It was an ordinary healing ceremony, but it would

set something in motion..

Wayra listened quietly. She wasn't really interested in the

medical information. Her job wasn't as a doctor. What she did, at

least here, wasn't medical. She listened and tuned in, shifting her

awareness, and watched Mackie's energy field.

She watched colors light up, brightening, fading, watched

where energy flowed and where it was blocked or trapped.

Mackie had a lot of blocks in her bubble… a lot of murky energy.

Murky was sluggish energy, like swamp water, rather than clear

flowing springs. And Wayra noticed holes in Mackie's bubble.

Wayra also called in some help for all the healing and a

small army of pure white mice appeared, scampering into

position in Mackie's bubble where Wayra had done work. They

curled up, safe and nested.

Wayra saw a condor circle up above. An awful lot of

support was appearing, more than she had called. But it told her

that there was more going on than she thought

Books By Teri J. Dluznieski

Non-fiction

Dancing in Your Bubble: ancient teachings,

modern healing

The Naturally Smarter Kid: parents guide to

helping kids succeed in school and life

Getting a Handle on Happy: find and fix causes of

stress and depression

Natural Support for Alzheimers

*coming soon. Wayra’s story continued.

Café of

the

Hungry

Ghosts Behind the veil of ordinary

This is a work of fiction. All characters are a work of fiction from the

authors imagination, or used fictionally.

Café’ of the Hungry Ghosts

Edited by Renee’ Alter

Independently published

Copyright ©2015, Teri J. Dluznieski M.Ed. All rights reserved.This book,

or any part thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without

permission from the publisher. Exceptions are made for brief excerpts

used in published reviews.

ASIN: B0143OTBZS

ISBN-13: 978-1516990757

ISBN-10: 1516990757

First edition, august 2015

Dluznieski, Teri J.

For information on workshops and presentations contact:

Teri J. Dluznieski M.Ed. Teri@zoogma.com

I want to say thank you to the people who have supported me along the

way, in the writing of this story. It actually started as a very rough draft

idea, eight years ago. And I put it aside, and it sat. As any intuitive person

or writer knows, timing is everything- and Wayra’s story was ready to be

created and told.

Many thanks to the spiritual and shamanic teachers that I have had over

the years- they really knew their stuff. Jose’ Luis Herrera and Val Lordi

in particular.

My thanks to Janny Wurts (highly recommended writer!), who told me

way back when- that I definitely had a story! Which was saying a lot,

because she added- most people don’t!

And thanks to Rob Walker (also highly recommended), another fellow

author, who also gave me good input and positive feedback!

www.robertwalkerbooks.com

And lastly, I want to thank Renee Alter

http://www.alterhousepublishing.com – who did a wonderful job editing for

me. Her eyes picked up the tiny things that mine had missed, and helped

the story flow more smoothly.

And a very special and loving dedication to the real Nancy. She was an

incredibly talented and creative soul. I hope I have honoured her memory

with this story.

Chapter 1: Wayra the student

“…And that’s the latest scoop from the Cern

particle accelerator and the Higgs Boson aka the God

Particle. Essay topics due next week… come up with

something current and how it could impact us-

environmentally and developmentally. See me if you

need help coming up with something. On that note,

have a great weekend. Check the events calendar.

Don’t get drunk, get involved.”

The girl behind Wayra sighed deeply. Relief, at

the end of a session of torment. The class finished

packing up notebooks and texts, retrieving cell

phones from the door on their way out. Wayra

usually took her time here letting the other students

by in their rush to whatever lay outside the door.

There were enough foreign and international students

at the college that Wayra didn’t feel like she stood

out… not at all like high school had been in the small

VT town.

She had only been in High School for a single

year. She came back from Peru, from a special

accelerated school. Only a year. But it wasn’t the

easiest year for her. Being the only Quechuan Indian

in a Spanish Christian School was hard. But at least in

Peru, she was with her family and relatives. Here, in

Vermont, she felt less connected.

