Alamo Wars

by Ray Villareal

  “That is one weird-looking cat,” Izzy said. Marco elbowed him hard. “I … I mean, I’ve never seen a cabbit up close.”

  Blanca said, “I’m going to name it Cabby. What do you think?”

  “It’s perfect,” Marco said.

  Blanca picked up the carrot and offered it to the animal. It sniffed it for a second, then returned to the milk.

  Izzy led Raquel and Marco back to the living room. “It’s a cat. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Marco confessed. “But you don’t need to tell Blanca that. It’s a cabbit as far as I’m concerned.”

  Izzy smiled. “Like I said, that is one weird-looking cat.”

  “How’s your head?” Raquel asked.

  Izzy pressed his hand against the bandage. “Okay, I guess. I’m going back to school tomorrow. Except that … ” He made a pained expression. “I’m kind of scared of Billy Ray. I don’t know what he’ll do when he sees me.”

  Marco patted him on the back. “He won’t do anything to you, Iz. I promise.”

  “I guarantee you he won’t,” Raquel added with a smile.

  Izzy shuddered. “I’ll never mess with him again. That guy’s crazy.” He studied Marco’s face. “Man, what did A.C. Townsend hit you with? A sledgehammer?”

  Marco rubbed his jaw. “It felt like it.”

  Izzy looked closer. “What’s the matter with your lip? Are you bleeding or something?”

  Raquel blushed and covered her mouth.

  Marco quickly wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Uh, no. I, uh, had a red Popsicle on the way over here.”

  “In this freezing weather?” Izzy asked in disbelief. “Man, you must’ve really wanted to eat a Popsicle.”

  Wanting to change the subject, Raquel pointed to the blue taffeta fabric piled next to Izzy’s mother’s sewing machine. “What’s all that?”

  Izzy set the lamp the cat knocked down back on the end table. A piece of the lamp’s base had chipped off. He turned the lamp around so the damage couldn’t be seen at a glance. “That’s what my mom was making our Alamo costumes out of. Here, let me show you.”

  He opened a hall closet and brought out a shiny blue shirt. It had gold epaulets sewn on each shoulder. Four brass buttons came down the front of the shirt.

  “That is so cool,” Marco said. He took it off the hanger and pressed it against his chest.

  Izzy sighed. “Too bad my mom took me out of the program. Now she’s mad ‘cause it’s been cancelled.”

  “Why should she care?” Raquel asked. “You’re not in it.”

  Izzy took the shirt from Marco and placed it back on the hanger. “I know, but she spent a lot of money making the costumes. When I got hurt and she pulled me out of the program, she told the teachers she wasn’t going to make the costumes. Then she realized that if she didn’t finish them, she wouldn’t get paid. She was going to let me be back in the show, but now it’s been cancelled, so she’s stuck with all these shirts.”

  “Can’t she sell them to somebody?” Marco suggested.

  Izzy smiled. “Sure.” He held up the shirt. “Want to buy one?”

  “What if we could talk the teachers into putting the play back on?” Raquel asked.

  Marco’s jaw dropped. He blinked in surprise. “What?”

  “I know, I know. I’m guilty, Judge,” she joked. “Look, I still don’t care about the play, but I don’t want Izzy’s mom to have to lose all that money.”

  Marco stuck his hands in his pockets. He lowered his eyes and said, “I don’t want Izzy’s mom to lose her money either, but I don’t want to be the one to talk to the teachers. I mean, I quit the show.”

  Izzy nodded. “I wouldn’t know what to say either. Mrs. Frymire doesn’t like me ’cause I don’t understand half the stuff she teaches in science. And Mrs. Pruitt just plain gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Maybe I’ll say something to them, then,” Raquel said, but there was a tinge of uncertainty in her voice. Mrs. Frymire had offered her a part in the play as a narrator, but she had turned it down. Ms. Martínez had invited her to be a dancer, but she had turned that down, too. How could she talk to the teachers about putting the play back on when she wasn’t even willing to participate in it?

  Blanca came out of the kitchen cradling the cat in her arms. She sat on the sofa and caressed its back. The cat purred contentedly.

  “I think Cabby’s sleepy,” Izzy told his sister.

