Delia’s Crossing (20 page)

I went to sleep with the bracelet still on my wrist, feeling guilty about taking it but also feeling some security because of its value.

For now, I realized, if I left tomorrow, fled back to Mexico, I would return with something more than my name.

What I had lost in the exchange and what more I might still lose was the toll I had paid for crossing boundaries that truly might have been forbidden.

I
could see that Señor Garman was not happy waiting for me outside by the car when I came out to go to school. He leaned back against the Rolls-Royce with his arms folded, his hands on his elbows, and glared at me as I approached. The morning sunlight, unhampered by a single cloud, danced over the polished metal around him. He had taken Tía Isabela to the hospital to await the outcome of Edward’s operation and returned.

Everyone in the house now knew what was happening, knew that this was the morning of Edward’s critical eye operation. Sophia was raging with fury that her mother had not told her the night before. When she asked if I knew, I nodded, which made her even angrier.

“So now I’m to be a bodyguard to a Mexican teenager,” Señor Garman muttered. “How did you manage to convince Mrs. Dallas?” he asked me. I wasn’t completely sure what he was saying, so I didn’t answer. He grunted and opened the door for me.

A few days ago, I was walking quite a distance to take a public bus to school, and now I was being driven by a chauffeur in a car that might be worth all of the cars together back home in my village. I sat rigidly and waited for him to get in and start away. Before we did, I saw Casto Flores drive up in the dull light brown station wagon. The right rear fender had a deep dent in it, and it looked as if it needed a good washing.

Sophia came out and looked at the Rolls and then the station wagon before marching down the steps in a huff to get in. She looked as if she were holding her nose. I saw that it amused Señor Garman.

“You’re in this, and the princess is in that. Let me know your secret,” he told me.

My secret, I thought, is to win the trust of my cousins and then reveal their secrets.

The sight of a golden Rolls-Royce with a chauffeur bringing a poor Mexican girl to the public school not only raised eyebrows, but stopped conversations and all activity in the parking lot and at the front of the school. I was almost too embarrassed to get out when Señor Garman came around to open the door for me. I clung to my workbooks and kept my eyes down. He asked what time I came out of the building at the end of the school day, and I told him so quickly he had to have me repeat it. Then I hurried to the nearest entrance, walking, I was sure, as would a Japanese geisha. I heard some catcalls and laughter but ignored everything.

The news of my luxurious transportation to school preceded me with electric speed, however, and I overheard students asking one another who I was. Before, I was nothing more than a passing shadow, another Mexican teenager not worth noticing. No one had even asked my name or given me more than a passing glance. I felt invisible. Now, I was thrust into the center of attention.

The windows of the ESL class looked out over the parking lot, so all of the other students who had already arrived had seen me brought to school in my aunt’s Rolls-Royce. Ignacio’s face was awash in questions, and Señorita Holt gave me the strangest look. It was almost as if I had somehow been deceiving her. I took my seat quickly, and she brought the class to order. Despite the work we were all told to do, I could feel the eyes of curiosity around me.

It wasn’t until our lunch break that I could speak with any of them, but it was only Ignacio who had any idea whatsoever why I would be delivered to school in such a manner. He thought it might have something to do with Edward’s accident, however. I told him it was my aunt’s way of protecting me and herself from more embarrassment. I told him more about Edward’s injuries.

“It’s nice that he wanted to protect you from those boys. I worry for my little sister, worry that something similar could happen to her someday. That’s why it’s best we stay with our own people.”

I calmed him and pleased him when I told him my aunt had given me permission to go to his family’s fiesta for his sister Rosalind’s birthday.

“I will come to your aunt’s
hacienda
at three o’clock on Saturday to bring you there,” he said. Suddenly, he noticed the bracelet Sophia had given me. “Where did you get such a valuable piece of jewelry?”

“My cousin Sophia gave it to me,” I told him. “She wants to be my friend now.”

His lips folded into a half-smile of skepticism. I remembered what Sophia wanted to know.

“Where is your home exactly?”

He gave me his address and quickly added, “I must tell you about
mi abuela
who lives with us. She is originally from San Cristóbal de las Casas and still holds on to some beliefs you might find strange. She forgets where she is now. She might ask you what animal is your spiritual double.”

“What is that?”

“Funny belief,” he said, “the belief that the animal shares your destiny.”

“If any animal shares my destiny, I feel sorry for that animal.”

He laughed. “Tell her your double is a margay. She likes that.”

“A margay? It is like a spotted cat. Do I remind you of a cat?”

He laughed. “She favors cats and is especially fond of the margay. Do you know about San Cristóbal? It’s in the state of Chiapas, and the tribes all speak languages derived from the Mayan.”

“I’m ashamed to say I don’t know anything about them or as much of Mexican history as I should.”

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t know it if it weren’t for my grandmother. But don’t let anyone here make you feel ashamed. Just listen to the
gringos
when they talk about their own past,” he continued. “They know just as little about their own history. They are richer, more powerful than we are, but they are not better.”

“I never said they were, Ignacio.”

He nodded, and I thought it was this chip on his shoulder, this underlying anger, that had made him reluctant about learning English.

“Perhaps we can help them,” I said, smiling, “by giving them some of our rich culture. We are older.”

Finally, he laughed.

“I look forward to the fiesta very much. I miss the ones I so enjoyed at home,” I told him.

His eyes sparkled with delight, and we returned to class. At the end of the day, Señor Garman was there with the Rolls-Royce. He was standing the same way, eyeing everything and everyone as the school population emerged. Ignacio, who had walked me out, gazed at him suspiciously.

“He does look like a bodyguard,” he said. “I thought your aunt was not sympathetic with your problems here. Why is she now so concerned about protecting you? Were there other threats?”

“No, no. She wants to protect herself,” I said.

