Casa Azul (8 page)

“I hope he doesn’t make it worse.” Fulang went to the door and opened it.

“It can’t get any worse,” replied Chica.

“What’s wrong?” Diego stood before them with his arms full of flowers—beautifully scented bright red gardenias. With his immense
size he looked somewhat comical, like a flower seller’s cart set up for business in one of the plazas around town.

“Stop buying that cheap gas at the store,” spat Chica. “It’ll ruin your car.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” replied Diego as he stopped on the doorstep. “Why do you look so worried?” He saw that Fulang’s tiny face was squinched up even more than usual.

“They water it down. That’s why your wonderful new car coughs.” Chica turned and shot her tail straight up, showing Diego her behind.

“What’s her problem?” asked Diego. He squeezed through the door and into the living room.

“Oh, she’s worried about Frida but won’t admit it,” explained Fulang.

Chica stuck out her tongue at Fulang.

“Frida? Something’s wrong with Frida?” Diego dashed through the house to her bedroom but stopped at the closed door.

“Wait!” shouted Fulang, following behind him and almost getting stepped on in the process.

Bang. Bang. Bang
.

Pause.

“Frida? Are you in there?” called Diego. A trail of stunning red gardenias spilled through the house. Diego held only two stems.

“She won’t answer,” replied Chica, who wound her way through his legs, rubbing her flanks against his pants legs.

“You’ve got to help her,” clacked the Day of the Dead skull. “I think she is preparing to kill herself.”

“What?” gasped Fulang.

“
Sí
, she has destroyed everything that she cherishes. She has cut her hair and torn her Tehuana costumes. She has wrapped up all of her paintings. What does she have left?” The skull tried to hop to the edge of the table. He went too far and tumbled off.

Diego picked him up and looked him squarely in the eyeholes. “You really think so?”

Trying to regain his dignity, the skull explained. “Of course. She is painting a self-portrait that is no longer herself. Why would she do that? She is killing the memory of herself before she takes her life.”

“Don’t be a fool,” hissed Chica. “Diego, don’t listen to that mindless piece of confection. She’ll get through this.”

Bang. Bang. Bang
.

“Frida! Open this door now!” commanded Diego.

“Go away!” said a faint voice through the door. “Go back to those whores you call artists’ models.”

Diego staggered back as if he had been hit. “It’s all my fault. I just wanted to help her … to make her be the great painter she should be.” He tossed the remaining gardenia stems across the room and collapsed on the couch. With his face in his hands, he sat there, the springs creaking under his weight. After a minute, however, he sat up and smiled. “I know what.”

“What?”

“She needs some joy in her life.” Diego stood quickly and strode over to Frida’s studio door. “Frida!”

“Go away!” A pause. “Better yet, send one of your whores to me. I need someone to warm my bed.”

Diego swung open the door. He stopped short at the sight of her hair. “What have you done to yourself?” Before she could yell at him, he said, “No matter, we’re going to the wrestling matches tonight.” He pointed at her. “Be ready at six thirty.”

“I’m not—”

“No arguments,” cut in Diego. “You love the wrestlers, and it will cheer you up.” He spun on his heels and marched out of the house before Frida could reply.

Frida stared at the doorway where Diego had stood. A small smile slowly emerged on her face.

A moment later Diego returned with a laundry bag. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here are my clothes.” Then he walked over and examined Frida’s portrait of herself as Diego. “Not bad,” he observed. “You really capture the agony of loss. I love the way you’ve entangled the strands of hair. You’re right that things aren’t so simple.” He pointed at the clothes in the painting. “Just make sure that you don’t completely obliterate yourself. Then the painting will lose all of your soul.”

As Diego left, Frida started separating the whites from the colors. She began to sing to herself.

“
Díos mio
,” sighed Fulang. “I hope Diego is right.” She started to go around the house and pick up the gardenias that Diego had dropped. They were so beautiful and smelled so sweet. It made her want to cry. She wished so much that one day she would be loved like this.

“Find El Corazón and El Diablo,” called Dr. Eloesser from his portrait.

“He’s got a point,” the skull said from a cushion on the couch where Diego had dropped him.

“And what point is that, sugar brain?” grumbled Chica from a patch of sunlight below the window to the garden.

“Well, it’s the only thing we haven’t done,” replied the skull.

Fulang suddenly dropped the flowers she was holding. “No, it’s not.” She leaped over to the desk and opened the drawer. “We haven’t spoken to the one person she’ll listen to.” She pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil. “If Diego’s plan doesn’t work, maybe this one will.”

“The real Dr. Eloesser!” cried the skull.

“Right. Now help me write a letter,” said Fulang. “How do you spell
doctor
?”

“How would I know? I’m a cat,” replied Chica as she sat right on top of the sheet of paper.

Fulang pulled the sheet out from under her and began to write as best she could.

“Okay,” Fulang said as she folded the letter. “Who has an envelope?”

“What do you think? That I have pockets?” said Chica.

The skull laughed.

“Enough with the jokes.” Fulang took an envelope out of the drawer and slid the letter inside. She opened Frida’s address book and copied Dr. Eloesser’s address in San Francisco. “I’ll mail it right away.” The monkey leaped out of the window and over the wall to the garden. She ran along the sidewalk to the mailbox at the corner. Scaling the side of it, she read a poster pasted there.

The Greatest Living Wrestler
El Corazón
Versus
the Mean and Evil
El Diablo
Tonight 7
PM
Mexico City Arena

She dropped the letter in the slot, climbed down, and ran home. She knew where she was going that night.

