Isabel's Texas Two-Step (5 page)

“It's called ‘Mother's Helper,'” Ricardo said. “My father gave it to my mother this past Christmas.”

“Oh my gosh!” I was thunderstruck. “I can't believe you actually have a Diego Rivera painting in your house! All this is Mexican art, right?” I waved my hand about.

Ricardo nodded as he jumped up and down on the leather sofa like it was a trampoline. Boys were so weird sometimes. It never would have occurred to me to jump on such a nice couch. At least he'd taken off his shoes. When he jumped back onto the floor, his hair stuck out all over the place.

“I guess so. Most of it is, anyway. Look at these sculptures. They're made by a famous lady from Mexico, Josefina Aguilar. Some of them are really funny.” He ran to a corner of the room and pushed a button. A light shone on a table that had about a dozen clay figures. They were simple statues, crudely made, but colorful and eye-catching. One was of a woman holding a bunch of calla lilies. Another was obviously Frida Kahlo. She had a parrot on one shoulder, a monkey on the other, and a cigarette in one of her hands.

“I know who this is,” I said.

“Yeah, who doesn't?” Ricardo answered smugly. Sometimes Ricardo was nice, but sometimes…

Then a big glass statue of a bird caught my eye. When I walked closer, I realized it was an image of the Mexican national emblem. An eagle with a giant wingspan stood on a branch of prickly pear cactus, grasping a snake with one of its talons and its beak. The eagle's eye was deeply polished. It looked almost like a black diamond. For a second, I wondered if the eagle could fly.

I'd seen this image a thousand times, on everything from Mexican coins to the Mexican flag. But never like this, with such expression. The eagle's wings were so detailed I
could make out the lines on individual feathers. The snake had scales so thick it looked like it had a plate of armor on, even if it was only made of glass.

“I love this,” I said, and reached out my hand.

“But you better not touch it.” Ricardo stopped me. “That one's new. It's pretty cool, I guess,” he went on casually. “My mom just got it from some famous artist.” He acted as if that was no big deal to have a sculpture from a famous artist. I ignored him. I just couldn't take my eyes off the statue. “Do you know the story behind the emblem?” he asked me.

“I can't remember the whole thing,” I said and turned away. I suddenly felt tired, and Ricardo was starting to get on my nerves a little. Like now. He wanted to give me a history lesson.

“Well, it represents the founding of Mexico. The ancient Aztecs were a nomadic tribe. It was foretold they could not settle until they came across an eagle on top of a cactus, feasting on a snake. Well, they found it all right, on an island in the middle of Lake Texcoco. So they started building but soon crowded out the island. They built land extensions, called
chinampas,
over the water to make room for more people and to grow food, by moving dirt and stuff to fill in the lake. Pretty soon the place was huge.”

“Ricardo, did you learn all this at school?” I was kind of impressed at how much he knew.

He shook his head. “I read about it in this book I have. Mexico City was built on a lake. That's why a lot of its old buildings are sinking.” I remembered that my grandfather
told me that. “Crazy, huh? That one of the world's largest cities was built on mud? But in the olden days, it was called Tenochtitlán,” he explained.

“Boston was sort of built the same way,” I told him. “Except in the 1800s, they used wooden pilings, like big telephone poles, to extend the land into the bay. Parts of the city, like the Back Bay, were built right where the water used to be.” I paused, and asked him, “How do you know so much about Mexican history?”

“Isabel, look where you live. You're way up in the north. Down here, you practically can't forget for a second that this was once Mexico.”

I nodded again, realizing that Ricardo was one smart kid. I took one last look around the room before he started to turn out the lights. My eyes lingered on the huge paintings. “Wow. Those paintings are pretty cool, but that statue—I love birds. This is my favorite piece in the whole room,” I said.

“Yeah, of all the stuff we've got here—and believe me, my mom likes to buy a lot of art—it's my favorite too. She says she'll keep buying stuff until she has to do the dusting. But for now, Mercedes does all that.”

I wanted to e-mail the BSG and tell them I was sleeping under the same roof that housed a Diego Rivera painting, with cooks and a housekeeper and a magical glass eagle to guard the house. Ricardo had the biggest smile on his face. He knew I was impressed, and he was obviously eating it up. I guessed this was his time to shine a little.

Finally I said, “Your family must be
really rich
.”

He shook his head, like he was embarrassed. “If you say so.”

