The Amazing Mexican Secret (3 page)

Carmen waited until the other children were out of sight before continuing up the steps with Stanley.

Stanley wished she hadn't sent his friends away. “Why couldn't they come, too?” he sulked.

“Because they could not,” Carmen declared.

“They were just trying to help,”

Stanley said. “They came all this way, and you made them stop just steps from La Abuela's house. It's not fair.” He kicked a step hard with his toe.

“Stanley,” Carmen said. “How did you become flat?”

“The bulletin board over my bed squashed me in the middle of the night,” Stanley grumbled.

“Was that fair?” said Carmen.

“No.” Stanley shook his head. “It wasn't fair at all. People make fun of me. They stare at me. Sometimes I wish it had been my brother, Arthur.”

Carmen nodded thoughtfully. Together, they climbed the last step. Stanley took a moment to straighten
himself and flatten his hair before stepping inside to meet La Abuela.

 

 

“Hello?” Stanley called, leaning through the archway. “
¿Hola?
La Abuela?”

His voice echoed from one end of the building to the other. It was empty. There wasn't even any furniture.

“Where is she?” Stanley said.

Carmen walked across the floor. She turned to face Stanley, her silhouette framed by an archway identical to the one they had entered.

“When I was your age,” Carmen said, “only boys were matadors. Even then, I knew I wanted to fight bulls. I cried very much, because it was not fair. It
was not fair that I was a girl. It was not fair that I had this body.

“But then, someone very wise told me a secret. And now I will tell that secret to you: It is not what you have that matters,” said Carmen. “It is what you do with it.”

She beckoned for Stanley to come and look.

Stanley gasped. There were no steps down the other side of the pyramid. In fact, there was no other side to the pyramid at all. There was only a cliff that dropped from this side of the building like a huge wall, all the way down to a blue pool of water far, far below.

The green of the jungle made a blanket over the land. Stanley felt as if he could see for miles.

“So where does La Abuela live?” he said.

“I don't know,” said Carmen.

“What?”

“No one has ever been able to go beyond this point to find her. I know only that the water leads to her.”

“But how are we supposed to get down to the water?”

“We are not,” said Carmen. “You are.”

Stanley was speechless.

Carmen's dark eyes twinkled. “What
are you going to do with what you have, Stanley?”

Stanley peered over the edge. He could not float down like a kite, because there was no wind. And this was nothing like Niagara Falls, which had been an accident, in any case.

In a flash, Stanley knew what he had to do.

He took several big steps back.

“
Buena suerte
,” Carmen whispered. “Good luck.”

He took three deep breaths.

And then he ran and dived over the edge.

 

Stanley had seen Olympic divers on television: their bodies perfectly straight, their hands like arrows piercing the water. Stanley made himself as flat as he could. The wind rushed around his ears. The side of the cliff blurred before his eyes.

He barely made a splash.

Stanley shot toward the bottom of
the water like a bullet. Suddenly, he noticed an underwater cave to his left, swarming with fish. He went for it.

Inside, Stanley knew he couldn't hold his breath much longer. His hands broke the surface and hit the cave's rocky ceiling.

There wasn't nearly enough space for his head.

How am I going to breathe?!
he thought in a panic.

Then he remembered Carmen's voice:
What are you going to do with what you have?

Stanley swung himself into a back float. His flat body barely rose above the surface. The ceiling of the cave was
inches from his nose.

 

 

He gulped the air hungrily.

A current began pulling him along. It started gently and then got faster. Soon, Stanley felt like he was riding a water slide—except it was pitch-dark, and all the sides were covered with sharp rocks.

The current rose to a roar. He swung into the wall and scraped his leg. Stanley cried out.

Vroosh.
He shot out of the cave.

Stanley found himself in a calm, clear pool of water shallow enough that he could stand.

Around the pool was a small field of herbs, planted in rows.

And at the edge of the field was a tiny cottage.

Stanley walked ashore, careful not to step on any of the plants. He was about to knock on the door when it opened.

A very small, very old woman stood before him. Stanley swallowed hard. “La Abuela?” She was smaller than Stanley was, with big cheeks and short gray hair. She wore a colorful dress and a patterned scarf around her neck.