He tilted his head with confusion. “Herself?”

“Her good name.”

“Oh. Yes, I understand.” He thought a moment and then said, “I hope she won’t be upset to see me drive up in my father’s old truck.”

“She won’t be upset; she’ll cover her eyes,” I told him, and he laughed again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I hurried to the car.

“How is Edward, Señor Garman? The operation on his eyes. It was good?”

“No one tells me nothing,” he said, opening the door.

I got in quickly. Ignacio was still standing there looking our way. He lowered his head and walked off just before Señor Garman drove away. Behind us, I could see some of the students chattering about me and laughing.

I did pity my spiritual animal double.

Sophia was already home when I arrived. She was sitting in the living room across from Tía Isabela, who was sipping a glass of white wine. I spotted another letter from Grandmother Anabela left for me on the entryway table and quickly scooped it up. Then I stepped into the living room.

“How is Edward?” I asked.

“I’m emotionally exhausted from all this,”
mi tía
Isabela said instead of answering. “I just this moment sat to have a glass of wine and relax.”

I stood there, waiting. She looked at Sophia, who smirked and fidgeted with her skirt.

“You told me to sit, and you would tell me what’s happening as soon as Delia arrived, Mother. I’m sitting, and she’s here, too, now, so talk already.”

“Do you ever realize how unpleasant you can be, Sophia? Do you ever, ever think about the impression you make on other people?”

“Oh, please, not another stupid lecture.”

“No, there’s no point. You’re right. You can sit on the sofa, too, Delia,” she told me, and I went to it and sat next to Sophia.

“Edward’s surgeon is not optimistic about Edward’s right eye. He is hopeful that the left will have a near-full recuperation.”

“What is optimistic?” I asked.

“It doesn’t look good for the eye to get better,”
mi tía
Isabela explained.

“What does that mean? He’s going to wear one of those patches like a pirate or something?” Sophia asked quickly.

“I have no idea yet, Sophia. Whatever has to be done will be done,” Tía Isabela said, and then paused, looking closely at me. “Isn’t that your bracelet Delia’s wearing?”

“Yes, it is,” Sophia said, sounding as pleasant as could be. “I decided to give it to her as a belated welcoming present, especially after the terrible things that have happened to her.”

“Really? That bracelet was one of your special birthday gifts last year, Sophia. Have you any idea what it cost?”

“Well, it’s still in the family, Mother,” she said. “Isn’t it? She’s your sister’s daughter.”

Tía Isabela glared at her.

“What?” Sophia said, unable to stand the scrutiny.

“You’re up to something no good, Sophia. The last time you were kind to anyone was when you were still in the cradle.”

“Very funny, Mother. Are we through here? I have some homework to do.”

“Yes, we’re through,” Tía Isabela said, and Sophia stood up.

“Only one more thing.”

“What?”

“Your brother will be coming home the day after tomorrow. He doesn’t have to remain in the hospital recuperating. When he’s home, I don’t want you aggravating him, teasing him, doing anything that will create tension for him, understand?”

“I wouldn’t do that, Mother. I think it’s terrible what’s happened to him.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I do!” she cried. Her face started to crumple in preparation for tears.

“Just go do your homework, Sophia. I’m too exhausted to put up with your dramatics,” Tía Isabela said, and sipped her wine.

Sophia glanced at me with tear-filled eyes and rushed out of the living room to the stairway. Maybe deep down, she did love her brother, I thought. I felt like crying for her and the way Tía Isabela was treating her. How could she ever be good if whenever she tried to be good, it was doubted?

I started to stand.

“Don’t go yet,” Tía Isabela said, and I sat back. “What did she ask you to do for her before she gave you that bracelet? What is she paying you to do?”

“Nothing,” I said. She hadn’t asked me to do anything for her.

“I don’t like it. It smells rotten. Don’t trust her,” she said.

How could a mother have such a low opinion of her own daughter? Usually, mothers were notorious for avoiding their children’s weaknesses and faults.

“Remember,” she added, finishing her glass of wine in a gulp and rising, “I warned you.”

She turned and left me sitting there, wondering if somehow I had, as Grandmother Anabela would say, gone from the pot to the fire. After a moment, I rose and went upstairs to my room, too. I wanted to read my new letter from Abuela Anabela right away, but I wasn’t there a minute before Sophia came in, closing the door softly behind her. I put the letter in with my ESL workbook and turned to her.

“Did you hear that?” she asked me, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “Did you hear what’s happened to my brother, to Edward? He’s going to lose an eye!” She held her hand over her right eye for emphasis.

“Yes, it is very sad,” I said.

“It’s more than just sad. It’s horrible,” she said, flinging her tissue to the floor. She paced in front of me. “And it’s all Bradley Whitfield’s fault, all of it. I hate him. I hate the air he breathes,” she said, and turned quickly to me. “Don’t you? Don’t you just hate him now?”

“I do not want to see him ever,” I admitted. It was the closest I could come to saying I hated him.

“You’re being too kind,” she said, with the thrust of an accusation. “You’re not going to go preach this forgiveness junk, now, are you? I know you’re way more religious than I am, but you can’t do that. You just can’t, not with my brother in the hospital and losing an eye. An eye!”

“I have heard that to be forgiving is good, but I have also been told
perdonar a una persona mala es de permitirlo a ser malo.
”

“What the hell does that mean, Delia? You know I barely can say
buenas noches.
”

“It means to forgive an evil person is to let him be evil.”

She smiled. “Yes, exactly. That’s more like it. We can’t forgive him. I agree. We don’t let Bradley be evil. Exactly. I knew you were okay.” She stared at the floor a moment, pressing her lips together so hard her bloated cheeks looked as if they would explode. “What about the fiesta for Ignacio’s sister? Where is it?” she asked, looking up quickly at me.