Technomancer 19: Tamales

Another page turned. Its crisp sound only served to remind Masa of the passage of time. The tightly bound words residing in two neat columns provided her no answers, and she wondered what great knowledge her father had once found within the bounds of the scriptures. She turned yet another page, feeling even more lost. A few verses brought her guidance; some gave her hope, but most were lost on her, especially those on forgiveness.

Forgiveness was a concept she struggled with, particularly after seeing so much darkness in the world. So many good people had died, leaving behind the bad. Truly evil men had taken control of the population and exploited them to their own ends. Even her Catholic father had stolen her away, stealing away precious time she could have spent with her mother, leaving them strangers. It was hard not to resent them and easy not to forgive them. And if the Christians had been raptured away as the padre said, why were so many good people left behind?

Reaching up, she pulled the hair tie from her hair and reformed the dark brown strands into a loose bun. The sudden movement caused the child to shift within her. She scratched at the growing bulge beneath her shirt. It felt awkward to move about, though her energy had finally returned.

Time was passing—too much time. In the weeks since she had arrived in San Antonio, she and Father Ambrose had discovered no sign of Leron. They had checked the markets, labor camps, and the refugee camps but found nothing. No one had seen or heard of him. The priest had begun to think he must have been conscripted or was perhaps dead. Masa tried not to think about this possibility, but Leron could be outspoken, which often got him into trouble. It was an outcome she had chosen not to entertain, but she was losing hope. Tears filled her eyes, dripping down and wetting the page. She wiped them away, trying to shove the what-ifs back in their dark cage.

Masa gripped the current page before shutting the heavy book. Dinner needed to be checked. She had left it on low heat, bubbling away on the electric stove. It was a luxury she had not had in a long time, along with the electric light which filled the city at night. The opportunity to shower was wonderful. She stood, stretching her back. Everything itched and felt awkward. The added weight only served to make her waddle more than walk.

Wandering down the hall, Masa gazed out at the gardens. The summer heat was in full swing, and the grass was dry and dead. The Cedar trees outside covered the only patch of green in the tiny wasteland. The only thing coming from Father Ambrose’s garden were peppers and okra, which she was preserving and canning. The beautiful tomatoes he grew had long since withered away. Routine had become enjoyable just like Loretta said it would. When did I become this feminine? Still, it was the first place in a long time she’d had to truly call home, and she felt safe.

The smell of spiced beans filled her nose as she entered the kitchen, combined with the scent of fresh flatbread she had made from a recipe earlier that morning. Her mouth watered, and her stomach growled. She picked at the flatbread while stirring the pot on the stove. It satiated her never-ending hunger, and she relaxed.

“It smells good in here,” Father Ambrose said, entering through the kitchen door. “I know you’ve worked hard on this meal, but they gave some extra money today. How about a taste of home instead? Tamales? I heard of a place nearby.”

“Yes, that would be good,” Masa said as overwhelming feelings of homesickness threatened to bring tears to her eyes. A craving like no other took hold of her, and she longed for one. It was where her name had come from. Her father had been fond of them too. She had not had tamales since she had last had dinner with Loretta. No one made tamales like her.

“I’ll help you put that away, and we can go,” he said, “I had the idea while I was driving. Did Leron like tamales too?”

“He does,” Masa said, and a memory took hold of her. Leron, his face stuffed with the corn mixture beside the fire when they camped on the Rio Grande. He had loved them so much he had almost eaten the banana covering. Manuel and Loretta had died laughing. She began to smile and quickly cleaned up. Father Ambrose helped her, storing the pot in the fridge. Soon they were out on the sidewalk, making their way north in the setting sun.

“It is quite a walk. Do you think you can make it?” he asked after they were several blocks over and passing by what was once the golf course, but was now an enormous market. Like with Laredo, the Riverwalk was flooded with walkers and vendors selling wares.

“It’s a bit late for that now,” she pointed out, while struggling to push through the crowd. The stench of body odor was everywhere, and she tried not to breathe in through her nose. “I’m not sure it's worth it.” Father Ambrose didn’t respond. She turned and discovered he had disappeared from view. Most likely pushed back by some of the people. Masa considered searching for him, but she could see the I35 bridge just ahead. Father Ambrose would be headed for it too.

The pain in Masa's side grew, and it felt like her insides were about to fall out. It happened whenever she pushed herself too hard. She had learned to slow down and rest, but it was difficult when things needed to be done. Sweat ran in long streams down her forehead, and she wiped the droplets away, pushing through the last few people and into the shadows of the bridge. She rested against one of the pillars. The cool concrete felt wonderful against her back.

