Prologue Serafina held the Virgen de Guadalupe curled in her palm. The blue- robed woman standing on a bed of roses was still warm. Larry had torn the oval picture from the glass candleholder, the veladora Serafina kept burning all day to assure the Virgens gaze upon her and her daughter. "This aint Mexico," he had said, eyes red as pomegranate seeds, and then he roared off in his blue truck. Without the image, the candle flame shook small and lonely as a glowing grain of rice. Elvia stared at the wick through the bare glass. Serafina watched the tiny fire reflected in her pupils. The little duplex room had filled with the purple light of summer evening. Serafina smoothed the stained-glass edging around the Virgen. This was not enough. She had tried to make an altar inside the kitchen, but she needed to pray inside a church, with santos looking down upon her, to ask what she should do. "N?" Elvia called to her mother in their Mixtec language. "Nducha yjn nun hi?" She wanted Serafina to make atole, to heat the milk with ground-corn masa and sugar and cinnamon. Serafina waited, her eyebrows raised. "Please," Elvia said perfectly. She had just turned three. She could say many words. Serafina picked her up and carried her to the kitchen so she could feel the small hands fluttering like moths on her shoulders. Serafina knew Please. Thank you. Money. Pay. Fuckin cops. Fuckin truck. American. Speak English. Okay. Sorry. She could say "sorry," but she couldnt form her lips properly around any of the other words. She had said "sorry" a few hours ago to Larry, when he had whirled around the house and torn the Virgen from her veladora and shouted, "Ellies American! My kids American, okay? Quit this shit!" But her "sorry" didnt sound right. She tried to whisper it now, but her throat wouldnt cooperate. She was crying. She wanted to kneel inside the church at home, to touch San Cristobal, the patron saint of her village, to rub Elvia with flowers and then lay them on the altar as an offering, to pray about what kind of life Elvia would have. "N?" Elvia crooned now. "Capn Crunch?" It was almost gone. It was very expensive. But Serafina poured the yellow pillows of cereal into a plastic bowl. She knew she would have to drive the car. Elvia could carry the cereal. Elvia reached up with a golden square between her fingers, offering it to her mother, and Serafina crushed the sweet powder with her teeth. Maiz. Nun. It was corn, she knew. She stirred a swirling brown veil of cinnamon into the atole. The steam rose from the thickened milk and clouded her eyes for a moment, and she saw home. The mist descending from the mountains, softening the harsh light of here. California. "N?" Elvia said from near the TV. "Sesame Street." Serafina kneeled next to her daughter, blowing on the mug of atole, trying to imagine herself driving past the fence. The television said, "A. Apple. A." "Apple," Elvia said. "N -ap Excerpted from Highwire Moon: A Novel by Susan Straight All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
