The Chupacabra (8 page)

“Are you finished, Vanessa? We will need to pay now if we want to meet up with Mado.”

Vanessa was aware of Carmen standing behind her and panicked. She pressed the send button quickly without signing off, praying that Carmen hadn't read it. Oh God. What would Lee think of her email ending in the middle like that?

Naguals look like ordinary people but have supernatural powers. These abilities can be learned from another nagual and are often passed down through families.

The girls' Spanish lessons began the next morning. Lambs to the slaughter, they were led into Frida's study. It was a beautiful room with full-length windows and large oil paintings on the walls. Vanessa knew better than to comment on them.

Frida pointed to a couple of chairs that were on
the opposite side of her desk, which was huge and covered with small towers of books. She handed two books to the girls. They were children's picture books in Spanish—much more interesting than the textbooks they had expected. Things were looking up just a fraction.

“You will first read these simple books in Spanish and then translate them for me,” Frida said shortly.

“
Lea
, Nikki,
por favor
. Read, Nikki, please.'

The girls were getting used to Frida's curt ways. Vanessa had never met anyone so tense and closed-up, and yet her clothes were so wild. Today her hair was tied back loosely with a red scarf, and she wore several silver bangles which jangled on her wrists. Her plain black dress had a multicolored silk shawl with a long fringe tied around her waist. It was ten o'clock in the morning and she looked as if she was going flamenco dancing rather than teaching.

Vanessa leafed through the book she had been given. It was beautifully illustrated but seemed to be a really sad story. A child's face was reflected in a window as she looked through it. A fire in the hearth on one side contrasted with a gloomy scene outside.

Nikki read her book out loud as Frida had asked
and then translated it. It seemed to come easily to her. There was no way Vanessa was going to do as well as that.

Frida folded her hands in her lap, and when she had finished correcting Nikki's pronunciation she turned to Vanessa.

“
Dibujas
, Vanessa?” When Vanessa shrugged her shoulders noncommittally Frida repeated the question, in English this time. “Do you draw?”

“Yes. But not like this,” Vanessa answered, pointing to the illustration. “This is amazing, so atmospheric. But I do sketches sometimes.”

“Vanessa's really good,” Nikki cut in. “She's the best artist in the class. No, the best in our whole year, actually.”

“
Muy bien
,” said Frida, smiling warmly.

Vanessa was taken aback. Frida did not often smile. The last time was when she had been talking to Izel. Maybe she was interested in art? Vanessa's eyes flicked to the paintings on the walls. Could Frida have painted them? Vanessa still didn't dare ask.

“Maybe you could draw a picture for our next class and we could make up a story about it in Spanish,” Frida suggested.

“OK,” Vanessa agreed reluctantly. There was no polite way out of this, really. “I'll give it a try, but it might take me a couple of days.”

“
Hablamos solo español, por favor
,” Frida said. She wanted them to speak in Spanish only. An hour of this every day and her Spanish would certainly improve. Vanessa was trying her best to think positive.

Later that day Vanessa drew a load of different pictures but was happy with none of them. Now she sat in front of a pencil sketch of “her” horse, Amigo, and stared at it critically.

“How can you say that's a bad drawing, Vanessa?” Nikki said impatiently.

Vanessa had spent ages on it after her riding lesson with Armado that afternoon. Things were going OK on that front at least. She had had no more weird visions, thankfully, and Armado was teaching her how to jump.

“I suppose it's not bad, but it's not very good either.” Vanessa frowned at the drawing.

Nikki pinched her lightly on the hand. “I'd give anything to be able to do that. Just show Frida that one tomorrow and stop agonizing over it. It's only so we can make up a story and practice our Spanish, silly.”

The next afternoon, Vanessa brought her sketchpad to the kitchen when she went to help Izel prepare dinner. It was her favorite part of the day. She loved Izel's stories and the rambling way she told them. Sometimes Izel's accent got so thick that Vanessa had to guess the details; other times she threw in Spanish and Nahuatl words. Vanessa never asked her to explain or translate them because Izel did not like to be interrupted. If she was stopped mid-flow she would often lose the thread of the conversation.

