Read The Indigo Notebook Online
Authors: Laura Resau
Layla meanders over to me and Wendell, crouches across from us, and opens to a fresh page of her sketchbook. Things with Layla have been good. She’s been doing her half of the dishes—or at least convincing Giovanni to do them for her. And I haven’t complained once about how our apartment’s been invaded by exotic balloon creatures—dinosaurs, armadillos, potato bugs.
“You know, Z,” Layla says, dipping her brush into the green, “if you’d been a boy I was going to name you Wendell.”
“Really?”
“Yep.” With broad, impulsive strokes, she starts painting a picture of what I can only assume is an abstract representation of Wendell and me. She glances up at Wendell. “It means wanderer, right?”
He nods. “My parents named me after my grandfather.”
“When I was pregnant, I knew my child and I would be wanderers together.” Layla slathers deep green onto the page, forming our cheekbones, noses, the curve of the leaves surrounding us. “And I loved this idea. But you were a girl, so I named you Zeeta.”
“What’s that mean?” Wendell asks.
“Seeker. Because we’re not just wandering the world.” She swishes her brush in the glass of cloudy green water and dabs it in the red. She splashes the red among the leaves, bright flowers. “We’re seeking.”
“Seeking what?” he asks.
I’m curious how she’ll distill all her searches. Seeking enlightenment? The ultimate spiritual high? The Absolute? Ourselves?
“Who knows,” she says. “Maybe whatever we’re seeking, we’ve had it all along.”
I think of the blue chair.
She rinses the red from her brush and dips it in the blue. She makes the sky in a few quick strokes. “But that doesn’t mean we stop seeking.” She tears off the finished portrait and hangs it from a tree branch with a clothespin. It looks like a strange flag, this sketch of Wendell and me blending into the leaves, flapping there in the breeze. “See, you two are
perfect for each other, the wanderer and the seeker. Soul mates.”
I’m more than a little embarrassed, grateful everyone else is out of earshot. I decide to change the subject, fast, before she starts talking about past lives and karma and how her soul mate keeps eluding her, which I’ve heard many times before. “Hey, Layla, maybe our next country could be one with really good light conditions.”
She doesn’t blink at the strangeness of this suggestion. “That would be nice. Inspire me to paint more.”
“It could be a place with lots of fountains, too,” Wendell adds.
“Fountains and light,” Layla murmurs, nodding. Suddenly, her eyes widen. “I know just the place!”
I squeeze Wendell’s hand, and he squeezes back, and everything feels right, the perfect mix of chance and choice and fate and wishes. And as Layla draws in a breath to name our next home, the ground beneath us transforms into the worn, comfortable wood of a blue chair, already lifting us into a watercolor sky.
Adiós | ah-dee-OHS | goodbye |
Algo más? | AL-go MAS? | Anything else? |
Algo para tomar? | AL-go PA-ra to-MARRR? | Something to drink? |
alli punlla * | AH-lee POON-zha | hello/good day |
Amiga | ah-MEE-gah | friend (female) |
Amigo | ah-MEE-goh | friend (male) |
anaco * | ah-NAH-coh | wraparound skirt |
Banco | BAHN-coh | bank |
Buena | BWAY-nah | good |
Buenas tardes | BWAY-nas TAHRRR-days | hello/good afternoon |
Bueno | BWAY-noh | good, all right, okay |
Buenos días | BWAY-nos DEE-ahs | hello/good morning |
Cabrón | cahb-RRROHN | very offensive insult along the lines of “asshole” |
café con leche | cah-FAY con LAY-chay | coffee with milk |
cállate | CAH-ya-tay | shut up |
Canguil * | cahn-GEEL | popcorn |
Chicas | CHEE-cahs | girls |
Chicha * | CHEE-chah | traditional fermented corn drink |
