across a hundred moutains: a story untold

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: March 07, 2016

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Submitted: March 07, 2016

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Across a Hundred Mountains: 
A Story Untold  

By: Elyse Coty P3 

 

Doña Matilde 

Doña Matilde sat quietly on an old chair thinking about her life. Her son and that wrecked girl, Juana had been 
gone a long time and Matilde had been feeling haunted all the while. The memories of the drunken women crying out for her child, the horror on Lupe's face when she last held her son before he was stolen from her, the happiness Don Elías felt for finally having a son. A son that was not their own. The son whom he died not knowing. 
Matilde looked down at her bronze, old hands. She held her old wooden rosary, given to her at her wedding with Don Elías. Elías, that man she loved more than anything in the world, but could never satisfy, could never give enough or have enough for him. Her beauty could never match tags of another women's her cooking never enough, her body took barren to bore his one pride and joy. Looking at the rosary, she recalled days and nights where she was by herself, Elías gone to do some business". She remembered praying on such days with it, to bless her with a child, a means to show her true live for Elías. She had not prayed in a long time, at least, not since Elías's murder. ¡Loco la mujer! But in her heart, Matilde knew the drunk was right: José was not José and he 
wasn't hers. She felt overwhelmingly guilty. A knocking on the wooden door startled her out of her thoughts. 
"¿Mamá, Mamá? I'm back. Are you okay?" Hearing her son's voice made her begin to choke up with tears. Despite everything he now knew, José still came back to her. Despite her fears and setbacks, the times where Matilde couldn't understand José the way a father, despite the lie he lived his whole life, he came back. Matilde choked out in a tiny voice,
"Hijo, I am here. Come in." José opened the door and looked at her. His eyes were red and puffy. His clothes were damp and smelled of salt: a very unfamiliar smell to her. He looked concerned. 
"Mamá you look horrible! You look tired and you are trembling." José walked up to her and squatted down to her height. He removed the rosary from her hands and held her thin hands in his young strong ones. 
"You are cold Mamá." Matilde wrapped her arms around her son and began to weep. She weeped for the sins in her life. She weeped for the loss of the one she loved most, and she weeped for the family who lost a child that belonged to them. Most of all, she weeped for the son she didn't deserve and thanked La Virgen for blessing her with her son, a blessing she poured her entire life to. José returned her hugged and rubbed his mother's back to try and comfort her. He knew why she weeped. She weeped more than he had ever seen her weep before. 
"There, there," he said. "Let me bring you some sweet bread and champurrado, Mamá." He stood and turned to go to the kitchen. 
"Wait, Hijo." José turned back. Matilde continued. 
"Did Juana tell you everything?" Josè turned his head towards to the floor, as to not look at his mother. He nodded. 
"And what are you going to do know?" José's mouth twitched. His ran his fingers through his hair, seeming unsure what to say. He stood there and thought. The tension of the silence was unbearable for Matilde, the heaviness of it made her hold her breath. Finally, he turned to her. He looked at her straight in the eyes and said,
"Mamá, why would I leave you? I may not be of your blood, but you have lost bed me with your entire soul and cared for me like a blood son. You have sacrificed your happiness and peace to raising a reckless child. You may have made some bad choices but Mamá, haven't we all? I love you with everything I am and I will always be proud to be your son." And with that he turned and walked to the kitchen to get the food he promised. Matilde began to laugh and cry. Her tears were light, joyous, and grateful. She had never been so happy or proud to be a mother


© Copyright 2018 Elyse Coty. All rights reserved.

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