  She looked up at him and smiled.

  Izzy felt proud for not ridiculing his sister over the cat … the cabbit. Maybe he could learn how to be a gentle man after all.

  “If the teachers do decide to put the play back on, will you be in it?” Raquel asked Marco.

  “Nah, I don’t think so.”

  She took him by the hand and gazed candidly at him. “Marco, listen to me. You’re not a sellout.” Her voice cracked. “I … I wish I’d never called you that. It was a terrible thing to say. Please, I want you to be in the play. You’re great onstage.”

  Marco smiled appreciatively. It felt good to know she cared about him. “That’s not it, Raquel. It’s just that after everything that’s happened between Billy Ray and Izzy and me, I don’t want to be onstage with him and pretend that we’re friends, fellow Texans, fighting side by side. Billy Ray’s a king-sized jerk. If the teachers decide to do the show, they’ll have to find someone else to play Jim Bowie.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” Izzy grumbled. “I have to be in it, but I really don’t want to. I have the stupidest lines in the whole play.”

  Raquel gave him a hug. “Don’t worry about it, Izzy. You’ll be fine.” Then she jokingly added, “Jew are hereby ordered to be een de play, meester, because jour mami needs de mohney.”

  They laughed.

  “How about you, Raquel?” Marco asked. “Will you change your mind about being in it? I’m sure you could still be in a dance.”

  “No, Ms. Martínez is no longer helping with the dances,” Raquel said. “Remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, you could be a singer in the choir, then.”

  “But you can’t be a soldier,” Izzy teased.

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.” She joined Blanca on the sofa and petted the cat.

  Marco turned to Izzy and said, “She’s something else. You know that?”

  “Raquel?” Izzy nodded. “She’s pretty cool. Kind of like having another sister.”

  Marco smiled. His eyes sparkled with delight. “That’s not exactly the word I would use to describe her.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Ms. Martínez was sitting at her computer entering grades. Overall, she was pleased with what she had accomplished in her short time at Rosemont School. Most of her students had done quite well, though there were still a few whose grades weren’t where they needed to be. But she was optimistic that she could help turn those students around before the school year was over.

  Raquel poked her head inside the classroom and knocked. “Hi, you busy?”

  Ms. Martínez glanced up. “Hola, Raquel. Pasa. What’s up?”

  “I came to return your book.” She handed her Yo soy amigo del pueblo y me gusta la canción.

  Ms. Martínez looked at the cover. On it was a drawing of a mariachi singer. He was playing his guitar on a street corner in a small village. A group of smiling peasants was gathered around him.

  “Did you like it?”

  “Yes. Some of the poems were silly, like the one called ‘Accidente en una huevería.’”

  Ms. Martínez smiled in approval.

  “But there was one that made me think about a problem Marco and I had. The one called ‘Ilusión perdida.’”

  “Pero últimamente, todo fue ilusión, ilusión perdida. But ultimately, everything was an illusion, a lost illusion,” Ms. Martínez recited from the poem.

  “I made a copy of it,” Raquel said. “I hope that’s okay.” She glanced around the empty room. “Do I have to go back to class?�
��

  Ms. Martínez closed out her computer program.

  “Why? What class is it?”

  “Art. But Ms. Posey’s not here today. We’ve got that creepy substitute, the Pirate.”

  Ms. Martínez gave her a puzzled smile. “Who?”

  “Mrs. Abernathy. The kids call her the Pirate. Do you know who she is?”

  “No.”

  “Well, the Pirate is about this tall.” Raquel raised her hand about four-feet high. “She has short gray hair and purple lips. She also wears prescription sunglasses. Except that one of the lenses from her glasses is missing, so she looks like she’s wearing an eye patch. That’s why we call her the Pirate.”

  “She sounds interesting,” Ms. Martínez said.

  “No, she’s not. She’s weird. Everybody has to be super quiet around her. She goes crazy if anybody makes any noise. She even sent Eric Walker to the office for sneezing.”

  “For sneezing?” Ms. Martínez chuckled. “Why did she do that?”

  “She said Eric was disturbing the class. So can I stay?”

