“Papi?” Milagros chimes in and breaks the monotony of the day.

“Yes, mi amor?” I struggle to answer her with food in my mouth. I sound a bit muffled.

She stops chewing only to ask questions or tell me about her dreams. It was nice of Doña Elena to give us seconds after her mishap in the entryway.

Milagros’ eyes widen. “Can you tell me the story of old coyote?”

“Mija…again? Aren't you tired of hearing me tell that to you?” I smile though it may not be as clear to see behind the ceramic mug I hold near my lips.

I gulp some of the warm atole. It feels great going down into such an empty stomach. I often go to bed hungry. It's a hard life but I'd gladly do anything I can to make things easier for Milagros. Sometimes, the little jobs I can do is just not enough to fill two stomachs a night.

“Never, Papi. I love everything you tell me and all the stories.”

“Little Milagros! If only you can say that twenty years from now,” I drift off topic. “But by then, you'll be raising a family of your own.”

"Don’t say that, Papi. I'll always be here to take care of you.”

“Don’t make promises you can't keep, mi amor. And besides, you're mother would have wanted you to be happy.”

“Papi! I am happy.” She moves her plate to one side. “Now tell me about the goddess.”

She puffs her cheeks as she chews on her las bit of empanada. She reminds me of a little squirrel.

I finally relent. “All right all right. I understand. Now let me get my story together. Meanwhile you finish your atole. Está bien?”

Milagros nods with a smile on her lips. "Si, Papi.”

I look around the room. The sun continues to rise outside, bathing the adobe walls in a warm glow. The light plays off the silverware on our makeshift table. The gleam bounces off. Milagros sun kissed skin. Her eyes are bright and give a hint of the intelligence behind them. Her stubbornness and resourcefulness definitely come from her mother as well. I'd like to think that her sense of honor and compassion came from me. But then again, I'd like to claim that I have been a good influence to her life in total.

“Hurry Papi. We need to leave soon.”

“Sí sí. I'll begin.”

I drink the last drop of atole and let the warmth fill my belly. I pick up one of my paintings of a coyote within a celestial glow. I show it to Milagros as I begin to speak.

“The story of Huehuecoyotl, or very old coyote is a sad one, unfortunately.”

“Why is it sad?” Milagros asks with a furrowing of her eyebrows.

“Because of the human condition.”

“And what condition is that, Papi?"

“Humankind never is good at being alone.”

“Why?” Milagros begins her onset of questions with the usual “why.” This will be a longer session if she continues these interruptions. I welcome them, though. Life is short. I have to enjoy what I have. You never know when it may be your last day.

“Because our strength comes in being together…with our familia…with our amistades.”

“Like how we have each other?” She pats me on the back of my hand. I let that question hang in the air for a bit and decide to continue with the story.

“Huehuecoyotl was one of the many, many, many gods that existed since the beginning of time. She existed before we ever knew of the fransiscanos' god.

“There were other gods?”

“Honestly, think of them as special people, Milagros. More special than any of us. They were capable of great things and the lesser people, like us, worshipped them.”

“Did they pray to them like we pray?” She pretends to give thanks by briefly bowing her head and clasping her hands near her face.

“Más o menos.” I rotate my hand at the wrist in a back and forth motion. “These special people received many blessings. In turn they provided many blessings to the people of the land. Of course some only did it for glory and demanded many sacrifices.”

“What are sacrifices?”

“The surrendering of a life to appease a god or king, Milagros. In this case, the type that used precious human life.”

“So people died,” she whimpers.

“Yes, sadly. They thought that only by letting people die did they get what they needed from above.”

I gently move my plate to the side. It’s pretty empty. I try not to leave even a spot behind.

“Huehuecoyotl was a different type of special individual. Some say Huehuecoyotl was a he, others a she,” I shrug. “She often changed shape and appearance to better fit the mood of a situation or event.”

“But you think she was a girl?”

“I know she was a girl.”

“How?” Milagros’ eyes widen with anticipation.

I wink. “My great, great grandmother said so.” Milagros laughs. “You see she often accompanied the dead into Mictlan.”

“That’s the underworld?” She pauses and rolls her eyes upward as if to verify information she filed away a bit ago.” “Where people go to after they die?”

“Yes, the afterlife.”

“Did she die? Huehue I mean.”

I pause for a moment. “No. Special people like ‘Huehue’ could never die, well not like us. She often made friends with those people on earth and would help them cross over to the other side. And she would return, back and forth to bring news of the living and to visit with old acquaintances as well.”

“She loves people?” Milagros says with a little twirl of hands.

“I think she did, more than she probably admitted. Most people like her would have demanded worship but she did not.” I shrug my shoulders. “My great ,great grandmother’s father died. She accompanied him or so my great, great grandmother would say."

