Great drops of water on my head as rain comes at last.
I raise my face to it, open my mouth to drink it in, and watch as a few sparks continue to fly up, the flames lessen, and slowly, the fire dies.
My crying has stopped now, but not the rain. It comes down in torrents, bringing cool air.
The people scatter, and I know Julian will be coming back out soon. Did he see me as he went by? Or did he run his hand over the top of my head because I was just a kid standing there?
“All right now?” Angel says.
I nod and raise my hand toward the fire. “My brother Julian.”
“Oh, Matty!” she says, finally realizing and almost dancing around me. Her face changes, and I’m sure she’s thinking about her grandfather, and maybe how glad she’ll be to see him, to be home.
Now the three are dragging back the hose, and Julian stops, and of course he knows it’s me.
In two steps, he’s in front of me, his face filthy. He reaches out, his hands in thick gloves, and lifts me off the ground.
He’s not crying the way I did; he’s laughing, a wonderful sound as he swings me around the way I might swing Lucas in the kitchen.
Behind him is Elena, her head tilted. And Julian turns. “My brother! He’s come to find me. My brother Mateo, the writer.” There’s a catch in his voice.
She smiles at me, her eyes bright blue in her soot-covered face. “Sal’s boy.”
They wind up the hose; then we ride back in the truck, all of us squeezed together. It’s dark now, the headlights on, the windshield wipers sliding back and forth, and I don’t know where we’re going, but it doesn’t make any difference.
We could drive forever.
We sit in Elena’s kitchen at a round wooden table until the sun comes up through the window.
We never stop talking, interrupting each other, telling our stories as Elena brings lemonade and donuts, and then, in the middle of the night, hot tea and toast with butter and cinnamon.
The kitchen walls are covered with paintings: one is of a garden with an overhanging tree, birds sitting on the branches. I know Julian has painted it. It’s not hard to figure out, because under the tree, if you look carefully, you’ll see a small house on the edge of a creek.
Our house.
Next to me, Angel smiles. She knows how happy I am. I’ve finally found Julian.
“When Tomàs left, I had to stay here,” Julian says, “because I owed Elena money.”
Elena doesn’t understand Spanish; she looks from one of us to the other.
But I understand more than Spanish. I picture the money Tomàs put on our table. The boss paid us a week ahead.
“Like the miserable woman’s broom,” I whisper.
And Julian puts his hand on my shoulder. “Yes.”
He tells us then about living in the cave because he thought he might be caught in the house, working at the terrible factory, and going back to Elena with the money at last.
He sweeps his hand around. “I painted Elena’s kitchen.” He grins. “I even put out fires in her forest.”
He glances toward her, and she looks back and smiles. “Julian’s been a big help.”
I see how much they care about each other.
“But Mami,” I say. “Abuelita. They don’t know where you are.”
“They must by now. I know the mail is slow at home, but I wrote to them. And I’ve been working. People have seen what I’ve done and asked me to paint for them. Soon, I’ll be able to send money to the bank again.”
He stands and takes the teapot from Elena. “I’m trying to apply for a green card. And one day, I’ll become a citizen. Elena and her friends are studying the law. It may take a long time, but it’s what I want more than anything.”
I nod; his face is filled with hope.
But then I think of the quilt and the guitar in the cave, both gone.
Julian sees my face. “What’s wrong?”
Even after this long night, Julian drives me back to the forest. There’s a strong smell of smoke, and wisps of it float in the air. A patch of trees raising ghostly arms, twisted and bare without their branches. The pine needles underneath are black as licorice.
But the things we left in the cave are safe: Sal’s food, the bottles and cans still fine. And so is Lucas’s guitar, under the painting in the back of the cave. Mami’s quilt is darker and needs washing, but I fold it, holding it up to my face. And Julian runs his hands over it.
We find a place to sit. “How brave you’ve been,” Julian tells me.
Is that true? I’m reminded of Abuelita, who was sure I could find him. Maybe I was stronger than I thought I’d be.
I look across at him, my brother, my friend. How hard it will be to go back home without him.
“Do me a favor?” he asks.
“Sure.”
He pulls a pad out of his pocket. “Bring this home for me?”
I open the small book. It’s filled with drawings of Texas and Arkansas. There are sketches of Mami holding Lucas as a baby, and several of me writing at the kitchen table. On the last page, he’s painted a picture of Abuelita: she’s young, her braid is dark, and her face is unlined.
“Abuelita, the heart of our family.” He taps the book.
“ ‘Everyone has something,’ Abuelita told me. ‘And, Julian, you will be a fine painter.’ ”
He touches the book. “I hope that will be true.”
I nod, because it’s too hard to speak. Abuelita, who wants something for both of us, and Lucas, who will be the musician in the family.
We sit there for a few minutes longer. It may be a long time before we’re together again.
He throws his arm around me for that last second. And then we take everything back to Elena’s. There’s enough room for all of us to sleep, and that’s what I do, the small book tucked away in my pocket.
I walk to Sal’s and tell him I’ve found my brother and I’m going home.
“Wonderful!” He tilts his head. “I’ll miss you, though.”
I nod, then sweep the back and the front, even in the corner. I make sure there’s no dust in the cabinets. I unpack the few cartons that are piled up near the door and put the canned food on the shelves.
And then it’s time to leave.
Sal throws his arms around me. “You’re a good guy, Matty. Anyone will give you a job.”
I think of Miguel. “I hope so.”
Sal hands me a bag he’s filled with marshmallow cookies and bottles of water. There are cans of fruit swimming in juice, and small packages of peanuts.
