Notes from a Spinning Planet—Mexico (15 page)

She rings the doorbell, and a woman in a maid uniform opens the door and exclaims when she sees Francesca.
“jMija!”
she cries as she
hugs her tightly, welcoming her in Spanish. Then Francesca introduces me, and the woman, whose name is Camilla, switches over to English and more formal manners, saying she missed Francesca during her past several visits. She squeezes Francescas hand. “It is so good to see you,” she says quietly.

I glance around the spacious entryway, taking in the highly polished marble floors that go off into some fine-looking rooms, almost like something you'd see on an old movie set. Very elegant. And yet it feels wrong. Everything seems far too formal for a children's home. The art on the walls and the pieces of large pottery and the colorful area rugs don't in any way suggest this is an orphanage—or that children live here. But I keep my thoughts to myself. Then Camilla excuses herself, saying she must go help serve lunch, and I tell her it was a pleasure to meet her. She seems like a genuinely nice woman.

“Come with me,” says Francesca in a quiet voice, leading me past the ornate wrought-iron staircase with marble steps that gracefully curve up to the second floor. “The children's wing is this way.” We walk down a long tiled hallway and through a door that leads to something like a dormitory, closer to what I expected to see. “Visitors are supposed to use the front entrance,” she explains. “It's still hard to get used to it.”

“That is Miss Hernandez's office,” says Francesca, nodding to a closed door. “She is in charge of all the girls.” We go a few doors down until she stops in front of a door with #6 on it. She gently knocks, then goes in.

“Francesca,” says a girl who looks to be a smaller version of Francesca. I'm guessing this is the youngest sister. She quickly stands
up from the bed she was sitting on and comes over to us. She is wearing a neatly pressed, pale blue cotton dress with little white flowers on it.

“This is Victoria,” says Francesca as we go inside the room and close the door. “And, Victoria, this is my friend Maddie.”

The girl formally shakes my hand, then shyly looks down at her feet.

“Were you studying?” whispers Francesca, glancing at the books on the bed behind her. Victoria nods. Four single beds are crammed into this narrow room, along with four small desks, two of which are currently occupied by girls who appear to be about the same age as Victoria. The other girl is on her bed with an open book in her lap, but I'm guessing none of them is studying at the moment. There is one window in the room, too high to see out, and it's closed.

“Shall we go?” asks Francesca, and again Victoria nods, still eying me with shy curiosity. Francesca nods to the other girls, who are still pretending to study and not saying a word. Then we go back into the quiet hallway.

“Can you get Elena, please?” says Francesca. “We'll wait for you in the courtyard.”

Then Francesca leads me down another hallway and out into a small, dusty play yard that's walled in on all sides. “Saturday is a quiet day,” she tells me. “A day of rest.”

I nod and wonder what Sunday must be like. I feel sorry for the cooped-up girls I just saw. Surely they don't have to stay in their room for the whole day. I'm surprised at how small this play yard is, especaily
considering the size of the house and what looked like a large lot surrounding it. I wonder what the rest of the grounds are for.

“Francesca!” says another girl, this one taller and thinner. She runs over and wraps her arms around Francesca.

“Elena,” says Francesca, looking at the girl's unhappy face. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” says Elena, glancing at me with suspicion. Then in Spanish she asks Francesca who I am and why I'm here.

“This is Elena,” says Francesca to me. “Elena, meet my friend Maddie.”

Elena offers me her hand, but it seems a reluctant gesture. I sense she's not happy that Francesca has brought me.

“Let's check out now,” says Francesca to her sisters.

We take another door into the house. This one leads down another hallway, back toward where we came in earlier. I glance out a large picture window toward the back and notice there is a larger and much nicer yard out there and a pool. I want to ask Francesca about this, but I get the feeling I should wait. We walk past a luxurious sitting room and finally stop at a nice office, where Francesca speaks to a short, stout woman, politely informing her that she's here to take her sisters out.

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” asks the woman, glancing past Francesca to me.

“Yes, Miss Bernard, this is my friend Maddie Chase. Maddie, this is Miss Bernard.”

“Pleased to meet you, Maddie,” says the woman as she shakes my hand. “What brings you here today?”

I smile at her. “I just wanted to meet Francescas sisters,” I tell her. “Are you the owner of the orphanage?”

“We call it a girls’ home,” she says in a slightly offended tone. “And, no, my parents are the owners. But I come down here to help out sometimes. Its like a working vacation for me.”

“This is a very nice place,” I say, wishing I could ask her some questions about it. But I won't. I have a feeling that would make Francesca uncomfortable.

The woman smiles in a very self-satisfied way as she smoothes the front of her shiny silk blouse. “Yes, my parents have worked hard over the years to make it that way.”

“I'll have the girls back by two thirty,” promises Francesca as she signs a book.

Miss Bernard nods. “Yes, I'm sure you will.” She smiles again, but I can't help but think her smile is insincere.

Then Francesca leads us back through the foyer and out to her car.

“Where will you sit?” I ask the girls, suddenly realizing there's no backseat for them.

“It is all right,” says Francesca. “We will not go far.”

The girls get in the back, making themselves comfortable on a blanket, and I try not to worry about the fact that they have no seat belts. But Francesca only drives about a mile before stopping at what appears to be an outdoor mall, only Mexican style.