“Um, is there a computer I can use, for just a few minutes?” I asked.

“Why?” he asked. What was with everybody here? It was like no one wanted me to make contact with the outside world.

“I just want to touch base with my friends, the BSG,” I explained in a kind of whiny way. I was starting to feel pretty tired, and I really wanted to talk to my best friends before I went to bed. “I have to give them my first impressions of Texas and life on the ranch. It's this cool thing we do sometimes. Like if we are experiencing something new we have to tell each other what we think, and then a week later see if we still feel the same way. It's really kind of funny.” Ricardo looked unimpressed, but I kept going anyway.

“For example,” I continued. “The first time my friend Avery tasted my sister's mole sauce, she about gagged. She said it tasted like chocolate chalk. A week later she said it tasted worse, like chocolate dirt. My friend Charlotte, who has been to a lot of different places, loved it. She wanted my sister—”

“You sure talk a lot, Isabel,” he interrupted.

“Whatever.” Boys…it's like they can only handle listening to a certain number of words before their brains shut down.

“Come on, Isabel, we better split before we get caught in here.”
Get caught!
Had Ricardo broken a house rule or
something? I looked around, suddenly afraid that a fiery Tía Inez might come flying through the door on a broom.

“Ricardo, why did you bring me in here when you weren't supposed to?” I spun around to walk out. Unfortunately for the art world, Ricardo, and me, as I lifted my arm up, my sleeve caught on the glass eagle. Before I realized what was happening, the glass sculpture started to tip.

What happened next was like one of those terrible movie scenes where time stands still before the whole scene explodes. As if in slow motion, the eagle fell forward. Both Ricardo and I went in for the save as I yelped, “Ah!”

For one terrible second it was touch-and-go. A vision of the eagle smashed to smithereens on the floor buzzed through my head. But lucky for us, we managed to keep the huge sculpture from hitting the floor. In relief, we both sighed and began to giggle at the same time. And then we stood up.
Huge
mistake!
Huge!
The eagle's wing nicked the table, and the glass tip flew across the room.

“Isabel, look what you did!” Ricardo accused.

“That's not fair!” I practically screamed. “You made me come in here.”

A guilty look crept across his face.

“Well, what do we do now?” I was nearly in tears. The thought that I might have ruined my sister's
quince
and put my family in debt forever was beginning to form in my spinning brain.

“I have an idea.” He paused.

“What?” I asked, thinking that my cousin was going to
tell me to hide the sculpture under my bed or something ridiculous like that.

“You're an artist, right?” he asked hopefully.

“Yeah.” Even though I didn't consider myself a real artist yet, and I wasn't sure where he was going with his question, I was hoping against hope that his idea was a good one.

“How about we glue the piece back on? You can make it look really clean and everything.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but I was too freaked out to think of anything better to do, so I said, “Okay.” Then I remembered the poor eagle. “Do you think that we can lift this back onto the table? My arms are killing me.”

“You're funny, Isabel,” he said with a laugh as we gently rested the beautiful bird on the table. I was beginning to feel really sad. I had just ruined an incredible piece of art. Would my family ever forgive me? More important, would the art world?

Ricardo slunk out of the room to find some glue while I went in search of the glass tip. Fortunately it was resting, intact, under the chair facing the fireplace. I carefully picked it up and polished it off with my sleeve. “Bad sleeve,” I scolded. “Look at all the trouble you caused.” I sadly carried the broken piece back to the table.

“I am so sorry, beautiful eagle,” I whispered to the amazing glass bird, which almost felt alive in my hands. I tried to fit the shimmering tip back on the wing and said softly, “I hope you will forgive me for damaging your beauty.” Art meant everything to me, and thinking that
I had broken this wonderful work made me want to cry with shame.

Lucky for Ricardo and me, the break was a clean one, and perhaps the glue would work. I sat down in the leather chair facing the fireplace to wait for his return. A smidgen of hope was starting to creep into my brain.

Suddenly I heard the doorknob turn behind me. I slunk deep in the seat and made myself as small and invisible as I could. Then I crossed my fingers.
Please let it be Ricardo, please, please.

It wasn't.

“Who left these lights on?” Tía Inez huffed. She paused. I figured she was looking around the room, and I prayed she couldn't see me. I held my breath when I heard her step farther into the room. She was quiet for another moment, then Aunt Inez spoke softly. “Good night, beautiful art. Thank you for gracing our home.”