There were very few brown skinned kids among

the very white rural farm community. . The few other

immigrant kids were scattered throughout the county.

While they were legally allowed to be in school, the

few she did know weren’t in this small town HS.

She happened to have the good fortune, or not,

to have been born here so she held dual citizenship:

two cultures, two homes. But she felt like she had

always been straddling two and sometimes three

worlds: the white-world, her Peruvian-indigenous

world, and the invisible world that transcended all of

them.

Wayra had been sent to an accelerated Christian

school in Peru. As a result, she had graduated early

AND qualified for scholarships. The education her

father had always dreamed of was affordable! She

only carried 12-15 credits, and she lived at home,

since the school’s deal on housing was not as helpful

as the tuition. Plus, she didn’t think she wanted to live

with the other students. She was just too different to

fit in easily.

She had grown up in this town. She had spent

more time here when she was younger and long

vacations almost every year. So she had many years’

experience of what college students were like. She

didn’t want to be that person.

She had little enough in common with kids who

were own age. She would have even less in common

with 18 and 19 year olds who were only freshmen in

this environmental college. They were only just now

beginning to grasp the most fundamental concepts.

Concepts any ‘stupid Indio’ knew from birth. We all

have a fundamental responsibility to take care of our

environment: Pachamama, or Mother Earth. And

modern food was poison.

Wayra enjoyed this class and this professor. As an

indigenous Inca, she had thought she would have

nothing in common with a physics professor. But, she

soon learned that while they often had different

words and different ways of describing things, often

science and Magic agreed. The fact that physics had

proven that everything is energy which had gone a

long way in bridging the chasm between the two

world views. Science, at last, was catching up. Or

catching on.

~

Wayra crossed the campus, enjoying the

sunshine that vanquished the last of ice and chill. She

weaved her way through red brick and white columns:

a stately distinguished looking campus. It had a close,

small family kind of feel to it. Being a small college, it

was hard not to know most of the people. Even as a

commuter, she at least recognized about half of the

other students. Campus was a bit like a village.

As she crossed the campus, the sun finally

peeked out, lighting up the world, with baby-green

highlights. She relished finally feeling warm after a

too-long winter. Winters here were very different than

in her native Peru. Here, winter held a raw icy damp

kind of cold that sunk into bones and held on for 4-5

months of the year. And the sun was further away

here… far away from the equator… and at lower

altitudes as well. It made the sun, glorious Inti, with its

radiant golden light and warmth so very far away.

Wayra had spent many winters in Peru, high in

the Andes Mountains with her mother’s family. She

loved her Native mountains… each one with a name, a

soul: the Sacred Apu’s, the Apuchine. Each Mountain

possessed a sacred Spirit, or WAS a sacred Spirit.

Sometimes, even, the Apus would take animal form.

That way, they could send messages: warnings or

guidance to the people and villages each one

protected. In the Andes- everything was alive.

Everything had meaning. Names had meaning. Wayra

was a Golden Wind, given a Quechan name

deliberately, intentionally; unlike so many Quechan

who were given Spanish names. The elders, and her

mother, wanted the gods and spirits to embrace

Wayra. And the Wind in the high mountains

embraced their sacred chosen child. Standing high on

the top of the mountains, Sun, Moon, and stars lived

and danced on outstretched fingertips.

Wayra was close to her mother, Dona Consuela.

They shared a lineage of Paqo’ healers, which created

an even stronger bond than between most mothers

and daughters. They shared the invisible worlds and

sacred mystic teachings known to so few.

Her mother was also a seamstress, a weaver,

balancing economics and domestics in one hand, and

the invisible worlds in the other. Not uncommon, in a

modernizing world. Traditionally, a village took care

of the healer. This was because the healers had such

important place. Now however, villages were

struggling. So Consuela had added responsibility to

support her people financially as well. She grew up

weaving: in the tradition of their people, going back

hundreds and thousands of years.

She came to America and to Vermont each

summer to sell weavings and cloths at craft fairs and

festivals. Bright woven patterns, fuchsia and turquoise,

against burgundies and greens… patterns that

represented mountains or forests and the spirits of

the Inca.

