K.Esquivel-LWFC

paralyze her. She got up and went running
to the enormous bedspread
that she had woven through Inight after night
of solitude and insomnia,
and she threw it over her. It covered the
whole ranch, all three
hectares. She pulled from her bureau
drawer the box of candles that
John had given her. She needed to have
plenty of fuel in her body.
She began to eat the candles out of the box
one by one. As she chewed
each candle she pressed her eyes shut and
tried to reproduce the most
moving memories of her and Pedro. The first
time she saw him, the
first time their hands touched, the first
bouquet of roses, the first
kiss, the first caress, the first time they made
love. In this she was
successful; when the candle she chewed
made contact with the torrid
images she evoked, the candle began to
burn. Little by little her
vision began to brighten until the tunnel
again appeared before her
eyes. There at its entrance was the
luminous figure of Pedro waiting
for her. Tita did not hesitate. She let herself
go to the encounter,
and they wrapped each other in a long
embrace; again experiencing an
amorous climax, they left together for the lost
Eden. Never again
would they be apart.
At that moment the fiery bodies of Pedro and
Tita began to throw off
glowing sparks. They set on fire the
bedspread, which ignited the
entire ranch. The animals had fled just in
time to save themselves
from the inferno!
The dark room was transformed into an
erupting volcano. It cast stone
and ash in every direction. When the stones
reached high enough, they
exploded into multicolored lights. From miles
away, people in
neighboring towns watched the spectacle,
thinking it was fireworks
celebrating the wedding of Alex and
Esperanza. But when the fires
continued for a week, they came to get a
closer look.
A layer of ash several yards high covered the
entire ranch.
When Esperanza, my mother, returned from
her wedding trip, all that she
found under the remains of what had been
the ranch was this cookbook,
which she bequeathed to me when she died,
and which tells in each of
its recipes this story of a love interred.
They say that under those ashes every kind
of life flourished, making
this land the most fertile in the region.
Throughout my childhood I had the good
fortune to savor the delicious
fruits and vegetables that grew on that land.
Eventually my mother had
a little apartment building built there. My
father Alex still lives in
one of the apartments. Today he is going to
come to my house to
celebrate my birthday. That is why I am
preparing Christmas Rolls, my
favorite dish. My mama prepared them for
me every year.
My mama! . . . How wonderful the flavor,
the aroma of her kitchen,
her stories as she prepared the meal, her
Christmas Rolls! I don't
know why mine never turn out like hers, or
why my tears flow so freely
when I prepare them-perhaps I am as
sensitive to onions as Tita, my