Crack!
The branch broke and clattered to the ground.
Maria wrapped her arms around her brother to hold him still.
The boy paused in midbite. He glanced up and down the street and listened. After a minute he continued chewing. He slowly finsihed his torillas. Then he strolled back up the street and around the corner, the way he had come.
The tension in Maria’s muscles slipped away.
“Is he gone?” whispered Victor.
“Shhh.” Maria tried to see through the leaves but couldn’t.
For several minutes Maria fingered her mother’s favorite lace handkerchief in her pocket and tried not to think why it was left in the empty house.
Together, brother and sister crouched and waited, ready to run if necessary.
The portait that Frida was painting of herself, Chica, and Caimito de Guayabal so troubled Fulang that she refused to enter the painting studio when Frida was working on it. Instead, she sat just outside the door and made snide comments into the room.
“Liar!” shouted Fulang.
“Quiet,” snapped Frida. She sat before her portrait, painting dense plants and leaves in the background.
“He came and helped me save two children from a mean man in front of the arena last night,” pleaded Fulang.
“This painting is not a picture of real life,” explained Frida, exasperated. She massaged her foot to relieve the stiffness. She had told Fulang this many times already. “This is a painting of how the world looks from inside my soul.”
“But Chica would never hurt you,” argued Fulang. “You know that.”
Lying on the couch, Chica ignored this conversation until her name was mentioned. “Hey, leave me out of this.”
“It’s not whether or not she would hurt me,” replied Frida. She sat straight in her chair to align her spine.
“I might,” purred Chica. “You never know. Cats aren’t so predictable.”
“The point is that a painting is not a photograph of reality.”
As the two argued, Fulang played with the grass mat that lay in front of the door. Absentmindedly, she had unraveled the weaving and put a piece of grass in her mouth. Suddenly she gagged.
“You okay?” called the candy skull from across the room. He was resting on the table beside the front door.
Fulang waved at the skull that she was fine.
“Hey,” the skull continued. “You think you could help me here?”
“You want me to move you?” asked Fulang.
“No,” answered the skull. “I was wondering if you could read this letter to me.”
“Frida got a letter?” Chica sat up. She loved mail. They all loved mail and looked forward to its arrival every day. But with the tension over the painting, they had forgotten about it.
Fulang leaped onto the small table beside the skull.
“Hey, there’s no room for me,” complained Chica
“It’s from the United States,” said Fulang, examining the stamp. “Maybe it’s from Dr. Eloesser.”
“Give it to me,” Frida said, snatching it.
“Read it to us,” pleaded Chica.
Frida crossed the room and sat down on the couch. Fulang picked up the candy skull and carried it over. She, the skull, and Chica settled on the back of the couch and looked over Frida’s shoulder.
“What’s it say?” asked the skull.
Frida tore open the envelope and pulled out a letter. “It’s from my friend Clare!” she exclaimed excitedly.
Dear Frida,
Ever since I received your tribute to Dorothy Hale I’ve been truly upset. I can’t give this to Dorothy’s mother. It will upset her too much.
I’m so sorry but I have given it away to someone else. I can’t show this to her mother.
Your friend,
Clare
Frida pressed the letter against her chest and began to cry.
“What’s this about?” clacked the skull.
“Don’t you have a brain in your head?” snapped Chica. “Oh, I forgot. You don’t.”
“Very funny,” replied the skull.
“A while ago Clare asked me to do a portrait of Dorothy Hale. You remember Dorothy—jumping out of her apartment window.”
“After throwing a party for all her friends,” said Fulang slowly.
“I can’t believe Clare doesn’t like the painting.” Frida threw the letter on the table.
“Oh, right,” Fulang replied. “You paint Dorothy jumping out of her window and also smashed on the pavement below. Then you have Dorothy as an angel flying above with a banner that reads: The Suicide of Dorothy Hale, painted at the request of Clare Boothe Luce, for the mother of Dorothy. Finally you write an inscription on the bottom: In the city of New York on the 21st of the month of October, 1938, at six in the morning, Mrs. DOROTHY HALE committed suicide by throwing herself out of a very high window of the Hampshire House building. In her memory this retablo, having executed it FRIDA KAHLO.”
