The Disappearance of Irene Dos Santos (4 page)

It was a Sunday morning, the morning of her sixth birthday and her mother’s forty-seventh. Lily heard a loud honking in the
driveway and peered over the balcony to see her father smiling up at her from the window of a silver car with fins gleaming
in the sunlight.

“Mami, guess what—Papi has brought home a car like a big fish!” Lily shouted.

A few minutes later, the three of them stood out in the driveway surveying the Lancer station wagon. Ismael said he had purchased
it secondhand on the meager salary doled out by the government Department for the Preservation of National Parks, Forests
and Protected Areas where he worked to supplement the intermittent sales of his wife’s paintings, infinite interpretations
and permutations of the flowering passion fruit vine. Every available space in the house was crammed with her work, completed
or in progress—a wild, violent collage of color and form that leapt out at the eye from every wall in every room. Not even
the bathrooms were spared, which prompted Lily’s godfather, Alejandro, to wonder how anyone could be expected to have a decent
bowel movement while under such an assault. “Do you close your eyes when you sit on the toilet?” he asked, playfully poking
Lily in the ribs.

Pointing to the car, Ismael turned to his wife and said, “Happy birthday, mi amor! Now you’ll be able to do your shopping
for the whole week at one time.”

“You know I can’t drive,” said Consuelo, kissing her husband on the cheek.

“I will teach you,” said Ismael. “Come, we’ll practice right now.”

For an hour, Consuelo practiced taking the car in and out of the driveway, while Lily watched from the window. Then Ismael
drove them all to the Plaza Altamira, where they bought bread from the Panadería Sosa.

“Nice car,” said Señor Sosa, coming out to admire it and running a gnarled hand along one of its shiny fins.

They ate the warm bread in the car, while Ismael drove. As they turned onto the highway and the car accelerated, Lily screamed
with excitement and wet her pants. Then she cried, while her mother attempted unsuccessfully to console her. It was only when
her father assured her that everybody peed in their pants their first time on the highway that her tears dried.

“What about Mami?” she asked, as they drove at a more leisurely pace through the gated residential park of Lagunita. Pulling
up in front of the Aguilar mansion, Ismael whispered in her ear, “Mami has her own special powers. One of them is the power
to hold her pipí even in the most dire of circumstances.” When Lily laughed through her tears, he said, “That’s better, we
can’t have you wet on both ends, can we? Now, we will clean you up and then your padrino and I have another special surprise
for your birthday.”

While Lily, wrapped in a giant beach towel and eating an arepa stuffed with Diablitos, sat on Alejandro’s lap, Amparo threw
her soiled clothes in the American-made washing machine. Within twenty minutes they were dry, and moments later Lily was dressed
and on her way to the Lagunita stables with her father and godfather.

“She’s groomed and ready, Señor Alejandro,” said the stable boy when they arrived. Holding Lily’s hand, Alejandro led her
to a stall in which stood a magnificent silver filly, puffing and stamping her feet. “Señorita Lily, allow me to introduce
you to Luna,” said Alejandro.

“Ay, Padrino, she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!” Lily said, her voice trembling with both fear and marvel.
“Where did you get her?”

“She is a gift to you from your father’s friend, Diego Garcia. But since you have no place to keep a horse, she will live
here, in my stable. When you are a little older, your father will teach you to ride her.”

Lily stared at her father. He was simply full of surprises that day.

Late in the afternoon Lily sat on the sofa in front of the black-and-white TV in the living room watching the one program
her father allowed,
El Zorro.
“Mira, Papi,” said Lily, “El Zorro’s horse, Tornado, looks just like ours.”

“Can you keep a secret?” Ismael asked.

Lily nodded solemnly.

“Well,” said Ismael, “our horse looks like Tornado because she is the daughter of Tornado.”

Lily’s jaw dropped in admiration, because if her father’s horse was the daughter of Tornado, it meant her father must be amigos
with El Zorro. Then she frowned. “But, Papi,” she said, “how can our horse be Tornado’s daughter if she is in Padrino’s stables
and Tornado is inside the television?”

