Casa Azul

by Laban Carrick Hill

  “Well, we’ve got to do something,” said the skull mindlessly.

  A breeze drifted through the room. The ribbons covering the paintings fluttered in the shifting air, reminding them all of Frida’s drastic actions. A moment later, as if carried in on this fresh breath, the spider monkey from the garden settled on the windowsill. His long tail stood up behind him like a question mark as he listened. He brushed back the brown and white fur on his head several times and chewed a fingernail. At first the others didn’t notice this new arrival, but eventually Fulang felt the monkey’s eyes on her back. She turned and saw the new visitor. This was the monkey she’d seen in the garden.

  “Hola,” Fulang said.

  Behind the monkey, a hummingbird darted.

  “Hola,” the monkey replied.

  Noting the hummingbird and remembering it was the Aztec symbol for luck in love, Fulang thought joyously, This is a sign. She smiled to herself about the silliness of such a notion.

  “I heard what you said before. Can I help?” asked the monkey.

  “Oh, spare me,” growled Chica. She moved to the couch and reclined on a pillow embroidered with a dove. “What can a monkey do?”

  The monkey gave the cat a scowl and climbed down beside Fulang to introduce himself. “I’m Caimito de Guayabal.” He dipped his head in a self-deprecating way.

  “Your name’s ‘Guava-Patch Fruit’?” She laughed.

  “When I was a baby, that’s all I would eat,” explained Caimito. “So that’s what my mother called me.”

  A sudden, muffled cry interrupted them. This cry was so insistent, its origin soon was clear. A small, framed painting hanging beside the window banged against the wall. Wrapped in ribbons like the others, it spoke like someone bound and gagged.

  “It must be suffocating.” Fulang quickly unwrapped the bright red and blue ribbons. Caimito joined in unwinding the long strands, while Chica watched the entire affair with disdain.

  “It can’t suffocate,” she spat derisively. “It’s a painting, for crying out loud.”

  “Don’t be so literal,” replied Fulang.

  The full-length portrait appeared from behind the ribbons. It was a portrait of Dr. Leo Eloesser, Frida’s surgeon in the United States. In the painting he stood beside a table with a model sailboat. Behind him a sketch of a mother and child hung on a wall. Dr. Eloesser’s high celluloid shirt collar seemed to be choking him, and he coughed. “Excuse me, please, but I think what Frida needs is life.”

  “News flash,” cracked Chica sarcastically. “She’s already alive, which is more than can be said for a lump of pigment like you.”

  “No, not like that,” protested the Dr. Eloesser portrait. “I mean bring some life into Casa Azul. Make her home alive with people. Make her look forward to each day.”

  “How can we do that?” clacked the skull.

  “Sí, how?” repeated Caimito. He placed his hand on Fulang’s shoulder.

  She shrugged off the touch and shot Caimito a withering look. Typical male, she thought, trying to take over. “Please explain, Doctor,” she said, trying to regain control of the moment.

  The portrait thought for a moment. “Frida desperately wants children of her own, but she can never have them. Now that Diego has left, even her fantasies of being a mother are shattered.”

  “Okay, so now we know how to get Frida more depressed,” cracked Chica.

  “Let me finish,” the portrait replied. “We need to fill Casa Azul with children! This will distract Frida from her sorrow. It will cheer her up. You all know how much she loves them.”

  “What makes you Mr. Know-it-all?” hissed Chica.

  “Hush, Chica,” replied Fulang. “Dr. Eloesser has a point. But Frida’s nieces are away with their mother. We must find other children. But where?”

  He pointed to the mother-and-child sketch behind him that was inside the painting with him. “Frida painted this to remind me of why she wanted to be healed, so she could have children.”

  The mother in the sketch suddenly awakened from her sleep and looked up. “When she painted me and my child into the portrait, she told me to remind the good doctor of his responsibility to help her become a mother.”

  The child removed his thumb from his mouth and added, “I heard it too.”

  “Okay, you bucket of paint, since you have all the answers, how do we fill the house with children?” asked Chica.

