Have You Seen Marie? (6 page)

Clouds dark and in a hurry swept past. Wind chimes rang. The trees shook their wild, loose hair. Rosalind and I agreed to split up and meet in an hour before it grew too dark to see. Rosalind went upriver toward the flour mill. I went downriver toward the Big Tex granary and the old Lone Star Brewery.

The sun was already behind the freeway. Grackles gathering in the trees called out,

“Marie? Marie? Marie?”

I asked the river,

“Have you seen Marie?”

River said, “
Mamita
, you name it, I’ve seen it.”

“Do you mean you’ve seen her?”

“I’ve seen everything,
corazón de melón
. Everything, everything, everything, everything, everything…,” River continued.

“But I don’t understand what you mean.” There was a something in my throat. I felt like I’d swallowed a spoon. I put my face under the water and cried.

River said, “Don’t you cry,
mamas
. I will take your tears and carry them to the Texas coast where they’ll mix with the salty tears of the Gulf of Mexico, where they will swirl with the waters of the Caribbean, with the wide sea called Sargasso, the water roads of the Atlantic, with the whorls and eddies around the Cape of Good Hope, around that hat called Patagonia, the blue waters of the Black Sea and the pearl-filled waters around the islands of Japan, the coral currents of Java, the rivers of the several continents, the Aegean of Homer’s legend, the mighty Amazon, and the wise Nile, the grandmother and grandfather rivers Tigris and Euphrates, the great mother river the sandy Yangtze, the dancing Danube, and through the strait of the Dardanelles, along the muddy Mekong and the sleepy Ganges, waters warm as soup and waters cold to the teeth, waters carrying away whole villages, waters washing away the dead, and waters bringing new life, the salty and the sweet, mixing with everything, everything, everything, everything.”

I raised my face from the water and shivered.

Along the river there are skunks, raccoons, and possums, snakes and turtles, cormorants, cranes, butterflies, fire ants, and snails. There are hawks in the sky, and beetles in the earth. But no Marie. Timid stars came out one by one and stared at me.

Over at the bend where the river snakes into an
S
there is a muddy puddle. A little underground spring bubbles beneath, feeding into the river. I sat on the giant roots of an ancient Texas cypress wider than thirteen people holding hands, grander than all the fancy mansions in the neighborhood, wiser than any ancient
casita
with its lopsided tin roof, prettier than any house in San Antonio.

A tree so old it had been there since before Texas was Texas. Since before Tejas was Tejas. Since before me and my mother. Since before before.

And when the swirling inside me grew still I heard the voices inside my heart.
I’m afraid. I’m all alone. I have never lived on this earth without you
. Then I really felt sorry for myself and began to shake like branches in rain.
Mother, Ma, Mamaaaá
.