The Abducted Heart (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (15 page)

“Agreeable virtues, both of them, among husbands and wives, but with strangers they do not prove reliable.”

He meant not as reliable as the Spanish system of protection. “Watching your women, escorting them everywhere, following them about, it’s archaic.”

“Tried and true,” he murmured, refusing to rise to provocation.

“It’s changing all the time as more and more of your women find jobs and go out of the house to work.”

“Perhaps,” he said, inclining his head. “It won’t change completely for some time, however, not in my generation, not in my house.”

“How can you sit there—” she began, only to be interrupted.

“Tell me, what would you have done if I hadn’t arrived when I did just now?”

“Screamed,” she answered promptly.

“And then?”

“Fought,” she said with less certainty.

“And after that?” When she did not answer, he went on. “Then you were as glad to see me as you said you were?”

“Yes — and I will admit that you are right in some ways. Still, there are few things so stifling as being over-protected. To escape it is worth some risk.”

His voice was grave when he answered, “I will try to remember that.”

Ramón did not return to his office. After changing into an open-neck sports shirt, he ordered drinks served to Anne and himself on the patio and they sat outside in the gathering twilight. They did not talk much. There was a slight constraint between them, but not enough to compel Anne to break the companionable silence. She thought Ramón had something on his mind from the way he stared unseeing at the blue shadows beneath the arcade; she had no right to pry, however, and so sat mute.

It seemed that there were reminders of the brief nature of her stay in Mexico everywhere. If she had been Ramón’s fiancée in truth, he might have shared his problem with her, asked her opinion on it. As things were, she could not expect that privilege.

Abruptly he turned to her in the dimness. “I had an invitation today from Irene. How would you feel about attending a costume party she is organizing for one of the local charities?”

“A costume party?”

“In a manner of speaking, an annual affair much to Irene’s taste. The question is not whether you think it would be enjoyable, but if you feel up to courting another meeting with my cousin so soon? The date is set for next Thursday.”

Thursday, only two days before their own party, two days before she must make her exit. She did not like the idea of sharing one of her last nights with Irene, still she could hardly say so.

“Do you want to go?” Anne asked, and found herself waiting without breathing for the answer.

“Not particularly. On the other hand, I wouldn’t like to ignore what might be an olive branch.”

Family ties were important to Ramón, to all of Mexican blood, she remembered Doña Isabel saying. Slowly she agreed.

“Still, there is something I don’t quite trust about this invitation,” he said meditatively.

“In what way?”

“It isn’t like my dear cousin to forget a grievance so quickly, or to make the first move to heal a breach.”

Anne would have liked to argue with that summation of Irene’s character, but she did not quite dare. After a moment she asked, “What harm can there be in a party invitation?”

“None, I suppose. Perhaps it’s just that she has a new man she wants to flaunt before me.”

Was there a trace of bitterness in his voice? Anne could not decide.

“It might be best to give Irene the opportunity, then,” she said, her tone expressionless.

“You think we should go?”

Anne avoided his eyes. “I see no reason why we shouldn’t, if this is the kind of thing you would ordinarily attend with a fiancée.”

“Very well. I will send our acceptance.”

“What about costumes?”

“There’s no need, a half-mask will do. Some few will wear costumes, most won’t bother.”

“That doesn’t seem very festive. Why do they call it a costume party?”

He smiled at her mock disappointment. “It’s a tradition for this particular charity,” he said, mentioning an international organization.

“It — it is kind of Irene to become involved in such a worthy cause.”

“Not at all. It is a matter of social prestige,” he replied.

It was obvious, Anne, subsiding into silence once more, told herself, that he had few illusions concerning Irene. She must take what comfort she could from that.

Ramón, taking his responsibility seriously, went nowhere near the office that weekend. He dismissed his secretary until Monday morning, cleared the desk in his study, and put away his dark, conservative suits. On Saturday morning he greeted Anne at the breakfast table in a cream-colored knit sports shirt worn with brown slacks.

Seating her in the chair across from his, he smiled into her wary eyes. “Behold me, your guide to Mexico. I am at your service, señorita. Where shall we go today?”

Anne, lowering her lashes, poured herself a cup of coffee before she answered. “You don’t have to do this for my sake.”

“I thought I had made my feelings on this subject plain,” he said, taking his seat again and pushing his own cup toward her to be refilled. “I would rather you didn’t go about alone, therefore I will go with you. It will give me great pleasure to show my city to you.”

“Well then,” she said with a sudden brilliant smile, “you had your chance to get out of it. I accept your generous offer.”

“What would you like to see?” he inquired, settling back with a look of satisfaction.

“Everything,” she declared. “Simply everything.”

Despite an initial expression of comic dismay, Ramón obliged her. They visited the sixteenth-century cathedral, with its fourteen altars, in the center of the city; the nearby art museum in the Palacio de Bellas Artes, where they bought tickets for the much discussed Ballet Folklórico; and then, as a change of pace, they strolled through the flower market on Luis Moya Street. He drove her out to the University of Mexico to view the famous mural-covered buildings; to his surprise, she recognized the work of Juan O’Gorman adorning the library building. From there they drove to the Basilica of Guadalupe, the shrine of the patron saint of Mexico.

On the way Ramón told her the legend of how it came to be built. The Virgin of Guadalupe was said to have appeared to a humble Indian in December of 1521, telling him of her desire to have a shrine erected in her honor. The bishop to whom the Indian repeated the request denied permission unless he received proof of the visitation. The Virgin came once more to the Indian and instructed him to take roses to the bishop which he must pick from a barren rock. The Indian found the roses where the Virgin indicated and placed them under his cloak for safekeeping. When he opened his cloak to present the flowers to the bishop, there appeared on the inside of his cloak a painting of the Virgin where the roses had been.