She earned a lot more selling them in America

than she ever could earn selling them in Peru. There,

Americans wanted everything cheap cheap cheap. In

America and Vermont, those same people expected to

pay much more for the same traditional weavings.

Shawls, skirts, mastanas (small cloths, like wash towels

or hand towels), ponchos, etc.

Consuela was able to help the village with her

earnings. She did so well that it wasn’t long before

other women joined her, forming a collective. This

worked out well because there was more variety, and

with greater inventory, they could offer their goods in

more places. More profit also meant more support for

the village. They built a small school for the children,

and created a communal emergency fund- for anyone

in need. It also worked out well for her mother

because now she had more children, younger than

Wayra, who needed looking after.

While the whole village always helped look after

all children, her mother didn’t like to travel and be

away from home for so long. So having others in the

women’s weaving cooperative meant that there were

many other women who could make the long journey

in her place.

Thus, Wayra’s mother stayed in Peru. That was

her home. Also, like many of the Paqos, her health

suffered when she traveled. It might have been many

things, but her mother knew- it was being too far

away from her sacred Mountains, her Apuchine, for

too long.

Everything was denser down off the mountains.

Even the air was thicker and the energy was denser.

Besides, her village needed her because she was the

Paqo. It was up to her to make sure everyone stayed

healthy from colds, injuries, and childbirth.

She even tended to sick livestock. She also

needed to be there to send prayers to the spirits, the

Apuchine, to keep the people safe, healthy, and

maintain the Ayni or sacred balance. She did this

through her prayers and the Iqaro’s sacred songs

which the spirits always heard and answered.

This was also why Wayra spent so much of her

childhood in Peru even though she had been born in

America. When she was born, the elders and wise

men, and wise women knew Wayra would become a

powerful Paqo.

Throughout her childhood, she was taught the

sacred songs and the sacred hidden teachings of her

people. This was her destiny as the child of ancient

Inca lineage. She grew up among the ancient wisdom

and teachings of the Grandmothers and often

traveled throughout the furthest reaches of the Andes

to distant villages to learn from the Paqos before all

the sacred teachings were lost.

The old teachers were dying and there were very

few children who wanted to learn these things. The

new generation all wanted loud music, ipods, movies,

and fast food. This was made even worse, because the

high mountain villages struggled as water was scarce

and farming was not easy. The younger people were

leaving the mountains and sacred traditions for the

modern westernized world of the cities.

Wayra understood this. She had actually been

born in America, somewhat unintended, but as her

mother said, “Spirit has its own plans.” Thus Wayra

was most definitely a child of three worlds: Inca from

her mother, Mexican from her father, and American by

birth. She perpetually felt the pull of all three

directions, different demands, different passions, and

different needs. Jack of all trades, master of none…

except this was at a racial level.

~

Sun shining, classes done for the day, Wayra

untangled her ipod, popping in her earbuds. Snow

Patrol filled her mind and emotions, not the most

trendy band. But the words touching a place in her

that only the mountains could stir. Nothing else

reached into her so completely.

“…All that I am

All that I ever was

Is here in your perfect eyes

They're all I can see

I don't know where

Confused about how as well

Just know that these things

Will never change for us at all

If I lay here

If I just lay here

Would you lie with me

And just forget the world?”

It wasn’t just the words. The melody felt like the

Apus. It was how she felt when she would lay on the

ground high in the mountains. It was also how she

felt, at 19, living through the whirlwind that was

college.

The world was racing toward her… so much

possibility, opportunity, experiences, things to learn,

things to try. Sometimes it was just overwhelming. So

the ipod and music gave her those tiny precious

moments of escape like pauses between the waves of

chaos that was life. Just her, the wind, and the music,

as she buzzed across town on her scooter through the

backroads up into the ‘mountains’.