While Izel talked Vanessa tried to sketch her face. She was curious to see if she could catch Izel's good humor and kind heart with her pencil.

Izel sliced and chopped pounds of fresh avocados and onions while Vanessa sat on a stool at the table and sketched.

“Frida drew my face many times,” Izel said out of the blue. “She was so clever. At twelve years old she could draw my face and it look like a mirror for me.” Her voice lifted and a smile broke her heavy features.

“I was young and beautiful then, like you, Vanessa. In love, too.”

Vanessa was shocked. Beautiful and in love? Izel couldn't be talking about her, surely?

“Do you still have the drawings, Izel?” Vanessa changed the subject quickly. “Could I see them?”

Vanessa really wanted to see them. For some strange reason she was pleased to think that Frida was an artist and that they might have something in common. Frida had smiled at her when Nikki mentioned that Vanessa was good at drawing.

“No, Vanessa. They are gone. All gone,” Izel said sadly. “She left her pictures in the house when she ran away. When she came back years later they had disappeared. He burned everything, her clothes too.”

Vanessa realized that she was holding her breath. Who burned Frida's clothes and pictures? She needed to ask the right question. Otherwise Izel could just as easily start talking about the pork
tabales
she was making for dinner.

“But … why, Izel?” Vanessa stuttered slightly.

Then she buttoned her lip firmly and continued to sketch, waiting for Izel to reply.

The silence stretched.

“She was only sixteen and so beautiful,” Izel said at last. “She was happy, full of laughing, and foolish but not wicked, as Don Miguel said.”

“Don Miguel?” Vanessa prompted Izel.

“That was her father. He said Joseph was a bad man, but Don Miguel was wrong about that too. There was someone else who wanted Frida, you see, and he poisoned Don Miguel's mind. Told him lies about Joseph.”

So Frida and Joseph ran away together when they were young! It was hard to imagine Frida doing anything so impulsive.

“That's so romantic!” Vanessa said.

“No,
chica
, so sad. Frida's mother died of her broken heart, and when Frida found out and tried to return to the ranch, her father would not let her. He would not even allow Frida to her own mother's funeral. Imagine such cruelty!”

Izel wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. It was a long time ago, but it was clearly still painful for her.

“Frida, on her knees, begged his forgiveness. But he looked at her, his beautiful daughter that he had loved with passion all of her childhood, and told her that she was dead to him.”

It was as if a heavy curtain had been drawn back for just a moment—sunlight streamed in, and Vanessa thought she understood. That was why Frida was
so cold and silent now. She had been badly hurt and she probably felt guilty too. What a story! Did Nikki know all this? Vanessa wondered.

She was about to ask if Frida and her father were ever reconciled when Izel slammed down the knife and spoke severely.

“And now we must make the table for seven people tonight.”

That meant one extra person. Vanessa was puzzled. “Is somebody coming to dinner?” she asked.

“Yes. But he has not been invited. No one but Don Miguel wanted him in the house back then, and nobody wants him here now.”

The curtain closed again.

In May 2007, more than 300 sheep were mysteriously killed in Boyacá, Colombia.

The next afternoon the girls rode the old bikes to the river. They were hoping that the recent storm might have filled the river enough for at least a shallow swim.

They set out lurching and swaying along the dirt track that led to the western part of the ranch. They laughed at each other as they struggled to ride side by side and in a straight line.

Vanessa's bike had a crossbar and was so large that she couldn't put her feet on the ground. Nikki's was more of a giant tricycle and looked as if it had been rescued from a previous century. Carmen's was too small for her, and the handlebars were rusted straight, so she had to keep stopping and repositioning the bike. It was fun.

Izel had prepared a picnic for them, all wrapped up beautifully and packed in a wicker basket. It was strapped to the carrier of Carmen's bike.

“Can I ask you something, Carmen?” Vanessa said as she wobbled from side to side along the track. “Why did Pablo eat dinner with us last night?” Vanessa knew it sounded like a strange question, however she put it. She saw Nikki glancing at her quickly. It probably sounded as if she was being snobbish.

