to get stronger, and the fish had started to get fewer and fewer. The water rushed quickly past the anchored boat; the gray clouds rumbled threateningly. Both of them cast out their fishnets, hoping with luck this time to catch many fish. A few hours later, they pulled the fishnets out of the water and checked for fish. They had once again caught very little fish. The catching always reached an all-time low in the flooding seasons and the family always went poor and hungry. Sad and depressed, the parents paddled silently home. *          *          * Torrents of rain poured down the sky with the strength of bullets. The two boys shivered with a high fever and coughed as a chilly wind swept through the house. They were too sick to go to school. The parents were reluctant to go to work, but they knew they must go in order to make money for medicine and warm jackets for their sons. They crept outside and onto their small paddleboat, leaving their two sick children. *          *          * The current rushed stronger and stronger than before and swept away debris. The cloud-filled sky was dark and menacing and rain poured down. The youngest son woke up with a bad feeling welling up in his chest. Where was Mom? Where was Dad? His brother woke up shortly, sweating with fever, coughing and cold. He shivered and took an old shaggy blanket and covered both of them with it to keep them warm. *          *          * They sat in their paddleboat waiting and waiting. They had pulled up the nets hour after hour and had caught no fish. The rain battered their bodies. They knew that there would be no fish because of the water that was mounting higher and more powerful. As they sat there, a log floated by. Then the father thought, Why not collect the firewood that had been swept away in last night’s storm to sell and get money instead? They started paddling to collect logs of wood. Two hours later their boat was laden with wood to sell and the husband and wife were ecstatic to have found so much wood. It was extra hard now to paddle with such weight. The rain was still beating down relentlessly and the current was pushing in the opposite direction when they were paddling. They were in the middle of the four-mile-wide river and it would take lots of effort and strength to get to shore. Tired and hungry they kept on paddling but the current was too strong. Tides of water flooded into the boat. They both started bailing out the water but when they finished another bigger tide flooded the boat again. The mother bailed while the father paddled with lots of effort to reach the distant shore. A big monstrous wave all of a sudden hit the boat. The boat spun, then flipped over, taking the parents with it. *          *          * Meanwhile on the boat house the weather was the same. Their home rocked violently back and forth. Both of the boys were ill, worried and, most of all, scared. Without warning, the boat lurched sideways. The rope that had held it had snapped! The youngest son ran out of the safety of the roof and tried to retie it with a stronger rope; the boat would stray away if he didn’t do it quickly. Another violent lurch flung the child’s body into the mighty waters. “Help!” he screamed, coughing and gasping, as his lungs filled with water. His body was too frail to swim in the raging current. His brother took a rope and threw it to him. I flew down swiftly and tried to save him. It was not his time to go, not his time to die. I held up his weak body as his brother pulled himself slowly toward the boat, when another wave came and broke his grip

“Mother, don’t,” I shrieked. Mother looked at me and opened her mouth threateningly. “Rebecca, you’ll wake everybody up!” “I like this side,” I said quickly, stroking the dark yellow cotton. “Yes, but you know that your grandmother made that quilt and when she arrives, she’ll want to see the patchwork side up. Say you had quilted a beautiful patchwork and then backed it with a solid color. Would you be more proud of the patchwork you had labored over or the backing? Common sense, Reb-el!” I was comforted slightly that she hadn’t discarded her loving nickname for me in her scold. “Mother,” I ventured. “Yes, Rebecca.” “I . . . uh . . . I was writing late last night and uh . . .” And then the whole story spilled out. “I’ve been trying to write something and the pen exploded . . . all over that side of the quilt . . . I’m so sorry . . . I tried to wash it . . . I did . . . I feel so bad . . . I knew I was using a leaky pen . . . I should have stopped using it before . . . I’m so sorry . . . I just . . .” But mother was already searching the underside of Grandma’s quilt for the stain. “It’s here.” I snatched the lower corner and flipped it up furiously, and covering several patches was a big black splotch. I burst into tears and flung myself onto the bed. “Oh my Lord,” gasped Mother. I writhed on the bed and kicked off my shoe and wrestled off my coat and buried my face inside of it. I dared remove it for a split second and saw my mother standing with her hand over her mouth, unsure of what to do. There was a long silence. . . . and covering several patches was a big black splotch “Honey . . . Reb . . . what have you written so far?” I stared at her in astonishment, hesitated, and then I scrambled to my feet and hurried to the closet. I swept aside two pairs of shoes and a fallen blouse and pulled up the floorboard. Reaching inside, I pulled out a fabric-covered book. I heard the wooden floor creak and felt my mother standing behind me. Using my nightgown, which was hanging on a hook, I pulled myself to my feet, and without looking at my mother, I moved silently to my bed, sat down and began to read aloud. “Ahead, a light illuminated a circle of moist and thick air. The green leaves glowed on one side, apple skins, and quivered in the cool and slow moving wind. I walked in the heavy darkness toward the light. The fog was noiseless, enchanting. With the beat of concentration: shck, shck, shck on the wet pavement. I am going to the halo of pale golden light, where I should enter the realm of enchantment, breathe the thick, magical air and hear the muted undertones of the night weightlessly resound in my head. Shck shck shck. I am closer, and in the shadow of a great tree, approaching the thick haze of enchantment and wonder. Shck. Sh. I no longer hear the sounds of my feet walking. I only hear the thundering silence echo in this vast supernatural world. I hold my breath, lest I blow it all away. It will soon die away as these morning hours creep closer so I must savor this moist air and this enchanted place, this feeling of walking into a cloud, unsure of where to go, but with no desire to go, a desire to sit and wait and not think about anything. This realm is an escape from life, a stopper, a place to think about nothing at all with everything to think about. The only emotion is contentment and the only thought is to stay forever. If only every night I could enter this world, if only