‘Searching’ Archives
SEARCHING ”“ a Serial Novelle Chapter 9: History, Part I
by Patrick Cabello Hansel (Author”'s note: in the last chapter, Angel met up at Maria”'s Café with his high school history teacher, who began relating a neighborhood story from the mid-19th century that he has unearthed during his sabbatical.) “Between August Ternstvedt”'s little house and what became the cemetery was a low piece of ground called the swale. The swale was a worthless piece for kitchen gardens or orchards, and because it was low-lying it wasn”'t the first choice upon which to build. But because no one particularly wanted the land, it was a good place to go when you were wanted. Runaway slaves passed through there. There is a legend that refugees from the killings in 1862 stopped one night. AWOL soldiers, people involved in illegal fur trade, women who were fleeing abusive husbands. They would come, they would go, but their spirits always seemed to haunt the place.” “So where are you talking about””this swale or [...]
SEARCHING CHAPTER 7: A New Start
By Patrick Cabello Hansel We can”'t say that Angel didn”'t know where to start this leg of his journey. He”'d been starting his whole life. Fits and starts. False starts. Start and stop, start and stop. Angel”'s problem was finishing. He”'d managed to graduate from Roosevelt””barely””and he vaguely remembered the platitudes the locally famous person of color had shared at the graduation ceremony: Believe in your dreams. Reach for the stars. Stay in touch. Good words, he thought, but he”'d spent the six months since then pretty much wandering through life, without a plan, That morning, in Mother Light”'s house, as he tenderly pulled on his jacket and bent over to tie his shoes, he spotted the webbed ornament in the window. “That”'s a dream catcher, right?” he said to Ana, who was waiting at the door. She smiled, nodded yes, then pointed to her eyes, to her heart, to her lips and then to Angel. He shook his [...]
SEARCHING ”“ a Serial Novelle CHAPTER 6: The Mission
By Patrick Cabello Hansel Angel dreamt before he awoke. He could hear voices: his mother, Luz Maria, a childhood friend from back in Axochiapan, whose name he couldn”'t remember. The boy was kicking a semi-deflated soccer ball through a lot bereft of grass or flowers and calling out to Angel: “Dále, dále, Cameroon”, the name of his neighborhood team. Angel ran to the ball, as fast as his leaden legs would take him, but he couldn”'t get there. He woke up kicking, his eyes looking east and west for a ball he could not see. It was early evening. There was a young woman from the reservation sitting by his bed, wrapped in a Mexican blanket. She seemed to be moving something in her hands. At first, Angel thought it was a rosary, the way her fingers moved. But as his eyes adjusted to the candlelight and back to consciousness after three days out, he saw she was moving a few small, smooth stones. He did not know the girl, he could not have known that she [...]
