Tree Girl by Ben Mikaelsen Chapter 10

1. Highlight 5 vocabulary words that you do not know and write the definition in the margin. 
Label each with a (V).

2. 
Ask 5 questions in the margins.  Label each with a (?)


3. React to 5 events in the text.  Label each reaction with a (*).


4. Make 5 connections to the text, text-to-self · text-to-text · text-to-world. 
Label each with a ©

As I lay under the machichi tree, my conscience screamed at me, Gabriela, get up and leave now! Go to where you left Alicia and the baby!

I tried to stand but couldn't. I was dizzy and weak. My dry and swollen tongue filled my mouth and threatened to suffocate me, and every part of my body hurt. I lay moaning on the ground, exhausted, needing water, but first my body demanded a few moments of rest.

Finally I struggled to my feet, stumbling like a drunken man across the plaza and into the market place. Little remained from the massacre except spilled fruit, charred ashes from the vendors’ stands, dark (139) bloodstains in the dirt, and everywhere the stinking carcasses of rotting animals. Much of the bread that remained had hardened. Meat brought fresh to market had rotted, the odor mingling with the stench of death.

I picked my way among the destruction until I found an old day jug full of stale water. I gulped mouthful after mouthful of the warm foul liquid until my thirst was satisfied. Then I picked my way through the destroyed stands, eating a piece of fruit, an old chunk of salted meat, a dried cookie, and anything else I could find. I wrapped my waist strapped tightly around my corte and filled the front of my huipil with whatever I didn't eat.

I made my way toward the edge of the pueblo to search for Alicia and the baby. I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting more soldiers to appear at any moment. I tried to run but couldn't. I was still weak, and my legs threatened to collapse under me.

At the place where I had left my little sister, I called out and crawled behind the bush. Alicia and the baby were gone. Frantically I looked in every direction, searching for tracks in the hardened earth and imagining (140) the worst. What if the soldiers had found Alicia and taken her and the baby to the schoolhouse in the pueblo? I dared not allow such a thought.

The unnatural stillness of the air hung heavy with danger. I continued searching farther and farther out into the countryside, thinking maybe Alicia had run with the baby. Behind me in the distance, thick smoke still rose into the sky from the fires in the pueblo. The afternoon air cooled, but I refused to give up.

When darkness finally blanketed the countryside, I finally sank to the ground in tears. Every living human I had ever known was gone. There on the hard ground in the dark, severed from all that I had ever known and loved, I sobbed uncontrollably. Memories of my family and friends and my past haunted me.

For a long time I lay motionless on the ground and waited for my soul to join the sparks that had drifted to the heavens back in the pueblo. That was where I should have died. Now I wanted everything to end my loss, the pain, my memories, my life. But a dog barked and barked in the distance. The moon still hung above me in the sky, and around me the sounds (141) of crickets chorused. I still breathed, and life refused to end so easily.

Finally, I forced myself to stand. I looked back toward the pueblo at the dull glow of flames still tinting the sky, and then l turned and wandered toward the North Star. What else could I do? My heart still beat, and tonight life wouldn't surrender and allow me to quit. For two full nights I'd been without sleep, but still I stumbled blindly into the next night, moving forward in a drunken stupor until at last my body would go no farther.

I didn't search for soft or protected ground to sleep. I simply quit walking and collapsed, unconscious before my body met the earth. The sleep of the dead captured me, not allowing me to wake either for the heavy rain that came during the night or for the coming of dawn. Only when the sun climbed high in the sky and made the air hot around me- only then did I roll onto my stomach and open my eyes.

I found my clothes and hair soaked from the downpour, and I coughed and stared around me at the wet ground. I still lived, whatever that meant. Struggling to (142) my feet, I continued northward.

The first days after the massacre, I must have been in shock. I remember little of that time except walking, sleeping, and weeping. Always I wept as I walked, each day surrounded by lonely winds, hot days, long cold nights, crickets chirping, and the crying of doves. I remember hearing doves.

I ate sparingly from the food I carried, and when my path crossed a stream or a spring, I soaked some of my dry bread to make it easier to swallow. I didn't choose to be alive, I ate because as long as I still lived, I felt hunger.

I tried to avoid people by keeping to trails high on the hills, but many of those who escaped the killings in other cantons and pueblos also walked the same trails northward. Whenever someone came near, I hid in the trees or ran.