“I let them paint out the words on the banner,” protested Frida.
“What mother wouldn’t be horrified?” Exasperated, Fulang picked up the letter and reread it. “Beside, you promised her it would be a recuerdo, like the portrait of Dismas. It was supposed to be of Dorothy lying peacefully for her jouney to heaven, but instead you had to make a retablo. You showed her in death—not the memory of her!”
Fulang, Chica, and the skull looked at one another, not knowing what to make of the news or what Frida would do.
Suddenly Frida stood. “Well, what Dorothy did makes a lot of sense.” Frida was somber. “When I go, I want it to be like that.”
Fulang almost choked when she heard those words. She was already disturbed that Frida wanted to make a giant papier-mâché Judas for her Cinco de Mayo party. Now she seemed to be saying that she wanted to commit suicide after the party.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A Magical World
Breathe. Breathe, Fulang repeated to herself as she stepped outside into the courtyard. The air had cooled as the sun dipped below the horizon. This was in stark contrast to the stuffiness inside the house. The tension had become so great that Fulang felt as if she were suffocating. She paced across the courtyard and lifted her arms over her head to let more air into her lungs.
“One, two, three …” Fulang counted to ten to calm herself. This usually worked, but this time she counted to twenty without much success. In frustration she picked up a stone and threw it at a tree.
“OUCH!”
“Who’s there?”
Caimito poked his head out of the branches. “It’s me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Fulang.
Caimito leaped to the ground. “I didn’t think you were in the habit of throwing rocks at sleeping monkeys,” he said, rubbing his head and laughing.
Fulang didn’t laugh. She just turned to continue her pacing. Caimito approached her and picked at a flea in her fur. “Is everything all right?”
Fulang stopped and shook her head. “Everything’s horrible.”
As the night descended, they stood awkwardly and silently, like teenagers who liked each other but were afraid to admit it. Time passed without notice. The birds quieted and the neighborhood seemed to turn in for the night.
“It’s just that Frida is so depressed,” she finally said. “She’s even planning a Cinco de Mayo party that’s more a Day of the Dead celebration.”
“But Cinco de Mayo celebrates the birth of Mexico—as a country free of dictators!”
“It does.” Fulang sighed. “What’s worse is that Frida has always seen her life as linked to the birth of Mexico. Now she’s turning that day into a funeral. And this makes me even more afraid, because I think she is planning to kill herself.”
“What?” Caimito stiffened. “We’ve got to stop her.”
“I know that, but how?”
“We must find a way.”
Suddenly the soft whisper of a voice made its way over the wall enclosi
ng Casa Azul. It had a soft, beautiful tone to it, almost like music. Fulang and Caimito cocked their heads to hear it better.
“El Corazón stood in the ring, only six inches high, a small stone idol of the god Quetzalcoatl.” Like a thread of smoke the words drifted over the wall.
Caimito nudged Fulang and pointed his chin in the direction from which the voice was coming.
“El Diablo, though, lay outside the ring, stunned by the strength of El Corazón, now an Aztec god. He looked up helplessly as Quetzalcoatl drew power from the cheering crowd.”
As she listened, Fulang became excited. These were the wrestlers the portrait of Dr. Eloesser had told them about. And it wasn’t just the story that she recognized. It was the voice as well. This was the voice of the girl from the arena—the girl she had helped to escape the night before.
Without hesitation she scurried to the wall. She paused to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Then she sprang to the top of the wall and looked down. Below her, curled under a bush, two dirty street children huddled.
“Please, come in!” a voice called from the other side of the wall.
“I must be sleeping,” Maria said as she sat up. Her first thought was that Oswaldo had found them.
“Please, don’t be afraid.” The voice was kind and gentle.
Maria cautiously poked her head out from behind the bush. “Who’s there?” she whispered.