Milagros attention and focus is beyond the average 6 year old. Heck, even an adult would not spend so much time with me and the longwinded stories. “One day something happened, right?”

“Yes. She loved a good party and she also loved a good trick. She was an instigator on top of it.”

Milagros caught onto a word she recognizes. “She loved to cause trouble.”

“Oh definitely. She would change shape and cause one group of people to fight another. It was quite tame really. But one time she caused such a raucous.”

“Between the people.”

“Between nations actually. That’s what they called the different tribes. Nations.” I throw in trivial information here and there. It helps build her vocabulary. “It was a lovers quarrel really.”

“What is that?”

“Well,” I forget how young and innocent Milagros is so I backtrack a bit. “You see there was a man who fell in love with a woman from a neighboring nation. I don't recall exactly how they met. It could have been on a fishing expedition of some sort or hunting or something…like that.” I look down at my ceramic bowl wishing it was full with more atole. “The man and woman met.”

“And it was love at first sight?”

“Well, actually yes. And Huehuecoyotl knew them both. So she would help them get together.”

“Why did she need to help them?” Milagros knows little of love other than the other stories I tell her of her mother.

“The man’s nation hated the woman’s nation. So they needed help sneaking away from their people to be together. Eventually they eloped.”

“Huehue helped? Right? I hope she helped. I’m sure she helped. I would.” Milagros can talk at an amazing speed at times.

“If only she did. She thought it was funny how the people of both nations hated each other. She decided on good fun of course to poke fun at them for their immaturity.”

“It didn't go well did it?”

“I don't know the exact details but she goaded them each into a brawl that then turned to a fight and finally a war.”

“And the couple?”

“Oh they were thrown into the war by accident and in the process lost their lives.”

“How?” I swear Milagros acts like each retelling of the story is something new. She has her favorites.

“They were forced to pick sides and couldn’t. So rather than be left alone they were sacrificed to their gods.”

Milagros slumps into her seat. “How sad,” she sighs.

“Don’t be too sad for them. They are now in a better place free from pain and worry.”

“And Huehue helped them? Of course she did. Why would she do anything else?” Milagros answers her set of questions sometimes due to her impatience or excitability or both.

“No. The gods saw what Huehuecoyotl made of the couple’s situation. And they saw the loss of lives lost between two nations. They exiled her from the pantheon.”

“What does that mean?”

“They made sure that the people forgot her completely and no longer worshiped or revered her.”

“At least she could still visit her friends in Mictlan. Like the couple,” she says with hope despite already knowing the end of my story.

“No. Xolotl is the gatekeeper of Mictlan and best friend to Huehuecoyotl. She removed Huehuecoyotl's privileges according to the other gods' request.”

“Oh how sad.”

“At first she was stubborn about it. She refused to admit any guilt or culpability in the situation. It was all light and fun. The people of both nations were to blame she would say.”

“Xolotl said something?”

“Yes. She revealed to…Huehue…that the couple had children.”

“They survived?”

“When the two nations discovered the children they could not decide what to do with them. They were of both nations. And rather than accept the children into both nations,” I trail off.

“They hurt the children?”

“No. They neglected them and left them to fend for themselves. They didn't make it.”

“Did Xolotl accept them, Papi?”

“Oh yes. She immediately had them brought to the couple settled in Mictlan.”

“That’s good,” she whispers sadly nonetheless.

“But not to Huehuecoyotl. You see, when people die mija, their journey can be tumultuous depending on how their life ended.”

Milagros gives a good stutter. “Tumulto…?”

“If their life ended in pain and suffering they would bring that into Mictlan with them. It would take a long time to heal from their suffering before finally settling in Mictlan.”

“Huehue helped people find peace, right?”

“Yes.That's a reason why she would journey with the dead. To help them acclimate,” I pause briefly, “I mean to help them get used to the idea that they left their bodies behind.” She finally understood that her little tricks caused a lot of pain for those that died. Not only in the battle, but the innocent children that were not claimed by either nation.”

Milagros scrunches up a bit. “Do you think she felt bad, Papi.”

“Any human with a sense of compassion would. And try as we might, through our sheer pigheadedness, deep in our hearts we feel for one another. We feel love, pity, compassion, and remorse for the bad things we do. Worst of all, she was left alone to walk around the world with no end in sight.”

“I think she should be forgiven. I really think she should. Really should.”

“Why is that hermosa?”

“Because we all make mistakes,” she admits to herself. “And we all deserve to be forgiven. And granted another chance to live again, and to love again.”

“And to be loved?” This time I ask timidly with a bit of hope. It wasn’t intentional on my part.

“Yes Papi. To be loved.”

...