  Dr. Eloesser smiled. “You will find the answer in a wrestling match between El Corazón and El Diablo.”

  “What does that mean?” asked the skull.

  Dr. Eloesser shrugged. He turned to the mother and child behind him in the painting and they shrugged as well.

  “Now you’re making me angry,” said Fulang.

  “We’ll figure it out together,” said Caimito.

  “You’ll help?” asked Fulang incredulously. “What can you do? You don’t even know her.”

  “I … I just want to help.” Caimito backed away and then turned and disappeared through the window.

  “We shouldn’t listen to such silly nonsense from something that isn’t even alive,” added Chica, nodding toward the painting.

  “Thanks for the support,” said the skull.

  In the other room, Frida began to sing again. “A mí no me queda ya ni la menor esperanza…. Todo se mueve al compass de lo que encierra la panza.” “Not the least hope remains to me…. Everything moves in time with what the belly contains.”

  In frustration, Fulang picked up the skull and threw it against the portrait.

  “Hey!” shouted the skull. “That would hurt if I could have felt it!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A Magic Trick

  The bright afternoon light slowly turned to darkness on the plaza as a full moon rose above. The round yellow disk in the sky beamed like a spotlight from the heavens on Maria and Victor. In the large plaza they felt incredibly exposed. The plaza seemed larger than their entire village, and everything looked different—the paved streets, the huge fountain in the center of the plaza, the tall two and three-story buildings surrounding it, and the many cars and trucks parked everywhere.

  “I’m hungry,” Victor said. He kicked a piece of trash and sat down on a bench beside the fountain.

  “Don’t you think of anything but food?” Maria snapped. She was at her wits’ end. She couldn’t believe how foolish she was for trusting Oswaldo. Now all of their money was gone. She could feel the panic rise up in her throat, almost as if she were going to be sick.

  Victor began to cry. Maria sat down beside him, held him in her arms, and rocked him. “I’m sorry, Victor,” she murmured. She felt horrible for taking her fear and frustration out on her younger brother. Why don’t I kick a dog now? she thought.

  In a barely audible whisper, Victor repeated, “I’m hungry.” He buried his face deeper into her blouse.

  “I know, me too, poquito,” said Maria, lightly stroking his hair, “but we don’t have any money to buy food. We’ll have to find Mother tomorrow. In the morning I’ll ask someone for directions.” The two sat there and listened to the strange sounds of the city. Trolleys clanged down the wide avenues while cars and buses dodged one another in a frightening and deadly dance. A loud group of people spilled out of a building a couple of blocks away. Their laughter echoed through the empty plaza.

  “Where were we with El Corazón and El Diablo?” asked Maria gently.

  “El Corazón just escaped El Diablo’s attempt to pin him,” mumbled Victor. He tried to act as if he didn’t care, but he did.

  “Sí, I remember.” Maria drew in a breath. “Oh yes. El Corazón had just narrowly escaped disaster. El Diablo was so surprised by El Corazón summoning such strength to escape the pin that he was not ready for the flying kick that El Corazón now delivered. El Corazón leaped into the air to deliver his deadly Atomic Earthquake while El Diablo lay helpless as a newborn baby on the mat. As our hero flew in the air, higher than he had ever reached before, El Diablo sud
denly marshaled his almost completely exhausted strength to lift his knee and plant it squarely in our hero’s stomach as he came down.”

  “Ugh,” groaned Victor, quickly forgetting about his hunger.

  Maria smiled. She knew her brother so well. “Instead of delivering the match-ending blow, El Corazón now lay helpless, rolling and writhing in agony on the mat, while El Diablo jumped to his feet and raised his arms to the crowd. He was taunting them, and the crowd responded. Then El Diablo delivered a kick to El Corazón’s head. Oh, the match was going badly now. Fortunately El Corazón had the presence of mind to roll out of the ring and onto the floor of the arena. This would give him time to regain his senses.”

  As Maria described how El Corazón recovered from the brutal kick to the head, she noticed across the plaza a boy emerging from the shadows. In the coming darkness, it was difficult to see him. Maria, who was now on her guard in this dangerous city, suddenly quieted and stood. Thinking it had to be Oswaldo, she tried to steel herself with courage for a confrontation. After a moment, however, she thought it must be someone else. He was playing with some kind of toy.