Having mostly grown up in Peru living at

altitudes as high as 14,000 feet with sheer imposing

drops and narrow, treacherous paths, Wayra thought

of these Green Mountains as quaint… aspiring toward

mountain-hood. They rolled across the horizon,

yielding to open fields and pastures.

But she also knew that these mountains had once

towered over the landscape almost as tall as her own

Andes Mountains until the crushing weight of ice

wore them down, conquering and taming them. These

mountains were like grandparents… safe, inviting, and

serene. It was a good thing, too. Her little scooter

would never be powerful enough to climb those

imposing hills.

The scooter had been her 16th birthday present.

Wayra had been saving up her earnings, a little at a

time… $10.00 here, $20.00 there. Most often it was a

few singles or sometimes a $5.00 bill which went into

her money-jar.

She knew she couldn’t afford a car and she would

never ask her father for something that extravagant.

He worked really hard and sent money home to help

support his families, his siblings in Mexico, as well as

Wayra’s family in Peru. There were his aging parents,

as well as a grandparent, and an uncle who had

gotten injured and could no longer work.

On top of that, he was paying for his children’s

educations, just as he had paid for her extra expensive

private schooling. That was community… supporting

each other. Those in true need never went without

food, clothes, or shelter. And they all knew the

community would do the same for each and every

one of them, as needed. This was ayni, sacred

reciprocity… the core principle in all the Andean

teachings.

Just as with physics, all equations and

relationships must maintain equilibrium. Perfectly

balanced and in harmony. That was Ayni. It taught

that every relationship was sacred, required respect

and reciprocity. If you received, you must give; and if

you give, you must receive. Expressing gratitude, from

prayers to the Spirits, to the first drop of water before

you took a drink- everything maintained the

sacredness of relationships.

So Wayra worked part-time, in Dana’s Café on

Main Street. She had walked in one day, age 15-

asking if Dana needed a little extra help with anything.

Wayra had looked small and frail, but with a fiery

intensity. Dark Quechuan eyes, exotic and wise. A

graceful poised air. Rich glowing hair waving over her

shoulders, that elegant blend of beauty that often

resulted from mixed-race children. Dana had been

taken by her sincerity and earnestness, and hired her

on the spot, even though she hadn’t been looking for

help. Dana had never regretted the decision.

She did a little bit of everything from cleaning up to

prep, as well as waiting tables and working at the

counter/ cash register. And she had taught Dana how

to make traditional Mexican and Peruvian dishes- an

added bonus for a small-town café.

She made enough to have pocket money, buy

her own clothes, and help out a bit in the house

where she lived with her Dad. Out of those earnings,

she had been putting a bit aside whenever she had a

few extra dollars in her pocket. She really wanted a

scooter and she wouldn’t need a license for it. It was

a mark of adulthood and freedom, what every

teenager strives for no matter race or location.

When Wayra had saved about $200.00, she had

found an old used scooter. The owner had been

asking $400.00 for it because it needed work and the

owner wanted to get rid of it. Her father, her uncle

Manny, and cousin Enrique had all chipped in $75.00;

and they did the repair work on it themselves,

laughing and working on it late into the night in order

to finish it in time for her birthday.

Even though she knew about it, they still wanted

her to have it, finished, on her birthday. The end

result was that she had a very handy little bike that

had a bit of extra zip than it had started life with. Her

father patted it fondly when he gave it to her, telling

her, “a bit of extra zip … to get you up those big hills.”

So when Wayra drove it up through the hills, she

felt the freedom and excitement of youth combined

with the love and support of her family. It had also

been a true gift, giving her more range to explore, to

travel, and visit new places. It appeased her restless

mountain spirit-so she no longer felt confined and

constricted. She could get further to Wildcraft to

collect healing herbs and plants. And even more

important, to her other responsibilities.

When her mother had spent time up here, Wayra

had assumed the responsibility of caring for many of

the people within the migrant community in the area.

This community was not all related. In fact, they were

from all different countries; Bolivia, Ecuador, el

Salvador, even a few from Africa! But they were a

community in a different way. They all shared one

thing. They were ‘undocumented’.