  Ms. Martínez swiveled her chair around to face Raquel. “I don’t know. What reason am I going to give her for you not returning to her classroom?”

  Raquel took a seat across from her teacher. “I told her you needed the book right away, so she let me leave the room to bring it to you. Maybe you can tell her I had to finish writing a book report on it.”

  Ms. Martínez thumbed through the poetry book. She found “Ilusión perdida” and skimmed through it. “What happened between you and Marco? I thought you two were friends.”

  “We are.” Raquel thought back to Marco’s kiss. She could still feel a tingling sensation on her lips. “Ms. Martínez, if I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anybody?”

  “Of course. My lips are sealed.” She pretended to zip up her mouth.

  Raquel sat back in her chair and placed her hands on her lap. She started by telling her teacher why she didn’t want to be in the Alamo program. She felt she owed her an explanation. Ms. Martínez had pleaded with her to be in it, but Raquel had refused without giving her a reason. She also shared with her teacher how she had blown up in Texas history class. Ms. Martínez had already heard that story from Mrs. Pruitt. Raquel then told her about her argument with Marco and how she’d called him a sellout. That’s why he’d quit the play. She even told her teacher about their kiss after they made up.

  Ms. Martínez listened quietly without offering any comments or opinions.

  Raquel talked about the confrontation at the construction site between Marco and Billy Ray and his gang. Ms. Martínez laughed when Raquel told her about how Marco had dumped cold water on Luther and the Bukowskis. She also explained that even though she had apologized to Marco, he didn’t want to be Jim Bowie anymore because he didn’t want to be on Billy Ray’s side. Then she told her about how Izzy’s mother was mad that the play had been cancelled because she had lost all that money from the unfinished costumes.

  “Is there any chance you could put the play back on?” Raquel asked, finally.

  Ms. Martínez looked at her uncomfortably. After all, she, too, had quit. “I don’t know.”

  Raquel giggled nervously. “Izzy’s mad because if you decide to do the play, he’ll have to be in it. And he really hates his part.”

  “I don’t blame him,” Ms. Martínez said. She quickly glanced at her open door to make sure no one was listening. “He and Orlando and Felipe sounded terrible.”

  Raquel looked confused. “Then why didn’t you tell Mrs. Frymire to change it?”

  “What makes you so sure I didn’t?”

  “You did?” Raquel lowered her voice to a whisper. “What did she say?”

  Ms. Martínez shrugged. “She said it was written that way to make the Mexicans sound … Mexicanish.”

  Raquel gazed down at the book she had just returned. “If she wanted to make the Mexicans sound Mexicanish, why didn’t she just have them say their lines in Spanish?”

  Ms. Martínez looked puzzled. Then her face brightened. It could work! If only she could get them to go along with it. She rose from her chair.

  “Sorry, Raquel, but there’s something I need to do.”

  Raquel groaned, “Where are you going?”

  Ms. Martínez smiled. “To try to teach a horse how to fly.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Mrs. Frymire had a befuddled look on her face. “Spanish? Spanish?” she repeated, as if it was the most insane idea she’d ever heard. She shook her head as she paced the science lab floor. “Sandy, nobody will be able to understand what the kids are saying!”

  “They won’t necessarily have to. But when the audience sees the Mexican Army onstage, they’ll figure the Mexicans are planning their attack on the Alamo, even if they don’t understand Spanish.”

  Mr. Watts stopped playing with the model of the human body he had been taking apart. He set the plastic organs on the table. “Sandy, I think that is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Just think how authentic it’ll sound.”

  “I also think we should add the character of Santa Anna to the play,” Ms. Martínez continued. “After all, he is mentioned in the narration. Besides, the name Santa Anna sounds much better than Mexican Number One.”

  Mrs. Frymire mulled it over. “I don’t know. I don’t feel comfortable tampering with Miss Mac’s play. I think we need to present it exactly the way she wrote it.”

  Mr. Watts snapped his fingers. “What about this? What if we call it ‘Thirteen Days to Glory—The Battle of the Alamo,’ based on the play written by Josephine McKeever? They do it all the time when movies are based on books.”

