This story is set around Valentine's Day of 2009 in New Mexico, where some people still hold to superstitions and beliefs rooted in a mystical world.
Las animas -- the spirits of the dead and the natural spirits of the land -- are invisibly present everywhere. Witches called brujos can curse people with an evil eye and once cursed only a shaman or a curandero -- a healing witch -- can cure them.
1. Making a mess
The last Christmas present that Manny opened was a card nestled into the branches of the Christmas tree. The card read "For Manny with our love. Mom and Dad." It held a photograph of a smiling, dark-eyed girl. He turned it over and found it signed "Claudia" in an unfamiliar, feminine hand.
"We reached your sister through the adoption agency." Mom explained. "She's an adult now and she agreed to see you. You don't have to go if you don't want to, but we planned to meet at her parents' house tomorrow."
Claudia was the dimmest of Manny's memories. They were separated when he was three years old and he never heard from her or about her again. She was two years younger than Manny and all he remembered was a baby in a pink blanket. She would be twenty now.
The day after Christmas started bright and calm and the cold morning air bit at Manny's lung's. He settled his long frame into the back seat of Dad's car and they drove into the heart of the valley. Dad stopped in a neighborhood of large homes that sprawled among pastures and frosted fields of alfalfa and lavender, all outlined by spreading cottonwood trees. The name on the mailbox was Candelária.
Mom rang the doorbell and the chime was answered immediately by a clamor of voices on the opposite side. A graying man in western wear threw the door open. He gestured them into the foyer and grinned "You must be Dr. Nielson." He stuck his hand out to Dad and introduced himself. "I'm Gil Candelária." There was little need for an introduction; Gilberto Candelária was a well-known attorney.
Gil's wife stood behind him along with a frail-looking older woman and five kids who seemed to vary in age from seven to seventeen. There was a rush of introductions; the Señora, Idalia Candelária, Abuela Ortiz and the five kids whose names Manny immediately forgot. Everyone fell quiet and stood back so that Manny could see past them to where his sister perched on the edge of an ottoman. Claudia sat silhouetted against a wall of sunlit windows and dragged her fingers through her pony tail. She stood when she saw Manny and tossed her dark hair behind her shoulders.
Three hesitant steps were all the Señora allowed Claudia before she reached out and tugged her toward Manny. "Mi Hija," she started, "this is Manuel Nielson -- your biological brother." Manny recognized himself in Claudia and for a moment before he offered his hand he was frozen by her brown eyes.
Claudia looked at Manny's extended hand and laughed, "Eee, no! We hug in this house." Claudia wrapped her arms around Manny and her family laughed while her scent, somehow warm and familiar, enveloped him. She excited him and there was excitement in her eyes when she stepped back.
The conversation slowly settled into childhood stories and Claudia pulled Manny aside. She told him, "Get your coat and I'll show you around." They left through the kitchen where Claudia's grandmother was ready to make empenadas for lunch. Claudia kissed her cheek and as they left Abuela Ortiz focused a piercing look on Manny.
"Is she always like that?" Manny asked. "The way she watched us leave I felt like I was stripped and skewered."
"Abuelita is a little different." Claudia laughed. "My mom grew up in the north." she said, and waved toward the mountains on the north horizon. "Mom and Dad brought Abuela here after Abuelo Ortiz died. She's a curandera -- a healer -- and sometimes she sees things that other people don't see."
They walked side by side past paddocks and pens and fields where cranes and crows by the hundreds foraged for food in a frosty, ground-hugging haze. "This is all your Dad's?" Manny asked, motioning around him.
"It's one of the biggest farms left in the valley." Claudia replied. "The Candelárias were one of the founding families here and they've lived on this land for more than 300 years."
Claudia stopped by a pen where hens pecked around a hog. She used her hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight while she looked up at Manny and asked, "What did your mom and dad tell you about our biological mother?"
"I don't think they know very much." Manny shrugged. "She was from El Salvador. When her husband disappeared she brought us here and asked for asylum, then she was killed in a hit-and-run accident. At least they thought it was an accident. The state couldn't find her family in El Salvador—probably because she came here with an assumed name—so we went up for adoption."
"That's about the story I heard, too." Claudia said. "Dad would help if we wanted to find out more, but I'm pretty happy with my family here."
Claudia watched the hog with a distant look and went on, "We're all adopted here. Dad can't have a quiet house, so every few years I get a new little brother or sister."
"My dad likes it quiet." Manny shrugged. "My mom needed a kid, but I guess one was enough."
They walked on to an empty tin-roofed house built of adobe and wood frame. Claudia pulled a key ring from her coat pocket and unlocked the house while she spoke. "This is the house where Dad grew up. It's about a hundred years old. It was built onto an even older adobe house that was damaged in a flood. No one knows how old that first house was."
Manny listened carefully to the way his sister spoke. While she was with her family she sprinkled Spanish into her English and used the style and sing-song accent of the valley, but now she didn't. They toured the empty house then stopped in a room warmed by shafts of sunlight that fell through south-facing windows. He commented, "You sound different now—different from the way you talked when we were with your family."
Claudia looked puzzled for a moment before she realized what Manny meant, then she laughed. "Spanglish is like the official language of my mom." she said. "When I'm around her I can't help it; when I'm not around her I talk more like we were taught in school."