Suddenly it was dark.

I pinched myself just to make sure I was still alive and had heard right. Tía Inez was a true art lover, not one of those people who buy art for decoration. I leaned my head against the back of the chair.
Will my aunt ever forgive me for ruining her sculpture?
I wondered.

The doorknob turned again, but this time I was too exhausted and guilty to move. If it was Tía Inez again, I would just have to throw myself on the floor and beg for mercy.

“Isabel?” Thankfully, it was Ricardo's voice. I turned around to see him walk into room, a bottle of glue in his
hands.
Phew.
Together, we managed to do a fair job of gluing the tip back on.

“Isabel, we better not tell anyone about this,” he said in a worried tone.

“Ricardo, what if someone notices? What then?” I looked him in the eye.

“They won't. We aren't even going to use this room for the
quinceañera
. By the time somebody notices, the
quince
will be over, and…” He stopped midsentence and looked at me with a funny expression on his face. I don't think he totally believed what he was saying.

Both of us tiptoed silently out of the room.

Before he went to his own room, Ricardo grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “We're in this together, Isabel. We have to stay loyal.”

“Ricardo, we have to tell someone…soon,” I said as I let go of his hand. I walked back to my “charming” little bedroom, far away from everyone. I could hear my sister and her friends in the billiards room laughing it up. I was thankful to be alone, because I planned on crying myself to sleep. My sister's happiest time had turned into one of the worst days of my life.

Later, as I fell asleep to the sounds of accordion music coming through the wall from Mercedes's room, I thought about all the ways to confess. My favorite was having Ricardo confess and take all the blame…but I knew I wouldn't really let that happen.

C
ock-a-doodle-dooooo!”

For a second my sleepy brain didn't register the sound. “Go back to sleep, Elena,” I mumbled, burying my head in a pillow. Then I remembered…I was in Texas! And what I was hearing was a real rooster!

It took me about a split second to get to the windows. The light coming through had colored the room golden yellow. I ran from one window to the next, throwing open all the shutters, and saw before me the landscape that was…
my uncle's ranch
.

There were low buildings in one direction, and nearby, a fenced-in corral. To the right I saw the corner of a swimming pool, sparkling in the morning sun. I saw cows in the distance. I raised one of the glass windows and inhaled.

“Yeeeee-haaaaw,” I started, realizing my cowgirl cheer needed some serious work to sound authentic. But I would
definitely have some time to perfect it here. The morning was cool, quiet, and I felt so happy…until I remembered the broken eagle. I forced myself to put the image of a cracked eagle wing out of my mind. It was such a beautiful day, I didn't want to miss any of it.

I dressed quickly and headed toward the kitchen, running my fingers along the bumpy stuccoed walls of the long hallway. The texture of the walls appealed to me and I imagined having walls like that in own home someday. I passed an empty dining room and skipped into the kitchen.

Fidencia faced the stove, her slapping hands letting me know I'd soon be feasting on fresh tortillas. Mmm! I couldn't wait. Mercedes sat at the prep table, slicing and mincing a mound of vegetables and herbs. She was sipping a cup of steaming Mexican coffee. The smell of cinnamon made my nose twitch with pleasure. Soft accordion sounds came from a radio nearby.

“Buenos días,”
I said.

Both ladies fussed over me like mother hens, rushing me with questions. Hungry? Thirsty? Did you sleep well? What does the
preciosa
need? Their fawning was just what I needed, and a pleasant warmth came over me. I didn't know what to answer first. There were so many choices.

Suddenly I heard the rooster crow, and it sounded so close it scared me out of my wits! “Eeeee!” I shrieked as I felt a little peck on my ankle. I couldn't believe it—that naughty rooster was under the kitchen table!

“
¡Pecas! ¡Fuera!
” Fidencia grabbed a broom and shooed
the bird out the door, which was propped open with a rock.

“
¿Le llamas ‘Pecas'?
” I asked. What a weird name for a rooster. “Freckles?”

“
Sí, sí
, Freckles.
Muy travieso, ese gallo, el Pecas,”
Mercedes said.

Travieso
. Now there's a word I hadn't heard in a while. It meant troublemaker. Would my aunt think I was a troublemaker when she found out about the broken eagle?

As if on cue, Aunt Inez appeared. She was perfectly groomed and wore lots of beautiful turquoise jewelry. “My darling, you're up early,” she greeted me. “Did you sleep well? Everybody else is still in bed.”

