Knitting the Fog Read online

  I was thrilled to see them. I noticed how Mamá got teary-eyed and was the last one to embrace Mamatoya, but she did, nonetheless. I was proud of her. The six of us sat there in silence for a while. It was somewhat awkward, until Tía Soila said, “Weren’t we all hungry?”

  Mamá couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst into tears, her heart broken. She had been holding back for her entire life, since she was six years old, and she finally let it out in front of all of us. I didn’t know what to say or do. None us did. La Negra finally put her hand on Mamá’s back to comfort her.

  I remembered how Mamatoya always said that Mamá didn’t want to live with her in Tactic after she married Don Lalo. That had never made any sense to me. I always wondered why Mamá would’ve wanted to leave her mother’s side at such a young age. That was Mamatoya’s story, but Mamá said that Mamatoya left her behind. And I believed Mamá.

  Mamatoya always had a story to tell at every gathering. And this was no exception. I watched her wring her hands nervously and bite her bottom lip. Her eyes seemed to glaze over while her voice became clear and sharp from her gut.

  “I have suffered all my life,” she began. “Since I was a child. When I was only twelve years old, I was the oldest of five siblings and practically in charge of the household when Mamita gave birth to twins.”

  Mamita was my great-grandmother. Mamatoya sat down on a stool and rubbed her knees together. She sighed heavily and continued her story.

  “She named the boys Hector and Agusto. Everyone in the house loved the twins. They were a rarity, a blessing. Soila was nine, three years younger than me. Mamita gave Hector to Soila and Agusto to me to take care of. It was customary back then to make your older children take care of the younger children.”

  Mamatoya stopped and looked up at a hole in the sheet-metal ceiling, avoiding eye contact with Mamá. We all sat there in silence, waiting for her to go on.

  “I remember when Mamita gave Agusto to me. She said, You’re in charge of him. Don’t drop him! I was to change his pañal and bring him to Mamita every time he needed to be breastfed. I was his babysitter during the day. Mamita would wrap him on my back with a shawl, and I would carry him everywhere I went, whether it be to the store or the river to wash clothes—he went everywhere with me. I loved my little brother.”

  “And I loved Hector,” said Tía Soila.

  Mamatoya took out her handkerchief from her bra to wipe away her tears. “It was as if we both had live dolls to play with. We took good care of our little brothers. We played with them. We changed their dirty clothes. We made sure they got fed on time, every day.” She paused, then cried out, “But it wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t my fault!”

  “No one is blaming you, Toya,” said Tía Soila.

  Mamatoya continued wringing her hands and cracking her knuckles as she spoke.

  “Months went by, and at first the twins grew strong and healthy. But suddenly Agusto became ill with Typhoid fever, and I couldn’t do anything to make him better. I tried all types of remedies on him, but nothing worked. By the time Mamita realized what was happening, it was too late. The only doctor in the village couldn’t do anything, either. Agusto passed away two days later. I never forgave myself.”

  Mamatoya began to sob. I got up and I hugged her. Within a few minutes, she wiped her tears and cleared her throat.

  “Hector lived, and he and Soila became close as they grew older. As I aged, I continued to blame myself for my brother’s death. I felt like I could never take care of another human being. When you were born, Victoria, I was only seventeen, still a child. And when I moved to Tactic with Lalo, I couldn’t make you come live with me. How could I? In my mind, I had killed an innocent child. Who was I to force you?”

  Mamatoya slowly rose from her stool and approached Mamá, taking her hand. Surprisingly, Mamá didn’t pull away. Mamatoya pleaded for forgiveness in front of all of us.

  “I love you,” she said. “I’m so sorry for hurting you, for abandoning you. But I couldn’t force you to live with Lalo and me. I had a tough life. I know it’s no excuse. If I could do things differently, I would. I regret it every day of my life, believe me. Please forgive me.”

  We all sat there crying together. I’m not sure if Mamá forgave Mamatoya. She never responded, only sat there weeping.

  As We Go

  A ti, Madre

  Today,

  I come back to see the years in your face—deep

  lines that spread with your Mona-Victoria smile.

  And you know so well what I seek in you—

  I am here to rest my languid body on your petate of hay,

  I am not searching for pity; I am hungry for faith.

  My body has shattered my soul into rain.

  And I know so well what I seek in you—

  I don’t want to drink your words; I come to immerse myself

  in the river that let me go. Unstitch my hidden veins,

  Madre, unstitch them before I drown.

  EPILOGUE

  ¿Quién soy yo para juzgar? Never have I kneaded the masa in either Mamá’s or Mamtoya’s metate. But I am happy to have been ground so fine in their metate just like the resilient black corn that takes time to cook on the comal.