Carmen didn't look at all surprised. She shook her head slowly. “He's horrible, isn't he? Such mean eyes.”

“So suspicious of everybody,” Vanessa agreed.

“And his teeth! Every time he opens his mouth to eat I have to look away.” Carmen's lip curled in distaste.

“Why did Armado say he wasn't very good with animals?” Vanessa asked suddenly. “Remember, in
the car to Guanajuato he said that Pablo was much better with machinery than animals?”

“Maybe he is too much of an animal himself and that frightens them,” Carmen said, a touch nastily.

Vanessa and Nikki looked at each other in surprise.

“How do you mean, he's an animal, Carmen?” Nikki asked.

“Oh, he's just … you know … creepy, is how you would say. I don't mean that he's done anything bad. At least not that I've heard anyway. But he's really rude to Mama, and I don't understand why she allows it. She doesn't let anyone else speak to her like that. Armado thinks it has to do with something that happened in the past, but Mama will not speak of it.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “And he stares at you, Vanessa, all the time. Have you noticed it?”

Vanessa had been all too aware of Pablo's eyes boring into her at dinner. Even when she refused to meet his gaze, she could still feel his stare.

“But why does Frida invite him to dinner? I know Izel hates him,” said Vanessa.

“He doesn't come very often. I don't know why he came yesterday. He knows we don't like him.” She
paused. “Maybe he wanted to get a good look at you, Vanessa.” Carmen was only half-joking.

“Oh, Carmen, don't tease Vanessa like that,” said Nikki when she saw the look on Vanessa's face. “He really is horrible.”

“Yes, but why is he allowed to come?” Vanessa insisted.

Carmen pulled her sun hat farther down over her eyes and struggled to answer.

“I … I think it has something to do with my grandfather's will. I never met Don Miguel, but I know he left Pablo a small house on the ranch. He was only a ranch hand, really, but Don Miguel relied on him, and Pablo used to eat with the family. In his will, my grandfather said Pablo should be welcome at our table always.”

“What a strange thing to put in a will!” Vanessa said. “It's the living who have to honor it. That's not really fair.”

“Yes, poor Mama. Poor us.”

“I wonder why she does honor it, though. Your mother, I mean.”

Vanessa stopped and bit her lip. She was probably stepping on very delicate ground here. But Carmen
just shrugged. She didn't know.

“I think I'll die if I don't get a swim soon,” Nikki grumbled. “It's so hot. Can't we ride on to the river and talk there? And can we talk about something other than Pablo?”

The girls rode on. Vanessa was silent, her mind totally taken over by the mystery of Pablo and why he came to dinner.

They soon arrived at the river. It wasn't deep enough to swim in but the girls lay on the cool stones of the riverbed and let the water run over them. It was crystal clear and felt like heaven after the hot bike ride.

It wasn't until they were sitting on the bank on a rug in the shade that Vanessa was able to bring the conversation back around to Pablo.

“So where does he live on the ranch?” Vanessa said, looking at Carmen. “Pablo, I mean. Where is this house your grandfather left him?”

Nikki rolled her eyes. “So we're back to Pablo, are we? You can be relentless, Vanessa, when you get a bee in your bonnet.”

Nikki began to unpack the picnic. Carmen sat up and looked around.

“I think it is near here. It is a small house, somewhere over there,” she added, pointing to some trees on the right. “I know it is along this river.”

Vanessa's eyes widened. “Let's go and have a look.”

“Honestly, Vanessa, you are just downright nosy sometimes,” Nikki said. “Well, I'm staying here in the shade and eating this lovely food.”

Nikki had set out a bowl of sliced fruit—pineapple and guava. There were also nachos with guacamole and homemade salsa, a bottle of slightly warm hibiscus water, and some giant walnut cookies.

“Maybe we'll go looking after lunch,” Vanessa said and reached for a cookie.

After they had eaten, the girls packed up and set off. They followed the riverbank for about ten minutes before they found the place. It was more of a wooden shack than a house, with a corrugated iron roof.

“See, I knew it was on the river. I remember that he always dries his laundry that way.” Carmen laughed.