“I finally found you,” cried Father Ambrose. Masa had been drifting off, and she opened her eyes to see him standing above her. He shoved the canteen into her hand, forcing it to her lips. Warm water drifted down her throat, and she began to feel her energy return. “This was a mistake,” he said. “We should have just stayed at the church.”

“No, it's fine. I was just resting,” Masa said.

Father Ambrose offered her his hand. She took it, and he pulled her back onto her feet. The sudden movement woke the child, and it moved again with a vengeance. It was hungry again. Her stomach growled, and she reached for the crackers she kept in her pocket and snacked on them while they continued on their way.

The crowd started to break up on the other side of the bridge. Some people made their way towards the nearest onramp while others ventured further, disappearing along the neighborhood streets in Fort Sam Houston. It took a moment for Masa to realize just how many of them were soldiers, dressed in plain clothes. The round, eagle tattoo, identifying their origin, was inked in along their neck and chin.

After another hour, they arrived outside Alejandro’s Cabana. The parking lot was filled with the smell of home. Cilantro. Chilli. Comino. Masa. She breathed in deeply; it smelled exactly like Loretta’s tent. Following Father Ambrose up the steps, she collapsed into one of the chairs on the porch, panting and wiping the sweat from her brow. She was exhausted and afraid she would not be able to make the trip home. The tamales had better be worth it.

“I’ll find us a table,” he said, and Masa nodded.

The soldiers drinking on the porch laughed. They raised their glasses and cheered her on. One of them tried to speak to her, but she did her best to explain that she still could not speak English. At times, she struggled to understand how quickly Leron had picked up fluency in Spanish. In a month, he had gone from mispronounced words to using longer ones in complex sentences. She couldn’t even get past the basics, though Father Ambrose had tried to help her.

Father Ambrose returned with a woman in tow. Her curly brown hair rested on her shoulder just above the apron she wore, designating her as a server. She smiled and handed Masa a glass of water. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve been through the ringer. I’m Cassie, the owner’s daughter.”

Masa downed the glass of water and struggled back onto her feet. Inside, the smells of home strengthened, and her stomach growled. The air coming down from the fans felt wonderful against her skin.

“Masa?”

Turning, she saw Arion and her mother sitting at one of the tables. He stood, racing over to her and stumbling over tables to get to her.

Masa stared at him, unable to speak.

He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her head onto his chest and clutching her tightly. “We were beginning to give up hope of finding you.”

“I’m here.”

“Who is this?” asked Father Ambrose, approaching and offering Arion his hand.

“This is my friend, Arion from Laredo, and over there is my mother,” she explained and pointed. In response, her mother waved. She turned back to Arion. “How on earth did you get here?”

“Hold on, and I’ll tell you. We need to get you off your feet." His eyes lit up, and he glanced toward the owner's daughter. "Cassie? Can you seat them with us?”

"I can. Right this way," she said, picking up a couple of menus and passing by Arion; her face filling with a warm smile. For a moment, Masa felt a jealous twinge, but it was replaced by relief that Arion would leave her alone.

Masa followed them to the table where her mother was and sat across from her. Arion took the seat beside her and began ordering for the group.

“You seem to have fallen quite hard for the owner,” Masa said beneath her breath once Cassie had left them.

“Why? Are you jealous?” he teased.

“Not at all,” Masa said.

“So,” began Arion, clasping his hand on the table. “You wanted to know how we got here.” He paused, glancing at her mother. She returned his look with a frown, and the hair stood on the back of Masa's neck. Her days as a raid group member left her with a deep sense that something was wrong.

Her mother sighed and broke the silence. “Fine. I’m sorry. I kept it from you, but the car was running all along. I could have taken you anytime. I didn’t want to lose you again, and I had no idea you were pregnant. If you had only told me that would have changed everything. It's not a big deal. We’re all here now.

Masa stared at her, unable to speak. It took everything in her to fight back the tears. Her exhaustion, the shock, and her hunger. It was all too much for her to contain, and she exploded. “Why?! How could you?!” she screamed, slapping her mother from across the table. Tears escaped her eyes, falling quickly down her cheeks. “You knew how desperate I was. I needed to find him, and now it might be too late.”

“I said I was sorry. God, you’re just like your father.”

“I am not! I would never do what he did, and I certainly wouldn’t do what you have done. He stole my time with you, and you stole my time with Leron.” Masa turned to storm out and went face-first into Arion, who, in the chaos, had left his chair to stand behind her.

“This is getting out of hand. Let’s go talk elsewhere,” he said, and Masa was immediately reminded he was at one point training to be a police officer. He wrapped his arm around her and led her toward a separate empty table. “You need to calm down. Don’t you see how you’ve disturbed the others here?”