“Ah,” said Ismael, “you’re a clever one, aren’t you? But there is an answer. And the answer is that El Zorro is a brujo with
a magic horse who can be in two places at once. And how do I know this? I know because El Zorro is my secret identity. And
it is only fitting that the daughter of El Zorro should ride the daughter of Tornado. Not only that, but your Tío Alejandro
also has a secret identity; he is Speed Racer and drives the Mach 5.” Alejandro Aguilar had recently replaced his red 1954
Corvette with the 1968 version in metallic blue.

“Ay, por Dios, Ismael,” said Consuelo, who had come in during the revelation of Alejandro’s secret identity, “don’t tease
her and fill her head with mentiras like that.” But she was smiling.

Ismael turned to Lily, placed a finger to his lips and winked. And Lily understood that this meant the true identity of El
Zorro was a secret only she and her father and her godfather shared. She winked back and whispered, “Can we tell Mami the
secret?” And Consuelo had rolled her eyes as Ismael replied in a stage whisper, “Only if she swears to keep it under wraps,
and learns the secret Zorro Code. I’ll have to teach the both of you.”

Every day, when her father dropped her off at the Academia Roosevelt, Lily winked at him as she stepped out of the car and
flashed the secret code, which consisted of writing a big
Z
in the air with the index finger of her right hand. She was almost nine before she understood, with the sorrow of one who
discovers that it is the parents who put the Christmas presents under the tree and not San Nicolás, that her father was not
really El Zorro—and that El Zorro himself wasn’t even a real person. She was even more disappointed to learn that El Zorro
wasn’t even Criollo, but an import from gringolandia. But not long afterward, she discovered such a wonderful thing about
her father that it didn’t really matter that he wasn’t El Zorro; she discovered that Ismael really
was
a brujo who could be in two places at one time.

For Lily’s fifteenth birthday, Ismael announced a family trip to the jungles of Maquiritare during the Christmas holidays.
He told Lily she could invite anyone she chose, and she disingenuously chose Irene Dos Santos. At first both her parents resisted,
but later, yielding under their daughter’s relentless onslaught (“You said
anyone
”), they agreed. After all, what real harm could come of it, with both girls under their direct supervision for the duration
of the trip? But Lily’s gladness at finally being reunited with Irene was marred by what she had seen, or thought she had
seen, when she went to Prados to fetch Irene: her mother’s red satin shoes.

Since traveling by road to Maquiritare would take days, the four of them—Ismael, Consuelo, Lily, and Irene—flew in a propeller
plane that belonged to Alejandro Aguilar. The plane’s choppy movements turned Lily’s stomach and made her spew her lunch on
the tarmac when they landed.

It was dusk by the time they were installed in their cabaña at the government-run tourist outpost in the province of Maquiritare.
Everyone voted to have a dinner immediately and make it an early night. The girls slept in hammocks on the porch. But before
they fell asleep, to make up for her humiliation on the tarmac, Lily whispered to Irene, “Tomorrow let’s swim across to the
island in the middle of the lagoon.”

“I’ll race you,” Irene whispered back.

Early in the morning they took a hike through the forest and then a canoe trip through the estuaries with their Pemon Indian
guide, and Irene seemed far more interested than Lily had thought she’d be, asking about the flora—what is this and what is
that. And Ismael had obliged her, rattling off a list of names until Lily felt her head spin. “Perhaps I will be a botanist
when I grow up,” Irene said.

When they returned at two p.m., the girls were ravenous and ate two chicken sandwiches each. Afterward, Consuelo and Ismael
withdrew to the cabaña for a nap, while Lily and Irene lay dozing in the hammocks on the veranda. Her eyes heavy, Lily said
sleepily that they should forget about swimming to the island. “Besides, our swimsuits are inside.”