The “Dark Virgin” was much revered in Mexico and her protection evoked on all occasions. When she saw the painting Anne recognized her as the Virgin represented in the small statuettes guarding taxicabs, elevators, shops, and even street crossings, which she had seen all over the city of Mexico. She was impressed by the richness of the gold-and diamond-encrusted altar, endowed by those whom the Virgin had helped, and the crutches, walking canes, and stretchers left behind by her grateful worshipers.

Because of the crowd of pilgrims that came and went on this weekend, they did not stay long, however. They returned to the city in time to enjoy a leisurely dinner at a restaurant, in the modern style, jutting out over one of the lakes in Chapultepec Park.

Sunday was a family day. Estela and Esteban, with their two children, descended on the house after early Mass. Ramón’s sister, in her vivacious way, was bursting with ideas for their enjoyment. She had packed a picnic, and after adding to it from the Castillo larder, she swept them all off with her in Esteban’s somewhat dilapidated station wagon. Even Doña Isabel was included. Her cheeks pink with pleasure, the old lady seemed content to share the third seat of the nine-passenger vehicle with her great-grandchildren, a boy and a girl.

They threaded the back roads of the city, arriving finally, as their first stop, at the Lagunilla Market. It was what Doña Isabel insisted on calling a thieves’ market rather than a fica market. Wares of all kinds were displayed, from handicrafts to valuable antiques, in an open-air shopping district which ran for blocks.

Estela, intent on finding a set of place mats of a particular shade of green, stopped before a straw weaver. Anne and Ramón, a solemn little girl of four with the impressive name of Consuelo swinging between their hands, walked on. Estela’s children were impressively well-mannered, content to look without asking for all the pretty, bright-colored toys available. As a reward, Ramón, with a quick guilty glance at his sister, bought Consuelo a helium-filled balloon that he tied to her wrist to keep it from floating away. He also bought her a pink and yellow windmill on a stick, but found she could not hold it and his hand at the same time. He solved the problem by carrying it himself, as unselfconscious with that gaudy toy in his hand as if it had been a feathered scepter and he an Aztec king.

Consuelo was not the only one who received a gift. At a stall where antiques were laid out, tapestries and leather-bound books, silver plates and goblets and brass-bound chests, he began to bargain with the dealer. The piece that had caught his eye was a small, weathered wood statuette, about a foot high, of the Virgin of Guadalupe. She was represented wearing a crown in a blue cloak studded with stars over a garment of crimson and gold, her hands clasped and her faded features in dark wood were finely carved, investing her with an expression of understanding and serenity.

Anne could not be sure, but to her untutored eye the Virgin’s crown looked overlaid with gold leaf and the raised stars of her cloak covered with sterling silver. She had little doubt that the statuette was of considerable value. When Ramón turned triumphant from his bargaining session to present it to her, she could not hide her dismay.

“She is beautiful, Ramón, truly beautiful, but I couldn’t take anything so valuable.”

“You will have to, I’ve already bought her. And don’t have another hand to hold her,” he said, placing the Virgin in the crook of Anne’s arm and taking Consuelo’s hand again, slipping the windmill from her fingers. The devil of laughter died away in his eyes as he added, “Besides, I want you to have it. Call it a souvenir. Americans like to collect souvenirs of passing pleasures, do they not?”

Anne turned sharply away as tears stung her eyes. She made no further protests. Cradling the statuette against her, holding Consuelo’s hand, she walked on.

From the market they went to Xochimilco to enjoy the famed floating gardens. They rented a gondola decorated with carnations and roses. Approximately twenty-five feet long, it had rafted sides and a curved roof covering a long picnic table with benches on each side. The boatman with his long pole stood at the back. He was a friendly, indulgent man. A father himself, he had no objections to Consuelo and her older brother, Juan, riding on the bench seat in the stem where his own small boy sat beside him.

Moving gently over the water studded with lily pads and water hyacinths, they ate their alfresco luncheon. They washed down the cold chicken, meat-filled tortillas and fruit with cold drinks, beer and wine, bought from a floating vendor. Then, serenaded by the beautifully blending voices of a water-borne mariachi band, cooled by a flower-scented breeze, they circumnavigated the warm waters of the lake.

The Xochimilco Indians who entertained boatloads of Mexicans and tourists each Sunday had been suppliers of vegetables and flowers and fruits to the citizens of Mexico City for centuries. Before the conquest, before Cortes was born, they had delivered their produce by canoe to the Venice-like city of the Aztec emperors, surrounded at that time by a network of canals. The land on which the Xochimilco lived was marshy, and so, to increase the yield of their crops, they built wooden rafts that they covered with soil and floated on the water. These were still in use, though the roots of the crops had long since extended down into the water, attaching the raft to the muddy bottom of the lakes and lagoons.

The produce of these floating gardens was hawked by canoe on Sunday also. Doña Isabel, seeing a vendor with his boat piled high with yellow dahlias, called him to the side of their gondola. What followed was a spirited bargaining session during which the vendor promised to deliver an enormous quantity of dahlias to the Castillo house on the morning of the party to supplement those ordered from the florist. The vendor accepted an offer for his flowers that was considerably less than he had wanted in the beginning. To console the poor man for being bested, Ramón bought the major part of his current cargo and distributed it among the ladies.

Anne smiled her thanks over the mass of perfect golden-yellow blooms. She could not speak. Consuelo, tired and full, finding her mother occupied with Doña Isabel in discussing plans for the party, had climbed into Anne’s arms. She had gone to sleep there with the tender curve of her cheek pillowed against the softness of Ann’s breast. To speak might awaken the little girl, and Anne found that she was reluctant to disturb her.

Her attention drawn by the bright picture Anne made under the shaded canopy of the gondola, Estela cast a sly smile at her brother.