Most had come here because their own countries

were so poor, or repressed, or exploited, that they

could not earn enough to feed their families. Their

own lands had been stolen from them by greedy

corporations long since so they came here to work.

Like her father, they all sent money home to hungry

struggling families that they never got to see. Heart-

breaking, but unavoidable.

They were hard workers, working for less pay and

no benefits. Construction work, dishwashers, slate

quarries, dairy farms milking cows, picking apples.

Jobs other people didn’t want, especially for low pay.

They didn’t mind these jobs. They were grateful for

work and believed in working hard no matter what the

job was. This is because their jobs didn’t define them.

It was what they did to earn money, it was not who

they were. Doing a good job no matter what the job

was… THAT defined them.

They lived quietly and kept mostly to themselves.

They lived in a way that drew no attention to

themselves. Always with the fear of getting caught.

They lived scattered around, many in small trailer

parks, tucked out of the way. Rent was in cash with no

questions asked. In fact, many landlords preferred

these tenants. They made no trouble and no

demands. Most of the time, they did their own repairs

to the property, with permission. So the cost to

landlords was nominal. They were polite, respectful,

and clean so when a few extra heads appeared, most

landlords were willing to turn a blind eye.

The biggest drawback, however, was that they

were too afraid to go to hospitals and doctors, even

when they could afford them. ICE (immigration) was a

very real fear. Clinics were scarce and doctors cost a

lot of money if you had no insurance. So most of the

time, they received no medical care.

Looking after the needs of the community was

one of Wayra’s mother’s responsibilities. As a trained

and experienced herbalist, she was able to help a lot

of people who otherwise got no help. Wayra had

grown up learning all of these same skills; and had

been sent for herbal training here in America as well.

Now that she was older and her mother rarely

traveled, Wayra had inherited the responsibility of

taking care of the community.

Wayra had a room in the house (a sort of annex),

a converted wood-room full of herbs, plants, jars, and

books and herbal medicines. There was a combination

of things from the rainforest… potent medicines and

local healing plants as well. Very often, the right plants

were far more effective than any western medicines

without all the horrible side effects.

Chapter 2: Wayra the healer

Wayra parked her scooter in a small pull-off, way

up on a dirt road. In other times of the year, the space

was for hunters… a place to get trucks off of the road

when they headed deep into the woods to go

hunting. With no hunters this time of year, she had

the woods to herself.

She walked back into a small clearing just off the

road, shielded by brush and trees. You had to know it

was there or you would never find it. But Wayra had

found it years ago. She especially liked the family of

giant stones in the far corner. Wind-weathered

grandfather, clear cut edges of grandmother, and a

scattering of granite-grandchildren to climb on or sit

on, and one that was perfect for laying back to watch

the sun and sky. This was her Sacred Spot… one of

many… as many places were sacred.

Wayra reached into her pack and drew out some

coca leaves, sacred to her people. Three leaves for the

three worlds. She stacked them on top of each other,

smallest in front, largest in back so all three leaves, all

three worlds, were visible and accessible. She held the

tiny bundle up to the sky, into the light. This invoked

the blessings of Inti.

Then she brought them down, holding them in

front of her face. She whispered her prayers into

them, placing her good wishes and intentions into

them with her breath. She breathed and blew into the

leaves prayers for abundance, protection for her

family, gratitude, and greetings to the Apuchine.

Then she blew a deep breath of love. With that,

she stretched her arms out, casting them to the wind.

The coca leaves and her prayers sent to Spirit who

would receive and answer them.

Wayra then repeated this ceremony with

tobacco. Coca was sacred in her native land. Here, the

native spirits craved and loved tobacco. She spoke to

these spirits as well and made them offerings they

would find pleasing.

Finally, Wayra took some coca leaves and some

tobacco as a direct offering to her stone-family. She

also placed some granola, nuts, seeds, and chocolate,

to the spirits of the area and the animal-people.

