Praying for and Eclipse: Father Sun: Praying For an Eclipse

By Guillermo Marquez-Sterling

Meet Santi and Javi, two boys from the slums of Guatemala City. Their mother’s ties to the MS-13 gang places their lives in imminent danger. The boys are descendants of Suré, an indigenous Tarahumara woman, who passed down the Rarámuri belief of praying to Mother Moon and Father Sun. The brutal violence that defines gang life in Guatemala, forces Santi and Javi to flee their homeland, riding on top of a freight train – dubbed La Bestia – on a dangerous journey across Mexico.

Praying for an Eclipse: Father Sun is the second book in a three-part series that narrates the compelling lives of a Mexican family, seeking to be reunited through the mystical power of an eclipse. It is a gut-wrenching portrayal of the Central American realities that force thousands of people each year to leave behind their homes and migrate to the U.S. in search of a better life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Rose Writing
• Release date: Apr 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540105530

Book preview

Praying for an Eclipse: Father Sun

Book Two of a Three-Part Series

Guillermo Márquez-Sterling

© Copyright Guillermo Márquez-Sterling 2018

Black Rose Writing | Texas

© 2018 by Guillermo Márquez-Sterling

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

First digital version

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Print ISBN: 978-1-68433-055-3

PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING

www.blackrosewriting.com

Print edition produced in the United States of America

To Karina, Carlos and Natalia, the fruit of my love,

the embrace of my dreams,

the stars shinning in my darkness,

reminding me to be grateful.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

PREFACE

Descendants of Suré

PROLOGUE - Sor Maria de las Mercedes

CHAPTER ONE - Second Chances

CHAPTER TWO - Kuira-Ba

CHAPTER THREE - Praying for an Eclipse

CHAPTER FOUR - Lucia and Diego

INTERLUDE - Ariché

CHAPTER FIVE - Crossing Mexico

CHAPTER SIX - Rising Waters

Historical Notes to the Reader

BRW Info

PREFACE

In the summer of 2014, a collective gasp was released nationwide as we learned of children approaching the U.S. border without a parent by their side. These unaccompanied minors came from Central American cities and traveled across Mexico to reach the safety and security of a nation with mythological powers. It is difficult to understand the desperation required for a parent to send a child on such a perilous journey. It is difficult to imagine the long-term psychological effects such a journey has on a child.

I was fortunate during that summer to meet several teenage survivors of that journey as well as the lawyers who successfully argued for their admission into our nation. That exchange led to the inspiration for this trilogy, Praying for an Eclipse. In Book One, Mother Moon, we meet Suré, an indigenous woman from Northern Mexico, who was the victim of sexism, classism, and racism. Her descendants in Book Two, Father Sun, live in abject poverty, leading them to participate in the immigration crisis of 2014. Book Three, The Eclipse, narrates the efforts of the humanitarians who worked tirelessly to meet the needs of the unaccompanied minors in that immigration wave.

Praying for an Eclipse has been described as a spiritual book. Closer to the truth, it is a story of people who are spiritual. A careful observer would notice that Central American immigrants wear their spirituality the way poor fishermen wear resilience. It is the garment that keeps them hopeful.

Although writing is mostly a solitary experience, I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the direct and indirect contributions to the writing of this trilogy. I need to thank Dr. Gail Burnaford, whose initial reading of the manuscript led to a focused rewriting. I am most thankful to Patty Shillington for her editing skills and words of encouragement. Most importantly, I need to thank my beautiful wife, Maria, who listened to the ramblings of my mind on a daily basis and never revealed how tiresome it must have been. Last, but not least, I must acknowledge the work of Americans for Immigrant Justice, attorneys Raquel Matas, Cheryl Little and Ira Kurzban, and the immigration stories of Lila Dominguez and countless other refugees, who served as my muse.