One afternoon I was walking sullenly, staring at my feet, when a voice surprised me from behind. I turned to find myself only a few feet away from a family of Indios who had walked up behind me. A mother, father, grandmother, and one little child stared at me. I started to run, (143) but I saw in their faces the same haunted desperation I also felt. These people were no threat to me. I stared back at them briefly, neither of us greeting the other, and then I continued on alone.

With the passing of each day, more Indios found their way to the trails--mothers, fathers, grandparents, and children. Like me, most had only the clothes they wore and the heavy loss they carried in their hearts. Many limped and nursed wounds. Others threw up and sweated from illness. Each day heat came like an oven, and each night brought bitter cold. Many parents and grandparents trudged along carrying sick children on their backs. I isolated myself from everybody, carrying on my back the burden of shame for having survived when so many others had had the courage to die.

Where could so many people have come from? There were hundreds, many of whom wore the clothes and spoke the language of other regions. Everybody, however, shared the same vacant expression of despair.

One day, as I ate from the food I carried, two old men approached me with their hands held out begging. I shook my head and ran from them. Another day, an (144) old woman approached me searching for a lost family member. Again I shook my head. My responsibility had been a family that now lay buried. My only responsibility now was feeding myself and searching for a young girl named Alicia and a baby I had never wanted.

Some days, platoons of soldiers passed on distant hillsides and gunshots echoed in the distance. Rumors of ambushes spread among the refugees. For this reason, most refugees walked during the night, which was hard because of the cold and the twisting rocky trails. Some nights, heavy clouds hid the moon and made traveling even more dangerous, but never as dangerous as a soldier's gun.

There were some who risked walking during the day, but I didn't. I hid among the trees or in caves or behind large boulders until nightfall, avoiding everyone, especially those who started fires or had children who made noise. When I finished the food carried with me from the pueblo, I spent my days as the others did, sleeping or picking berries, jocote fruit, or digging for raw pacaya, a bitter-tasting root that Mami and Papi had taught me to eat. My nights and days (145) were consumed with overwhelming anger and guilt.

Sometimes when walked close to a group, I over heard their stories. Men showed their wounds and told of being caught and tortured. Most of the women remained silent, not willing to share the memories they guarded. All of the refugees spoke of losing family or friends to the war.

I walked alone, but remained close to one large group. I never knew where I was as we journeyed northward. I knew only that I walked each day closer to a frightening and unknown fate. Some days in the far northern hills of Guatemala, we passed small cantons filled with mostly Indios. I didn't dare enter those places for fear soldiers might be waiting in ambush. I knew also that the villagers in those cantons were very poor and probably didn't have enough food to feed their own families.

Sometimes strangers approached the refugees, offering directions or telling them where soldiers had been. Always I feared these people were setting military traps. I worried that if we believed them, we might die, but if we didn't believe them, we might still die. (146) Everyone lived in constant fear of dying, never trusting anybody.

Rumors of more killings to the south continued, but after many nights of travel without hearing gunshots and many days without seeing patrols, I decided I must be north of where the soldiers destroyed cantons and killed the Indios. Still fearful and cautious, I began walking in daylight. This was easier, but I noticed that everybody who owned a machete carried it always at their side. I carried a big stick. Every voice, every breaking branch in the forest, even the sound of a hawk's cry made me look around, certain that the soldiers had caught up with me.

Food grew scarce to the north. I spent whole days searching for enough food for one small meal. More and more people begged from me, but I turned and walked away from them. I feared people and wanted nothing from them, nor did I wish to give anything of myself. I existed in an isolated world of memories, anger, and hurt.

Sometimes I glanced at the children on the trail and felt twinges of pity when I saw their small faces so (147) haunted by fear and hunger. Their faces brought back painful memories of another place that had children with names like Antonio, Ruben, Victoria, Lidia, Lisa, Pablo, Federico, Lester, and Alicia. But I reminded myself that the children on the trail weren't my responsibility either. I searched for the only responsibilities I had, Alicia and the baby. But each day I lost a little more hope.

As my journey took me farther north, refugees stretched down the trails for many kilometers, streams of humankind fleeing death. We were a mass of thousands, but still we walked in smaller distinguishable groups. I remained with one particular group of Indios for no reason except that they had become familiar. I no longer distrusted their faces or mistook them for soldiers sent to spy on us. Still I spoke to nobody, helped nobody, and asked for nothing. Sometimes I walked ahead of our group to search for Alicia and the baby, never really expecting to find them. Each passing week, my hope faded.