After Wayra completed her ceremony, she settled

back against the sun-warmed stone. She closed her

eyes, lazily listening to the birds and the wind. They all

spoke to her, waking up from winter. She listened,

content as all was well with the world.

Wayra watched lazy clouds slowly turning into

shapes: dragons and horses and frogs. All kinds of

shapes created stories as they shifted, merged, and

transformed – ever-changing.

Clouds represented the invisible world which

became ever-so-slightly visible and telling her what

she needed to know. And right now, the clouds were

telling her that everything was right with the world.

Cloud-flowers coalesced into being, morphed into

birds, and otters and kittens, romping in slow-motion

across the landscape of the sky.

This was Wayra’s alone time. Just her. No school,

no family, no work or friend-stuff. This was where she

liked to go to stop… to stop running around, to stop

thinking, and to stop worrying and stressing. Here,

she could tap into that quiet-place within, replenish

herself, and re-align with inner peace. This time and

space also helped her to shift gears between school

and work and between work and ‘work.’ It was like the

commercial breaks in between television programs.

Climbing back onto her scooter, Wayra headed

over to the Ramirez family who lived in a trailer on the

edge of an old slate quarry. As usual, there was an

abundance of children spilling across the ‘yard,’ which

also consisted of old refrigerators, dead trucks, and

farm tools. All of the clutter and waste became fodder

for the imagination as the children played on, around,

and under things, oblivious to any imposition or

danger.

A few smaller children played with toys by the

doorway. They lit up when they saw her. Little arms

stretched up, beseeching to be hugged. Wayra picked

up Carlita, hugging her and her dolly. She asked how

Dolly was doing and listened politely as Dolly

informed her of all that had been going on lately.

Then she put the pair back down on the ground,

handing Carlita and her two cousins each an apple.

Then she knocked at the doorway, calling out to Mrs.

Ramirez, who she knew would be inside cooking

dinner for her hungry brood.

“Ola! How are you feeling today?” Wayra asked.

“Better, Gracia,”

“You still need more rest,” Wayra advised noting

the strained look of exhaustion plainly showing on her

face.

Mrs. Ramirez merely laughed in response.

“I know, but try! The flu is very draining and even

though you are feeling better, you still need to take

care of yourself. Do you still have the elderflower and

the cat’s claw I left last time?” Wayra asked.

“Si,” Mrs. Ramirez nodded.

“Are you taking it?” Wayra asked, pointedly.

“Si,” she nodded again, stirring the pot on the

stove, and putting a kettle onto the back burner.

“I also brought you some nettle for tea and maca

that is from Peru. It will help you get your strength

back,” Wayra told her. “And I brought some clove oil

for the little one who is teething—so hopefully you

will both sleep through the night.”

The look of profound and hopeful gratitude for

that possibility showed clearly on Mrs. Ramirez’s face.

Every mother cherishes the possibility of a full night’s

sleep.

“Keep taking these for at least another week.

Understand? Nettle… make tea and drink it. Three

glasses every day, si? Maca… that is the powder. Add

it to anything. You can put it on oatmeal or into your

coffee in the morning. It tastes good… sweet” Wayra

explained.

Wayra made a half dozen stops that afternoon.

Vasquez, Espisito, Querero, Ramiro: colds, burns,

childbirth-related, nursing colic, ulcers, cuts. The little

children adored her and parents were grateful. The

older children treated her strangely—spurning her

‘traditional’ superstitious beliefs. They were trying to

be American… especially the natural born children

with American status.

Wayra didn’t need to treat those kids as much.

Parents could take them to regular doctors when they

chose to and needed to. However, the attitudes from

those children often spread to the rest of them… until

they needed her. Then they became humbled, feeling

ashamed for their bad thoughts, behavior, and unkind

words.

As full dark snuggled everything in for the night,

Wayra finally headed home. Home was a small barn

on five acres that her father had bought years ago. He

had been converting the barn as time and resources

allowed. It was by no means lavish, but it possessed a

quiet eloquent charm which was comfortable and

inviting.