“Good morning! I slept fine. Tía, what lovely jewelry! And did you know that my room changes colors?” I was babbling, but I was afraid. I wanted to tell her about the eagle, but I had promised Ricardo not to say anything just yet.

She looked at me funny and said, “You have the eye of an artist, I see. Light is so important to how color is interpreted.” Then she clapped her hands—I was so nervous I almost jumped!—and proclaimed, “We're going to have a full day,
mi 'jita
. Breakfast will be served shortly after eight, so have some lovely strawberries or cereal in the meantime, please. Mercedes will be knocking on everyone's door soon to get us going.” And then she flew off like an…eagle?

The day's activities were announced at the breakfast
table. All the ladies were going to San Antonio's famous River Walk, a colorful area of shops and restaurants that is one of the most popular tourist sites in Texas. I had read all about the art galleries that lined the streets. I shivered in anticipation.

“Afterwards,” Aunt Inez announced, “we will have lunch at the revolving Tower of the Americas restaurant.” Then she read such a long shopping list of
quinceañera
items that it made me dizzy.

“I hope I'm up to one of Inez's marathon shopping sprees,” Mom teased with a laugh. But I knew she was worried about keeping up.

Uncle Hector came in, pushing a folded compact wheelchair before him. “For you, Esperanza. Just in case,” he added with a smile. “This is very light and easy to pull along.”

Mom looked genuinely touched. “How thoughtful, Hector. Now I can really shop until I drop!” she said with a laugh.
I know what my job is today
, I thought. I loved pushing Mom in her wheelchair, because it made me feel like I was important—like I was really helping her.

Uncle Hector cleared his throat. “
Muchachos
, honored guests of my precious niece Elena Maria, today I am treating you to a tour of San Antonio's missions. Some ruins of the old missions can be found on this property. We will return here for lunch, and then my sons will be happy to show you around our modest ranch.”

Scott and Andrew high-fived each other, relieved to
miss the shopping expedition. I knew nothing about the San Antonio missions, but they sounded way more interesting than shopping for more
quinceañera
stuff. I looked at my mother, whose eyebrows said,
Don't even think of asking
. Given my adventures the night before, I dared not utter one ounce of complaint about anything. No, today…I would be mature, as befitting a member of my sister's court.

Shop Till You Drop

During the drive to the River Walk, Aunt Inez rambled on about the origins of San Antonio. But her history lesson, like Ricardo's, was actually pretty interesting. Aunt Inez was beginning to grow on me. She seemed to have so many passions—art, history, shopping….

“As the Spaniards moved northward from Mexico,” she told us, “Franciscan friars enlisted local Indians to help them build forts. A string of protective settlements were established along a river. These included
presidios,
or outposts, and missions, which were religious communities. One of them, the Mission San Antonio de Valero, would become the heart of the city. That mission was closed in 1793 and eventually became known as the Alamo, probably named after a regiment of soldiers that was later stationed there.

“The Alamo is the best known of all the missions, but in my opinion, the least impressive,” she said. “But it's on the River Walk, next to the mall that we're going to.”

“Will we get to see it?” I asked hopefully.

“If we have time, but I doubt it,” she said.

I now could see what I'd missed last night on the ride from the airport. As we got closer to the city center, the roads gave way from neighborhood clusters of one-story wood-frame houses to modern office towers.

“Everything is so spread out here,” Jill said. “And look at that old movie theater, the Alameda. It looks like it's frozen in time.”

“Elena, are your cousins who make up the rest of your honor court going to wear something different from us?” Lauren asked.

“The dresses have been ordered for the
damas
,” Aunt Inez answered before Elena Maria could even open her mouth. “Lauren, Jill, you two will be fitted today. Elena Maria, I have some choices already in mind for you. But, of course, you get to make the final selection.” My aunt and my sister beamed at each other.

I glanced over at my mom, who was staring out the window. She didn't seem that interested in the conversation. I wondered why. I knew Elena Maria's
quinceañera
was very important to her.

The River Walk was right on the San Antonio River. We walked along paths shaded by flowering trees and plants. This led us to the back entrances of many of the mall's shops, which was a picturesque route. Luckily there were plenty of ramps for wheelchairs. Aunt Lourdes and I took turns pushing Mom from store to store. Mom dubbed us her “escorts.”