She looked at him curiously.

Stanley reached into his pocket for Carlos's letter, but all he found was a few soggy bits of paper.

“I'm not a spy,” Stanley said quickly.

Without responding, La Abuela reached for his hand. She raised his
arm before her eyes and turned it this way and that, examining its shape.

Then she turned her gaze to Stanley's face. Stanley held his head high so she could look.

When he looked down again, La Abuela's eyes were moist, as if she were about to cry. Her lips quivered.

“
Estaba esperándole
,” she said. “I have been waiting for someone like you.”

Stanley was about to ask what she meant when he heard a
series of splashes—one, two, three!

“
Oui!
” a familiar voice said triumphantly. “We have arrived at last!”

Somehow, Chef Lillou and his spies had followed Stanley!

Chef Lillou burst into La Abuela's cottage, dropping his climbing harness and his scuba tank in the middle of the floor. He looked around the dim room.

“Where is she, you little
crêpe
?”

Stanley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I don't know,” he said, shrugging.

The chef walked over to the lumpy
bed. “You cannot fool Chef Lillou,” he said. “She is hiding beneath these covers!” He whisked the blankets off. Nothing.

 

 

He held a finger in the air. “She is in the closet!” He bounded over to a wardrobe and threw it open. Empty.

“She's gone,” Stanley said. “I came all this way just like you, and she's not even here.” He pointed to the scrape on his leg and frowned. “Now I can barely walk.”

“Do not look for sympathy from
moi
,” Chef Lillou waved his hand in the air. “After that woman on the pyramid, I have more bruises than an overripe tomato.” He scanned the room one more time.

 

 

“I do not care,” he said, sticking his nose in the air. “Outside is an entire field of La Abuela's secret ingredient. I have spent nine years seeking perfection, and now I have found it. I will be the greatest chef in history!”

He marched into the field, leaving the door wide open. Stanley leaned forward to see. Chef Lillou bent down, plucked a green leaf, and held it up to his nose. He inhaled deeply.

“Chef,” called Patrice the saucier, “do you smell what I smell?”

The chef furrowed his brow. “This smells like common coriander.”

“No, not coriander,” said Reynaldo. “It is cilantro, I think.”

“Coriander and cilantro are the same thing, you fool!” Chef Lillou cried. “It is the most common spice in all of Mexican cooking!

“This isn't the secret ingredient,” he choked.

And with that, the great Chef Lillou of Bourgogne burst into tears.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he whimpered.

“No, no, no, no.” “Do not cry, chef,” Patrice said as he
patted Lillou's shoulder. “We can still make a unique pesto.”

“I just want to go home to my restaurant,” the chef blubbered.

“That sounds like a good idea,” said Reynaldo gently.

Reynaldo and Patrice put the chef's arms around their shoulders. Together, the three of them walked out of the field, to return to France at last.

Stanley waited until he could no longer hear voices. Then he carefully peeled himself from his chair and turned around.

“Are you okay?” he asked La Abuela, whom he had been covering the entire time.

She nodded, a smile breaking across her face. She burst into laughter and leaped from the chair. Together, she and Stanley did a little dance. She finished by kissing him wetly on the cheek.

Stanley pointed out the door. “So that's
not
the secret ingredient?”

La Abuela giggled. “The secret is not the ingredient,” she said in her broken English. “It is what you do with it.” Her eyes sparkled.

Stanley suddenly understood: It was La Abuela who had told Carmen the secret that made her a great matador.

La Abuela walked into the field and plucked a handful of cilantro from the ground. She took Stanley's hand, turned
it palm up, and placed the herbs on the flat of his arm. Then she took his other arm and pressed it on top of the first.

“Now,” she said. “Rub as hard as you can. I will get the salt.” She ran inside.

Stanley started rubbing. His arms got hot with friction.

Suddenly, Stanley smelled something familiar. It was a smell he knew from his mother's kitchen.

It was the smell of his last breakfast at home.

Stanley breathed deeply. It was the most delicious smell he had ever known.