Sahuaritos

Arizona,

2012

Ay my dear Yolis,

This is not a letter.

“For the sahuaros, grandma?”

“Yes. For the orphans of the Sonoran desert. When are you coming with me to the ranch apacito? Don’t you want to see the sahuaritos?”

“I’m scared of them grandma. What if they sting me?”

“How are they gonna sting you apacito?”

The first two abandoned you, and I betrayed you. As if I didn’t know. I would’ve loved to be the one on the train. Ay, Fernanditos…

Dear Yolanda,

May you be the sweetest girl in town.

From Daisaku

2nd September 1968

You had a dream about it. On top of the Tetakawi, a man chose you. “Over your land laughter will rise, and all those people down there will thank you.”

I knew how much your first donation meant to you and still I…

I was the first person you called. You didn’t call your daughters. You called me to tell me all about it. “There’s three of them,” you said. “They’re interested in Jesus’ Dreams. They sent a check of twenty thousand dollars to my name. Can you believe it apacito? Twenty thousand dollars!” Your voice, an explosion; a meteorite against the great desert of Altar, to the east of the Gulf of California, just below the border of Arizona, The Pinacate. And still I…

And still you worried about me. “I don’t care about the money. But why would he need all that money? Is he lost in drugs?”

“A, you took the money.” She said. “Your grandma already knows. She saw you go into her room the last time we were there. You better accept it.” I just sat there in the back seat of the car. My eyes started to plop, plop, plop. Her eyes as if the universe went mad, through the rearview mirror, two supernovas. Your star, your little star.

M.

“Her eyes had seen it,” You told me. “The flare. Pa allá pal fondo del rancho, Your mother saw it. And your uncle saw it as well. I’m already getting that metal detector thing so we can go look for the french treasure. It’s eighty acres but it doesn't matter. It’s hidden there somewhere, and you and I are gonna go get it. Gases sprout when there's gold under the earth, and the sun ignites the gases as if not wanting the coins to shine more than him; warning us so we can go and find them, and spend them all at the casino. That way they’ll rot.”

Dear Mrs. Yolanda Laguna,

Here’s twenty thousand dollars for your orphanage/non-profit. Hide them. Someone’s going to steal one thousand and spend it all on Black Devil cigarettes.

From Ebay.

2012

Palladium. They taste like chocolate.

INT. FIVE MINUTE DREAM — AFTERNOON

A. stands at the table, looks up, walks over to him, gets one of his boxing gloves off. Grandma tosses the boxing glove out the window. I move into the room. She angrily turns and disappears. A. goes to the closet. A. can hardly speak. Grandma turns down the alley and removes her finger from the trigger. A. counts the money when he gets home.“For the sahuaritos, grandma.” A. turns to the back seat, A’s eyes are as big as saucers. Yolanda lights up a cigarette. “It tastes like vanilla.” She says. Two pedestrians eating pitahayas. Por ahí, no muy lejos. Por Guaymas, las Guasimas, Stone Cross, The Croix de piedra.

“Where are we?”

“Imuris, señor.”

“We’re almost there.”

At the checkpoint. A guy from the military asks,“How much cash are you carrying with you, sir?”

“One thousand dollars.”

“Where did it come from?”

“I stole it from my grandma.”

“Desgraciado, infeliz.”

This is not a letter.

This is the last page from a black little notebook I am going to use to write down whatever comes to my mind about what I did. This is the last page. I have ripped them all. I won’t buy another one. C'est fini.

I’m so sorry, my dear Yolis.

A.