  As the boy strolled through the plaza, she could finally see him clearly. It was Oswaldo, and it was a toy. He was playing with a balero, a cup with a ball on a string, trying to swing the ball back into the cup. Oswaldo seemed not to notice Maria and Victor over by the fountain.

  “Hey!” Maria shouted. “Where’s my money?”

  “There you are! I’ve been looking for you.” Oswaldo strode across the plaza.

  Maria crossed her arms and looked at him skeptically. “We haven’t moved.”

  Oswaldo held the balero out to Victor. “You want to try it?”

  “Where’s my money?” Maria blocked Victor before he could take the toy.

  “Please?” Victor looked up at his sister, pleading.

  “It won’t hurt him,” said the boy, still holding out the toy.

  “Where’s my money?” she repeated.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got it,” said Oswaldo, holding the toy out for Victor.

  Victor snatched it from his hand and glared at Maria.

  She finally nodded, and her brother began to play.

  “It’s safe back at my home. I was afraid I’d lose it and then where would you be?” Oswaldo grinned.

  “Then, let’s go get it.”

  “Hey, he’s a natural,” said Oswaldo, watching. He sat down on the edge of the bench.

  “I mean now.”

  Ignoring Maria, he took a centavo out of his pocket and showed it to Victor. Then he closed his fingers around the coin and waved his other hand over it. When he opened the closed hand again, the coin had disappeared.

  “Where’d it go?” asked Victor excitedly, forgetting about the balero.

  “It’s magic!” Oswaldo reached over to Victor’s ear and pulled the coin out of it. “Okay. Now make my money reappear,” Maria insisted.

  The boy stood and bowed dramatically. “Thank you.” Then he waved his hand over his head. “Now for my next trick.” He pulled a bright red scarf out of his pocket. Then he took back the balero and covered it with the scarf. When he pulled the scarf away, the balero was gone.

  “Wow! How did you do that?” said Victor. “I want to try.”

  “Sí how?” repeated Maria despite herself.

  The boy bowed once more. “A magician never reveals the secrets behind his tricks.”

  Maria suddenly became serious. “Thank you very much for the entertainment, but now give me my money.”

  “Are you hungry?” asked Oswaldo, changing the subject again.

  “Sí! Tengo mucha!” answered Victor.

  “Let’s go to my place and get some tortillas and chorizo. It’s just down there.” He pointed to an alley off the square.

  Maria stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “What are you up to?”

  “Dinner and your money back.” Oswaldo got up and started walking away.

  “Oh, Maria! Please!” begged Victor. He tugged on her sleeve.

  “I won’t bite,” Oswaldo said as he turned back toward them.

  Maria had to get back her money. She knew she couldn’t trust this boy, yet she had no choice but to follow. She steeled herself to be ready to run if something bad happened. She gripped Victor’s hand and hoped it wouldn’t.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Backstreets

  Shadows inside shadows.

  Maria squeezed Victor’s hand tightly.

  Shadows disappearing into darkness.

  Into this darkness they followed Oswaldo. Maria’s steps faltered as she entered this night, and Oswaldo turned toward her and smiled.

  “Hurry!”

  Then he dashed ahead. He dodged the carts, motorbikes, and cars that lined the narrow streets. Maria and Victor could hear the balero clacking in Oswaldo’s back pocket, but it was difficult to see exactly where he was.

  “He has the eyes of a cat,” Victor whispered to his sister.

  “I just hope it’s a cat and not a lion,” replied Maria anxiously. Together they pressed on. After a hundred yards or so down the alley, their eyes adjusted to the shadows and the world beyond the plaza became visible. The buildings lining it had doors that were shut and windows that were dark.

  “Yeow!” screamed Maria as she leaped back. A rat was chewing on a crust of bread at her feet. “Maybe I don’t really want to see,” she muttered, as she and Victor made a wide berth around the creature.