  “That’s another thing,” Ms. Martínez said. “I’d like to shorten the title.” She knew she was pushing it, but as long as they were talking about the play without shouting at one another, she decided to air out all her ideas. “I think it should be called, ‘The Battle of the Alamo.’ Period.”

  Mrs. Frymire realized she had very little choice. If they were going to present Miss Mac’s play at all, or a variation of it, she would have to give in. She turned to Mrs. Pruitt. “Claire?”

  Mrs. Pruitt cleared her throat. “Well, as long as we’re making changes, I want to throw this idea out in the open, see what you think. Raquel Flores mentioned something in my class the other day that’s been gnawing at me ever since. What if somewhere in the play we add a couple of lines that show the Mexicans’ perspective of the Alamo story?”

  “What do you mean?” Mrs. Frymire worried that they might be deviating too far from Miss Mac’s script.

  “I’m not sure.” Mrs. Pruitt rested her chin on her closed fist. “But times have changed since Miss Mac wrote that play. I don’t know. Maybe it worked back then, but I have to agree with Sandy that the Mexicans’ dialogue doesn’t sound appropriate today.”

  Ms. Martínez breathed a silent sigh of relief. She couldn’t believe that Mrs. Pruitt, of all people, was actually agreeing with her. “If it’s all right with everyone, I’d be happy to write the Spanish dialogue. And I can include the changes Mrs. Pruitt suggested.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Mr. Watts said. “‘Cause I sure can’t do it. The only thing I remember from my high school Spanish class is Mi mamá es bonita. Mi papá es buenos.”

  “I don’t know about all this,” Mrs. Frymire murmured. “I wonder what Miss Mac would think if she knew what we were doing to her play.”

  Mr. Watts held up the plastic heart from the human model. “Aw come on, Doris, have a heart.”

  She snatched the plastic heart out of his hand. “The Spanish part would give the play a unique flavor,” she conceded. “And I’ve always thought the title was too long. And presenting Mexico’s views on the Alamo would certainly make it more interesting.” She looked at Ms. Martínez. “And you will help with the dances, won’t you?”

  “Of course. Honestly, I want this play to be a success as much as you do.”

  Mrs. Frymire smiled. “All rig
ht. Let’s do it.”

  “Who will we get to play Santa Anna?” Mrs. Pruitt asked. “Felipe’s too short, and Orlando’s too skinny. And Izzy … ” She didn’t need to explain.

  “I’ve got the perfect choice,” Ms. Martínez said. “Marco Díaz.”

  “No can do,” Mr. Watts said with a shake of his head. “He’s playing Jim Bowie. Or at least, he was.”

  Ms. Martínez said, “I think he’ll be much happier playing Santa Anna. I’ll ask him.”

  Mrs. Frymire thought it over. “I suppose we can give Bowie to Luther Bowers. He doesn’t have much of a speaking part, and he works well with Billy Ray.”

  “Too well,” Mrs. Pruitt muttered under her breath.

  “Marco Díaz as Santa Anna and Billy Ray Cansler as William B. Travis,” Mr. Watts said. “That alone ought to be worth the price of admission.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The front rows of the Josephine McKeever Memorial Auditorium were filled with noisy and excited students. Word had spread quickly that the Alamo program was back on. The kids had also learned that Ms. Martínez would teach the dances after all.

  Earlier, she had spoken with Marco Díaz about accepting the role of Santa Anna. Marco was reluctant at first, but agreed to play the part when she explained that his dialogue would now be delivered in Spanish. He thought that would please Raquel. Also, he liked the idea of going up against Billy Ray Cansler’s William B. Travis and defeating him at the Alamo.

  Orlando Chávez and Felipe Garza, too, were thrilled to know that they were not going to have to talk in that phony accent. Izzy Peña was also glad to be back in it. As soon as he told his mom that the show was back on, she quickly called Mrs. Frymire and let her know that she would make the costumes and that she would allow her son to participate in the program.

  While the other teachers helped the actors practice their lines, Ms. Martínez worked with the dancers. The Alamo included two dance numbers: “Cotton-Eyed Joe,” a lively square dance, plus an original number Ms. Martínez created. She called it “The Widows’ Dance.” It was a slow, mournful dance performed to a song called “El viaje misterioso.”