Lake Overturn by Vestal McIntyre Page A

Because her husband had kissed Lina.
    B EFORE L INA WAS born, her parents, aunts, and uncles had established something of a homestead out near Payette, more than an hour’s drive from Eula. They called it “la Hacienda,” which was a joke, as the house, though roomy, was in a state of perpetual disrepair. The roof leaked, and once Uncle Mario got around to nailing down a few new shingles, the pump gave out, and the family had to start contributing to the coffee can to buy a new one and, in the meantime, drink from jugs of water they bought at Albertson’s and shower at a cousin’s house in Chandler. Slowly, over the years, as the family’s fortunes improved, as more babies were born in Idaho and more parents got their papers, the house became sturdier.
    Lina’s family still lived at the Hacienda—distant cousins who spoke no English. It was their first stop in Idaho. Lina had rarely visited since Mamá died. The Cortezes of her generation all had their own places now, mostly in Payette, but a few in Chandler, and Lina in Eula.
    Lina used to go on holidays. She’d pick Jay up from the Van Bekes’ and make the long drive out, Jay pouting all the way. Once at the Hacienda, he refused to speak Spanish with his cousins. He would pick at his dinner, claiming to hate spicy food, while Mamá glowered at him from her wheelchair at the head of the table. She resented the fact that Lina had given him to the Van Bekes instead of her to raise, and found it easier to take this resentment out on the boy than on his mother. Lina was her youngest, her favorite, the child of her old age, and the only one born in the United States. Mi americana , she liked to call her.
    Eventually, Lina gave up and stopped forcing Jay to go. Now she had Enrique, who loved the Hacienda. He would play for hours outside, hiding-and-seeking with his cousins under the porch and climbing apple trees in the orchard while Lina helped with dinner. Later, he’d crawl into the broad lap of his grandmother, whom all the other children feared, and fall asleep. If only Lina’s father could have seen it!
    Papá was rarely mentioned, and this was not because he had been cruel, although his sternness did sometimes border on cruelty, but because they feared that he had been lost to the fires of hell. The sound of his name, Papá , had a chilling effect on everyone at the Hacienda; it was better saved for prayers.
    Back when he was a young man, Papá had worked his hands to bleeding in the corn fields. He had no family here, and the other migrant workers shunned him, fearing he’d take work from them and their families. His heart ached for his brothers and his wife and three children, who were in Mexico, unable to cross over, and for his parents, who were too old to make the journey. Having little to eat, as he sent his money back home, he became ill. One feverish night he wandered far out into the sugar-beet fields, calling out to God for help. He knelt down in the dirt and prayed to God yet again to deliver his family to him. The night was starless and moonless and he felt that God had drawn a black curtain between them, despite Papá’s prayers and his weekly attendance at Mass.
    So he prayed to the Devil.
    “Satanas, traeme a mi familia y danos un hogar . Give us a home. Después puedes tenerme.”
    That’s all he said, and for some minutes he felt silly, like a child who had been playacting. It was so quiet and dark it was easy to believe that there was no heaven or hell, and that his words had traveled only as far as he could see, then settled into the furrows like the dust raised by his steps.
    Then he heard something coming toward him swiftly from across the field. He leaped up and ran. He could hear hoofbeats gaining on him. The creature, close behind him, grunted menacingly. Papá looked over his shoulder to see a huge pig chasing him, its evil eyes shining like black pearls. It bit at his ankle, and he tumbled through the dirt. He pushed the pig off, and