Just before the sun set, all the children in my mother’s family gathered their boxes and filled them with grass in front of Mamita’s house. The adults were outside too, watching their kids and chatting. La Bruja had emerged from her cave and was laughing at me as I simultaneously picked grass and swatted flying insects that seemed to be swarming only me.
My father breathed down my neck as he took a million pictures of me stuffing the box. He begged for me to smile, but the most he got was an eye roll. On the sidelines, my mother grinned and waved. They seemed so happy to see me interacting with my cousins. Little did they know I had an ulterior motive. Later that night, I would stick the box under my bed with a glass of water. When everyone was sleeping, I’d stay up all night for the stakeout. I’d spy on those “kings,” whoever they were, and catch them red-handed. The nerve of them, recycling Christmas gifts! The following morning, I’d expose them to those teasing kids from the day before and burst their bubble about their precious holiday. Ha!
It took hours, and I mean HOURS, for everyone to leave. They were too busy with a routine I had caught onto: eat, dance, talk, repeat. There was a giant festival happening in people’s houses all over the island. Some towns even had parades. I had to admit the food was good. Really good. And I drank a lot of soda. I even snuck in some coffee after dessert. I needed the caffeine if I was going to stay up all night.
When the crowd finally left, I followed the plan. I let my parents watch me put the grass and water under my bed, and, yes, they were taking more pictures. I’d be borrowing their camera later to snap shots of the famous visitors everyone was expecting. Without cold, hard evidence you can’t prove a thing.
Since I had so much trouble sleeping in Mamita’s house, I would have no problem staying awake until I heard La Bruja’s snoring and Mamita shuffle into her bedroom. That was my cue. Once I heard it, I slowly and stealthily unzipped myself out of the mosquito net and stuffed my pillows under the sheets, in case my parents woke up for a midnight bathroom trip. If they realized I wasn’t in bed, my investigation would be ruined. I tiptoed to my detective equipment. My grandfather’s glasses, aka my magnifying glasses: check. Straw hat: on. Fingerprinting set: in hand. Police tape: under arm. Dad’s camera: hanging over my shoulder. Police-quality flashlight: nice and bright. It was stakeout time.
I stationed myself behind the china cabinet in the kitchen. The guest bedroom door was just on the other side of it. The visitors would never see me there. Just when they entered my room, I’d catch them, take their picture and bring them into the living room for questioning. I’d get to the bottom of this holiday in no time. I wanted to know its purpose, why they did it and what they were trying to prove by stealing and/or regifting Christmas presents. My eyes were peeled. My ears were at their highest level of sensitivity. I was ready. I stared at the clock on the oven: 12:34. They’d be coming any minute. Any minute. But the clock was becoming blurrier and blurrier. Its light wasn’t shining so brightly anymore. The batteries must’ve been running out.
The next thing I knew, the rooster was crowing. How was that possible? It was only 12:34. My back was stiff. I felt a shot of pain go up my neck as I looked at the clock. It was 5:45! How did five hours pass?! There was no way I had fallen asleep. I was a professional. Expert detectives don’t doze off during night shifts. I must have been sabotaged. Somehow, I had been watched and exposed to a sleeping gas of some sort.
I leapt to my feet and snuck into my room. I used my flashlight to look under my bed. The glass was empty, and the box of grass was half-empty. There were also presents next to my bed. I shone the flashlight on the floor to make sure I didn’t bump into anything on the way out to look for more clues, and BINGO! There was a trail of grass starting at my bed. I followed it. It went from the bed through the living room, ending at the front door.
Immediately, I sprang into action. I used my police tape to block off any entry around the grass trail in the living room. I needed to study it closely. My fingerprint kit would come in handy. I used it to dust down the front doorknob. I’d need to get a full panel of prints on everybody in the house once the morning arrived. It was necessary to rule out all suspects.
I was in the middle of looking for footprints on the living room floor when I heard a noise behind me. Could they be back? Quickly, I turned around and began taking pictures with my camera.
“What’s going on?!” asked a familiar voice.
