The House on Carnaval Street

by Deborah Rodriguez

  After the last chorus I turned to go, but Cynthia was no longer by my side. But for once, it was okay. I knew she wouldn’t leave without me, and besides, I had prepared for this possibility by snapping a photo of our van and its surroundings before we left the parking area.

  I continued exploring on my own, carefully picking my way through the patchwork of plots, trying my best not to disturb the calm of the night. But I must have missed a stone or something because all of a sudden I found myself stumbling forward into the darkness. “Fuego!” gasped someone behind me as I fell gently into a pair of beefy arms, my scarf crackling and sizzling from the touch of a toppled candle. I quickly swatted at the fabric until the little flame disappeared, and straightened myself up to thank my savior. And that’s when I saw it. Delia’s grave.

  Now, I didn’t know Delia from Adam, but by the looks of her altar I wished I had. Her name was spelled out in big glittery letters across the foot of the grave. At the head, a long triple-tiered banquet table hosted a feast for a dozen tiny skeletons, sitting there all duded up in front of itty-bitty plates of clay food. On their left, a six-piece papier-mâché mariachi band strummed and tooted silently into the night. It looked like some party. And in the center, on a cross sculpted from sand and topped with silver sequins, a naked skeleton basked under a little spotlight, as if she were enjoying a glorious day by the sea.

  “Tu mamá?” I asked the young man who had reached out to catch me, my voice cracking a little.

  He nodded proudly, turning to the boy next to him. “Nuestra madre.”

  Brothers. Suddenly a swirling wind kicked up around me, causing the dozens of candles adorning Delia’s grave to flicker wildly in the dark. “I hear you, Delia,” I said with a little laugh. “You weren’t by any chance a hairdresser, were you?” Delia’s sons held up their beers toward me in the gesture of a toast, and I toasted them back with my empty fist.

  The veil is thin.

  I stood with Delia’s sons, the three of us smiling down at the silent, miniature celebration happening below.

  And then something happened. All of a sudden I was filled with a sense of lightness, a feeling of clarity I couldn’t recall ever experiencing before. If I could have seen what I was feeling it would have looked like this—hundreds of tiny pieces of myself whirling around, connecting to each other bit by bit with a soft thwack, like Humpty Dumpty in reverse. It was the oddest sensation, but wow, was it amazing. The only way I can describe it is that it felt as though there was no such thing as time: my past and present and future all melded into one. And for one brief moment I felt, for the first time in my life, like the skin on my body was the most elegant, luxurious, custom-made outfit in the world, and that it fit me like a glove.

  I swore to myself that I’d remember that feeling, forever, and headed down the hill to find my way home.

  “Wheeee!!!” Italya squeals as I swing her by the arms, her toes skimming across the surface of the warm blue water. It’s Sunday on Stone Island. Family day. Behind us the whole gang, including my vacationing son Zach, is gathered around a shaded table, watching and laughing as I try my darnedest to keep my fussy two-year-old girl from losing interest, from wriggling out of my grip and running back into her daddy’s lap. Noah needs a break. Tippy Toes has been honored with a “Best of Mazatlán” award from a popular local magazine for the second year in a row. We are busy. Very busy. Hell, I need a break. Especially because Tippy Toes is no longer just Tippy Toes. We are now officially Tippy Toes and Marrakesh Spa & Boutique. That’s right. Manis, pedis, massages, facials, body scrubbing, hair, and shopping! Now I have an excuse, no, a reason, to shop my way across the entire country, finding all sorts of those kinds of handmade treasures that get my heart thumping. How cool is that? Talk about transforming evil into good. Well, maybe not evil, but at least I’ve found a way to make my addiction a fruitful one.

  Italya slithers away and I follow her across the warm sand toward the table. “Looking good, Deb,” says Barb.

  “Really? Thanks.” I twist my wet T-shirt to wring out the salty water. I’m not so convinced. I may be in better shape than I was, but I’m still not a hundred percent comfortable baring my belly in front of a crowd.