“Please. You must be hungry,” the voice said. “Come over to the gate, and I will open it for you.”
“This is definitely a dream,” Maria said. No one would invite her into his or her home for a meal in the middle of the night.
“Come in,” repeated the voice. “I’ll explain everything while you eat.”
“Who are you?” asked Maria nervously. She could tell it wasn’t a woman’s voice, but it was high, like a child’s.
Victor glanced at his sister. “Who’s that?”
“Shhhh.”
“I’m so hungry,” he whispered.
“Come on.” She crawled out from under the bush. “They might know something about where Mama went.”
The wooden gate in the wall was about twenty feet down from the bush. The gate swung open.
Maria grabbed her brother’s hand and peeked through the gate. The shadows in the garden were dense and dark. “There’s no one here.”
“Please, you are welcome,” the voice said warmly.
Was Oswaldo disguising his voice? wondered Maria. Was that why the person speaking was hiding? She shook her head. “If this is a dream, I might as well enjoy it.”
Victor pulled on his sister’s hand. Together, the two children stepped into the courtyard.
Inside was a well-tended garden with flowers and trees. A small red-tile patio lay in front of the house. Grass bordered the flower beds.
“This is so creepy,” she whispered. Maria jumped at the sound of the gate swinging closed. She spun around, ready for anything—but not for what she saw before her.
“It’s a monkey!” cried Victor excitedly.
The monkey bowed and introduced herself. “I am Fulang.”
“Hi, dream monkey.” Maria giggled.
“Come with me and I’ll get you something to eat.” Fulang turned and led them through the garden.
From the shadows came a rustling of leaves. Maria and Victor leaped back. Then another monkey appeared before them.
“I am Caimito,” he said, bowing formally.
Playing along, Maria curtsied. “Pleased to meet you. I am Maria, and this is my brother, Victor.”
Victor waved. “Hola.”
Maria marveled at the notion of two monkeys talking as they went into the blue-colored house. This is really a great dream, she thought.
“Oh, fabulous, look what the monkey dragged in,” cracked Chica from the back of the couch.
“A cat that talks!” Maria ran over to Chica and started scratching her behind her ears.
“Finally, someone who knows how to treat a cat,” purred Chica. She rolled onto her belly.
The skull laughed, his jaws clacking loudly.
“A candy skull!” marveled Victor. “And it talks!”
“Everyone talks in Casa Azul,” explained Fulang.
“Everyone—talks?” said Maria. She watched the portrait of Dr. Eloesser turn in his frame.
“Welcome,” said the portrait of Dr. Eloesser and the mother and child in the painting.
The other paintings also welcomed the children.
“It must be the hunger,” said Maria. She took her brother’s hand again and turned to leave. “Thank you, we’ve had a nice time—”
But the two monkeys blocked the doorway. “Don’t be afraid. This is a magical house,” explained Fulang. “We have all been touched with the magic of its owner, Frida.”
“Frida? Frida Kahlo?” marveled Maria. “This is Frida’s house?”
“Sí,” replied Fulang with dignity.
“I just learned about her, and I saw Diego’s murals in the Ministry of Public Education.”
“Then you know that she is a great painter,” Fulang said. She spread her arms. “Like her paintings, which stretch the limits of the real world, so does her home.”
“I don’t understand,” replied Maria.
Fulang led them into the house and explained. “She has suffered so much that her home has become a haven for all. Anyone or anything entering through these walls is touched by her gift.”
Maria was amazed. She shook her head. “It seems impossible,” she murmured.
“But it’s true. And this place can be a haven for you too. You look as if you could use one,” added Caimito.
Maria pinched her arm to wake herself. “Ouch!” She shook her arm.
Fulang glanced at Caimito. “There’s no need to hurt yourself. We’re very real. You’re not dreaming.”
“Go on, you banana thief,” Chica meowed. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Frida will love them. If the painting of the doctor is right, then these children are here to help her.”
“They know about El Corazón and El Diablo. The girl was telling the story,” clacked the skull.
