Casa Azul

by Laban Carrick Hill

  “Sweet dreams,” Frida said as she closed the door.

  “Maria, tell me a story.” Victor yawned sleepily.

  Happily, Maria obliged. “As you remember, El Diablo was nearly knocked out on the floor outside the ring, but he quickly recovered. He shook his head to get his senses back. Then slowly he stood and stared with extreme anger at Quetzalcoatl, who circled the ring in triumph. As he watched this Aztec god, he knew that he could not defeat such an amazing and powerful force as the god of life. Quetzalcoatl was all too overwhelming, especially as he drew in the life force from the cheering crowd. If he was to win, there was only one thing for El Diablo to do. He had to do something that no wrestler had ever done in the ring, something that went against the rules and the spirit of wrestling. He reached behind his head and untied the back of his mask. Then slowly, but with evil determination, he slipped the mask off his face.”

  “No,” gasped Victor groggily.

  “Sí. He pulled off the mask to reveal that he was not just an evil wrestler. Underneath his evil mask lived an even more evil identity. He was the ancient Aztec god of war, Huitzilopochtli, the exact opposite of life. He was … death.” Maria paused and looked down at Victor. He was already fast asleep.

  “This will be the greatest battle in the history of wrestling,” she whispered. She kissed the top of his head.

  “Sweet dreams,” murmured a portrait of Frida’s sister that hung on the wall over the bed.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Hope

  Maria tried to sleep. She buried her face in a pillow like an ostrich. She flopped from side to side like a beached whale. She curled into a ball like a caterpillar. But she couldn’t fall asleep. Her mind raced over the events of the last few days. Finally she was afraid she would wake Victor, so she quietly climbed out of the bed, planning to sit in a chair and look out the window.

  Voices from the other room, however, drew her to the door. She pressed her ear against it and listened. Frida and Fulang were discussing them, wondering where they came from and where their parents were.

  A desire to talk and maybe find answers overcame her shyness. Maria opened the door and walked into the living room.

  “You should rest,” Frida said, seeing her.

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Then let’s get you some warm milk.” Frida led Maria into the kitchen. “It’ll help you sleep.” She poured milk into a saucepan and lit the burner on the stove.

  “Salt,” said the salt shaker.

  “Pepper,” replied the pepper shaker.

  Frida smiled. “I heard you telling your brother the wrestling story. It was wonderful.”

  “Thank you,” said Maria.

  “But you know Quetzalcoatl must never defeat Huitzilopochtli, or the other way around.”

  Maria knit her brow in confusion.

  “They must always be in balance. We must have both life and death, peace and war, happiness and anger. Without one the other cannot really exist.” Frida poured the warm milk into a mug. “Drink this.”

  Maria sat at the breakfast table and sipped the milk. “I don’t understand. Don’t you always want the good to win?”

  “In children’s stories, of course. But in life we must experience the pain to appreciate the pleasure. Both good and bad must live in a delicate balance.”

  “Then my story is all wrong,” replied Maria. “I was planning to have Quetzalcoatl tear Huitzilopochtli limb from limb so that there would be peace in the world forever.”

  Frida smiled. “If only it could be so.” Frida pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and flexed her aching foot. “It just occurred to me that I have been doing the same, but only the opposite.”

  “What?”

  “Lately, the world has seemed a very bad place,” explained Frida. “So I’ve been preparing myself for death.”

  “You’re dying?”

  Frida shrugged. “Sometimes it takes the darkest dark of night to finally find the courage to admit the truth.” She looked into Maria’s eyes. “I’ve been planning to kill myself.”

  “No!”

  Frida sipped her hot milk and thought for a minute. “Well, I was feeling that the world could only get worse so I might as well leave it.”

  “But there’s so much good. There’s so many things to see and experience,” protested Maria, her mind flashing to all the things she wanted to do in her life.

  “Well, this is true,” admitted Frida. “But I’ve been painting myself into a corner and now either I kill myself or face the paint.” She laughed ruefully at her own joke.

  Maria didn’t quite understand and looked at Frida quizzically.

  Frida took her hand and squeezed it. “When I was a young girl not much older than you, Diego told me, ‘Art is like ham. It nourishes.’ I don’t think I quite understood that before. Until I met you.”

  Maria blushed.

  “If I am going to find hope and nourishment, I have to look toward my art, my painting. That’s what Diego’s been trying to tell me all along, and until I do that he can’t be with me.” Frida poured more milk into Maria’s cup. “Does that taste good?”

  “Mmmm.”

  Maria and Frida sat at the table in silence.

  Fulang watched from the doorway. For the first time in days, she had a sense of optimism.

  “So why have you ended up in Coyoacán?” asked Frida.

  Maria blew into her cup and answered. “We’re looking for our mother.”

  “Do you know where she is?” asked Frida with concern.

  “We thought we did.” Maria dug the envelope with the address out of her pocket and showed it to Frida.

  “Lourdes 27,” Frida read aloud. “That’s the Cisneros’s home. They moved.”

  “We discovered that today when we found the house,” explained Maria, pulling out her mother’s handkerchief. “This is the only thing we found in the house … my mother’s favorite handkerchief.” Her shoulders slumped.

