by Nancy Farmer
Matt thought of María and worried. Those little girls weren’t as old as she when they were carried off by the typhoid. He wondered if that monster resembled the chupacabras. Of all those children, only one lived: Matteo Alacrán. He was skinny as a coyote, with not even two pesos to rub together, but he was filled with a burning desire to survive.
At last the voice fell silent. Matt looked up to see that El Patrón had fallen asleep in his chair. Matt was exhausted too. He was so full of food, he had been half asleep for some time. The same men who had taken Rosa now entered, gently lifted El Patrón into a wheelchair, and rolled him away.
Matt worried about what would happen to him now. Would Rosa come back and throw him into the sawdust? Would she make good on her promise to bury him alive?
But it was Celia who triumphantly bore him away. She took him to her new apartment in the Big House. Her possessions had been moved from the old place, so Matt wasn’t too disappointed about not returning home. The Virgin sat, as She always had, on a table by his bed. She had gained a new wreath of plastic roses about her robe and a white lace tablecloth beneath her from Celia, in gratitude for restoring Matt to safety.
All in all, he was pleased with the change, although he missed the doves cooing on the roof and the wind blowing through the poppies.
• • •
“Listen up, eejit,” commanded María. “I’m supposed to make you talk.” Matt shrugged. He had no interest in talking, and besides, María did enough for both of them. “I know you can do it. Celia says you’re in shock, but I think you’re just lazy.”
Matt yawned and scratched his armpit.
“El Patrón is going away today.”
Now María had Matt’s interest. He was dismayed that the old man was leaving. He hadn’t seen him since the day he was rescued. Celia said the excitement had been too much for someone who was 140 years old. El Patrón had to stay in bed until he felt well enough to travel to his other house in the Chiricahua Mountains.
“We have to say good-bye to him. Everyone’s coming, and you’d better talk or you’ll be in big trouble.” María squeezed Matt’s mouth as though she could force the words out. He snapped at her. The little girl scrambled away. “You said you didn’t bite!” she screamed. She grabbed a pillow and hit him several times before collapsing on the bed.
“Bad clone!” said María, hugging the pillow to her chest.
Matt considered the idea. Being a clone was bad no matter what you did, so why bother being good at all? He reached over and patted her hand.
“Oh, why won’t you talk?” stormed María. “It’s been over a week. It took Furball only one day to forgive me after the dog-catcher got him.”
Matt wasn’t trying to upset her. He couldn’t talk. When he tried to make the words, he was overcome with terror. To speak was to open a door into his carefully built fortress, and anything might rush inside.
“Matt was locked up a lot longer than your dog,” said Celia as she entered the room. She knelt down and stroked Matt’s face. “Furball was gone only two days. Matt was trapped for six months. It takes time to recover.”
“Is that how it works?” the little girl asked. “The longer you’re sick, the longer it takes to get better?”
Celia nodded. She kept stroking Matt’s face, his hair, his arms. It was as though she were trying to bring feeling back into his body.
“Then I guess,” María said, slowly, “it’s going to take years for El Patrón to get well.”
“Don’t talk about that!” cried Celia so sharply that María hugged the pillow and stared goggle-eyed at the woman. “Don’t say anything about El Patrón! Shoo! I don’t have time to entertain you.” Celia flapped her apron at the girl, who fled without another word.
Matt felt sorry for María. He purposely made his body go stiff to make it hard for Celia to dress him, but Celia didn’t get angry. She hugged him and sang him her favorite lullaby: “Buenos días paloma blanca. Hoy te vengo a saludar.” Matt shivered. It was the song to the Virgin, who loved all gentle things and who had watched over him in prison. Then he knew it was wrong to be mean to Celia and let himself go limp again.
“That’s my good boy,” murmured the woman. “You’re a good boy and I love you.”
Matt suffered a moment of panic when she tried to lead him outside. He felt safe in his old bed, with the stuffed animals and the tattered copy of Pedro el Conejo. He kept the blinds closed, even though the windows looked out onto a beautiful walled garden. He didn’t want anything new in his life, no matter how beautiful.
