Secrets of Tamarind

by Nadia Aguiar

  “So,” said Señora Rojo, without even turning around to see the children’s expressions. “He looks like her.”

  The children studied the woman’s strong jaw, her deep olive skin, her dark hair, her bright and intelligent eyes—she was the spitting image of Helix. On her shoulder sat an unmistakable green parrot.

  “His mother, Lejandra,” Señora Rojo said, gazing at the painting. “My younger sister, with the bird you call Seagrape, which was sent to protect my nephew when he was born.”

  “Is she…” Maya began.

  “Dead?” asked Señora Rojo. “Yes, for many years now.”

  She released the curtain and it fell lightly back over the painting, and the woman’s face—at once so familiar and so mysterious—was hidden again.

  “You are his aunt,” said Maya. Simon could see that her sympathy was greater than her fear of losing Helix to this other family. “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “It must be a shock, after all this time…”

  “He’s my only nephew,” Señora Rojo said at last. “Lejandra’s only child. Against our father’s wishes, she eloped with a commoner from Robiando. He was a guerrilla fighter in the war and was engaged in the most dangerous operations—all those men lived like outlaws. My sister—she was twenty years younger than me—moved several days northeast of here to be closer to him. We begged her not to go, but she didn’t listen. He settled her in a small jungle village—I doubt it even exists anymore. It was barely a few huts at the time—many of those villages melted back into the jungle as the war went on. She thought she would be safe there, in the middle of nowhere, and he was able to sneak away sometimes to see her. That’s where my nephew was born—Inigo, or ‘Helix,’ as you call him.”

  “Inigo,” Maya whispered.

  The next part of what Señora Rojo told them matched the story that Helix had confided to Maya—in the fragments that he remembered—years ago on a mountaintop on their way to the North. The señora’s story filled in the missing gaps. Helix and his mother, with a driver, had left their village by car and were driving through the jungle—Señora Rojo believed she had most likely been going to deliver a war message, as women often did then. Helix’s mother and the driver were discovered the next day, shot in an ambush. Helix, only three years old, was never found.

  “After my sister’s death, we—I—did everything in my power to find my nephew,” said Señora Rojo. “I scoured the island, searching high and low. I left clues everywhere I could, so that he could try to find his way to me. But there was never a trace of him after that day in the car. It was as if he had never existed. People said that even if he had somehow escaped the robbers, he would have been devoured by wild animals in the jungle. When the war ended a few years ago, after the Peace March, the City of Children was established and I thought there was reason to hope again. But still—nothing. He was such a small child when he was taken that, even if he were still alive, who knows what he remembered? How would we recognize him, grown up more with each passing week and month and year? Today is the first day that I’ve been given any reason at all to hope.”

  She closed her eyes and stopped talking, but when Dr. Bellagio rose to check on her she waved him away. Simon looked at her fearfully. She was old and frail—what if the shock was too much for her? He felt shocked himself. Helix had a family, a whole past that he had never known about. His father had been a guerrilla fighter! Maya looked shocked, too.

  When Señora Rojo opened her eyes again she had composed herself.

  “What about Helix’s dad?” Simon asked as tactfully as he could.

  “He was never the same,” said Señora Rojo. “He blamed himself. I saw him a few times after my sister’s death, but not again. He had never been close with our family. I don’t know what became of him.”

  She sighed and ran her hand over the arm of the chair.

  “So,” she said gruffly. “You returned to Tamarind with my nephew to stop the Red Man. That’s a tall order.”

  “We know,” said Simon, glancing at Maya. “We told you that Isabella is looking for a Dark Woman named Milagros. She thought that Milagros was the only one who could stop the Red Coral, and she thought that you would know where she was.”

  “Milagros is a crazy old woman,” said Señora Rojo firmly. “She’s best left out of this. We’ll find my nephew without her. He’s all I care about right now.” She got up and went to a bureau and opened a drawer and began rummaging around.

  Bored with all the talking, Penny tugged on Maya’s shirt and asked if she could go and look at the fish in the fountain.

