The Spanish Kidnapping Disaster (2 page)

In the sunny square, a few feet away, a man stood in front of an easel. He was painting a picture of the cathedral. Ignoring Grace and me, Amy watched him silently. Her face was as expressionless as the stone angels peering down at us from the walls, but I knew she was angry.
Sooner or later, I was going to hear about this episode. Like our adventure in the swamp, Amy would add being lost in Toledo to her list of grievances.

Well, it was too late to worry about Amy. Besides I wanted to learn more about Grace. "Now that I've told you all about me," I said, "what about you?"

Grace shrugged. "Me? There is nothing to tell, Felix."

"Oh, there must be." I gazed at her, soaking up the aura of mystery that surrounded her. "For instance," I persisted, "where are you from?"

"It is not important," Grace said. "I am a wanderer, a nomad. I left my home behind many years ago."

"Are you Spanish?"

"No." Grace smiled as if she were playing Twenty Questions with me.

"Well, what then?" I asked, annoyed to be treated like an ignorant child. "Are you French? German? Russian?"

Grace tossed her hair, and her earrings swayed against her cheeks. "Call me a citizen of the world, if you must, someone from everywhere and nowhere."

I paused a moment to catch my breath and think about that—a citizen of the world. It sounded so exotic, so free, so sophisticated. Gazing up at the cathedral's spires, I decided I too would be a person from everywhere and nowhere. As soon as I graduated from high school, I would cram my belongings into a backpack, fasten a flower in my hair, and leave home forever.

"You must live somewhere." Amy's dry, practical voice interrupted my fantasy of myself as a woman with haunted
eyes, leaving a string of broken-hearted men behind me as I roamed the beaches of Portugal or climbed the mountains of Tibet, always alone, shadowed by past tragedies.

"I made homes in many places," Grace told Amy. "Egypt, Israel, Turkey, here in
España.
"

Amy was obviously not impressed by Grace's answer. Looking at her watch, she frowned. "Fascinating as this is, I wish you'd either take us to the Alcázar or tell us how to get there. My father must be worried to death about me."

From the way Amy spoke you would think Don and Don alone cared where we were. My mother was probably worried too—that is, if she'd noticed my absence. The way she acted around Don, holding his hand, kissing him, clinging to him, she might have forgotten she had a daughter by now.

"Forgive me," Grace said to Amy. "I would not want to worry your father." Hoisting her backpack into place, she set off across the square.

"You are so rude," I whispered to Amy. "Can't you see how tired she is?"

"At least I'm not dumb enough to be taken in by all that citizen of the world stuff," Amy said. "She's probably a bigger liar than you. If that's possible."

Hoping Grace hadn't heard Amy, I hurried after her. She was halfway up a narrow flight of stairs, a shortcut to the street above. The houses on either side were so close you could stretch out your arms and touch them, and the steps were worn down in the middle by the feet of all the thousands of people who had climbed them. Like everything in Toledo, they were old and romantic and mysterious.

At the top, Grace paused to readjust her backpack. We had reached a narrow street, partly shaded by tall buildings. The sunlight slanted down a wall, glinting on Grace's hair and etching tiny lines around her eyes.

"Where do you go next, Felix?" she asked. "After you leave Toledo?"

"Tomorow we're driving to Segovia," I told her, "and after that Ávila."

Grace smiled. "Ah, the castle in Segovia is the loveliest in Spain, and you will see windmills on the way to Ávila. Old ones on the hilltops, the very same that Don Quixote mistook for his enemies."

"Right now all I want to see is the Alcázar," Amy said.

Ignoring Amy's bad manners, Grace took her arm and said, "Look, there it is." She pointed at a sunlit square opening out of the shadows at the end of the street. At one end was the Alcázar, towering over the shops huddling at its feet.

"I see Daddy!" Without even thanking Grace, Amy broke away and ran toward Don.

"That is your mother? The blonde woman?" Grace stared with some interest at Mom as she hurried toward us.

"Would you like to meet her? I'm sure she'll be very grateful to you for bringing me back." I grabbed Grace's hand, thinking how impressed Mom would be to meet a citizen of the world.

But Grace shook her head. "No, not now, Felix," she said. "I have an appointment and I am already late."

"Wait," I cried as she turned away. "Will I ever see you again?"