“It’s all right. I won’t let anyone hurt you,” said Celia, lifting him in her arms.
Matt had not seen the front of the Big House yet. He was enchanted by the marble-walled entranceway and statues of fat babies with stubby wings. In the center was a dark pond covered with water lilies. Matt clutched Celia when he saw a large fish rise casually from the depths to look at him with a round, yellow eye.
They passed between fluted, white pillars to a porch with wide stairs leading down to a driveway. Everyone was lined up on the porch, servants to one side and family on the other. He saw Steven, Emilia, and María standing at attention. When María tried to sit down, Emilia yanked her up again. Matt saw Tom holding María’s hand and felt an almost uncontrollable surge of anger. How dare he be friends with her! How dare she be friends with him. If Matt had another wormy orange, he’d hurl it again, no matter what.
El Patrón sat in a wheelchair with a blanket over his legs. The burly men Matt had seen before guarded him. Willum stood nearby, dressed in a gray suit too warm for the day. His face was shiny with sweat. Of Rosa, there was no sign.
“Come here, Mi Vida,” said El Patrón. The old man’s voice was clearly audible over the sounds of birds and fountains. It had a quality that commanded attention in spite of its weakness. Celia put Matt down.
Matt walked to the wheelchair eagerly. He liked everything about El Patrón—his voice, the shape of his face, and his eyes, which were the color of the dark pond with the fish lurking in its depths.
“Show him to the family, Willum,” the old man said.
The doctor’s hand was damp. Matt felt a revulsion to him, but he allowed himself to be led around the porch. He was introduced to Mr. Alacrán, the fierce man who had thrown Matt out that first night and who was Benito’s, Steven’s, and Tom’s father. Benito, it was explained, was away at college and Matt would meet him another day. Mr. Alacrán looked at Matt with undisguised loathing.
Felicia, Mr. Alacrán’s wife, was a frail woman with long, nervous fingers. She had been a great concert pianist, the doctor said, until illness forced her to retire. Felicia flashed Willum a quick smile that disappeared when she looked at Matt. With her was Mr. Alacrán’s father, an old man with white hair who seemed unsure of why he was on the porch.
Then Matt met—again—Steven, Emilia, María, and Tom. Tom gave Matt a scowl, which Matt returned. No one, except María, seemed pleased to meet him, but they all pretended to be friendly.
It’s because they’re afraid of El Patrón, Matt realized. He didn’t know why, but it was very good that they were.
“Has el gato—the cat—still got your tongue?” inquired the old man when Matt was at last brought back to the wheelchair. Matt nodded. “Celia will have to work on that. Listen, all of you,” El Patrón said in a slightly louder voice. “This is my clone. He’s the most important person in my life. If you thought it was any of you sorry, misbegotten swine, think again.” The old man chuckled softly.
“Matt is to be treated with respect, just as though I were here in his place. He is to be educated, well fed, and entertained. He is not to be mistreated.” El Patrón looked directly at Tom, who flushed red. “Anyone—anyone—who harms Matt will be dealt with severely. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, mi patrón,” murmured several voices.
“And to be absolutely sure, I’m leaving one of my bodyguards behind. Which of you louts volunteers for the duty?”
The bodyguards shuffled their feet and looked down.
“Overcome with shyness, I see,” El Patrón said. “I picked up this lot in Scotland, breaking heads outside a soccer field. Always choose your bodyguards from another country, Matt. They find it harder to make alliances and betray you. Well, Matt, you make the choice. Which of these shrinking violets do you want for a playmate?”
Appalled, Matt looked at the men. Anyone less playful could hardly be imagined. They were thick-necked and brutal, with flattened noses and scars wandering across their arms and faces. They both had curling, brown hair that grew low upon their foreheads, ruddy faces, and bright blue eyes.
“That one’s Daft Donald—he likes to juggle bowling balls. Tam Lin is the one with the interesting ears.”
Matt shifted his gaze from one to the other. Daft Donald was younger and less battered. He seemed a safer person to have around. Tam Lin’s ears appeared chewed, they were so misshapen. But when Matt looked into Tam Lin’s eyes, he was surprised to see a glint of friendliness.
