Tears rolled harder as the block of Spanish in the middle of the inverted number triangle blurred. “Val, you don’t have to—”
Moving my finger down the left side of his ribcage, he ran it around the petals of a wilted white lily. “This is for my mother. Her name was Liliana.” Shifting my hand, it trailed horizontally over the sword which pierced through the petals and through another lily, smaller in size and shaded black on his right ribcage. “This is for my sister. Her name means dark little one.”
A long pause followed his last explanation, and I watched his back rise rapidly as his breathing escalated. “Val, please stop. I don’t need to hear anymore.” I didn’t. The personal pain etched in each work of art painted on his skin ripped a new hole in my already destroyed heart.
“The bird with its talons on the sword is a phoenix,” he explained as if I hadn’t spoken. His eyes glazed over, transported to another time and place. “The phoenix rises from the ashes and rebuilds what was destroyed.” The muscle in Val’s jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together with repressed anger.
“And the Spanish at the bottom?” I heard myself ask, unaware I’d even formed the words.
“La venganza es mía. Yo pagaré.”
“What does that mean?”
Val hesitated a moment before finally turning his chin over his shoulder and pinning me with a pained stare. “Vengeance is mine. I will repay.”
“I shouldn’t have pried into your personal life.” Touching him suddenly felt disrespectful, and I quickly removed my hand from his skin.
Staring through me, Val gripped a handful of the blanket and squeezed until his knuckles turned white. “My mother was a saint, Eden. She tried harder than any woman I’ve ever known to combat the evil she saw around her with the goodness inside of her.”
“Was?”
“She’s dead.” His hand moved to my hair as he ran his hand down the length of it. “Close your eyes, Cereza. I’m going to tell you a story, and it isn’t one of your American fairy tales that ends with a happily ever after.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Valentin
Mexico City, Mexico
August 1993
I lined all my toy soldiers up on the windowsill. My small fingers pointed a pretend gun at them and I made the pashew sound as my finger gun knocked them down one by one.
“Valentin! Put those plastic men away. You need to come set the table for dinner.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I watched her balance the baby on one hip and shuffle white breakable plates on the other. I was a good boy. I liked to help. It made me feel important.
“Coming, mamá.” Sweeping the soldiers into my toy basket with one arm, I scrambled into the kitchen and took the plates from my mother. She rewarded me with a smile and ruffled my hair with her nails.
“You’re such a big help, Valentin. Thank you.”
“Of course, mamá.” I carefully placed the dishes on the table, counting them to myself as I centered them on the red woven placemats. I hesitated, not sure whether I should make her angry by asking about him, but my curiosity got the best of my manners. “Mamá, why are there only three plates?”
She buckled the baby in the high chair, and the smile dropped from her face. I didn’t like it when she stopped smiling. She’d been doing that too much lately.
“Tonight, it will be just you, me, and your Tía Pilar, son. Now, go wash up before we eat.”
Mamá taught me manners. I knew I should go wash my hands and stop asking questions, but I needed to know why he hadn’t been home lately.
“Where is papá? He hasn’t been home in weeks. Is it because I’ve been a bad boy? Have I asked too many questions?” I should’ve run. I should’ve gone to wash my hands before she could get mad at me too, but I stood rooted in my spot, just staring at her. I missed my papá.
She sighed slowly and fell to her knees. I backed up, scared of what she might do. When papá fell to his knees, usually it was to belt me. I didn’t like the belt. It hurt.
“Valentin,” she said, gently holding my hands. Mamá was always gentle. “Your father had to go away for a while.”
Her words scared me. “But…but…who will be our papá?”
A small smile pulled at her lips, warmness radiating from her hands as they held mine. “He’s still your papá. That will never change. He just got called away for a bit.”
I could feel my lip quiver. I wanted to be brave for mamá. I tried to hide it. “When will he be back?”
“I don’t know. But until he comes back, I need you to be a brave soldier. Can you do that for me, Valentin? Can you be my brave soldier?”
I thought about my toy soldiers from the window. I made them battle and win wars. They were brave because I made them that way. I missed papá, but I could be brave for mamá—just like my soldiers.
“Yes, mamá. I’ll be brave,” I said, shaking my head. “Until papá comes back, I’ll protect you and Ana.”
After dinner, I helped clean up the dishes for mamá and Tía Pilar like the brave solider I promised to be. I even cleaned up all my toy soldiers and got a bath all by myself. Curled up in my big boy bed, I’d almost drifted off to sleep when I heard it.
Pashew Pashew Pashew.
Excitement rushed through me. Had my toy soldiers started fighting without me?
Climbing out of bed, I rushed to my toy chest, and ripped off the lid. Confused, I stared down at perfectly placed soldiers, still in the box where I left them before bed.
Pashew Pashew Pashew.
My fingers tightened around my toy box as screams tore through the house, followed by men yelling words I didn’t understand. I started crying because the noise scared me, then I cried harder because I knew I wasn’t being a brave soldier.
Mamá needed a brave solider.
Reaching into my toy box, I grabbed the general and held him tight. He would protect me. The general protected all the army in battle. He would protect mamá.
Opening my door, I rubbed my eyes as I walked down the hall. Men still shouted and I thought I heard Tía Pilar scream, but I couldn’t be sure.
That was, until I walked into the living room.
At least five men in black held guns just like my army men, only their guns lit up my house. Tía Pilar lay sleeping on the floor in a puddle of red Jell-O.
I liked Jell-O.
I took two steps forward when mamá screamed.
“Valentin! Be a fireman, Valentin! Do as I say! Five alarm fire! Be a fireman now!”
I didn’t want to move. The man had mamá pinned down on her back. They looked like they were wrestling. I liked wrestling.
“Valentin! Go!”
I didn’t like disobeying mamá’s orders. Nodding, I turned when I saw one of the other men in black pick up one of the guns and start to chase me. A funny feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Something didn’t feel right.
“Valentin! Please! Be a fireman, now!” Mamá screamed again, and something in her voice made me run. I ran fast as the man chased me.