  “Cuidado!” Martha puts down her Coke and shields the bundle in her lap as Italya tries to climb aboard. Yes, we have a new baby in the family, a boy this time. Kai Milan popped out with the chubbiest cheeks I had ever seen. “He cried in English!” insisted the gorgeous young doctor who helped bring him into the world. I didn’t care what language he cried in. We all were just happy for another little munchkin to cuddle as we open up in the mornings, another doll to pamper with kisses and hugs at the end of the day, another cutie to spoil with toys and treats anytime we feel like it, for no reason whatsoever.

  I look around the table at my friends and family, remembering that day that doesn’t really seem all that long ago, when we first met. Only Sharon and Glen, and Analisa, are missing, too busy to take a day off for the beach. All has been quiet on the streets of Mazatlán, and the tourists are back. Casa de Leyendas and Macaws (especially on Margarita Wednesdays!) are packed. In fact, all of Centro seems to be booming, with new galleries and boutiques and restaurants that are starting to make it feel like a little SoHo. The neighborhood’s biggest issues these days seem to be limited to things like broken sewers. But we’ve learned how to deal with that. One call to the local TV station and abracadabra, a pipe is repaired or a road repaved, overnight. Sergio has still not stopped teasing me about my ranting and raving on the six o’clock news.

  A cheer goes up from the table as Luz and Alex come whizzing by the shoreline on top of a banana boat, Derek squeezed between them, all three holding on for dear life. “Cuidado!” Teresa and Martha shout out, this time in unison. Me, I’m happy to see those kids letting loose. Alex has been working hard at Tippy Toes doing everything, even the mani-pedis Sergio and Teresa had objected to, at first. That would make him more gay, they had protested. Go figure. But we do have plenty of customers now asking specifically for the boy with the pink hair. And he’s planning on going back to finish school this year. A chef, or a lawyer, he answered when I asked him about his future. I will keep my fingers and toes crossed. Oh, and his other plan? A float for Tippy Toes in Mazatlán’s next Gay Pride parade. We are all looking forward to it.

  Luz now has her own tattoo gun, and is keeping herself in ink by doing tats in her spare time. She’s still learning, but I have no doubt she’ll soon be a star in her field. At home, her sister Gaby is doing better, she tells me, and is loving beauty school. I’ve seen evidence myself in the different style of braid Italya’s wearing every single time she comes down from The Hill.

  “Más rápido!” I yell to the kids as they make another pass near shore. Yes, my Spanish is finally improving. It started, as everyone told me it would, with my ears. If I just kept my mouth shut long enough to listen, I found I could pick up a few things. My tongue still feels thick and long when I try to speak, and my delivery sounds more like beauty shop Spanglish than proper Spanish, and there are times when a word pops out in Dari by mistake, but at least I’m getting somewhere.

  “You still here?” I squeeze my chair into a spot next to Denis, who lets out a laugh so loud I have to cover my ear. “I didn’t mean it that way!” I had thought Denis was planning to go home early, to get ready for a poker game. But yes, he is still here. And I mean that, this time, in the bigger sense. In fact, I think my relationship with Denis has almost set the record as my longest. I know it’s my best. Even if he sometimes drives me crazy with his uncanny ability to sit and do nothing, which, to a chronic multitasker, is torture to watch. That, and his poker face. Unless Denis is laughing, you can’t tell if he’s mad, glad, or sad. I keep telling him I’m going to make him wear a mood ring just to help me out a little.

  And one of my dreams has come true. Noah is planning a trip to Michigan, with Italya. He finally succeeded i
n getting her passport and visa, and they are going together to see my mom. I so wish I could be there to see their faces when they meet. But somebody has to hold down the fort at Tippy Toes. Besides, I need to be here to make sure my girls get to school.