Friendliness was so rare in Matt’s life, he instantly pointed to the man.
“Good decision,” whispered El Patrón. With the introductions disposed of, energy seemed to desert him. He sank back in the wheelchair and closed his eyes. “Good-bye, Mi Vida . . . until next time,” he murmured.
The Alacráns crowded around and assured El Patrón of their fond regards. He ignored them. Then Daft Donald lifted him, chair and all, and carried him down the stairs to a waiting limousine. Everyone followed, calling out their good wishes. When the car drove off, the family members hurried away. The servants parted around Matt as though he were a rock in a stream and vanished into the house.
He was ignored. Not mistreated, just ignored. Only María had to be dragged off, complaining loudly.
Celia waited patiently for the crowd to clear. And Tam Lin.
“Well, laddie, let’s see what you’re made of,” said Tam Lin, scooping up Matt in one beefy arm and slinging him over his shoulder.
7
TEACHER
Matt avoided leaving the safe haven of Celia’s apartment for as long as possible. But gradually, Celia and María lured him into the walled garden and, from there, to other parts of the Big House.
Matt didn’t like these excursions. The servants drew away from him as though he were something unclean, and Steven and Emilia turned the other way if they saw him coming. And there was always the danger of running into Tom.
Tom insisted on playing with María. He made her cry, but she always forgave him. He followed her to Celia’s apartment in spite of—or perhaps because of—Matt’s hostility. He seemed to like being where he wasn’t wanted.
“It’s nice here,” Tom said, picking up Matt’s treasured teddy bear. “Catch, María.” He swung the bear viciously by one of its ragged ears and smacked her in the face. The ear tore off. He tossed it to the floor.
“Ow!” she squealed. Matt scrambled for the ear, but Tom put his foot on it. Matt flew at him, and soon they were both down on the floor, kicking and punching. María ran to get Tam Lin.
The bodyguard watched impassively for a moment, then reached down and pulled the boys apart. “You were told to leave Matt alone, Master Tom,” he said.
“He hit me first!” shouted Tom.
“He did,” María said, “but Tom teased him.”
“You’re a liar!” yelled Tom.
“I am not!”
Matt said nothing. He wanted to throw Tom to the ground. He even wanted to kick Tam Lin. He tried to shout insults, but the words wouldn’t come out. They stayed inside, getting bigger and bigger until he was sick to his stomach.
“You’re right,” Tom said suddenly. “I did tease Matt. I’m really sorry about it.” Matt was amazed. Tom seemed to change right before his eyes. The angry red faded from Tom’s cheeks. His eyes became clear and guileless. It was hard to believe it was the same boy who had been kicking and screaming only a minute ago.
Matt wished desperately that he could get over things that fast. Whenever he was hurt or angry or sad, the feelings stuck their claws into him until they were ready to let go. Sometimes it took hours.
Tam Lin studied Tom’s earnest face for a moment and then loosened his grip on the boy’s shirt. “Fair enough,” he said. He turned Matt free, too. Matt immediately took both Tom’s and María’s hands and dragged them to the door. He felt swollen with all the words he wanted to shout at them.
“You want us to go?” cried María. “After we made up and all?”
Matt nodded.
“Well, I think you’re a pig! And I’m not going to be mean to Tom just because you don’t like him. Besides, everyone thinks you’re awful.” María slammed the door behind her.
Matt sat on the floor with tears pouring down his face. He made snuffling noises like a pig and hated himself for doing it, but he couldn’t stop. Celia would have comforted him if she’d been there. Tam Lin only shrugged and went back to his sports newspaper. Later, when Matt had recovered, he searched for the bear’s ear, but it was gone.
Tom was a master of the near miss. He punched the air near Matt’s head, practicing—he said—karate exercises. He whispered insults too low for anyone else to hear. “You’re a clone,” he murmured. “Know what that is? A kind of puke. You were puked up by a cow.”