“And Frida loves children,” said Fulang. “Come along, children. We’re going to see Frida.”
“Maybe it’s time to trust a couple of monkeys,” muttered Maria.
A warm light shown from under the door of the studio, indicating that Frida was still working. Fulang knocked gently.
“Yes?” responded Frida.
“We have a surprise,” said Fulang.
“Wonderful! Come in,” called Frida.
“She likes surprises,” clattered the skull.
“Shut up, pseudo-bonehead,” Chica snapped. “Open the door,” added the cat impatiently. She circled in front of the door and then jumped up and put her front paws against it.
Fulang reached up and turned the knob. The door swung open quickly in response to Chica’s push.
“What have we here?” exclaimed Frida, setting down her brush. She was much farther along on her self-portrait with the thorn necklace and the hummingbird. Both Caimito and Chica looked so violent in it that Fulang was startled.
Chica examined the painting. “There’s a real likeness here.”
“There is not,” snapped Fulang, then she remembered her manners. “Frida, listen to me. These children need food and shelter.”
“Children!” cried Frida with delight. She stood and opened her arms in welcome to Maria and Victor.
Fulang was stunned to see that the self-portrait was nearly finished. How long would it be before Frida followed Dorothy?
“Now, don’t be rude, Fulang,” Frida said pleasantly. “Introduce me to our guests.”
“The cat must’ve got her tongue,” purred Chica. “These two turned up on our doorstep.”
“I am pleased to meet you.” Frida shook both children’s hands. “I am Frida.”
Maria introduced herself and her brother. They both stared at Frida’s thick, dar
k eyebrows that connected at the center of her face like a giant black caterpillar perched over her eyes.
Frida examined their disheveled state, the hollow look in their cheeks and eyes. “You must have quite a story to tell, but first you must be hungry.” She led them to the kitchen and set out bowls of green chili with goat milk and tortillas for them.
“Gracias,” Maria said. She and Victor were starving.
But Victor was enchanted by the house. He kept waving at every object and saying hello. Each time something replied, he collapsed in a fit of giggles.
At the table the pepper shaker in the shape of a rooster said, “Pepper.”
“Salt,” replied the chicken salt shaker.
“Pepper.”
“Salt.”
Victor erupted into laughter so hard that the milk in his mouth sprayed the room.
“Victor!” Maria was horrified.
Victor wiped his face with his sleeve and ate quietly.
“Pepper.”
“Salt.”
Victor tried not to laugh but wasn’t successful.
Maria scowled at her brother’s bad manners.
Nevertheless, their appetite pleased Frida. Contented, Maria tried to explain their presence. “We’ve traveled from a village in the north. Our grandmother died, and our priest tried to keep us in the village—”
Frida cut her off, noticing Victor’s drooping eyelids. “You both look so exhausted. All this can wait until the morning when you’re rested.”
“Gracias,” replied Maria shyly.
“Let’s get you to bed, and we’ll talk in the morning.” She led them to the guest room. The bed was high and fat like a big loaf of bread, whiter and cleaner than anything Maria had ever seen before. It looked so marvelous and comfortable that she was hesitant to even climb onto it. She didn’t want to mess it up.
Victor, on the other hand, immediately dived into the big, fluffy pillows, wrapped himself in the nubby bedspread, and burrowed into the sheets starched and ironed and edged with crocheted lace. Maria was astonished at how many pillows were piled on the bed. Pillows on top of pillows, on top of more pillows—with beautiful embroidery of doves and flowers and sayings. One pillow read Amor di mi vida. Love of my life. Another, Sólo tú. Only you. Another had the phrase Amor eterno. Eternal love. Maria felt so embraced by this extraordinary, outsized love that Frida seemed to have that she finally began to relax for the first time in days. Casa Azul was the most beautiful home they had ever been in. It was much larger than the small one-room adobe house they’d lived in back in their village. But more than its luxury, its magical quality made Maria feel safe. It seemed to vibrate with safety and warmth.
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