  Frida took the hanky. “It is beautiful.” The handkerchief was embroidered with red and green thread depicting several cacti and a heart. After a moment she said, “Well, I know they’ve moved north, to Detroit in the United States. Alfredo is an engineer and has gotten a job with Henry Ford. Diego and I have spent a lot of time in Detroit and have many friends. I recommended Alfredo to Mr. Ford, and he moved him up there.”

  “Oh,” said Maria. “Did my mother go with them?”

  “Was your mother Ana, their cook?”

  “Yes, Ana Ortiz. She left our village last year to work here in the city. She wanted to send for us as soon as she could.” Maria looked up at Frida.

  “Of course Ana went,” replied Frida. “What a wonderful cook she is. And she always talked about her beautiful children. Didn’t she write that she was going north?”

  Maria shook her head.

  “She must have. The letter must have been lost. Ana would never abandon you.” Frida looked down at her own cup of milk. “No mother would.” She stood. “Well, I’ll see what I can do to find your mother. Now, you must go to sleep.” She led Maria back to the guest room. “You can stay with us until we find her.”

  Maria smiled with gratitude, feeling hopeful. “I guess you’re right. I’d better get some sleep. Good night.” She left Frida in the kitchen and returned to the guest bedroom.

  For a moment Casa Azul was quiet except for the chirps and squeaks of the night. Then—

  “Noooooooo!!!!” screamed Maria long and loud.

  Maria fell to her knees before the bed.

  “Noooooooo!!!” she sobbed. “It’s empty!”

  Frida and Fulang dashed into the room.

  “It’s empty!”

  “What’s empty?” asked Fulang.

  Maria pointed at the bed. The blankets and sheet had been pulled back roughly, and Victor was gone. Curtains fluttered at the open window.

  “How? Why?” gasped Frida. She bent over Maria to help her. Fulang leaped through the window to se
arch the courtyard.

  “Someone stole the kid,” said the portrait of Frida’s sister.

  “Oswaldo,” said Maria as her chest heaved. “It has to be him. He must have been the one buying tortillas.”

  “Tortillas? Who’s Oswaldo?” asked Frida with concern.

  Maria explained how Oswaldo had tried to kidnap Victor earlier that day and had perhaps followed them to Lourdes.

  Fulang returned. “There’s no sign of anyone.”

  Frida stiffened. “Why would this boy want Victor?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but his father, Oscar, seemed very interested in my brother,” explained Maria between sobs. “He also stole my grandma’s brooch.”

  Frida made eye contact with Fulang. They both held it for a moment.

  “This is not good. We have to do something,” Frida said, her jaw set.

  “I’m so tired of standing,” said the portrait to no one in particular, and no one answered her. Everyone had already left the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Help from Diego

  It was like Frida had emerged from a long and deep sleep.

  “Fulang, go find Diego,” she ordered. Even though they were now divorced, Frida wouldn’t consider doing anything without getting Diego’s help, and Diego wouldn’t without Frida. Nothing has really changed, thought Frida. Diego will come and help. We are still hopelessly linked to each other.

  Fulang dashed out the window.

  “Wait!” shouted Frida after her. Fulang returned.

  “Is there any place your brother might go?” she asked Maria.

  “The plaza in the center of the city.”

  “Good,” said Frida. Then she turned to Fulang. “Take Diego to the plaza in the center of the city. We’ll meet him there in an hour.”

  Suddenly Frida was her old self. The great sadness that had blanketed her was gone.

  “I must sit for a minute.” Frida sat on the couch. “My leg is hurting today. There will be rain soon.”

  “How do you know?” asked Maria.

  “Whenever the barometer drops, the leg I shattered in my accident aches. It is doing it now.” She rubbed her leg and pointed to a cane by the door. “Could you bring me that?”

  Maria got the cane and handed it to her.

  Frida stood and leaned on it. “Let’s go.”

  On the trolley to town, Frida took Maria’s hand. “We’ll send Alfredo a telegram first and then we’ll meet Diego.”

  It was already early morning. The darkness was beginning to disappear in the dawn light. In the grand plaza, children were playing the blind game, taking turns walking through the crowds with their eyes shut, one leading, the other being led.

  “¿Qué quiere usted?

  Mata rile rile rile.

  Yo quiero una niña.

  Mata rile rile ron.

  Escoja usted.

  Mata rile rile rile.

  Escojo a Juan.

  Mata rile rile ron.”

  Que oficio le pondremos?

  Mata rile rile rile.

  “What do you want?

  Mata rile rile rile.

  I want a girl.

  Mata rile rile ron.

  Choose who you would like.

  Mata rile rile rile.

  I pick Juan.

  Mata rile rile ron.

  What job should we give him?

  Mata rile rile rile.”

  Children danced around, singing and laughing.

  Maria almost cried. “Victor loved the blind game.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find him,” said Frida grimly. “Now, where did you first meet this boy?”

  “By the fountain where Viejo Ojoton sings.” Maria pointed.

  The old man was playing his guitar on the same bench that Maria and Victor had been sitting on just two days before. To Maria, that seemed ages ago.