Guillermo Márquez-Sterling

Descendants of Suré

Suré

(1904 – 1984)

Married 1922 in Sierra Madre MountainsMarried 1936 in Veracruz

Leandro José Ortega y Padilla Manolo Corrales

       (1894 – 1926)         (1890 – 1937)

Children: Rahui José Ortega Child: Manuel Corrales

       (1923 – 2004)         (1937 -1939)

Ariché María Ortega -------- Gustavo Vega

(1925 – 2015)          (1935 – 1991)

    Married 1952 in Northern Mexico

        Children: Ana (1943 miscarriage)

Sofia (1952 -)

Soledad (1953 -)

Giselle (1954 -)

Gustavo (1955 – 1971)

Leandro (1956 -)

Leandro Jr. Ortega----------María Rodriguez

(1927 – 2014)               (1932 – 1996)

    Married 1948 in Southern Mexico

        Children: María (1950 -)

Rahui (1958 -)

Suré Ortega (1960 -)-------- Diego Lajas (1959-2014)

   Married 1982 in Guatemala City

      Children: Mercedes (1984 – 2014)

         Lucia (1986-)

Children of Lucia Lajas (no husband)

Santiago Lajas (2002 -)

Javier Lajas (2006 -)

Suré Lajas (2013-)

PROLOGUE

Sor Maria de las Mercedes

I have a vivid recollection of me as a child, age eight or so, getting lost. It was one of those moments when I allowed my mind to wander while my feet were still moving. I was but inches away from my mother’s hand, but my mind was in another realm. When I awoke from the daydream I was surrounded by strangers. It was but a brief moment in my childhood, chronologically speaking, yet it was eternal, for it stirred a feeling I was unfamiliar with: anxiety. Do you remember the first time you experienced anxiety? How old were you, and how long did it take to believe those reassuring words, Everything will be all right?

Anxiety: I have the antidote. I really do. I offer it with those encouraging words, Everything will be all right. The question many people don’t ask is, How long will it take for things to be all right? Sadly, most people are drowning in despair and need to be rescued immediately. Most people don’t have the patience to wait for conditions to change, and an anxious energy defines them. I presume Ariché has the antidote too. I cannot imagine her fretting. There is a calming energy that flows through her words, steps and beautifully wrinkled face. At first, I thought this to be a trait of old age. I think now it is a trait of wisdom absorbed from the vibrations that follow the shocks of life.

Today I see her in the marketplace, roaming very slowly from vendor to vendor. She does not inspect the T-shirts declaring a love for New York. She is looking beyond the wares, examining the faces of children turned into professional beggars. She searches for a missing child as if he belongs to her, but by her own admission she doesn’t even know what he looks like. She only has a name and a story. My heart breaks, for I realize it is not about the missing boy.

Ariché knows why the child is missing. She understands why he runs. It’s a family trait that has been passed down the generations. The decision to send that child on an impossible journey to a foreign and hostile land was set in motion several generations earlier, and the penury that pushed this child from his home began with circumstances no longer remembered. Ariché knows this. Which is why she is roaming through the sea of faces, searching for the one child she can save.

"Ariché, que haces? What are you doing?" I say to her as I approach.

Sor Maria? She turns and looks up at me. "¡Que placer! She smiles, and joy flows through her wrinkles. You’ve caught me doing my daily exercises."

You like to walk here? Don’t you think it is too congested?

I don’t like to walk here or anywhere, but I know I must or one day my bones won’t respond to my command. And when that happens I might as well die. So, I walk here where there’s people to distract me from my aches and pains.

I smile and tell her how much I admire her discipline for daily exercise.

"¡Ay, mija! It’s only walking. I’m not running like my Tarahumara ancestors."

Her eyes reveal a distraction as she looks past me. I turn around to see a child in tattered clothing, standing at a distance. He’s begging for coins.

Do you think that’s him? Santiago?

No, that’s not him. I already approached that little boy several days ago. He’s a smart one. He learned I’m looking for a child named Santi, so he led me to believe he was the one. I wonder how they learn to lie so well at such a young age. She pauses to study the boy some more. "I sat him down over there, by that stand, and fed him an arepa. I would have taken him home with me had it not been for his little sister who betrayed his identity."

My face reveals an inescapable sadness. Ariché perceives my feelings and reaches out for my hand.

"Don’t worry. They’re all survivors. The little girl even stole my pocketbook. I knew she would, but I pretended to not see. Me hice la boba. They ran away together. This city is full of unwanted children roaming the streets. I just can’t help looking. I know there’s one of my own out there. I lie to myself, believing that somehow I will find him."