  There are now seven students involved with Project ­Mariposa. And we’ve actually started to supplement their education with a little mentoring, right upstairs from Tippy Toes. The whole thing just came out of the blue, and I went with it. I was introduced to Rick when he tagged along with his friend, a furniture maker who had come by my house with a bid. “It’s you!” he screamed. “It’s her!” Turns out he was a hairdresser from Denver, and a big fan of my first book, who had recently retired in Mazatlán. He had no interest in working behind the chair anymore, but was looking for volunteer teaching opportunities to keep himself active in the industry. And he was fluent in Spanish. How could I say no? Now he parks himself upstairs with the students every Monday, sharing the tricks of the trade that can come only from a seasoned pro. I have to admit it is starting to feel a bit like Kabul up there, but in the good way.

  Our first Project Mariposa girl is about nine months away from graduation. When Rosa recently dropped by Tippy Toes to say hello, I made her a promise: the day she shows up with a high school diploma, a beauty school diploma, and no pregnant belly (I made this last demand with a scowl at the teenage boyfriend who had tagged along with her), that will be the day I give her a job at Tippy Toes. Guaranteed. Her face lit up as if she had won the lottery.

  Oh, and now we have one boy in the program! It was sort of my mistake, but one I’m glad to have made. Here’s how it happened. You see, no matter how much Spanish I pick up, I will never understand María, who cleans my house. We’ve had several miscommunications, ending in things like a washer full of chicken feathers. She had heard about ­Project Mariposa through Martha, and mentioned her own child, who apparently liked to do hair. I knew María’s life was pretty much hand to mouth, and even though she wasn’t the world’s best housekeeper, she was still a good, honest, warmhearted woman. So I told her to bring her daughter to meet me the following Saturday at the school. Imagine my surprise when a sweet teenage boy showed up in a bright pink-striped shirt, matching pink shoelaces, a pair of crisp white pants, and blond-tipped bangs.

  So I welcomed him to class and did what I do on most Saturdays: I park myself on the sidewalk in front of the building on Juárez Street, just to make sure my girls—and now my boy—get there, get there on time, and get there in uniform. One by one, they come flying around the corner, head mannequins tucked under their arms. I tap my watch and shuffle them inside, where they’ll spend the next four hours learning to cut and style, buff and polish, clean and steam. Someday these kids will have a real job, and a real paycheck, and Mazatlán will have a never-ending supply of top-of-the-line beauticians! Maybe someday some of them will be ready to do hair beside me. Then I’ll be able to kick back any damn time I please. Maybe.

  But for the moment I’ll have to settle for kicking back on Sundays, which, honestly, feels pretty good to me right now. A warm breeze. A table loaded with platters of fresh shrimp, baskets of crispy chips, and bowls of chunky guacamole. An ocean that seems to go on forever, teeming with kids and moms and dads playing in the waves as if they didn’t have a care in the world. My growing family around me, and friends who have made that family circle about more than just flesh and blood.

  I wonder about something. If there were someone like me sitting at our table right now, the me of a few years ago, the me who was trying so hard to figure out the who and what and why of this place on that day at this beach, I wonder what I’d answer when she’d ask why I came to Mexico. I think I’d have only one thing to say. It’s a long story.

  Acknowledgments

  I am always and forever the storyteller, and am so proud to work with great people who guide me through my endless notes and help me make sense of what is going on in my head—not always an easy task.

  The House on Carnaval Street would not have been possible without wonderful, talented people, the first of whom I am so thankful to have worked with being Ellen Kaye. She is one of the most talented writers and one of the most gracious people I have ever met. I often wonder if she really knew what she was getting herself into when she took on the job of working with me, but man oh man, did we ever have fun—that is, if “fun” means getting lost in the mountains of Mexico and drinking tequila at midnight in smoky cemeteries. Ellen, I promise next time we do a road trip, I will admit to you when I am lost and will never listen to the GPS lady again. Ellen, you were at my side throughout the entire process. If I had to say what the best thing that came out of this book is, I would say my friendship with you.

  This book would not have happened without wonderful publishers like Gallery at Simon & Schuster, and talented ­editors like Karen Kosztolnyik and her excellent team. Sometimes when you have a vision for something not everyone catches it. When I explained the vision for this book to Karen, Louise Burke, and the Gallery team, I instantly saw in their eyes that they got it. I knew the book would be in safe hands. Thank you, Karen, for guiding this very personal book with tender loving care.