The grown-ups and Elena Maria seemed to delight in
the endless search for the right shoes. Lauren and Jill were happy to discuss the benefits of silk versus satin as well. I was losing interest fast.

“I'm so in love,” Lauren sighed. “Tony! What a dreamboat. How does such a hot dude have such a funny-looking little brother like Ricardo?” I suddenly felt protective of Rico and his goofy glasses and big ears.

“He's very smart,” I said a little defensively.

“Alfonso's just fine with me,” Jill said. “With his long curly hair, he reminds me of a rock star.”

I was getting tired of tagging along behind Lauren and Jill. They had nothing to talk about but boys—except when they argued about whether my sister should wear pink (Jill) or white (Lauren).

As Elena Maria tried on shoe after shoe, I got that familiar ants-in-my-pants feeling. Then I had an idea. On the way in we had passed by a gallery with an interesting name—the Blue Turtle.

I tapped my mother a couple of times on her shoulder. “What is it, Isabel?” she finally asked, sounding impatient, as she was trying to pay attention to my sister's questions.

“Can I go outside? I want to see the art gallery on the River Walk.”

Elena Maria had the three adults' attention firmly in hand. She was arguing the finer points of spaghetti straps versus a princess neckline. Katani would have loved the conversation, but I was ready to leave. Mom nodded without looking at me, but that was all the permission I needed.
I was outside in a flash, skipping down the River Walk, on the lookout for the Blue Turtle Art Gallery. Who wouldn't want to walk into a gallery called the Blue Turtle?

It wasn't far, just four doors down. I came upon stone entrance steps and was enchanted by what I saw through the massive glass doors. I walked in. The front gallery was filled with bronze statues of all kinds of animals. I circled one of a buffalo that looked so lifelike I wanted to reach out and touch it. Having just made that huge mistake, I kept my hands in my pockets and began walking around in the rest of the gallery.

I approached a large figure of a woman's head. I could not make out her expression. Was she asleep, or half-awake? In pain, or full of happiness?

“Ah,” said a deep voice behind me. “
La Llorona
exerts a power over all who enter here, whether they're eight years old or eighty.” I turned to see a very tall man dressed in jeans and a leather vest, his dark hair plaited into two long, shiny braids. He extended a hand encrusted with silver and turquoise rings and bracelets.

“
Daaaaaad,”
said a voice from behind him. I peeked around his imposing figure and saw a girl a little older than me, maybe fourteen, running into the shop through a big sliding-glass door. Behind her, in a courtyard sort of area, was a potter's wheel and all sorts of half-formed sculptures and pots.

The girl gracefully slid around her dad and stopped in front of him, facing me. She had black hair like his, except that hers was supershort and spiky, some of it tipped in green. “You don't have to listen to him being all dramatic,” she told me, rolling her eyes. Behind her, I could see her dad smiling. “
La Llorona
means ‘the weeping woman.' Do you like art?”

Whoa. With her awesomely wild hair and straightforward style, this girl was a lot to take in all at once. She was kind of a teenage, Western version of Razzberry Pink, the proprietor of Think Pink, my friend Maeve's favorite store in all of Boston. “Um, yeah,” I finally answered softly.

Her dad put an arm around her shoulder. “My name is Cesar Arnoldo Guerrero, proprietor of this most humble gallery, and creator, I'm afraid, of this mysterious piece that everybody can't get enough of, but nobody ever buys.”

His impatient daughter rolled her eyes again and said, “Dad, that's because people don't like to have sad things around their house.”

“Yes, TV says you must be happy all the time or you are a big loser, right?” he answered with a smile.

I was starting to like Mr. Guerrero. He was funny and his eyes looked kind, and when he spoke I felt a little braver. I finally found my voice to compliment him on the beautiful sculpture. “This is really cool! How do you make this?”

“Metal, fire, and a little bit of magic. An artist, like a good magician, never gives away his secrets.”

“Magicians tell other magicians how they do their tricks, if they think they're good enough,” his daughter countered. This girl was very direct and definitely not the artsy-sensitive type. Mr. Guerrero laughed a big, hearty
laugh. “That's true, daughter. But we don't know yet if our visitor is one of us—an artist.” He looked at me with questioning eyes.

“I am,” I said boldly.

“I knew it!” the girl cried, clapping her hands together. “I could just tell from the way you were looking at
La Llorona
. Like you were really studying it, really seeing the art, you know?”