Chapter 8 - THE MOUNTAIN AIR
We moved to the ranch in Tepoztlán a month later.
It was a house built of stone and light.
The mountains rose up around us like ancient guardians.
There were no high heels on the floors here.
Only the sound of the wind and the laughter of my mother.
She spent her days in the garden,
growing corn and tomatoes.
She looked younger.
The redness in her hands had faded.
The light in her eyes had returned.
I ran the company from a small office on the property.
We were smaller now,
having shed the toxic projects Renata had initiated.
But we were honest.
Our partners respected us.
Our employees were happy.
I sat on the porch one evening,
watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of violet and orange.
My mother brought me a plate of tamales,
the scent of corn and chili filling the air.
"You are happy here, hijo?"
she asked,
sitting beside me.
"I am, mamá."
"I have my life back."
"I have you back."
She looked at the mountains.
"You know,"
she said,
"I still pray for her."
I looked at her,
surprised.
"For Renata?"
"Yes,"
she replied.
"A heart that holds that much hate is a heavy thing to carry."
"I pray that she finds a way to let it go."
I leaned back,
thinking about the smoke detector.
I had used hate's own tools to defeat it.
But my mother had used love to heal.
I realized then that I had won the legal battle,
but she had won the spiritual one.
We sat in silence for a long time,
the peace of the ranch wrapping around us like a blanket.
I thought about the Colonia Del Valle house.
It had been sold to a family with three young children.
They had torn down the patio walls and put in a playground.
The jasmine was still there,
but it was no longer a witness to cruelty.
The cycle had been broken.
The darkness had been chased away.
I was Alejandro.
A son.
A shepherd.
A man who was finally,
May you like
truly,
at peace.