  “Go ahead,” said the señora, waving her on. “She’ll be all right,” she said. “All the doors from the courtyard just lead into other rooms in the house. The only way back to the street is through the door you came in from.”

  Penny scampered outside.

  “What about Faustina’s Gate?” Maya whispered to Simon. “Do you think it’s okay to ask them?”

  “I think so,” whispered Simon. “Do you know about something called Faustina’s Gate?” he asked. “We know that the Red Coral is looking for it, and we think it’s where Helix might go.”

  Señora Rojo stopped rooting around in the drawer and looked up at him blankly. “Never heard of it,” she said. Dr. Bellagio shook his head, too.

  “We hoped you’d know…” said Simon. They had come to Helix’s aunt—a member of one of the great old families of Tamarind—expecting answers, but instead all they had found was a salon of old people!

  “Here we go,” said Señora Rojo, withdrawing a map. She brought it to the table and the children and Dr. Bellagio gathered around. “This is one of General Alvaro’s old battle maps,” she said.

  “Who is General Alvaro?” Maya asked.

  “He was the greatest general of the war,” said Señora Rojo, sighing. “It’s the best map of Tamarind there is. Let’s have a look and see if we can figure out where my nephew would go.”

  The map was detailed and precise, drawn by someone with a meticulous hand. Simon saw Maracairol and Floriano on the southwest coast. In the middle of the island was a large barren expanse called the Neglected Provinces. Just east of this was a strip marked Borderlands. In the north hunched a misty blue chain of mountains, and above them a string of coastal towns. Three silver rivers carved the map in half. The island was dotted with Xs and arrows signifying military maneuvers. The oilpaper was yellowed and in script in the bottom right-hand corner was written Map of Western and Middle Tamarind.

  “Now,” said Señora Rojo. “We are down here, and there’s Maracairol. When you saw—Helix—leaving Maracairol, he was heading northwest?”

  The children nodded. Señora Rojo traced her finger through the blue waters along the western shore of Tamarind, heading north. “If he left Maracairol, sailing west, the winds at this time of the year will carry him up the coast without too much trouble, and would also keep him quite close to shore. How fast is your boat?”

  “If the winds are optimum, she can go about ten knots,” said Simon. “But that’s pushing it. But sailing alone, Helix probably won’t be able to go quite that fast. Say he was doing seven knots, that’s reasonable. He’s been gone now for, what is it? Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours at seven knots would put him—if the scale on the map is right—about here.” He pointed at a light blue stretch of coastline in the north.

  “That’s if he hadn’t stopped at all,” said Maya.

  “Right,” said Simon. “So that means this is as far as he could have gone, and he’s likely to be somewhere in this range now. But he could have stopped to hide in a cove. Helix is good at hiding—if he didn’t want them to find him they wouldn’t have a chance. Or he could have turned around and gone back the other way, or even abandoned the boat and gone on foot. He could be anywhere by now.”

  Just then a faint drumming sound came from the hill.

  Señora Rojo hurried to the window to peek through the curtain, then she spun around. “You have to hide, children!” s
he hissed. “Hide in a room in the back, don’t make a sound. Now, go, quickly.” She began drawing the curtains.

  “Where’s Penny?” Maya asked suddenly. The courtyard was empty and the little girl was nowhere in sight. “Penny!”

  “Hurry,” Señora Rojo urged. “You mustn’t be seen!”

  The thundering sound grew louder and Simon felt a chill, remembering how the Red Coral had chased them in the jungle. Were they the people coming now? Had they found out that he and Maya and Penny were here? Through the window he could see that whatever was coming was making its way to them at a great speed. He could track its progress from the cloud of pollen kicked up through the trees.

  Señora Rojo was still struggling to close the curtains when a tall narrow gate across the street flew open and a violet blur charged out. It was some sort of great feathered creature, which carried a passenger aboard its back who ducked her head to peer in Señora Rojo’s window as she passed. A second later there was a furious knocking at the front door.

  “Blast that woman!” roared Señora Rojo. “How dare she spy on me! Oh, don’t bother hiding now,” she said to Simon and Maya. “It’s too late.”