I put the camera down and directed my flashlight at the culprit.
“Flaca? Is that you? What are you doing?”
“Mamita, shh! Please, do not cross the police tape. It’s okay, I’m just working.”
“What have you done to the living room?” she whispered. “And why are you wearing a straw hat and huge glasses? You don’t even wear glasses.”
I sighed. I guess I’d have to offer some sort of explanation to get her away from my crime scene as fast as possible. I had work to do and little time do it before the kids came back to open presents together.
“Mamita, you don’t know this about me, but I’m a detective. A big one. I’m very famous where I’m from. There is something going on with this holiday of yours, something that isn’t right. Flying camels, anonymous Three Kings creeping into your house . . . It just doesn’t make sense. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish up the investigation.”
Mamita looked around the living room. She seemed to be studying my work. Clearly, I must have impressed her already. It’s not every day you find out your great-granddaughter is a hotshot detective. Who could blame her?
“What are you planning to do with the information, once you find out who is behind this holiday?”
“Well, that’s easy. I’m going to announce my findings when all the kids come together to open gifts. They think I’m a joke, but they won’t for long.”
I continued sorting through the grass, trying to find some type of clue left behind. Anything that could help me identify who might’ve been behind this mess was key. But that was cut short, because Mamita jerked me off the floor by the arm and walked me down the hallway to the kitchen.
“Hey! What are you doing? Where are you taking me?!” I whispered.
“Be quiet, or you’ll wake up your parents, and then you’ll really be in deep grass,” Mamita said.
She took me outside the back door and out to the chicken coop. She picked up a gallon of dried corn she stored on the side of the house and began throwing it on the ground. Hens and roosters came running, racing one another for first dibs at breakfast. It occurred to me there were fewer chickens than I remember there being a few days before. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. Last night’s dinner feast suddenly didn’t seem so yummy.
“Listen, I’d really love to help you feed your chickens, but I have to go. Everyone will wake up soon, and I have to have this whole thing figured out by then.”
I was about to start walking back to the house when Mamita said, “Who do you think will feed the baby chicks their breakfast?”
“The hens, of course,” I answered.
“But did they? Did the hens really give them their breakfast? Or did I?”
I wasn’t sure what Mamita was getting at with this chicken breakfast speech, but I knew it was a trick of some sort. I was being tested. Luckily for me, I ace tests.
“Technically, you both did,” I said.
“But does it really matter who fed them?”
“No, what matters is that they ate.”
“Exactly.” Now Mamita was smiling.
I still didn’t know what she was getting at. The signs of a sunrise were starting to peak through from the far end of the sky. Time was ticking.
“Flaca, the children who celebrate Three Kings Day, they are like the chicks. It doesn’t matter where they get their gifts from or who makes the trail of grass. What matters is they are surrounded by people who love them and get to see them smile this morning. Would you go into the chicken coop and take the breakfast from these baby chicks? If you could, would you tell them it was me who gave them their food and not their mothers?”
I thought about what it would be like to speak Chicken. That would be a pretty useful skill around these parts. I also thought about Mamita’s question.
“No, I wouldn’t want to disappoint them,” I said.
“Then please don’t disappoint the children this morning,” Mamita said. “This holiday may not be a big deal to you, but to some people it means a lot. It’s something to look forward to. Don’t take that away from them.”
Then it hit me. Of course these adults and older kids didn’t think there were flying camels delivering presents and eating grass under their beds, but they celebrated Three Kings Day anyway. It wasn’t about the gifts or even the kings. It was about dancing. It was about being together. It was about believing in family, and Mamita believed in me.
I began to walk back to the house. “Come on,” I said.
“Where are we going?” asked Mamita.
“To get ready for Three Kings Day.”
I couldn’t see Mamita’s face behind me as I walked up the hill, but I knew she was smiling.
Once inside, we took down the police tape and cleaned up the fingerprint dust. I gave Mamita a high five and snuck back into the mosquito net. If I was lucky, I could get a couple more hours of sleep before the day began.