Around important people, Tom was courteous. He asked how they were and listened politely to the answers. He brought drinks to his mother and opened doors for his grandfather. He was thoughtful and yet—
There was something a little off about everything Tom did. He brought his mother drinks, but the glass didn’t always seem clean. He opened the door for his grandfather, but he let it swing shut on the old man’s heel. It wasn’t quite enough to make him fall and it could have been an accident. Everyone trusted Tom because he had such an open, innocent face, and yet—“He’s an unnatural little weevil,” growled Tam Lin. Matt was relieved to find that the bodyguard didn’t like Tom either.
Tam Lin.
Matt spent the first weeks tiptoeing around him. The man was so large and dangerous looking. It was like having a tame grizzly bear in your house. Tam Lin planted himself in Celia’s easy chair and watched silently as María and Celia tried to tempt Matt to read or do a puzzle or eat. Matt enjoyed these activities, but it pleased him to be coaxed. He could make María almost scream with frustration. Celia would only stroke his hair and sigh. The bodyguard seemed to be reading, but his eyes flicked up and back again as he took in the scene before him.
Matt thought he looked irritated, although it was hard to tell. Tam Lin’s normal expression wasn’t very pleasant.
The doctor visited often because of a cough Matt had developed. At first it didn’t seem important, but one night he woke with his throat full of liquid. He couldn’t get any air. He stumbled to Celia’s room and doubled up on the floor. Celia screamed for Tam Lin.
Bursting through the door, the bodyguard upended Matt and gave him a whack on the back. Matt spat out a mass of thick slime. Tam Lin matter-of-factly ran his finger around the inside of Matt’s mouth to clear it out. “Done that with lambs on me da’s farm,” he said, handing the boy back to Celia.
When Willum came later, Tam Lin watched everything the doctor did. The bodyguard said nothing, but his presence made Willum’s hands slick with sweat. Matt didn’t know why the doctor was so afraid of Tam Lin, but it pleased him deeply that it was so.
After that, all Matt had to do was cough and Celia or María would fall into a satisfying panic. Sometimes Matt really did have trouble breathing, but sometimes he only wanted to reassure himself that someone cared for him.
• • •
“I have to go to school, you eejit,” said María. “The holidays are over.” Matt stared out the window, punishing her for abandoning him. “I don’t live here, you know. Sometime, maybe, they’ll let you visit my house—you’d love it. I have a dog and a tortoise and a parakeet. The parakeet talks, but it doesn’t mea
n anything.”
Matt shifted his position to make his rejection more obvious. If María didn’t notice she was being snubbed, the whole thing was pointless.
“I think you can talk if you want to,” she went on. “Everyone says you’re too stupid, but I don’t believe it. Please, Matt,” she wheedled. “Say you’ll miss me. Or hug me. I’ll understand that. Furball howls when I leave home.”
Matt turned his back on her.
“You’re so mean! I’d take you to school, but they don’t allow clones. Anyhow, the other kids . . . ” María’s voice trailed off. Matt could guess. The other kids would run away like Steven and Emilia. “I’ll be back on weekends. And you’ll have a teacher here.” She put out her hand tentatively. Matt shoved her away. “Oh, dear,” she said with a catch in her voice. She cried too easily, Matt thought.
He felt a breeze as the door opened. How could she betray him by going away? She was probably visiting Tom now, asking him to go to school with her because she liked him better, the unnatural little weevil.
“You could’ve been nicer,” remarked Tam Lin. Matt continued staring out the window. What business was it of Tam Lin to worry about María? He was Matt’s bodyguard, not hers.
“Oh, you can understand me,” the man said. “I’ve been watching you, with your sharp little eyes. You take in everything everyone says. You’re like the old man. I don’t know much about this clone business—I was twelve the last time I darkened a schoolroom door—but I know you’re a copy of him. It’s like the old vulture was being given a second chance.”
Matt’s eyes opened wide at Tam Lin’s choice of words. No one ever criticized El Patrón.
“I’ll tell you this: El Patrón has his good side and his bad side. Very dark indeed is his majesty when he wants to be. When he was young, he made a choice, like a tree does when it decides to grow one way or the other. He grew large and green until he shadowed over the whole forest, but most of his branches are twisted.”