Grace paused and looked over her shoulder at me. "Perhaps," she called. "One never knows what fate holds."

"Come back!" I tried to run after her, but a gang of teenagers burst out of an alleyway and surged between us. Standing on tiptoe, I searched for Grace, but all I saw was a flash of red hair in the sunlight. Then she was gone, and I was alone in a crowd of tourists pointing their cameras at everything.

As I tried to push my way past a man wielding a huge video camera, I felt someone seize my shoulder.

"Felix," Mom cried. She threw her arms around me and hugged me so hard I thought my ribs would crack. "Where have you been? I've been so worried!"

"We got lost." For a moment I snuggled close, enjoying the attention and the feel of her arms around me. Then I remembered Grace. Pulling back from Mom, I searched for a glimpse of red hair in the crowd. "The nicest woman brought us here. I wanted you to meet her."

"But the Alcázar is less than a five-minute walk from where we left you," Mom said, "and you've been gone almost fifteen minutes. What took you so long?"

"Amy and I must have walked the wrong way before we met Grace," I said. "But she was wonderful, Mom, and really beautiful too. She said she was a citizen of the world. Can you imagine?"

I looked at Mom, expecting to see her eyes light with pleasure, but she wasn't really listening to me. All she said was, "Thank goodness, you're safe. We were just about
to go to the police. Don't ever disappear like that again!"

The anger in her voice upset me, and I shrugged her arm away from my shoulder. "I'm surprised you noticed I was gone."

Mom stared at me. "What are you talking about?"

"We've been in Spain a week," I said, "and you've hardly looked at me once. The only person you see is Don, Don, Don."

"Felicia," Mom said, "how can you say such a thing?"

"It's true," I said. "Now that you have him, you don't care about me anymore."

"Don't be silly." Mom tried to hug me but I wouldn't let her.

Then Don joined us, and Mom forgot all about me. Letting him take her hand, she strolled toward the shops in the square. With Phillip and Amy, I was left to trail along behind.

"It's about time you all showed up." Phillip scowled at Amy and me. "Dad wouldn't even let me look at swords, he was so worried about you. You'd think somebody had kidnapped you or something the way he was carrying on. I told him nobody would want either one of you, but that just made him get mad at me."

"Oh, poor little Phillip," Amy said, "I'm so sorry I inconvenienced you."

Her voice dripped with sarcasm but Phillip didn't notice. He'd spotted some swords in a shop window and was rapidly scanning his Spanish phrase book, searching, no doubt, for a new way to embarrass us.

Ever since we'd arrived at the Madrid Airport, Phillip
had been trying to speak Spanish. So far, no one had understood a word he said. His efforts only confused people and made everything take two or three times longer than it should have. Any normal person would have been discouraged, but not Phillip. He kept right on trying, speaking louder and louder as if he thought the poor Spaniards were deaf.

"Can we go in here?" Phillip grabbed Don's arm and tugged him toward the swords. "You said you'd buy me a sword as soon as we found Amy and Felix. Come on, Dad, please?"

As Phillip's voice rose like the sound of a mosquito on a hot day, I winced. "Stop whining," I told him. "It hurts my ears."

"I'm not whining," Phillip shrilled.

"You are so," Amy said, surprising me. Usually she'd rather die than agree with me. For instance, if I said it was a nice day, she would say it was about to rain, even if the sun was shining. But she was obviously as tired of hearing Phillip's voice as I was.

"You shut up, you
pulpo,
" Phillip said.

"Dad, he's swearing at me in Spanish." Amy pushed herself in between Mom and Don. "Make him stop."

Phillip grinned at Don. "I only called her a
pulpo,
" he said. "It means 'octopus.'"

As Don turned from Amy to Phillip and back again, Mom seized his hand. "Look, Don, what beautiful jewelry." Skillfully she diverted everyone's attention to a display of earrings next to the swords Phillip had been admiring. "Shall we go inside and see them?"

All five of us crowded into the store. While Phillip led Don to a rack of swords, Mom and Amy stopped to admire a display of china figurines. Leaving them, I went in search of earrings. To my delight, I found some gold hoops as big as Grace's. Although Mom tried to persuade me to buy a pair of silver butterflies like the ones Amy chose, I held out for the hoops.

As soon as my new earrings were paid for, I removed the little stars I usually wore and put them on. The hoops hung almost to my shoulders, and I thought they made me look worldly and slightly mysterious. All I needed was a flower in my hair.