  She stamped heavy heeled to the door and flung it open.

  Simon and Maya gasped and took a step back.

  The door was almost entirely filled by a creature somewhere between bird and beast, something that looked like a giant purple ostrich. Simon and Maya looked at it in amazement. It was terribly tall; even Simon couldn’t see over its back. Beady black eyes, like those of a sea snail, sat on the end of two tentacles in the middle of its dark violet face. Its neck shone like the shimmer on a greenfly and hung down in great saggy wattles. Its head was hairless except for a cap of purple feathers, and it had a heavy train of tail feathers like a peacock’s, the tips dirty where they had trailed on the earth. It had two long, strong legs—clearly it was a runner. Its large talons had riven deep scratches into the dirt road. Stunted wings, mere ornament, drifted out at the sides—the creature was flightless.

  Astride the creature, framed by its enormous lavender tail feathers, was a tall, regal, surprisingly old woman with graphite gray hair, whose face, though longer and thinner, bore an unmistakable likeness to Señora Rojo’s. The rider swung down from the giant bird, deftly tied its bridle to a nearby post, and stepped up to the door, breathing heavily.

  “Conchita.”

  “Estella.”

  The two women regarded each other icily.

  “Good afternoon, Dr. Bellagio,” said the newcomer, nodding at him.

  “Señora Medrano,” said the doctor, bowing his head. “A pleasure.”

  Señora Rojo turned to the children. “This,” she said through gritted teeth, “is my eldest sister, Señora Estrella Medrano.”

  Simon’s and Maya’s mouths dropped open. Helix had another aunt!

  The new aunt slammed the door shut on the giant bird and, pushing past Señora Rojo, strode boldly into the room.

  “Well, who are these?” she asked, scrutinizing the startled Nelsons. “My sister never has young people around her—I know something’s up. I’ve been watching you from the hilltop.”

  “Spying on me!” bellowed Señora Rojo. “Spying on me from my own family home!”

  “It’s not my fault you moved out!” said Señora Medrano.

  “I’m Maya and this is my brother, Simon,” said Maya quickly. “We’re looking for our friend—we came to Señora Rojo for help.”

  Señora Medrano looked suspiciously at her sister. “What is this about?” she asked.

  Señora Rojo stared sullenly at the ground. Dr. Bellagio clasped his hands behind his back and kept his eyes averted.

  “Well?” asked Señora Medrano. “Conchita,” she said, her voice rising like a kettle rattling softly on the stove. “I’m warning you…”

  “Simon,” whispered Maya. “Where’s Penny?”

  But Penny was nowhere to be seen. Simon suddenly felt nervous. “Penny!” he called. “Penny!”

  Maya was running to look in the courtyard when the children heard a rustling sound. In a dark doorway there appeared a peculiar ghostly light, hovering about two feet off the ground as it approached. It grew brighter—blazing brilliantly for a moment—then suddenly it was extinguished and Penny stood there. She held something in both hands. “Look what I found,” she said.

  “Penny—no touching things that aren’t yours,” said Maya. Penny was holding an old newspaper, but Maya quickly took it from her, intending to hand it to Señora Rojo. But as she did so it fell open and the same strange phosphorescent light spilled out and illuminated the room, swallowing the shadows and casting an icy blue-green glow on the faded furniture and paintings. Simon, Maya, Dr. Bellagio, and the two señoras all stared at it, spellbound.

  “See?” said Penny, reaching out to touch it.

  The newspaper was very old, almost crumbling at the edges, its pages darkened by time to rich sepia. Columns in an ornate, old-fashioned typeface with lavish flourishes and curlicues were inset with small, grainy photographs. But what Simon and Maya could not take their eyes off was the largest image in the middle. It looked like a photograph, but it was from this that the weird light spilled forth. In it boats sailed together in a harbor under a brisk wind, and three thin waterfalls dripped down stately mountains in the background.

