Their trip was only weeks away. Maite had had a long sit down talk with her parents, describing the opportunity and that, right now, she was only going for an interview, that she wasn’t making any commitment to attend school in the United States. She could tell her parents were struggling with the news, but they tried their best to hide it.
“In my aita’s generation,” her aita said, “there wasn’t a lot around here. If you didn’t want to work in the mines or couldn’t stay on the baserri, you didn’t have many options. A few went to study to be a priest. But a lot of them went away to find their fortune. I remember one uncle who spent more than thirty years in Idaho before he came back. And a lot never did. Most found a life there, got married, had kids, and died over there.” He shook his head. “I guess it is the Basque way. There is always opportunity out there — in the pampas, in the wild west, on the seas — if you have the courage to go after it.” He grabbed his daughter’s hands, gave them a gentle squeeze. “And I’m proud of you for having that courage.”
Buber’s Basque Story is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
“Eskerrik asko, aita,” replied Maite in almost a whisper, the tears welling up in her eyes.
Her ama wrapped her hands — those hands that had washed so many dishes, chopped so many vegetables, fileted so many fish — around those of her husband and daughter. “You always make us so proud,” she said. “Do your best at the interview. If they accept you, we will figure out what comes next. But, this is a wonderful opportunity. This is what we always dreamed for you, for you to have the chance to follow your dreams. We couldn’t be happier for you.”
“Biak maite zaituztet!” exclaimed Maite as she pulled her parents into a hug.
Her aita broke the hug and, digging into his pocket, pulled out his wallet. He opened it and dug into one of the side pockets, pulling out an old, crumpled, and torn green note. He handed it to Maite. “My uncle gave this to me when he came back from America,” he said as Maite unfurled the dollar bill, the image of George Washington staring back at her. “He gave it to me thinking I might find it useful one day if I ever visited the United States myself. Of course, I never went. And, I don’t think this is worth much today, but maybe it will be a good luck charm for you on your visit. It always reminded me of adventure and the bigger world out there. May it do the same for you.”
Maite grabbed her parents and pulled them back in for a hug, holding them tight as tears streamed down her cheeks.