  “Hurry!” called Oswaldo again. He was at the end of the alley where it opened onto another street. The lights behind him showed cars driving quickly by.

  They crossed the alley, caught up with him, and looked out at all the street traffic. No one seemed to notice the three children out alone. They came quickly to another street and then another. They hurried past small adobe homes and shacks constructed out of discarded crates and sheets of metal. Occasionally they could see into these modest homes, where families would be gathered, eating beans and tortillas. These rooms looked warm and inviting. They reminded Maria of her village and of sitting around the table with her mother and grandmother. Her heart ached to return to those times.

  “Wait!” called Victor suddenly. He had stopped in front of a window. Inside, a man whittled small toy tops, the kind that spun when a string was pulled. Beside the man, a boy pulled the strings on the tops, sending them skittering across the packed dirt floor. It was a magical moment to see so many tops dance around the small room at once. The old man glanced out the window. “Hola!” He waved.

  “Buendía,” said Maria as she dipped her head respectfully.

  “Buenas noches,” the old man laughed. He was toothless, and his tongue waggled in his mouth like one of those party horns that rolled out when one blew on it.

  “That’s Menga, the toy maker,” explained Oswaldo as he came up behind Victor. “I have one of those back at my place. Come on.”

  “How far are we going?” She stood firm beside her brother.

  Oswaldo laughed. “Not much farther. My father has made a wonderful dinner, and Victor can play with my toys.” He brushed Victor’s hair with his hand.

  Maria nodded. She would get her money and go. There was something strange about Oswaldo that she couldn’t figure out. He was both friendly and scary.

  “Hurry or the food will be cold by the time we get there.” Oswaldo ran on. Maria and Victor followed.

  Oswaldo led them down two more streets and then into an alley. As she and Victor followed, Maria lost track of their way. “I have to trust him,” she repeated under her breath. “No other choice.” She no longer knew how to find her way back to the plaza.

  Oswaldo stopped suddenly at a metal shed leaning at a precariously odd angle against an old brick building. Someone had painted No Entry in clumsy letters on it. The door looked as if it had come off the back of a truck. It appeared to be loosely attached.

  Oswaldo rapped his fist against the door two times and then waited.

  After a
few moments, they could hear footsteps and then a voice asked, “Who’s there?” The voice sounded old and raspy.

  “Me and some new friends,” answered Oswaldo.

  “Friends?” croaked the voice.

  “Sí.” Oswaldo nodded reassuringly to Maria and Victor.

  A few seconds of silence passed and then the sound of a heavy chain being pulled free was heard. The door had actually been chained shut. A moment later it creaked open. An old man, slightly stooped and with a huge belly, stood before them. “Come in. Come in. I am Oscar.” He waved Maria and Victor inside.

  As Maria passed Oscar, she noticed that he was dressed rather strangely. The old man wore a maroon brocaded robe and a pale blue tuxedo shirt with ruffles. On his feet were beautifully embroidered gold slippers. He did not look like a man who went out often.

  “Oscar, meet my friends Victor and Maria,” said Oswaldo.

  Maria thought it was odd that Oswaldo would call his father by his first name, but she didn’t give it much thought. Everything about this place seemed strange.

  “A pleasure.” The old man bowed stiffly. His belly nearly brushed the ground. This almost caused Victor to laugh, but Maria pinched him before he could. “Please, this way.”

  They entered into the hallway and waited a moment for Oscar to replace the chain on the door. He saw Maria watching him closely and explained, “The city is dangerous. We don’t want any thieves breaking in.”

  “I know,” Maria replied rudely. “You’ve already stolen my money.”

  “We’re holding it so it’s safe.” The old man gave her a look of sympathy. “It’s here.”

  Oscar led them down a long flight of wooden stairs with no handrail. Maria clung to the wall on one side while Victor skipped down like a billy goat.

  At the bottom they stepped into a cavernous room that looked like a cave. Huge stalactites hung from the ceiling and stalagmites rose like knees from the floor. The cavern was elaborately decorated with beautiful gold and silver candelabra and velvet drapes. It looked more like an underground palace than a cave. Dozens of candles blazed around the room.