“Everything you’ll need for your trip, I hope,” he says.
He gives me money, too. Maybe I shouldn’t take it, but I know I’ll need it. “Thank you,” I say. I realize I’ve understood every word, and answered exactly right.
Well, almost.
Sal is chewing his mustache, trying not to smile, so I tell him goodbye in Spanish. “I’ll write a letter to you someday, and send you my first book.” He doesn’t understand that, of course. It’s hard to speak more than one language.
By the time I head back to Elena’s house, it’s almost night and she’s cooking a special dinner. I hurry, thinking about what I’ll say to Angel.
She’s sitting on a bench in the sweet-smelling garden. I slide in next to her. “It’s time to go home,” I say.
She nods. “Home.” I can hear how much she wants it.
“You’ll see your grandfather. You’ll be able to go to school now. We’ll cross the border together.”
She stares at Elena’s flowers; then I hear the sound of her wonderful laugh. “You can’t cross the border alone? You can’t even do that by yourself ?”
I grin too. “I guess not.”
“I’ll have to do it, then. You’ll get lost by yourself.” She roots around in the bag from Sal and opens the cookies.
We talk through dinner. I tell Julian about Lucas and his music; I tell him that a cat hangs around and I might give her a nam
e. I tell him about Miguel and that I’m determined to get my job back.
He talks about his painting. He wants the world to know about our country, and so every piece he does has something of us.
Later, I put my few things in a backpack, and then Julian and I walk to the forest in the dark. It’s windy tonight, and the sharp, piney smell is in the air. I breathe it in, watching the doe as she lies under the trees, almost covered. I think she might be having her fawn, but I won’t be here to see it. I won’t see the bobcat that hissed at me, or the groundhog that lumbers along the paths.
It’s really late now, and I’m tired. I run my fingers through the branches, feeling the soft green needles in my hands, and snap off a small twig to take home with me.
“Goodbye, forest,” I say aloud without thinking, and Julian rests his hand on my shoulder. The deer doesn’t move, and I back away, not wanting to disturb her.
At Elena’s house, I curl up on the couch.
Last time.
Julian calls Felipe to say that we’re coming, and then he and Elena put us on the bus to Samson, a long trip. When we get off, our water is gone, and most of Sal’s food and the lunch Elena packed for us. But Felipe is waiting for us at the station, and takes us home, ready to fill us with bacon and eggs. He grins at us. “You’re lucky. Friends of mine are driving south tomorrow and will take you with them. It will be an easier trip this time.”
We follow him into the kitchen and can hardly wait as he fries up eggs for us.
“I’m ready to go home,” I say as we shovel in the food.
Angel and I smile at each other. “It’s easier going south than north,” she says. “We belong there, after all.”
I want to tell Angel I’ll miss her, but she knows.
After we eat, we memorize addresses. Her grandfather’s place is hours away from mine. A small distance for travelers like us.
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Now that I know where you live, look for me. You’ll see me one day.”
“I will,” I say, and I really will. “I’ll never forget you, Angel.”
She reaches out to hug me, not saying a word. I hug her too, Angel, my best friend.
The crossing and the desert are ahead of us, but I’m not afraid. And then I’ll be taking the train with Felipe’s friends.
—
Angel and I say a last goodbye in the car. Soon I’ll go down Creek Road, the slow-moving water at my side, the trees over my head. I’ll see my sky-blue house, and Julian’s painting on every wall. The cat will come to greet me, its sharp claws on my legs.
I’ll open the door. “Is anyone here?” I’ll call, then they’ll surround me, Mami and Abuelita, Lucas yelling “Mateo!” as I put the guitar in his hands.
We’ll sit at the table and look at Julian’s drawings. They’ll all be crying. I suppose I’ll be crying too, but the tears will be mostly happy.
I’ll go into the bedroom I share with Lucas and put the sprig of pine on the table between us.
Later, I’ll go to the factory. I’ll tell Miguel how sorry I am about the car. I’ll ask him to give me one more chance. “I’m a good worker now.” I think he’ll say yes.
But there’s one more thing. I’ll write about what has happened, the north and the south, and Julian, and Angel.
Someday.
My eyes are closing as I listen to the sound of the motor and try to breathe in that close dark air. I’m almost asleep.
Dreaming, Mateo. That’s it. I’m lost in dreams.
I see our house, which tilts against the creek; it’s miles behind me, weeks behind me. I hear Abuelita’s voice as she reads to me. My little brother, Lucas, dances around the kitchen. Beans simmer on the stove. Oh, and Mami’s arms fold themselves around me….
Patricia Reilly Giff is the author of many beloved books for children, including the Kids of the Polk Street School books, the Friends and Amigos books, and the Polka Dot Private Eye books. Several of her novels for older readers have been chosen as ALA-ALSC Notable Children’s Books and ALA-YALSA Best Books for Young Adults. They include The Gift of the Pirate Queen; All the Way Home; Water Street; Nory Ryan’s Song, a Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators Golden Kite Honor Book for Fiction; and the Newbery Honor Books Lily’s Crossing and Pictures of Hollis Woods. Lily’s Crossing was also chosen as a Boston Globe–Horn Book Honor Book. Her most recent books are Winter Sky, Gingersnap, R My Name Is Rachel, Storyteller, Wild Girl, and Eleven, as well as the Zigzag Kids series. She lives in Connecticut.
Patricia Reilly Giff is available for select speaking engagements. To inquire about a possible appearance, please contact the Penguin Random House Speakers Bureau at
[email protected].
Patricia Reilly Giff, Until I Find Julian
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