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THE VALLEY OF THE SUN . Women everywhere are crying, or getting ready to cry. The men are mostly standing around looking miserable. White tissues and handkerchiefs wave like miniature banners.
    The airport’s walls are painted with murals of the colonization of the Southwest. The Spanish conquistador Cortés, in full armor, greets the Aztec emperor, Moctezuma, who is dressed in an elaborate robe and a huge plumed headdress. Another scene shows the ancient Aztec god of war, Huitzilopochtli, luring his victims in for the kill over a sacrificial block atop a pyramid. Waiting at the top of the pyramid is a black-hooded executioner brandishing an obsidian knife. A few yards from the scene is Padre Kino in black robe and sandals holding up a crucifix, blessing an Indian peasant who kneels at his feet. Next to Padre Kino arerugged pioneers in covered wagons traveling into a distant view of skyscrapers and busy highways. Senators Carl Hayden and Barry Goldwater stare down at us. The background is saguaros, cholla, barrel cactus, a colorful sunset, and a roadrunner fleeing a coyote. Last of all is a painting of the Grand Canyon, the pride of Arizona. The airport is crowded, people are rushing everywhere. I smell breakfast cooking and coffee brewing from the fast-food shops. THE COPPER STATE SOUVENIR SHOP boasts copper planters for sale and copper ashtray souvenirs.
    Mom is kissing Jesse, stroking his hands one by one, kissing each finger, then the inside of his palms. She leans into his chest to hear his heartbeat, smoothes back the stiff uniform around his shoulders and only lets him go long enough to let my dad hold him tight. I hear the drone of the Guadalupanas, the penitents, making amends for the war, searching out God’s ear. “For this one, for this one man. Yes, keep him safe, por favor Virgencita, Justo Juez, Father God. Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen, amen…” The wrinkles around their lips barely move. Their chanting makes the whole place sacred. I can almost smell incense, seeping in through the airconditioning vents, making a fragrant cloud appear to ease God’s wartorn spirit and defy the Aztec war god’s feathered talons.
    We are a funeral procession, walking, hoping not to get to the place where we will have to say good-bye. Jesse is crying now. He brushes his tears away with the back of his hand. Mom is still holding on to him for dear life. I hear a wail beginning to sound from Nana. She sways to and fro as if she’s rocking Jesse to sleep.
    â€œKeep the prayer close to your heart, mijito. La Oración Del Justo Juez. Don’t forget how much we love you. Ay Dios mio! Ay mijito!” She makes little crosses in the air with her thumb, blessing Jesse over and over again. Jesse holds me tight one more time. I take a deep breath to inhale the scent of my brother forever, to hold his spirit deep inside.
    â€œDon’t forget what I told you,” he whispers. “Take care of Mom.” I nod. My hair gets caught in one of the buttons of his jacket. We laugh.
    â€œI love you.” We say it at the same time.
    He looks into my eyes. “It’s just something I feel, OK, maybe I’m wrong.” He smoothes back my hair. “Don’t worry, things will be all right.”
    I want to argue with him, convince him. “Jesse, please come back…” He turns around to kiss Mom, then goes down on one knee to hug Paul. Paul hides his face in Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse takes his cap out of his back pocket and puts it on Paul. “See, you’re a big guy now. It’s OK, tough guy. Just remember, take care of the little guys and help Mom.” Hegets Paul to do a little sparring with him. “Yeah, you got the right stuff! Talk to Trini about Paul, Mom, he’ll be a good boxer, too.”
    Priscilla and Nana hang on to Jesse as he stands up. “Don’t cry, Baby Doll,” he says to