“We don’t need swimsuits to swim,” said Irene, jumping up and grabbing her by the arm. “Come on!” They stepped onto the sand,
but it was too hot. Lily had her sandals, but Irene’s sneakers were inside the cabaña. Not to be deterred, Irene walked along
the stone pathway to the neighboring cabaña, which was rented out by a single man. She plucked a pair of flip-flops from the
porch and waved them triumphantly in the air before slipping her feet into them. They were a perfect fit.

Together, the girls ran to the beach and stripped to their underwear. Wading in until the water reached their chests, they
surveyed the distance to the island.

“It’s not that far,” said Lily, though she was starting to have her doubts.

“Bueno, gafa, what are we waiting for?” said Irene, throwing up the challenge.

Both girls had joined the junior swim team at Academia Roosevelt the year Irene decided she wanted to be a professional swimmer,
and the team was a contender for the national championships. Lily was then transferred to the convent school, which had no
swim team, and Irene had gone on to captain the Academia Roosevelt team to victory. Lily had concentrated on riding Luna who
was stabled at the Valencia Riding Club, taking the first prize in three equestrian events for two consecutive years. But
her blue satin riding ribbons had no relevance in the world she had shared with Irene before they were separated, and Lily
wanted to prove that she was also still as good a swimmer as her friend.

They started swimming on the count of three, making rapid progress to the midpoint between the camp shore and the island,
marked by a buoy. But it was a longer distance than it had seemed from the shore and, after a hundred and fifty meters, both
girls began to tire, their strokes becoming uneven.

“¡No puedo más!” Irene panted, just as Lily felt her stomach cramp. She instantly regretted the chicken sandwiches consumed
not half an hour earlier.

Treading water, Lily said, “I can make it.”

“No you can’t, you ate as many sandwiches as I did,” Irene panted.

“Yes I can.”

“You’re lying.”

That was how it started. There in the middle of the lake, Lily confronted Irene about the red shoes.

“You’re the liar,” Lily screamed back. “You told me my mother’s shoes were stolen after the play, but I saw you wearing them
when you were with your father in the study before you hid them behind the door. Además, I’m sure that charm bracelet you
have been wearing belongs to Luz. I should never have invited such a ladrona mentirosa. I wish you were dead.” Lily turned
around, facing the distant shore where their swim had begun. Her arms, legs, and chest were aching. A few feet away, Irene
was swimming toward her, her face furious, her arms slapping the water. The next thing Lily knew, Irene had seized her by
the shoulders, dunking her, climbing onto her back, locking her legs around Lily’s waist. Lily sank deeper with the weight.
Twisting, she managed to slip from Irene’s stranglehold, come up for air, and start paddling toward the shore. But Irene ferociously
grabbed her by the hair and pulled her backward, her other arm clamped against Lily’s windpipe. As Lily clawed at Irene’s
arm, the charm bracelet came loose in her hand. She clutched it in her fist, beating at Irene’s arm that continued to press
into her throat.

“Take it back,” Irene yelled, as Lily went under again. “Take back what you said.”

Just as Lily’s lungs began their silent scream for release, she heard her father’s voice. “Calma, mi amor. Remember what I
taught you.”

Summoning every reserve of strength she had left, she coiled and pushed, spun around in the water, drew her arm back, and
hit Irene full in the face with the heel of her hand. Irene’s head snapped back and blood spurted from her nose. Then Irene
began to sink. Lily tried to reach out to her, but exhaustion made this impossible. And she, too, began to sink.

Lily said she remembered waking up in the hammock on the veranda of the cabaña, with Irene next to her.

“I dreamt that we were swimming in the laguna. We had a fight in the water and we almost drowned,” she said.

“Don’t be silly,” said Irene. “Why would best friends fight?”

“I said I wished you were dead. But it’s not true.”

“It was only a dream. Forget it. Now, listen, I want to tell you a secret. Remember the guy I introduced you to that day we
met at the Hotel Macuto last year? The reason I came here with you is because he’s going to meet me here.”