Randy White - Night Vision

Tula had stood her ground, looking into the woman’s eyes as she approached. Tula was unafraid, for, in that instant, she experienced something strange. She sensed the Maiden melding into her body, bringing with her a heart so strong that Tula felt a profound and joyous confidence that she had never before experienced.

“Sisters?” she had asked the Maiden.

Yes. Even when you leave this life for the next.

Tula had doubted the promise at first but now she knew they were Jehanne’s own true words.

As the matron drew near, Tula had smiled, saying softly, “Strike me if you wish, but I will only turn the other cheek. First, though, tell me why you are so angry. Do you hate me for what I said? Or do you hate me because what I said is true?’

The matron had sworn at her and swung the stick in warning but then stepped back because Tula did not flinch. Still smiling, Tula had said to the woman, “Do you remember the goodness of God that you felt as a child? He is still there, in your heart. Why do you fight Him so?”

That stopped the matron, and she listened more closely as Tula told her, “You came to El Norte because you love your family. God knows that. It is the same with everyone here, is it not? Only you know how painful it is to be a mother or father who cannot afford food for their children’s table.

“But do you also understand how hurtful it is to lose your mother in exchange for a bundle of pesos sent weekly from the United States? Children need their parents more than money or food-that’s why I’m here. I have come to lead my family home.”

Then Tula had asked the woman, “Who did you leave behind? A son? A daughter?”

The woman’s expression transitioned from anger to uncertainty. “What business is that of yours, stupid child?”

Tula was aware of the Maiden inside her, exploring the woman’s thoughts, but the Maiden did not share what she was learning.

“You left behind a husband and children,” Tula guessed, feeling her own way. “You planned to return, but here you are. How many years has it been?”

It took a full minute before the matron spoke, but she finally did. “Two children,” the woman replied, sounding weary now and a little unnerved. “Our first child, she died, so there were three, not two.”

The woman looked at the group as she added, “I must stop saying that I have only two children. My third child, her name was Alexandra, but only for nine days. She is with God now. I should have told you this.”

Tula had glanced at the man with whom the woman had been sitting and knew he wasn’t her husband. The woman was an adulteress, but Tula did not say it. For some reason, she felt kindly toward the woman despite the woman’s sins and respected her sadness.

Instead, Tula said, “You are a good women, I feel that is true. It has been several years since you have seen your family, yet you have not abandoned them. I know I’m right, I can see God’s own goodness in your eyes. You are a devoted mother. How many times a month do you send money?”

The woman replied, “Every week, I cash my check at the Winn-Dixie, then pay cash to the Western Union clerk at the cigarette counter. At Christmas, I send three checks. In four years, I have never missed a week. Even though my husband has taken another woman, I still send the money.”

As an aside to the adults the woman added, “I’ve heard that my children now call this new woman mother. It is something I have been ashamed to share. I don’t know why I am telling you now.”

When Tula reached to place her hand on the matron’s shoulder, the woman shrugged the hand away, getting angry again-angry not at Tula but because she was so close to tears.

“Leave me alone,” the woman said. “We are adults, we’ve worked hard all day in the fields. Now we are relaxing, what business is this of yours? Go play with your little penga instead of harassing good men and women.”

“Maybe you know my family,” Tula had pressed. “My mother’s name is Zabillet. Here, people call her Mary. My brother’s name is Pacaw, but sometimes Pablo. He left home six months ago. I have two aunts and an uncle in Florida, too, but I don’t know where.”

The woman seemed to be paying attention as Tula added, “My mother came to El Norte four years ago, when I was only eight. Like you, she sent money every week. There is a phone booth outside the tienda in our village, and every Sunday night I was there, waiting, when she called. Two months ago, though, my mother stopped calling. And the number to her cell phone no longer works.”

“It’s because of the coyotes and the field bosses,” a man sitting nearby explained. “They control us by controlling our telephones. Everyone knows that, unless you’re stupid. You must be stupid. Why does that surprise you?”

Tula replied, “It doesn’t surprise me. Not now. Not since I’ve learned how the Mexican coyotes cheat us. They charge us pesos to come to El Norte. Then they charge us dollars to provide us with work and a place to sleep, and a telephone that they can disable at any time. But when my mother stopped calling, I knew something was wrong.”

Sounding impatient, another man said, “We were enjoying ourselves before you interrupted. Now you stand here, asking rude questions. Our Indigena sisters and brothers arrive in Florida every day, but we don’t ask their names. We mind our own business. If you have lost your mother, go to Indiantown and ask the Indigena there. Or go to Immokalee. It is only an hour’s drive in a truck.

“If your mother is in Florida,” the man continued, “the Maya of Immokalee and Indiantown will know-there are many thousands of us in those villages. Now, please get out of my sight. I did not work all day in the sun to have my beer interrupted by a disrespectful child who criticizes his elders.”

Immokalee.

Tula had heard of the town, of course. It was one of the last places her mother had lived prior to her disappearance. Tula had heard of Indiantown, too. Everyone in Guatemala knew of these villages because they were the largest Mayan settlements in Florida. In these places, Tula had heard, the Indigena sang the old songs and spoke the ancient language, not the bastard tongue of the Mexicans.

Tula said to the man, “I appreciate your advice, but you are wrong about me being disrespectful. I said what I said, but the words are not mine. You do not understand who I am. Look at me closely, perhaps you will.”

“The nerve of this mericon!” one of the men chided. “He is a dirty little faggot. See how he poses and struts, as if he is more important than his elders?”

“Doubt me if you wish,” Tula said in a firm voice, “but I will not listen to your profanities. Look at me. Don’t just use your eyes, use your heart also. I have been sent here by my patron saint. I am unworthy, just a stupid child. But I am also an instrument of God. So be careful how you speak to me.”

There! She had finally said aloud what she had never had the courage, or conviction, to share with anyone. Tula was afraid for a moment how the people would react.

She could feel the adults looking at her, their faces suspended above the fire as brown as wooden masks worn at festival time in the Mayan mountains. As the men and women stared, Tula felt her body transforming as she stood erect, chin angled, and she wondered if the adults would correctly perceive the changes that were taking place within her.

It was something that Sister Lionza had been teaching Tula at the monastery, the art of projecting thoughts-the first hint that the nun was preparing her for membership in the Culta de Shimono.

Thoughts are energy. Our thoughts are sparks from God’s eyes. Devote your thoughts to an image. Picture that image with all your heart. Soon others will see, with their eyes, the image that lives in your mind.