One afternoon our group walked past a large cereza (148) tree filled with soft black cherries. The others who walked with me were old and couldn't climb trees. I knew that I could easily climb and gather cherries for everyone, but also knew I had promised myself I'd never again climb a tree. The memories from the pueblo were raw in my mind.

"Will you climb the tree and gather cherries for us?" the old people asked me.

My heart beat faster and I shook my head, angered by their accusing stares of disappointment. When they asked again, I ran from the group and walked alone the rest of the day. Climbing trees had brought me enough pain.

The passing of each day found the refugees farther from the danger of soldiers, but new enemies arrived, bringing death with them. Starvation, diarrhea, cholera, measles, fever, vomiting, amoebas, and malnutrition they killed each day as surely as any bullet. It became harder to ignore the children I saw, their arms and legs growing thinner and their bellies bulging more each day from starvation. When I was growing up, my parents taught me the healing power of the herbs and (149) plants of the forest. My brothers, my sisters, and I had known that we could always find food and medicine if the crops failed. This knowledge was a gift from my parents. But now I ignored that gift and told myself again and again that these children weren't my responsibility.

As for me; I had lost much weight. I passed a pile of garbage one day and spotted a small piece of broken mirror. When I stared at my own reflection, my cheeks hollow, my eyes sunken, I looked like someone from the grave. My hair, which I normally kept brushed, had grown matted and tangled. Even though I still carried the brush in my huipil, brushing my hair wasn't important anymore. Surviving was all I knew.

Because of the starvation and the diseases, every few kilometers refugees could be seen burying their friends or family members beside the trails. Sometimes the ground was too hard or rocky and stones were piled over a body. Sometimes a body lay abandoned and ignored, flies thick around the face. By the time I neared the Mexican border, I feared that many more people were close to dying, but I ignored the deaths. (150)

Anybody who depended on m would end up no better off than my brothers and sisters had.

One afternoon, some of the refugees near me spoke intensely. "Ahead thirty kilometers is the border, one said. ''We don't know if the border officials will let us cross, but if they do, soon we'll come to a refugee camp where we'll be safe. We've been told that the Mexican officials at the camp won't force us to return to Guatemala."

I didn't know if I could trust what the man said. Walking thirty kilometers seemed so far, but I had to keep going or starve. I pitied the old people. Many would never make it another thirty kilometers. They were simply living out the last hours of their lives with empty hope.

Five more days passed before I reached the · Mexican border. The group I traveled with had slowed so much that I left them behind and traveled alone the last two days. I knew many in that small group needed help desperately, but I couldn't help their suffering.

As I neared the border, I met refuges returning (151) who said they had been turned back .by border guards. Now I wasn't sure what to do. The moon at that time was barely a sliver, making it treacherous walking in the blackness of the night, but near the border, trees were scarce. There was no choice but to try to cross at night with only darkness to hide my crossing.

I ate all I could find during the day, and then walked through a long night, skirting the border crossing by a full kilometer. I came to a large river and had no choice but to wade across. In the middle, the water reached my chest and the current pulled at my body. This terrified me because I couldn't swim very well, but finally I reached the far side.

I waited until dawn to double back to the road, moving cautiously, testing each step. As the sun rose the next morning, I reached the road I thought might lead me to the refugee camp. I no longer saw other refugees and hoped it was because I had made it across the border into Mexico.

It frightened me to walk near the road where there was no protection, but all day I walked on, seeing only a few buses pass. Late that afternoon, I spotted the (152) camp in the distance. I was weary and glad to have reached the end of a long journey. As I neared the camp, the dusty air carried the sounds of babies crying. Ahead, hundreds of refugees crowded the small encampment. Slabs of wood or plastic were their only shelter. They sat around in small groups watching me, their stares indifferent.

Two Mexican officials met me as I approached. Their uniforms and rifles made me want to run. The officers shook their heads as they stopped me. They spoke in Spanish. "This camp is full. Keep going to the camp near San Miguel."

"How far is that?" I asked, hesitantly replying in Spanish.

The official pointed. "Another thirty kilometers ahead."

I nearly cried. "Please,'' I said. "Someone said I could stay here."

The official’s scowl left no room for argument. "We're full,'' he growled. (153)