chilca * | CHEEL-cah | medicinal herb |
¡Chuta! | CHOO-tah | Shoot! or Darn! |
Compadres | com-PAH-drays | coparents or slang for friends |
con la luna | cohn la LOO-nah | “with the moon” or crazy |
cumarita * | coo-mah-REE-tah | comother or slang for female friend |
Cumbarigo * | coom-bah-REE-goh | cofather or slang for male friend |
Curandero | coo-rahn-DAY-ro | healer |
cuy * | coo-EE | guinea pig |
Don | Dohn | Mr. |
Doña | DON-yah | Mrs. |
dos mil | DOHS MEEL | two thousand |
Ella | AY-ah | she |
Espérate | ays-PAY-rah-tay | wait |
Floripondio | floh-ree-POHN-dee-oh | flowering plant native to South America |
Fritada * | free-TAH-dah | fried pork |
Gracias | GRAH-see-ahs | thank you |
Gracias a Dios | GRAH-see-ahs ah dee-OHS | thanks to God |
Gringa | GREEN-gah | female from the U.S. |
Gringo | GREEN-goh | male from the U.S. |
Guapa | GWAH-pah | beautiful |
Hacienda | ah-see-AYN-dah | large estate |
Hermano | err-MAH-noh | brother |
Hijo de puta | EE-ho day POO-tah | son of a bitch (very offensive insult) |
Imbabura * | eem-bah-BOO-rah | huge mountain near Otavalo |
jergón * | hayrr-GOHN | kind of pit viper |
jergón sacha * | hayrr-GOHN SAH-chah | medicinal herb used for treating snake bites |
jugo de tomate de árbol * | HOO-goh day toh-MAH-tay day ARR-bohl | sweet juice made from a “tree tomato” fruit |
limpieza | leem-pee-AY-sah | spiritual cleansing |
llapingacho * | yah-peen-GAH-cho | traditional potato pancake |
mamá | mah-MAH | mom |
mamacita linda | mah-mah-SEE-tah LEEN-dah | pretty little mama |
Mamita * | mah-MEE-tah | mom |
menestra * | may-NAYS-trah | traditional lentil stew |
mestiza | mays-TEE-sah | female of mixed ethnic heritage—indigenous and white |
mestizo | mays-TEE-soh | male of mixed ethnic heritage—indigenous and white |
Mierda | mee-AYRR-dah | shit (offensive) |
Mija | MEE-hah | my daughter |
Mijo | MEE-ho | my son |
Mire | MEE-ray | look |
mis hijos | mees EE-hohs | my children |
Mucho gusto | MOO-choh GOOS-toh | nice to meet you |
Mucho mejor | MOO-choh may-HOHRR | much better |
Mujer | moo-HAYRR | woman |
ñaña * | NYAH-nyah | sister |
Ortiga | ohrr-TEE-gah | medicinal herb (nettle) |
Otavaleña | oh-tah-vah-LAYN-yah | female from Otavalo (may refer to indigenous Quichua speakers) |
Otavaleño | oh-tah-vah-LAYN-yo | male from Otavalo (may refer to indigenous Quichua speakers) |
Otavalo | oh-tah-VAH-loh | a small city in the Ecuadorian Andes |
Pachamama | PAH-chah-MAH-mah | Mother Earth (Quichua goddess) |
Papá | pah-PAH | dad |
Parque Bolívar | PARR-kay boh-LEE-varr | Bolívar Park, a plaza in Otavalo |
Peña | PAYN-yah | live music club or bar |
Perdón | payrr-DOHN | Excuse me |
Phoneutria | foh-nay-OO-trree-ah | highly venomous South American spider |
Plaza de Ponchos | PLAH-sah de POHN-chohs | Ponchos Plaza, location of the outdoor crafts market in Otavalo |
que rica bébé | kay RREE-cah bay-BAY | A possibly offensive catcall |
que Dios te bendiga | kay dee-OHS tay bayn-DEE-gah | God bless you |
¡Que pleno! | kay PLAY-noh | Cool! |
Quichua | KEECH-wah | indigenous language of Otavaleños in the Ecuadorian Andes |
Quiero | kee-AY-roh | I want |
Regresamos | rray-grray-SAH-mohs | We'll be back |
Señor | sayn-YOHRR | sir or Mr. |
Señora | sayn-YOH-ra | ma'am or Mrs. |
señorita | sayn-yoh-REE-tah | Miss |
Sí | SEE | yes |
taita * | tah-EE-tah | father |
telenovela | TAY-lay-noh-VAY-lah | soap opera |
Tengo dinero | TAYN-goh dee-NAY-roh | I have money |
Toma | TOH-mah | drink |
Tostado * | tos-TAH-doh | toasted corn |
trago * | TRAH-goh | liquor |
tranquilo | tran-KEE-loh | calm |
Ya no aguanto | YA noh ah-WAHN-toh | I can't bear it anymore |
Yaguarcocha | yah-wahrr-COH-chah | “Blood Lake” in Quichua |
*
Word that is either indigenous Quichua or Andean Spanish
