"I found one!"

The little girl skipped barefoot across the lawn, a flowery weed held in both hands like it was a bouquet. She was barely nine, but already she wore the jade green jumper of her mother's tent. Its color suited her dark brown skin and black hair.

It was a perfect afternoon, warm and bright beneath the mellow sun. Azure waves lapped the white-sand beach. In the cool grass under the shade of a lemon tree, the girl's young uncle napped with his pet jaguar. He lay with his head propped against the big cat's flank, his long raven hair mingling with its spotted fur.

"I found one first!" the girl shrieked. She fell on the jaguar and threw her scrawny arms around its neck. The cat growled, licked the girl's cheek, and yawned, its massive incisors flashing.

"Tío," she said, peeking around the cat's head. "I found one first. Look." She held out the weed. Its dark green leaves were rimmed with fiery blue. Tiny white flowers broke loose and tumbled over her slender wrist.

Her uncle opened his eyes, gray and blinking in the sudden light. Then he frowned at her. "Let go of Chale. He's old."

"He's fat." She slapped the cat's beefy shoulder. "He eats too much."

"I feed him too much." He sat up and tied back his hair. "So, show me what my little Tlalli has found." She handed him the weed, and he studied it intently. He plucked one of its little white flowers. "So many tears," he said. Then he handed the weed back to her. "I'm afraid it's not quite ready."

"But do I get my prize? You said whoever brought you a tletl weed first won a prize."

"Where's Citlali?"

"She's stupid. She went all the way to the meadow."

Her uncle smiled. Reaching inside his plain brown tunic, he held out a chittering ball of purple fur about the size of a plum.

"It's so cute!" squealed Tlalli. She scooped up the ball of fur and cradled it close to her lips. "Do you talk?" she asked it sweetly.

"You'll have to teach it."

Just then, Citlali came striding across the lawn, arms stiff at her sides, a dried-up weed choked in her fist. She shared her twin sister's features, but she was taller and stronger. And she wore the crimson jumper of the Watcher's Tent. Kneeling at her uncle's side, she bowed her head.

He lifted her chin and gently took the weed from her hand. "And what has my Citlali found?" The weed had no flowers, only shriveled leaves and dried-up seedpods, thin and brown. He crushed a pod in his palm and blew away the chaff. Five seeds remained. Brushing the seeds into a small leather pouch, he tied it off and hung it around his neck. "You remembered the story," he said to Citlali.

She nodded. "The tletl plant must shed every tear before it can make a seed." She eyed her sister's purple pet. "Do I get a prize too?"

He spread his arms wide to indicate everything around them, the azure sea, the long pier with its false-adobe houses, the forest, the smoked-glass pyramids rising up, the cloudless sky, the mellow sun, the pale crescent moon. "All of this is your prize."

Sighing, Citlali spun around and fell back against the pillow of her uncle's thigh. Tlalli took up a similar position on her uncle's other thigh, giggling as her purple pet skittered up one arm and down the other.

Citlali gazed up through the faintly rustling leaves of the lemon tree. "Where are you going?" she asked her uncle. High above, tiny white flecks drifted in toward the moon—light freighters arriving at Hopi Shipyards from the Outer Belt.

"I'm going far away," he said.

"Mamá says you're going off to mine thulium. But that's not true, is it?"

"It's what I told her."

"You're not coming back, are you?" Citlali had come into the world just minutes before her twin sister, but it might as well have been years.

"No, I'm not."

Little Tlalli flipped herself over and clutched her uncle's tunic. "Don't leave!" she cried. The purple ball of fur buried itself in the thick hair at the nape of her neck.

Citlali crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on the moon above. "He wouldn't leave us unless it was important."

"You're right, Citlali. It is important." Idly, he reached over and scratched Chale between the ears. "Do you two remember the story of Nelhuayotl and the Plague?"

"Of course. We learned that in First Stage," said Citlali.

Tlalli tugged excitedly at her uncle's arm. "Tell us the story! Please? Nelhuayotl's my favorite! She was so beautiful."

Citlali sighed again. "That's not why we remember her."

"Your sister's right, Tlalli. Nelhuayotl was the root of our people, the Foundation. After the gods destroyed humanity, it was Nelhuayotl who rebuilt civilization." He tousled Tlalli's hair. "But yes, she was beautiful, just like you. And she was strong and swift."

"And clever," added Citlali.

"And wise." He laid his other hand on Citlali's head. "Each of us is made for a purpose," he said to them both. "You, Tlalli, were made to nurture the young, just like your mother. And you, Citlali, were made to watch the stars." He closed his eyes, taking in the moment, the girls' soft hair still warm from the sun, the heave of Chale's ribs, the fragrance of lemons, the whispering of the waves. "And I was made for what I must do."

That evening, when the girls had gone to bed, their uncle returned to his little false-adobe home on the pier. Slipping out of his brown tunic, he stood in a darkened bedroom, naked except for the leather pouch around his neck. His body was perfect in every way, his mind set. A blue tunic lay on the bed, pierced by a sliver of moonlight. He lifted the tunic over his head and let the shimmering fabric slide down over his brown skin.

Barefoot, he followed the pier to the forest eaves. A narrow path led through the trees to the smoked-glass pyramids, their silhouettes towering over the canopy. High above it all, the Milky Way climbed the night sky, drifting rightward like a pillar of smoke. Then he walked the path, and the warm earth kissed his feet.

Image: Nuevo Vallarta, Mexico