Around her, the people in the restaurant were staring at her with looks of confusion. When she glared back at them, they looked away, embarrassed. They could look all they wanted. She no longer cared.

“You knew! I know you did,” Masa accused him, sitting across from him. “You were so eager to keep me locked away.”

“I’m sorry, too. I was wrong. We both realized that, when you’d run off at the first opportunity. We’ve been searching all month, but we hadn’t found anything. We thought Leron might be in one of the industrial districts. He was always messing around with old electronics in his spare time. I assumed you knew that and you would be north of 35, searching.”

Masa stared at him, unable to speak. Her rage had disappeared, and she felt nothing but shame. “I…I…” She had not known. Leron had always cared for her and lived in the moment with her. Despite her love for him, she had barely shown that to him. She knew almost nothing about him. The time they kept to themselves in their private space was never shared except when he sought her out on the cliffs or the roof. “I did not know,” she said; her tears returning.

“Masa?” Arion asked, his voice filled with worry. “Masa? Why are you weeping like that?”

“I don’t know,” she lied. “No, that’s not true. I know almost nothing about Leron.”

He reached across the table and took hold of her hand. “We’ve been coming here because I know how much you love tamales. It’s the only place in town that still serves them, so I thought you would arrive here sooner or later. That’s how Cassie and I got to know each other so well. We come almost every other night.”

“That’s why we came here,” Masa sobbed. “Leron loves tamales, too.” And then, Masa told him the story of Leron’s first tamales, and he burst into laughter. She began to laugh too, and her tears quickly disappeared.

Arion nodded. “Do you think we can let all this go and move forward?”

Masa glanced at her mother and nodded.

“Good. Let’s go back and eat. We can give you a ride back to where you are staying. You still look like death. Do you at least approve of me moving on? This is your last chance.”

“I do. She seems nice.”

Father Ambrose and Cassie were deep in discussion when they approached the table. Cassie looked up and scowled at her, but it quickly disappeared when Arion pushed towards her, wrapping his arms around her, dipping her, and meeting her lips with a passionate kiss. The entire restaurant erupted into cheers and laughter.

Masa returned to her seat to discover that the picture she and Father Ambrose had worked to create was laid on the table in front of him.

Her mother glanced at her before staring off outside the window. The hint of a tear remained on her cheek. They had all made it here. She reached across the table and held her mother’s hand. “I forgive you,” she said, and her mother smiled.

“Thank you.”

When Masa looked up from her mother, the revelry surrounding Arion and Cassie's kiss had died down. The two of them and Father Ambrose were engaged in a conversation.

“Order up!” yelled someone from the kitchen, and Cassie rushed off. But not before pulling out her phone, searching for something hidden within it, and handing it to Father Ambrose.

“Masa? Ah, is this your husband?” he asked, placing the phone on the table.

Her mother laughed, “God no. She’s not married. That’s the boy who knocked her up.”

“Mom!”

Father Ambrose sighed, “You know well enough I wouldn’t have cared, Masa. I wish you had told me the truth.”

Masa stared at the image on the screen. It was a picture of Leron in a military uniform with his arm around Cassie. The same tattoo as the other soldiers, running down his neck. He had filled out, and the boyish look in his face had gone, replaced by a hardness she had only seen in Arion. She liked the change. His arm was encased in what appeared to be some sort of metal armour, and she wondered if it was a prosthetic. But, it was still him.

“I can’t believe he became a soldier,” Arion said. “Are those Captain’s stripes? How the hell did he get that far that fast? It's only been four months.”

Masa couldn’t understand it either. She was speechless. It was more than she had expected. What had happened to him? He would never agree to fight of his free will. Was he being forced to? She had to rescue him and get him home.

Cassie returned, placing a pile of tamales in front of them with plates all around. The scent of corn and spices reminded her of home, and fresh tears filled her eyes. They drifted down onto the plate below.

Her mother snorted. “Looks like you’ve got mood swings. Eat and you’ll feel better.”

“Is that what’s wrong with her?” asked Arion.

Her mother nodded.

Masa mostly ignored them, chowing down on the sweet flavor. She thought of Loretta and her father. A warm feeling came over her and a sense of fullness which made her sleepy.

Cassie pulled a chair from the table nearby and sat down beside Arion. “The man you are looking for comes here on the weekend. He eats tamales, reads over work he brings with him late into the night, and then stays to help me clean up. He doesn’t say much and keeps to himself. I’ve never seen someone eat so many tamales, and I don’t understand why he insists on covering them with ketchup.”