When we had all bought what we wanted, we walked slowly down the hill toward our hotel. At the Plaza de Zocodover, a big square full of sidewalk cafes, Mom and Don decided to rest for a while. Amy and Phillip ordered sodas, but I followed Mom's example and asked for
café con leche.
It turned out to be coffee foaming with steamed milk, quite bitter, and I sipped it slowly, feeling sophisticated.

Amy's giggle interrupted my daydream. "What's the big joke?" I glared at her over the rim of my cup.

"Those earrings," she said. "They look so funny."

I tried to ignore her, but my vision of myself slipped sidewise and I saw what Amy saw. A tall, gawky girl with freckles, crooked teeth, and shaggy brown hair wearing a red tee-shirt with a cow on it, a gift from Aunt Martha in Vermont. Amy was right. I shouldn't have bought the earrings. No matter how beautiful they were, they couldn't make me into a citizen of the world. Unlike Grace, I
wasn't the right type to wear big gold hoops in my ears.

As I slid down in my seat, too embarrassed to look at anyone, I felt Mom pat my knee. "I love your earrings," she whispered. "In fact, I might even go back and get a pair for myself."

I leaned toward her. "You don't think they look dumb?" I asked, keeping my voice low so Amy wouldn't hear.

"Not at all," Mom said. Then she pulled out her camera and took a picture of me which Phillip almost ruined by waving his sword in front of her just as she pressed the shutter.

"How about me?" he asked. "Don't I make a good matador?"

While Phillip posed for a picture, Amy turned to me. "See that guy?" She directed my attention to a man wearing a black leather jacket sitting at a table several yards away. "He's been staring at me ever since we got here. I bet he thinks I'm older."

"Don't kid yourself," I said. "He's probably looking at her." I pointed at a girl perched on a wall behind us. She was wearing a short leather skirt and a lot of make-up. Her boyfriend sat next to her, whispering in her ear and making her laugh.

Annoyed, Amy tossed her head and managed to swat me with her hair. The cobwebby feel of it tickled my nose, and I moved closer to Mom. I was hoping for a little more of her attention, but she was too engrossed in something Don was saying to notice me. Feeling neglected, I sipped my
café con leche
and stole another look at the man in the black leather jacket. He was staring at our table all right,
but not at Amy. At the moment his eyes were fixed on Don.

When his gaze suddenly shifted to me, I lowered my head, hoping he hadn't noticed I'd been watching him watching us. Maybe it was the black jacket, maybe it was the mustache hiding the corners of his mouth, maybe it was the dark hair slanting down over his eyes, maybe it was just the way he sat there all by himself staring at us, but something about him made me very uncomfortable.

I turned to Mom, but just as I was about to tell her about the man, Don hugged her and she kissed him. No matter what I said now, she wouldn't be interested. Not with Don whispering in her ear.

"Can't that stuff wait till we get to the hotel, Dad?" Phillip asked as Don kissed Mom.

"Kids," Don said to Mom, laughing. "Sometimes they act like stuffy old adults, don't they?"

Mom nodded. "We should go anyway," she said. "We have a dinner reservation at eight-thirty."

Reluctant to leave, I lagged behind the others. The moon was just coming out, and the tables were filling with people. Thinking Grace might be here somewhere, sipping
café con leche
too, I scanned the crowd for her red hair. That was when I noticed that the man in the black leather jacket was still watching us. Worse, he'd been joined by another man, older and kind of heavyset. They were sitting side by side talking, but it was Mom and Don they were looking at.

Then the older man saw me. For a second, we stared at each other across the crowded square. It was like locking
eyes with a cobra. Paralyzed with fear, I couldn't move or look away. When the man turned his head, I hurried after Mom and seized her hand.

"What's wrong, Felix?" she asked. "Did something scare you?" She was smiling, but she sounded concerned. It wasn't often I held her hand.

"There was a man. He was staring at me." I looked back at the square, but the table where the two men had been sitting was empty. "He's gone," I said. "But there were two of them. One watched us the whole time we were having our coffee. Then the other came."

"Oh, Felix, you and your imagination." Mom smiled at me as if I were five years old and squeezed my hand. "Maybe he was admiring your earrings. Or your tee-shirt. Maybe he wanted one just like it, cow and all."