  Marly Rusoff, you are amazing and always so supportive of all my craziness and the books they become. I love your creative side, and love how you are not afraid to take risks. You and Michael Radulescu (Mihai), your wonderful, sweet, funny husband, have always guided me through every step of this journey. I love how you and your husband work as such a great literary team. My life has changed because of you. You have made possible so many things, for me and for others (the butterfly effect!). Michael, I know you always have my back, and I love that. Quality people and agents like you only come around once in a lifetime. I am the most blessed storyteller in the world.

  Safety Mom, better known as Karen Kinne, you are my BFF. You have been, and always will be, my muse. I am not sure why this happens, but I am thankful for it. I can’t even count the hours we spent together, you helping me purge the stories, sort them out, and remember all the funny things that happened. Thank you so much for always being only a phone call away.

  Chris Gara, I will always be grateful to you. You saw me as a writer, even when I didn’t see it in myself. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Mireille Coney is one of those people who can see through to your soul. When I told her I wanted to write another book and asked if she could help me with some ideas, it was as if she went into that deep place and pulled pieces out of me that I didn’t even know were there. Mireille—you, Dan, and your beautiful children are a bright spot in my life.

  My dear eldest son, Noah Lentz, thank you for taking this journey with me. I am sure that years ago, when we were running out the door into the muddy streets of Kabul, you never thought in your wildest dreams that you would be running a salon in Mexico with a beautiful Mexican wife and three beautiful children. I am so proud of you, Noah. Zach, I can hear you thinking that you’re glad it was your brother’s turn to be in a book and not you. You did that wild ride in Kabul already. Zach, you have always offered me the love and support I adore.

  Martha, thank you for loving my son Noah, and for giving me beautiful grandbabies. There is nothing better in a mother’s life than to see her children happy. You have given me the best reasons in the world to love Mexico forever.

  Martha’s family (you know who you are), thank you for coming to all my silly gringo parties just to be polite, and thank you for being a wonderful family to Noah and my sweet grandbabies.

  Denis Asahara (aka Mr. Miyagi) makes me crazy, but in a good way. I am sure if you asked him, he would have plenty of stories of how I drive him nuts. Thank you, Denis, for supporting me with the book, Tippy Toes, the grandkids, the girls at the beauty school, and all the millions of projects I seem to take on. I know this was not your retirement plan, but hey, look how much fun you are having! You are such a great man, and you have the best laugh
in the entire world. You are my happy ending.

  Sharon Sorri, you are the sister I never had. We fight like sisters and cry like sisters. You and Glen are true family to me, and I cannot even imagine Mexico without you. I love how I can drop into your home (Macaws) and know that when frustrations mount I have family I can turn to. You make me laugh and you make me crazy. Glen and Sharon, your vision has changed the landscape of Mazatlán and my life forever.

  Cynthia DeRozea, thank you for being a trusted friend, and for helping me sort through my PTSD. Thank you for opening my eyes and for opening your home to me. When you introduced me to the Day of the Dead, you forever changed my view of life and its possibilities.

  Bodie Kellogg, you were the first person who made sure I never sat alone in a restaurant. Thank you for all the wonderful conversations, and for introducing me to such awesome people.

  Tippy Toes crew, you are the best. You’ve had to wear ­Halloween costumes, act as Santa’s helpers, be filmed on a reality TV show. I know we have cultural differences, and you’ve helped me through many of them. You have graciously learned English because, frankly, my Spanish sucks. Thank you for making Tippy Toes such a special place.

  A huge thank-you to the people who live in, and love, ­Mazatlán. You’ve taught me so much about this beautiful city and its wonderful people. I’ve made so many friendships in this special town, a place that attracts so many—not only for its ocean beaches and beautiful weather, but for its ability to provide a welcoming home for quirky people, me included.