Plus, the workmanship was superior. Hints of

Mexico and Peru, combined with VT slate and marble

stone, and natural exposed woodwork. As a

contractor, her father often had the jobs of taking old

construction and materials out of homes. He had a

good eye for quality, and the end result was a modest

but elegant, converted barn. A few tools, like a wood

planer and joiner turned old boards into truly

remarkable woodwork.

Wayra pulled up in time for evening chores,

albeit a bit later than usual. Parking her scooter by the

wood-room door, she headed out back to the animal

barn, collecting three dozen eggs and a gallon of

milk. Gretel, Maggie, and Sadie were all expecting- so

it was just Willow and Patty for now, but that was still

plenty of milk.

The animals provided milk and eggs for the

house. The rest, she sold locally. Then she fed them,

closing them all up for the night. She had seen traces

of a fox lately and so took no chances with her

precious family. On her way in, she remembered to fill

the bird feeders. Her blue jays seemed extra hungry

lately, showing no fear of her as they pushed their

way into the bird feeders even as she filled them.

After skipping her way up the few steps and in

through the back door into the mudroom-workshop-

laundry room, Wayra washed off the eggs. She tucked

them into cartons and strained the milk into half

gallon mason jars. Her mouth began to water when

she smelled dinner cooking in the kitchen. She could

tell from the exotic aromas of Thai cooking that her

uncle Manny was here.

Wayra remembered her father briefly mentioning

something about an ‘issue’ up in Burlington, where

Uncle had been staying. She adored Manny, who was

very different from her father (whom she also loved

deeply), but somehow, uncles were different than

parents… more fun.

He treated her like an adult, with less of the

parental worry her father always carried. Where her

father was thoughtful, hard-working, and

‘responsible’, Manny was bright, happy, and care-free.

He also came with the added bonus of Thai food.

Manny had started out years ago, washing dishes

in a very classy Thai restaurant. He had worked his

way up from that to prep-chef and finally to cook.

Restaurants often hired foreigners to work in the

kitchens. It was hard work, but more importantly, it

was out of sight. Less attention, less questions… that

was important for Manny, for while her Dad had a

green card, Manny did not.

Her Dad came in not too far behind Wayra. He

had been working late on a building project over in

Middletown Springs. Watching them over the dinner

table, Wayra again marveled that they were brothers

because they were so different.

There was both deep love and an unspoken

friction between them. At least it remained unspoken

around Wayra. Carlos was the older of the two and

had taken on the responsibility for the family. Manny

was the typical baby of the family who Carlos saw as a

bit lazy and somewhat spoiled. Irresponsible, was the

word he used. In Carlos’ opinion, Manny tended to be

impulsive, and make bad decisions.

“Kusa!” Wayra exclaimed, Quechan approval.

“Manny, are you sure you aren’t really Malay or

Indian? “ Wayra teased, as she pushed her plate aside,

full and satisfied. “Good food and family… the perfect

end to a great day!” she said while she reached for the

plates.

The rule in the house was that the cook did not

do the KP. If you cooked, you didn’t have to clean up

afterwards. Wayra was more than happy to return the

favor, knowing that she still had the better part of the

deal.

“That’s okay, Chica,” her father said. He always

spoke English, and insisted Manny and the others in

the house did also. Americanized. “I got this. You can

head upstairs. I’m sure you have plenty of studying to

do, my brilliant little scholar. I can do the dishes. You

go fill that brain of yours and make us all proud!”

Carlos was indeed very proud of his daughter.

Not only was she the first one of his family to

graduate high school and go to college, she was

accelerated… a junior in college at 19. Wayra would

graduate college before she was even 21 and he

wanted her to have all the benefits and success that

they had all struggled to acquire.

Carlos also knew Wayra lived a double life,

balancing her mother’s heritage and legacy with her

scholastic achievements. All of that Spirit World stuff

was a bit beyond him, but he respected the wisdom

and power of these powerful women. He had long

since learned a lesson in power the hard way by not

believing and not trusting.

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