  “There’s Diego! Diego!” Frida shouted and waved.

  With Fulang perched on his shoulder, Diego hurried over the Frida. His massive bulk spread the crowd like a steamship in the ocean. “Mi vida, my life!”

  “Oh, Diego! It is terrible.” Frida turned to Maria. “This girl has lost her brother and we must help her.”

  Diego nodded. He did not question Frida’s quest. “Of course. Where?”

  Maria, awed by being in the presence of such a famous person, explained what had happened.

  “Fulang,” said Diego.

  Fulang stood at attention, awaiting his direction. Though she could not speak, she could still understand.

  “Go out and talk to the monkeys in the city. We must find this boy now!”

  Fulang dashed away through the crowd.

  They returned to Casa Azul dejected. Maria thought she might be sick. The urgency in Diego’s voice brought home once again the reality of the danger that Victor was in and how little they knew. They had searched all day for Victor and for Oswaldo’s secret cave, but they had not found either. Maria had tried to remember exactly how they had gotten to the cave from the plaza, but the city was like a maze to her. She couldn’t even find the window where she had seen the toy maker.

  Still, when it became clear that they were not going to find Victor by randomly searching the streets of the city, Maria did not want to stop. Frida and Diego convinced her that they must return home to find out if there was any news from Fulang. Reluctantly, Maria agreed.

  “You must eat,” Frida said as she set a plate of tamales in front of Maria.

  “I’m not hungry.” Maria tucked a strand of hair behind her ear because it had been tickling her neck and looked away. “Where’s Fulang?”

  “She’ll be here soon,” answered Frida.

  Diego pulled the plate in front of himself and dug in. “These are good, Frida. I miss your cooking.”

  “Then why’d you leave me?” Frida plopped into a chair at the table.

  “I couldn’t help it,” mumbled Diego with his mouth full. “You were suffocating with me.”

  Frida picked up a knife and gestured violently with it. “I’m not suffocating anymore!”

  Diego put up his hands. “Frida, put down the knife. We need to worry about this poor girl and her kidnapped brother.”

  Frida dropped the knife on the table. “You’re right,” she said with resignation.

  Crash! A flowerpot on the windowsill hit the floor and shattered.

  “Oops! Sorry about that,” said Caimito as he skittered, off balance, through the window.

  “Caimito! Where’s Fulang?” said Diego.

  “Never mind that. Do you have any news?” asked Frida.

  “Victor is breaking into the Federica Diamond Exchange,” replied Caimito. “Hurry! Fulang is already on her way there.” He went back out the window and scurried across the garden. Then he stopped, realizing that humans could not follow him this way. “Hurry!” he called, waiting for them to come through the doorway.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Monkey Shines

  As Fulang entered the alley, she spotted Victor twenty feet up, hanging from the side of the Federica Diamond Exchange and Oswaldo pacing below. She could see that Victor was too frightened to move either up to the window or back down.

  “Climb!” Oswaldo shouted.

  Without thinking, she effortlessly scaled the building. She tried to calm Victor, but all she could do was screech and pat him.

  “My fingers hurt,” he told her. It was clear he would not be able to hold on much longer.

  Alarmed, Fulang tried to coach the boy in how to climb back down by miming each step, but Victor was too frightened to move.

  Quickly Fulang descended to the alley in search of something or someone to help. The alley was now empty. Oswaldo had disappeared as the sounds of sirens came closer and closer. The police would be there any minute. Unfortunately, Fulang didn’t think Victor could hold on for even that one minute. She searched around the alley for something, anything to save this boy. She ran to one end of the alley. Nothing. She ran to the other
end. Still nothing. Frantically, she climbed onto an empty packing crate, thinking that it might break Victor’s fall. Then she saw the answer.

  A rope!

  The crate had a rope loosely tied around it. Fulang immediately untangled it and scaled the wall once more with the rope between her teeth. In one fluid movement she tied the rope around Victor’s waist.

  Her great idea began to sink, however, when she realized she wouldn’t be able to hold Victor with the rope. Even though he was only eight years old, he was still six times her weight.

  There must a solution, Fulang thought. She glanced up and noticed that there were shutters on the window above them. The shutter on the right had a big iron latch that was used to lock this shutter to the one on the left. If she tied the rope to it, perhaps it would hold. In one swift leap the monkey flew up to the shutter and tied a nice tight knot around the big iron latch.

  “I can’t hold on any longer!” cried Victor. His fingers slipped from the stone crevice. He fell a couple of feet, but then the rope drew taut and stopped his fall. Victor held on to the rope and swung silently below the window, too frightened to scream.

  “There he is!” came a shout. Frida led Diego, Maria, and Caimito down the alley.

  Fulang scurried down the wall to greet Frida who looked exhausted.

  The five of them stood helplessly below the boy dangling twenty feet up in the air.

  “Don’t worry, Victor. We’ll get you,” called Maria.

  “I’m scared,” cried Victor.

  Suddenly, there was a crack. The iron bracket was beginning to pull away from the shutter.

  “Do something!” screamed Maria. “He’s going to fall!”