Five of My Children

no. 32

It’s our second day in the mountains. Leifer woke with a start and strode out of the bedroom. I could hear movement outside our door, yet my eyes stayed closed. Leif was on one side of me, Lucca on the other. I don’t stir until they do, savoring the last few quiet moments before the day begins.

Later, I learned from Leifer that he, Trini, and Julia had been searching for Abuelito. Abuelita had tears in her eyes: Something happened with Abuelito. I don’t know where he is. Leifer walked out back, then out front, and along the side of the house. Adea checked his bed. Still, he didn’t turn up. Abuelita was worried. Then Julia checked his bed again—and found him resting peacefully.

Abuelito hasn’t been our only search this trip, but certainly the most precious. Over the years, Leifer has misplaced his wallet, money, and keys more times than I can count. His visiting brother seems cut from that same forgetful cloth. Thankfully, Trini, Julia, and now my niece Lucy are here to help. By breakfast, as we all sit around the table, everyone is laughing. Leifer and his siblings had imagined Abuelito might be anywhere—maybe even not in his right mind. But this family always comes together, finding strength in numbers.

A big group of us traveled by bus up into the mountains to see Abuelita and Abuelito. We were eager to return—the fog in Lima had been weighing heavily on our shoulders. Tía Trini, Tía Julia, Lucy, Tío Germán, Leifer, and the boys all piled onto the bus, mostly filling the bottom level. Lucca now calls everyone tía—it’s part of the culture here that anyone older gets that title.

When we arrived at the casita, Abuelita was in tears. Her children and grandchildren had returned. Her granddaughter Lucy was visiting for the first time after many years apart. Everyone always leaves this place, but when they return, I imagine it soothes a deep loneliness.

“Abuelita, four of your children are here,” I said.
“Now five of my children are here,” she replied, putting her arm around me—acknowledging my return as family.

Leaving at the end of May had been hard. “Yo no sé mañana,” I had joked with Adea—a famous song reminding us not to worry about what tomorrow brings.

Little by little, Leifer and I are beginning to understand that our lives exist in two places: Peru and California—both matter. And, at least for now, we have both. On our return, I can see more clearly the space we’ve carved out for ourselves. The boys move with more certainty. They embraced their friend Roy eagerly when we got off the bus and played into the night. The next morning, Roy was already at the door asking for his gringos. “Leif and Enzo,” Leifer gently corrected.

I’m still going round and round trying to work through the requirements for a longer visa in Peru. Neither Leifer nor I want to spend time on it—it’s time-consuming and stress-inducing. However, as time passes, we adjust our plans based on what is best for the kids. I will return to California in August to enroll the boys in school. It’s important to me that they have a strong foundation—a good start on a lifelong journey of learning. I saw how much Leif grew last year, and I want that same opportunity for Enzo. Leifer and I feel good about them starting school again in California.

And we’ll just see how it goes.

I still hope we’ll get Leifer back soon. I dream about it most nights—receiving the news that his papers have been approved.

My niece, Lucy, is carving out her own spot here. She searches for cats and dogs that tuck themselves into corners and rooftops. She bends down, and the cats eagerly crawl into her lap. She holds chickens and guinea pigs. She runs with the boys, playing tag and hide-and-seek. I’m so grateful she’s here.

Lucy and I walk through Abuelita’s land in search of zapallo—green and about the size of a grapefruit. We leave the ones that have dropped to the ground and pull back the vines to find those still attached. Abuelita peels and cuts them, sautés them with meat, and serves them over rice. We eat so well here—unable to stop even when we’re full. We overeat, as if it’s our first real meal in days.

With the casita full again, there is plenty of work. We shuck corn, and Adea spends the afternoon at the batán, grinding it to make tamales. Abuelita mixes in butter and a bit of sugar. Lucy and I take turns at the batán. Abuelita fills the corn husks, ties them off, and places them over the fire. We eat them for breakfast.

Leifer brings pieces of a bed frame to the courtyard and spends the afternoon reassembling it. Some modification is needed, and he uses his electric saw and screwdriver. I’m relieved to see him with his tools again. The bed is for his nephew.

At night, the family huddles on the couch to watch a telenovela with Abuelito. I snapped a photo—he’s grinning from ear to ear.

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