K.Esquivel-LWFC

had swooped down on the ranch, set fire to
the bathroom, and kidnapped
Gertrudis. Mama Elena swallowed the whole
thing; she was so sad it
made her sick-but what nearly killed her was
when she got the story
from Father lgnacio, the parish priest-and
who knew how he found out
about it-that the next week Gertrudis was
working in a brothel on the
border.
`A Mama Elena burned Gertrudis' birth
certificate and all of her
pictures and said she didn't want to hear her
name mentioned ever
again.
Neither the fire nor the passage of time has
been able to eliminate a
strong smell of roses that lingers in the spot
where the shower stood,
which now is a parking lot for an apartment
building.
Nor could they efface the images that
lingered in Pedro and Tita's
minds, marking them forever. Ever after,
quail in rose sauce became a
silent reminder of this fascinating experience.
Each year Tita prepared it in tribute to her
sister's liberation and
she always took special care in arranging the
garnish.
The quail are placed on a platter, the sauce
is poured over them, and
they are garnished with a single perfect rose
in the center and rose
petals scattered around the outside; or the
quail can be served
individually, on separate plates instead of a
platter. That's how Tita
liked to do it, because then there was no
chance of the garnish sliding
off-center when it was served, and that's
what she specified in the
cookbook she started writing that night, after
crocheting a big section
of bedspread, as she did every night. As she
worked, images of
Gertrudis went around and around in her
head: Gertrudis running through
the field, and what she imagined had
happened later, after her sister
had disappeared from sight. Needless to
say, her imagination was
limited there by her lack of experience.
She wondered if Gertrudis had any clothes
on now, or if she was still
.
. naked! She worried that Gertrudis was
cold, as cold as she was, but
then she decided, no, she wasn't. Most likely
she was near a fire, in
the arms of her man, and that would surely
warm her.
All of a sudden she had a thought that made
her run outside to look at
the stars. Having felt it with her own body,
she knew a look could
start a fire.
Even to set the sun itself ablaze. What then
would happen if Gertrudis
looked up at a star? Surely the heat from her
body, which was inflamed
by love, would travel with that gaze across
an infinite distance, with
no loss of energy, until it landed on the star
she was watching.
Those huge stars have lasted for millions of
years by taking care never
to absorb any of the fiery rays lovers all over
the world send up at
them night after night. To avoid that, the star
generates so much heat