A Thief’s Life

“W
atch this!” Oswaldo winked at Maria and Victor. The three of them were on the busy avenue. Oswaldo had told Maria and Victor that he was taking them to breakfast at the plaza. To Maria and Victor that meant he was going to buy breakfast. To Oswaldo it meant something entirely different. Before they got far, Oswaldo started fooling around. He did a cartwheel. When he landed on his feet, he stumbled into a man in a suit who was walking down the street. “Oh, excuse me,
señor
.”

“Watch where you’re going,” barked the man, and he went on his way.

Once the man was out of sight, Oswaldo held up a pocket watch on a gold chain. “I
was
watching.” He laughed.

“You can’t do that!” exclaimed Maria, trying to suppress her own laughter. “Return it immediately.”

“That’s incredible!” added Victor. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

Maria turned white. “No, you don’t. Our mother taught us not
to steal.” She was struggling to keep her mother in the forefront of her thoughts. But the excitement of being with Oswaldo and exploring this amazing city overrode any sense of responsibility. This was her chance to see the world, something her mother would never let her do.

“Come on! Are you hungry or not?” Oswaldo called. Victor followed, but Maria stood her ground. Oswaldo and Victor ignored her and disappeared around the corner.

After a moment Maria got nervous and dashed after the boys. “Wait!” When she caught up with them, Oswaldo motioned her over.
It’s as if he owns the city
, thought Maria.

“See that fruit stall over there?” Oswaldo pointed across the plaza. A man was selling a sack of avocados to a woman. There were other customers sorting through the plantains and guavas.

“
Sí
,” replied Victor. He was excited to be included.

“Ask that man if he has any mangoes.”

“Why?” Maria was suspicious, but she was willing to do just about anything Oswaldo suggested. It was so liberating.

“Don’t you want breakfast?” asked Oswaldo innocently.

Maria laughed. “I’m starving!” Glancing back at the boys, she crossed the plaza quickly. At the fruit stall she said, “Excuse me,
señor
, but do you have any mangoes?” She couldn’t suppress her giggles.

The fruit seller spun on his heel. “Who said that?” The fruit seller was a short, round man in worn overalls and a dirty white T-shirt. His head sat on his shoulders like one of his melons. When he saw Maria, he gave her a long, distrustful look. “No mangoes. Some thief stole my whole shipment yesterday.”

Maria started to sympathize with the man, but before she could get out any words, Oswaldo and Victor had stolen armfuls of fruits and vegetables.

“Hey!” shouted the seller. “Stop them!” He took two steps after them but quickly realized he wasn’t going to catch the thieves. He also knew that if he left his stall unattended, it would be stripped bare by the time he returned.

Maria froze, then quickly recovered and started to dash away. But the seller grabbed her by the arm.

“Oh no, you don’t!” He pulled her back to the stall. “That was the same thief who stole my mangoes. You’re in with him. I know it.”

Maria had to think quickly. She tried to yank herself free, and she shouted, “Help! This man is trying to kidnap me! Help! Police!”

A crowd quickly surrounded the fruit stall.

“No! No!” said the fruit seller as he let go of Maria. “She’s the thief. It is I who want the police.” Before he could finish the sentence, Maria had slipped through the crowd. Laughing, she ran back the way they had come. This was the most excitement she had ever had in her life.

Oswaldo and Victor waited two streets over. They tried to eat bananas but were laughing so hard that the fruit shot out their noses.

Maria tried to look serious. She didn’t want to teach Victor that stealing was okay. “You think it’s funny, huh? That was the man you stole—” But she couldn’t keep a straight face and burst into laughter along with them.

Oswaldo bent over laughing. “I couldn’t help it,” he giggled. “It was too funny not to do.”

“Stop it,” said Maria. “I can’t stop laughing.”

Victor snorted banana through his nose again, he was laughing so hard. That caused everyone to break into even greater peels of laughter.

Finally Maria got control of herself. “As soon as we find our mother, we will pay that poor man back.”

“Why?” objected Victor.

“It is wrong to steal,” answered Maria. She knew she sounded like her grandmother, but since her grandmother was dead, someone in the family had to be responsible. She knew she couldn’t just let Victor become a thief. She sat down on the curb next to Oswaldo and Victor and sorted through the apples, cucumbers, and tomatoes they had stolen.

“But it was fun, wasn’t it?” asked Oswaldo rather shyly. He seemed embarrassed.

Maria took a bite of a juicy tomato. Pulp spilled down her chin. “Oh, this tastes so good.” She sighed. She looked at Oswaldo and shrugged.

He rolled back, laughing.

“Oh, God is going to punish us,” Maria said, full of delight.

“Follow me,” said Oswaldo as he suddenly jumped to his feet and headed down the street, leaving the food behind.

“Where?” called Maria after him as she scrambled to pick up the discarded banana peels and apple cores to place in a garbage can. At this moment she felt so free of rules she would follow him anywhere.

“Come on! It’s a surprise.” Oswaldo skipped a few yards. Then
he hopped up on a wall and walked along the top as if he were a tightrope walker.

“Let’s play follow the leader,” said Victor. He clambered onto the wall and did exactly what Oswaldo was doing.

“Maria, don’t spoil the fun,” shouted Oswaldo.

She stepped up onto the wall and followed them. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a secret.” Oswaldo grinned.

“I love secrets. Tell me. Tell me. I won’t tell anyone!” shouted Victor.

“But then it won’t be a secret anymore,” replied Oswaldo. He waved them along. “Down here.” Oswaldo led Maria and Victor into a large building with a brass plaque on the front that read Ministry of Public Education. Inside the ministry were three stories of open hallways surrounding a huge courtyard, and each hallway was painted with a giant mural.

“Holy cow!” gasped Victor. He was staring at a mural of Indians working the fields and mines. “This looks like home.” In another hallway the mural depicted a workers’ meeting. “This is a painting of the revolutionaries returning land to the
campesinos
,” said Oswaldo. The opposite hallway showed Indian children being taught in an open-air school.