  The image appeared lit from within somehow, as if the light emanating from it was coming from the day the picture had been taken. It seemed to tremble with life. Simon took a step closer and peered into it. The crispness of detail was remarkable. A feather falling from a gull’s wing as it flew. The stitches around a patch in one of the mainsails. Individual bubbles in the lacy surf breaking around the bows of the boats in the foreground. And then, most astonishing of all … Simon had to squint to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him … but, yes, it was unmistakable. There, stenciled in black letters on the hull of one of the boats, a familiar name:

  “The Pamela Jane!” he cried.

  Chapter Nine

  A Very Old Feud • “This, dear child…” • The GAZETTE EXTRAORDINARIO • Further Study of the Ophallagraph • The Dark Women • “Tamarind is ophalla…” • A Gift for a Rainy Day

  “That’s our boat!” said Simon excitedly. “We sailed here in her!”

  “I’ll be deviled,” said Señora Medrano, her bright eyes flickering over the image. The light poured from it, glowing on her face and illumining each crease and hollow. “Wicked woman!” she cried. “You kept one. Sneaky, wicked woman!”

  “I was tasked to keep it,” Señora Rojo shot back, her eyes smoldering with rage.

  “That’s a lie!” shouted Señora Medrano. “None of us were! What are you up to, Conchita? Who are these children?” She took a step threateningly towards her sister.

  “They’re friends of our nephew,” she spat.

  Señora Medrano was stunned into silence. For the second time that day, the children watched a person absorb the news that Helix was alive.

  “It’s true,” said Señora Rojo, relaxing now, confident that she had gained the upper hand. She took the paper from Maya and closed it and the room dimmed.

  “You weren’t going to tell me,” said Señora Medrano in disbelief. She turned to the children. “Where is he?” she asked.

  Once more the children told their story.

  Señora Medrano listened, astounded. Then she looked at the newspaper again, a bit of light still leaking from its pages. “You know what this means,” she said slowly. “It’s beginning. It’s time. Milagros has to be told before it’s too late.”

  “You’ve lost your mind!” snapped Señora Rojo. “The woman is a lunatic. She may even be dead. All I want to do is find our nephew—he’s all I care about.”

  The sisters’ eyes crackled as they looked at each other. Penny retreated behind Maya.

  “You can’t bury your head in the sand!” said Señora Medrano. “It isn’t a coincidence! The Outsiders have been tearing up Tamarind—min
ing more than has ever been mined before—and now these children have come from the Outside with our nephew in a boat that they say is in this ophallagraph … an ophallagraph that has begun to glow! Do you have any better ideas than going to Milagros? Because I don’t.”

  Suddenly the fight seemed to go out of each of the old women.

  “You should have come to me right away when it started to glow,” said Señora Medrano reproachfully.

  “I should,” said Señora Rojo. “But I didn’t want to believe it.” She sank heavily onto a faded seapod-silk chair. “Everything we planted all those years ago, coming alive again. Who ever thought it would be in our lifetimes?”

  Señora Medrano sat down opposite her.

  Señora Rojo’s hands quivered in her lap. “All right, we’ll go to Milagros,” she said resignedly. “We’ll ask for her help.”

  “Us?” Her sister laughed. “We can’t make it all the way there—look at us! We aren’t the age we were when we did these things. It’s not up to us this time.”

  “But he’s our nephew,” objected Señora Rojo sorrowfully. “We can’t trust anyone but ourselves to do this.”

  “It’s too far for either of you,” said Dr. Bellagio. “It would be extremely reckless.”

  “If you tell us where Milagros is, we’ll go,” said Simon. “We’ve made it this far.”

  Señora Medrano looked at the children, her eyes traveling over each of their faces. “For thirteen long years, since the day he disappeared, we’ve searched, Conchita,” she said. “We’ve never found even a hair from his head or a thread from his clothes, not the tiniest clue. This is the closest we’ve ever come—they’ve brought him back into our lives. Let them go now. If anyone can bring him home to us, they can. He’s their friend. They’ll find him.”

  Señora Rojo dabbed the corners of her eyes. “All right,” she whispered finally. “All right.”

  Simon cleared his throat. “We don’t really understand what’s going on,” he said politely. “What is that glowing picture, and why is our boat in it? And how is Milagros supposed to help?”