For all her seeming giddiness about love, Maria must have been a good teacher. All six of her students had passed their first tests and were well on their way to taking the second. My envy of her looks and warm personality gave way to my envy of her success. But she never lorded it over me.
“I’m just lucky. My students are all so eager,” she said. “They are easy to teach.”
In the midst of my discouragement, there were wonderful moments. I remember when it was old Dunia’s turn to read a paragraph. She pushed her glasses back up on the bridge of her nose and, with a finger on each word, she struggled through the two-sentence paragraph. Then she went back to the beginning and read the paragraph again. Then a third time, the pitch of her voice going up with excitement as she tore through the short passage. She raised her head, her eyes wide behind the thick lenses. “I can read!” she cried out. “I can read!”
“Yes,” I said. “You can read. You have been reading for quite some time, but you didn’t realize it.”
Everyone began to laugh and clap. I may have been the only one with tears in my eyes. I must write home about this, I thought. My parents must be told how wonderful it is to witness such ecstasy and to know that you have played a part in creating it. And, of course, I could hardly wait until Sunday to tell Esteban and Lilian and the rest of the squad about my triumph.
Some weeks after the Acostas had joined our class, Joaquin offered the use of their horse, Bonita, for Maria and me to ride to our Sunday meetings with our advisers. Neither of us had ever ridden a horse before, but the Acostas’ old mare was as gentle as Joaquin had promised — and slow, really slow. We might have gotten there faster on our own two feet, but we couldn’t risk hurting Joaquin’s feelings. He seemed so proud to have something to offer the teachers. Besides, horseback riding was one more thing to add to the long list of things I was learning in the mountains.
That particular Sunday morning, I was especially impatient as I waited outside Maria’s house, bursting as I was to tell everyone about Dunia’s triumphant accomplishment. But for Maria, Sunday was the day she would see Enrico, so, as usual, she was spending a long time brushing her hair and primping. If either of us had owned any makeup, I’m not sure if we’d have gotten to the weekly meetings before noon.
One look at the alarmed faces awaiting our arrival, and my high spirits crashed to the ground before we had even dismounted. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
For a moment, each one waited for someon
e else to speak. Then Lilian said softly, “Tie up the horse and come inside. We need to talk.”
I did as she directed and followed the advisers and the other latecomers into the largest house in the village. We squeezed into the front room, which was already jammed with uniformed bodies. About half of the squad had spilled over into the adjoining room. The few kitchen stools were pushed under the table. No one was attempting to sit down. No one was making a sound.
“The militia was here last night,” Esteban said quietly. “Yesterday they came upon a campsite, obviously one belonging to the counterrevolutionaries. They were able to track down and surround a dozen or so of the bandidos in the hills about ten kilometers from here. But they are sure some of them escaped. Those captured boasted that others would come and kill all the literacy teachers in the area.”
My heart jumped in my chest. I am truly not a brave person.
“Well, that’s good they were captured,” said Juan. “But what will they do with prisoners? There’re no jails around here.”
“They have taken no prisoners,” said Lilian softly.
“Oh,” said Juan.
“But there are still live insurgents out there,” said Esteban, trying to change the subject for those of us imagining yesterday’s brutal scene. “You are to be careful. Maybe stay inside your houses for a few days, just until the militia finds the runaways.”
“But I’m plowing tomorrow!”
“I have to hoe the corn!”
“I’m doing the washing,” I said quietly. Everyone looked at me. They knew that washing had to be done at the riverside, not in a field close to the house.
Esteban shook his head. “Do what you must,” he said. “But do be careful. Don’t wear your uniforms outside your houses. There will be no more Sunday meetings until the militia tells us it is safe to move about the area.”
I can remember how quiet I was on the way to Maria’s house. She kept up a nervous chatter about Enrico. How charming and brave and wonderful he was.
“The picture you took for me? I’m sending it to my parents. I want them to see the beautiful man I am going to marry.”
“Marry? Who? What?”
“Enrico! You weren’t listening to me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. And I was. I hadn’t been listening. “What were you saying?”
This time she repeated, with a trace of impatience in her voice, that she was sending the picture I had taken to show her parents the man she was planning to marry.
I was startled. I had written off all her carrying on as a teenage crush. Nothing more. Finally I said, “Do you really think you’re in love with him?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” she said. “And I know he’s in love with me.”
“Really?” I couldn’t imagine when they had ever been alone together. We always did everything in the big group. How could either of them be sure of anything?