  When Mamá first left for El Norte, every grown-up told me that it was a matter of life and death. But what did that matter to my seven-year-old mind? When I woke up to find Mamá gone, I was devastated, my heart shattered into pieces. I wondered if a corner of my heart resented Mamá for abandoning me for three years, just like Mamatoya abandoned her when she was six.

  But Mamá was able to stich my heart back together when she returned for us. I now understand how Mamá’s trip to El Norte was ultimately a journey of sacrifice, a sacrifice for us. My heart doesn’t ache anymore. I can only hope that Mamatoya was able to mend Mamá’s heart with her apology, and that her heart isn’t broken anymore.

  I am thankful to have been raised by this pack of matriarchs—a pack of she-wolves. I am the sompopo, I am the diablita, I am the abispa I am today because of Mamatoya, Tía Soila, and Mamá. Women who passed down their hunger for love and forgiveness. These women will always be the tusas, the husk to my corn.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to acknowledge the generous assistance of my mentors at Antioch: Kerry Madden, Gayle Brandeis, Carol Potter, and Todd Mitchell for helping me complete this memoir. I would also like to thank Dr. Matthew Becker for reading my manuscript and offering valuable suggestions. Thank you, Robyn Hernández, for proofreading it; I loved your close reading.

  Thank you to the Feminist Press for supporting the work of women and nonbinary writers of color and also for creating the Louise Meriwether First Book Prize. It’s truly an honor to be the 2018 recipient.

  Thank you to my Escritores: Pluma y Corazón who helped me focus with my poetry and short stories. Yes, that’s you, Robyn, Carlos, Marcos, and my beautiful Nacor. Thank you for meeting once a month, reading my pieces, and giving me precious feedback.

  Furthermore, I would like to thank Victor for his support, encouragement, and gentle patience while we were still married when I began writing some of these poems and essays.

  I cannot forget to thank my family in Guatemala for being unique and full of hunger, especially my mother’s visceral courage. Thank you, Mami, for being so courageous and for sacrificing your life twice for us when crossing the border. You are a true inspiration. Gracias, Amado, for loving all of us.

  Thank you, Mamatoya and Tía Soila, for simply being yourselves: grand and exquisite. Thank you for your childhood stories that completed my story.

  Warmest gratitude to my editor at the Feminist Press, Lauren Rosemary Hook, who’s brilliant and pure magic when it comes to editing.

  Thank you, Josie Mendez-Negrete, for always believing in me. For always having words of encouragement and beauty when it comes to my writing and art.

  Immense gratitude to my partner, Nacor, my love, who allows me to be. Thank you for you
r delicious meals, for nourishing me, for reminding me when to take my meds, for proofreading my work, for your patience, and for understanding this crazy heart of mine.

  A heartfelt thank you to my sisters, Consuelo and Sindy, whom I respect and love con todo corazón. Thank you for allowing me to write about our life, our stories.

  Finally, and most importantly, I would like to thank my daughter, Alexa, for her quietness and tolerance.

  PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED WORK

  I would like to thank the editors of the following online journals, literary journals, and anthologies, in which poems and essays in this book first appeared:

  nineteen sixty nine: an ethnic studies journal

  Chicana/Latina Studies: The Journal of Mujeres Activas en Letras y Cambio Social

  Nobantu Project

  La Noria Literary Journal

  Texas Poetry Calendar

  Mom Egg Review

  Berkeley Poetry Review

  Poetry of Resistance: A Multicultural Anthology in Response to Arizona SB 1070, Xenophobia and Injustice

  Apiary

  La Tolteca

  Somos en escrito: The Latino Literary Magazine

  Southern Humanities Review

  wildness

  The Wandering Song: Central American Writing in the United States

  San Diego Reader

  Fifth Wednesday Journal

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Claudia D. Hernández is a poet, editor, translator, photographer, and bilingual educator born and raised in Guatemala. She holds an MFA in creative writing from Antioch University Los Angeles.

  ABOUT THE FEMINIST PRESS

  The Feminist Press is a nonprofit educational organization founded to amplify feminist voices. FP publishes classic and new writing from around the world, creates cutting-edge programs, and elevates silenced and marginalized voices in order to support personal transformation and social justice for all people.

  See our complete list of books at feministpress.org

  Founded in 2016, The Louise Meriwether First Book Prize is awarded to a debut work by a woman or nonbinary author of color in celebration of the legacy of Louise Meriwether. Presented by the Feminist Press in partnership with TAYO Literary Magazine, the prize seeks to uplift much-needed stories that shift culture and inspire a new generation of writers.

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