every night were foggy and silent, blessed. If only I could lie down on the wet pavement and think about nothing forever.” Mother sat down slowly. “Reb, that’s beautiful,” she breathed. “That’s all I’ve got for now . . . it took me two weeks just to write this.” “How long have you been working secretly on that, you little snipe?” she said, grinning. I flushed deeply. “Several weeks now. I guess I won’t be needing that floorboard anymore, now that you know about it and all.” I picked my coat up off the bed and hung it on a hook by the door. I retrieved the shoe that I had kicked off, pulled off my other one, and set them both in the closet. “May I comb your hair?” asked Mother. “Sure,” I obliged, as I unpinned it and let it fall down across my back. I love people playing with my hair. She patted a spot in front of her on the bed and I brought over my brush and sat down. I felt her tenderly lift a lock of hair and start to brush it, over and over, each time feeling a pleasant pull on my scalp. “You see,” she began, “I didn’t know you were such a wonderful writer, Reb! Look at me!” I turned and she took my chin into her strong hand and looked into my eyes. “You can write. You can write!” Her eyes filled with tears. “Why did you hide it?” I shrugged, embarrassed that I had hidden something from my mother for all this time. “Well, I guess I was just shy, you know.” Mother nodded. “I was just like you at this age. I drew all the time in private. Unlike you, I never got found out. But still, to this day, I regret having kept it all a secret. I remember in seventh grade, we had an assignment where we were supposed to write and

I can remember so clearly the day when my troubles began. I was thirteen years old, and it was the spring of 1665. It was unnaturally warm for Madrid, but I loved the sun. I was sitting outside near the garden, reading a wonderful book. In our flower beds, a bright array of color burst forth. Tulips, crocuses and irises all stretched their delicate petals toward the sun. “Señorita, your mother wishes to see you.” Our maid’s voice shattered my pleasant daydreams. “She sounds excited about something, she did not tell me what.” Relief spread through me. If it was my mother, there was nothing to fear. My mother, Catalina, was always gentle, calm and kind. Recently however, she had become ill, and now spent most of her time in bed. Her strength had left her, and although doctors examined her, none could find the cause of her weakness. Luckily, my older sister Isabel took after my mother in all respects. Throughout my mother’s illness, she gave me the hope and comfort I desperately needed. Isabel had injured her foot when she was small, and now walked with a limp. Although this meant that her chances of marriage were small, I was glad because it kept her close to me. Suddenly, I remembered I was supposed to see my mother. I raced inside the house, as our maid called after me, “Brush off your skirt, there is grass on it!” As I skidded around a corner, I almost collided with my father, who gave me a cold look and said haughtily, “My parents would have beat me if I were so careless.” Trembling, I tiptoed until I reached my mother’s bedroom. I was sitting outside near the garden, reading a wonderful book As soon as I opened the door, I saw my mother’s joyful face smiling at me. “Maria,” she said fondly, “come closer to me.” Happily, I walked over to her bedside. “I have good news, your father has told me he will be taking you to court soon.” She said this anxiously, waiting for my reaction. I felt uncomfortable, I had never been to court all my life, although my father went there often. “Will Isabel and you accompany me?” I asked. She shook her head sadly saying, “My child, I can hardly move from this bed; how could I get to court?” Her gentle, brown eyes pleaded with me to understand. I did not. I could understand if my mother did not come. She was ill, and court life would not suit her, but there was no reason that Isabel should not come. Oh well, I thought, I shall get it over with, and then return home to the part of my family that loves me. Instead of expressing these worries to my mother, I asked one simple question, “When do my father and I leave?” “Soon, Maria,” she replied, “very soon.” The next few days passed in a blur. I had no free time; every day was spent “perfecting” me for court. Everything had to be a certain way, and nothing less would do. Seamstresses rushed in and out of our house day and night. I gasped at the fabrics they held in their arms. Silks, satins and velvets were only one-third of what I would wear. Throughout my life, I had worn simple gowns, generally made of wool. Their colors were muted, and were usually dark browns or grays. Suddenly, I was being presented with vivid, expensive gowns. When I wasn’t being fitted for new dresses, I was being tutored. I had been studying for many years; my parents believed that everyone should have a good education. However, my studying was much more rigorous then it had previously been. Geography, math, history, literature, all had to be perfected by the time I was at court. Although I thoroughly enjoyed my time with the tutors, I did not see what the point of this was. I was a girl, and as most people would have said, a woman’s job is in her house. In most people’s eyes, I was a worthless girl, whose only purpose was to marry and have as many children as possible. The days went by so quickly, I was surprised when I found myself arriving at court. I was shocked for the first few days. Everything was so different from my peaceful house. There was never any silence or tranquillity here, something was always happening. Elaborate dances took place in the evenings, and during the day, servants hurried down the hallways, trying desperately to get all their jobs done. Gradually, however, I began to sink into court life. I even enjoyed it. This process was helped by Edward. I met Edward a week after I arrived in court. For the first time since I had arrived, I was attending a dance. Although the seamstresses had made many gowns for me, I was wearing my best this evening. It was unlike any other dress I had ever seen. Its pale blue cloth was embroidered with silver thread, which was sewn gracefully into tiny stars bordering the hem. It was made of silk so light it seemed to float around me; I could barely feel it. My dark brown hair was caught up in a silver net, and on my feet I wore delicate blue slippers, which were trimmed with lace. I was laughing and having a wonderful time, when, by chance, I saw a young man standing at the edge of the room. Although I couldn’t understand how, he seemed different to me. Slowly, I crept across the room to where he was standing, and we began to talk. He was the son of an English ambassador, and had journeyed with his father to Spain. Although his father was busy most days, he was free to do what he liked. As I listened to his voice, I fell into a trance. He was so different from the Spanish men I had met.