Free What the Moon Saw by Laura Resau Page B

make my voice sound casual. “I met a boy.” It ended up sounding too melodramatic. So I shrugged and mumbled, “He saved me from scorpions.”
    Abuelo looked up from his sewing. “What?”
    I blushed. Now I’d made him sound like a heroic prince who’d rescued me.
    “Scorpions,” Abuelita said, raising an eyebrow. Not much surprised her besides diet dog food. “Who was the boy?”
    “I don’t know. He was about my age. He had a lot of goats with him. He was wearing red pants that were too big for him.” I didn’t say anything about his smell.
    “It must be Pedro.” Abuelo glanced at Abuelita. “You think so,
mi vida
?”
    She nodded. “Yes, it was Pedro.” She poured hot chocolate into our brown clay cups.
    I took a sip, breathed in the cinnamon-chocolate steam. “So, who is he?”
    “Past the cornfield, a few hills over is where he lives. With his mother. Only the two of them.” Abuelo knotted the thread and bit off the end with his teeth. “All alone, she raised him.”
    “His great-grandmother was a dear friend of mine,” Abuelita said. “Since he was born I have known him. Since he was this tall”—she held her finger at knee level—“he has had the gift of music.”
    Music? I wanted to know more but was too embarrassed to ask: How old was he? Why did he wear those shiny old-man loafers? Did he go out every day with the goats? Would I run into him again on the mountain?
    As though she’d heard my thoughts, Abuelita said, “Oh, you will see him again, Clara. Of this I am certain.”

    The following day on the mountain, after hours of wandering, I thought I saw Pedro and his goats on the next mountain over. A tiny patch of red and a bunch of white and black dots moved through the brush. For some reason, my pulse quickened. He was too far away for me to call out to. I just squinted at him until he disappeared over the top of the mountain.
    I didn’t come across the waterfall, either, but I did find some bluish green mushrooms and tiny snails, which I sketched in my book. The caption read
Remember These, Dad?
He loved small, unexpected things in nature. He always marveled over the undersides of mushroom caps and squinted for minutes at the smooth spiral of snail shells.
    I was wary of scorpions now. I inspected every rock carefully before I sat down. But I did feel prepared, since Abuelita had made me bring along a bunch of garlic to keep snakes and spiders and scorpions away. She said they couldn’t stand the smell of garlic. “In all my years on this earth,” she said, “no creature has poisoned me, and this is why. Garlic! Garlic,
mi amor.
I go nowhere without garlic.” She wanted me to keep it in my pocket, but I was afraid my jeans would get stinky, so as a compromise we decided I’d keep it in my backpack.
    That night, halfway through our hot chocolate, Loro screeched so suddenly we all jumped.
“¡Ánimo, Silvia! ¡Ánimo, doña Carmen!”
    “Loro is making a demand,” Abuelo said. “A demand to hear more of your grandmother’s story.” He gave a sideways glance at Abuelita.
    “Yes! Who are these people?” I asked. “I still don’t know. Silvia, and doña Carmen?”
    Abuelita squinted, gazing into the fire, as though it were an old photograph. “Well, first you must know the path that led me to the city…,” she began.
    I got comfortable, wrapped my fuzzy green sweater around my shoulders, and tucked my knees under my chin. I watched Abuelita’s eyes turn younger and younger as she talked, until her face became as fresh as a girl’s, her whole life before her.

Helena
    S UMMER 1935–F ALL 1937
    F or years, Clara, my life was drenched with aromas of herbs and spices. Day after day I hovered by the fire, tending to pots and stirring with my long wooden spoon. Stirring cinnamon into hot chocolate. Stirring oregano into soup. Stirring lemongrass into tea. Only a few precious hours in the afternoons were mine. I would slip away from my kitchen chores and find Ta’nu.