S
everal years ago, in the Ecuadorian Andes, my Otavaleño friend told me a fascinating true story. One day, a teenage boy traveled from Europe to my friend’s indigenous community, searching for his birth parents. The boy looked just like my friend, yet spoke no Spanish or Quichua. After a lot of digging (with the help of his translator girlfriend), he discovered he was my friend’s half brother, and was embraced by their family. I loved this story, and started weaving it into a novel.
More than a year later, I returned to Ecuador. One evening, I found myself in an adobe curing room with a
curandero
spitting fireballs at me (sound familiar?). When he asked me to imagine what I truly wanted, I was prepared to envision a successful pregnancy, which was what I’d spent the last five
years wishing for. My husband and I desperately wanted a baby, but had struggled with infertility. As I stood there in the darkness, soaking wet, wrapped in the hum of Quichua chants, it occurred to me: Maybe a successful pregnancy isn’t the key to my happiness. Maybe my baby is growing inside someone else, waiting for me. Maybe our spirits are connected. Maybe, somehow, they’ve been connected all along.
After returning from Ecuador, I began the adoption paperwork. Three months later, my husband and I saw a picture of our beautiful one-week-old baby. Over the next nine months, as the paperwork was processed, I wrote a draft of my novel and traveled twice to Guatemala to visit our son. He finally came home with us in December. For the past year, I’ve been finishing this novel, loving my son with every particle of my being, and feeling tired … but happy!
As I wrote Wendell’s story, I thought about the search my son might someday make for his birth parents. Maybe it will be a journey in his imagination, or maybe it will be a physical journey. I hope what he finds at the core of his journey is love, in all its surprising forms.
Laura Resau is the author of
What the Moon Saw
and
Red Glass
, winner of the IRA Young Adult’s Book Award and the Américas Award. With a background in cultural anthropology and ESL (English as a Second Language), she has lived and traveled extensively in Latin America. She now lives in Colorado with her husband and toddler son, whom she adopted from Guatemala while writing this novel. Laura will donate a portion of her royalties to Latin American indigenous rights organizations. Visit her on the Web at
www.lauraresau.com
.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used ficitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Laura Resau
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Books,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark
of Random House, Inc.
Grateful acknowledgment is made to Coleman Barks for permission to reprint
Rumi excerpts from
The Essential Rumi
, translated by Coleman Barks,
copyright © 1995 by Coleman Barks (HarperSanFrancisco,
an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers).
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Resau, Laura.
The indigo notebook / Laura Resau.
p. cm.
Summary: Fifteen-year-old Zeeta comes to terms with her flighty mother and
their itinerant life when, soon after moving to Ecuador, she helps an American
teenager find his birth father in a nearby village.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89384-1
[1. Mothers and daughters—Fiction. 2. Single-parent families—Fiction.
3. Fathers—Fiction. 4. Ecuador—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.R2978In 2009
[Fic]—dc22
2008040519
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celebrates the right to read.
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