Why do you lie to yourself?

"Ay, monjita. There you go again, asking questions that show how far away your life is from mine."

I smile, guilty as charged.

"Lying is how I get through life, through this miserable existence. ¿Como dicen los gringos? Let me count the ways. Ha! I like that line. I heard it in Illinois when we were working on a farm. It’s from a poet, you know."

I smile again and reach out to guide her toward a seat. She accepts my help and together we make our way to the shade. The smell of vegetables exposed to the hot sun surrounds us. We sit in silence as I wait for her to organize her thoughts.

I know you’re wondering about this old woman, she says while looking at the people. I know you wonder why I’m here and why I go visit you at the church. It’s hard to explain, you know, but I feel I have to.

I breathe in and create a space for listening. It’s a space free of comment, judgment and response. It’s a space designed to create safety.

"Have I told you that my people, the Rarámuri, say Kuira-Ba at all times of the day? It’s a greeting, like saying hello, but it also means something stronger."

What is that?

"Kuira-Ba means ‘We are one.’ Your prosperity is my prosperity. Your pain is mine. Your joy is mine."

Your missing child is my missing child, I add.

Exactly!

I smile. It sounds better than any other set of comforting words. Kuira-Ba is the way the world should be. If only more communities would have this outlook on life, then maybe we wouldn’t be searching for lost children.

CHAPTER ONE

Second Chances

Guatemala, 2014

She was praying for an eclipse, the perfect union between Father Sun and Mother Moon. The offspring of such a union is not material, but spiritual. At that time, all that is divided will be united, all that is dark will be illuminated, and all that is hated will be loved.

It sounds lovely, her husband said to her. But we better not leave up to the moon what we can do for ourselves here on earth.

He had a tendency to be right. Especially on this day, as she silently observed her daughter and grandchildren cross the street and walk toward her home. It’s a joy that she and her husband did not think was possible, but here it was: a family reunited without the power of an eclipse. Not too long ago, her daughter, Lucia, had only contempt and resentment for them. But on this day she smiled as they made eye contact through the window. The journey from hate to love began with the birth of Lucia’s third child. There must have been an eclipse somewhere in the world, because something shifted when Lucia pushed her daughter out into life.

She did not dare believe it was true. She was suspicious of the change, thinking it part of a cosmic joke. Yet, the signs were there. Lucia became tender when she used to be harsh; understanding when she used to be judgmental; hopeful when she used to be cynical. The change crossed over into reality when Lucia suggested naming the newborn after her, the grandmother. Isn’t it a tradition? After all, she too was named after her grandmother. It brought tears to her face. She had longed for the day when they would no longer have anger between them, and that day arrived with the naming of a child.

It’s an indigenous name, Suré, but not from these regions. The indigenous people of Guatemala belong to the Maya. Suré never met her grandmother, who was Rarámuri, from the northern parts of Mexico. At least that is what her father said. There was a picture of her grandmother, somewhere. Somewhere. She worried, momentarily, wondering if the photograph had been lost. It held images of uncles and cousins whom she’d never met. That was the reality of life for poor migrant families in Central America, especially in war-torn Guatemala. Families are separated and only the stories remain. However, it won’t happen again. She was resolute that her namesake, still too young to walk or talk, would know her.

Her husband, Diego, was in the backyard, trying to fix an old car. He was a tall man with gentle features, an easy laugh, and a temper that was scary. It almost got him killed when Lucia’s pimp took her away. How he managed to put the bat down is a miracle in itself, but for many months he regretted not using the bat to smash in the snake he once called nephew. Maybe he should have fought for his daughter. Maybe he should have been a different kind of father. And maybe, just maybe, if he hadn’t spent so much time fixing cars, his daughters might not have become prostitutes. It caught them by surprise when Mercedita, the oldest, left one day without notice. They searched for her only to learn later that she had become a prostitute for the snake, her cousin Pedro. They were in shock. The guilt became deeply engrained when Lucia followed in her sister’s footsteps. They should have seen the devil coming for her. Diego almost lost himself in grief thinking it was his fault that both daughters chose such a