The girls act more like regular girls when they get out of the car. As we're walking, Elena grabs Francescas arm and pulls her in front of us, speaking to her sister in rapid Spanish. From what I can pick up,
some great injustice has been done to her. Of course, I cant tell if its just typical teen angst or a real dilemma. Victoria, acting less shy now, quietly walks next to me and asks, in perfect English, where I'm from. I tell her about our farm and even about some of the animals, which really seems to interest her.

We stop at a fish-taco stand, which is their regular treat, and I follow their example and ditto what they order. I insist on paying, but it is incredibly cheap. Still, they all graciously thank me as we sit down with our food.

“These are good,” I tell them. “I never had a fish taco before.”

“Never?” says Victoria in amazement.

Now Elena seems to warm up, and she continues telling about how she was punished this week for something that happened at school. Something she insists was not her fault.

“What kind of punishment?” I ask.

Now all three girls are quiet for a moment, as if they're gauging what to say.

“There are various kinds of punishment,” says Francesca. “The most common kind is cleaning. Not just regular cleaning like our everyday chores, but cleaning that is—how do you say?—excessive.”

“Extreme,” offers Elena. This makes them laugh.

“Extreme cleaning?” I query. “What would that be?”

“Cleaning the floor with a toothbrush,” says Victoria.

“Polishing the staircase banisters so that every crack and groove shines.”

“Scrubbing the pool deck when it is so hot you want to jump in.”

“Yes yes,” says Francesca. “I think that's enough.”

“But that is not the worst punishment,” says Elena to me with raised brows. “Last week I had to—”

“Elena,” says Francesca in a slightly warning tone, “you know you need to respect the Bernards.”

Elena rolls her
eyes.

“The Bernards believe in firm discipline,” she tells me. “But they never beat the girls.”

“No,” says Elena. “They take away our food, and they humiliate us. They make us work late into the night. But they never beat us.”

Francesca just shakes her head. “There are worse things. With the Bernards you get an excellent education, and you learn English. You should not complain.”

We're done eating now, and the girls want to look in some of the shops. So for a while, we are just like four ordinary girls, hanging together at an outdoor mall. And too soon, according to Elena and Victoria, it s time to go back.

fter Elena and Victoria revert to perfectly mannered little ladies and quietly return to their rooms, I remind Francesca about our mission here today. “We still need to talk to the Bernards,” I whisper as we stand in the elegant foyer.

She looks uneasy. “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course,” I tell her. But I can tell she's troubled. “Would it be better if I spoke to them without you being there?”

She considers this, then finally says, “No, I need to be there.”

“Where do we find them?”

“I'll ask at the office when I sign my sisters back in.”

I follow her to where we met Miss Bernard earlier. She's still there, only she's sitting in a leather easy chair with her back to us and her shoeless feet propped up on an ottoman. There's a television quietly playing an old rerun of
Love Boat.
I almost laugh to see it. My mom likes that show too and secretly watches it on Nickelodeon when she thinks no one is around to tease her.

“Excuse me, Miss Bernard?” says Francesca quietly.

Miss Bernard picks up the remote and clicks off the TV, then slowly turns around. “Yes?”

“I want to sign the girls back in.”

“You know where the book is, Francesca.” I hear irritation in her voice.

“And Maddie and I would like to speak to your parents. Are they busy?”

Miss Bernard frowns. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” says Francesca quickly. “I just want Maddie to meet them.” She glances at me uncomfortably, as if she hopes I'll jump in, which I do.

“Yes,” I say with what I hope sounds like an authoritative tone. “You see, my aunt is a journalist for a nationally known magazine, and I work as her assistant. I'm so impressed with your facility here that I'd like to inquire about doing a story.”

“Really?” Miss Bernard stands now, once again smoothing her shiny but rumpled silk shirt. “Well, let me go and see if they have time to talk.”

“I apologize for coming unscheduled,” I add. “But we're only in Cabo for a few days.”

“Yes, I see. If you'll excuse me.” Then she shoves her plump feet back into a pair of tight-looking pumps and leaves.

Francesca grins at me. “Well done.”

I shrug. “And not completely untrue.”

After a few minutes, Miss Bernard returns and invites us to meet the elder Bernards in their sitting room. We follow her to another luxurious room that's just off the swimming pool. One whole wall is composed of glass doors that open up to a covered area leading out to the pool. Very nice. Miss Bernard introduces us to her parents, who
I'm guessing are about my grandparents’ ages, but then IVe never been good with that sort ofthing. They invite us to sit down.

“This is an amazing place,” I say to them. “Francesca has told me a little about it, and I was eager to come see it for myself today.”

“Thank you,” says Mrs. Bernard. “We have put many years of hard work into the girls’ home.”

“And it shows,” I say. Then I look at Francesca. “When my aunt and I met Francesca at the Playa del Monaco, we were very impressed. I think she has great potential.”

Mrs. Bernard smiles. “Yes, we like to think that of all our girls.”

“How many girls are here?” I ask.

“We have fifty-four right now. But sometimes we have as many as seventy.”

“That must be expensive,” I say. “You must be very wealthy.”

Mrs. Bernard laughs. “No, not really. The girls are sponsored.”

“Sponsored?”

“Through donations from people in the United States,” she explains. “Churches and civic groups and philanthropic organizations.”