The House of the Scorpion (26 page)

He closed the door behind him and went straight to the closet. María was waiting in the secret passage. “At last!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “Have you missed me?”

“All the time,” he said, hugging her back. “I thought about you every day. I wanted to write, but I didn't know how.”

“I'm in an awful convent,” she said, disengaging herself and flopping down on the floor. “Oh, it's not too bad. I just don't fit in. I wanted to do charity work in the town, but the Sisters wouldn't let me. Imagine! They think they follow the teachings of Saint Francis, but they'd curl up and die rather than wash a beggar's sores.”

“I wouldn't like to wash a beggar's sores either,” said Matt.

“That's because you're a wolf. You'd gobble him up instead.”

“I'd find a healthy beggar first,” Matt said.

“You're not supposed to eat
any
of them. Tell me what you've been up to. Gosh, the other girls are boring! They don't do anything but read love comics and eat chocolates.” María snuggled against Matt, and he felt amazingly good. He realized he was happy and that he hadn't been for a long time.

“Love comics?” he inquired.

“Wolves wouldn't find them interesting. Tell me what you've been watching on TV. We aren't allowed TV unless a show improves our souls.”

“I don't have a soul,” Matt said.

“I think you do,” said María. “I've been reading modern church doctrine about ecology. According to recent studies, people think Saint Francis was the first ecologist. They say he preached to animals because they had little souls that could grow into big ones. With work, even a sparrow or cicada could make it into heaven.”

“Or hell,” said Matt.

“Don't be negative.” And then María was off with her new ideas and the arguments she'd had with the morals instructor at the convent. She moved on to how she liked gardening, but hated harvesting the poor little plants, and how she was top in math, but had her grades lowered when she sunbathed naked on the roof.

She seemed to have stored up months of conversation and couldn't wait to let it all out. Matt didn't care. He was content to sit there in the dark with her head leaning against his chest.

“Oh! But I've done all the talking and haven't let you say a word!” María cried at last. “That's one of the things I do penance for all the time. Except that no one at the convent listens to me like you do.”

“I like listening to you,” Matt said.

“I'm going to shut up now, and you're going to tell me what you've been doing.” She put her arms around him, and he smelled her perfume, a warm and somehow exciting scent of carnations. Matt never wanted to move again.

He told her about the eejit pens and meeting the Farm Patrol and how he had to go to the hospital. María trembled when he told her about El Patrón's heart attack. “He's so old,” she murmured. “Not that there's anything wrong with that, but he's
too
old.”

“I don't think his piggyback heart is going to last,” Matt said.

“He shouldn't have one at all,” María said.

“Do you know where he got it?”

“I—I—” María seemed confused. “I'm not supposed to talk about it, but yes, I do know where he got it! And it's evil!” She hugged Matt more tightly. He didn't know what to say. The fears he'd thrust away came back. He wanted to ask María what she meant, but he was afraid of the answer.

“I'm not like the other clones,” he said, more to reassure himself than anything. “El Patrón gave me the best education anyone can have. He bought me musical instruments, computers, anything I wanted. And he's really pleased when I get an A or play a new piano piece. He says I have genius.”

María said nothing. She snuggled her face into his chest, and from the dampness, Matt guessed she was crying.
Great. What is she crying about?
“He wouldn't bother”—Matt stepped very carefully over this point—“if I wasn't going to live very long.”

“That's true,” she said in a watery voice.

“Of
course
it's true,” said Matt firmly. “I've had better schooling than Steven. Someday I can help him run the estate—from behind the scenes, of course. Opium is a big country, and it takes a lot of work to control it. Benito's too dumb, and Tom is—well, a lot of things. For starters, El Patrón can't stand the sight of him.”

María stiffened. “He likes him better than you think.”

“Tom doesn't even belong in the family. He's here only because El Patrón refuses to give things up once he's laid claim to them.”

“That's a lie!” María said hotly. “Tom's one of the heirs, and he's not stupid!”

“I never said he was stupid. Only corrupt.”

“He's considered good enough to marry me!” María said.

“What?”
Matt couldn't believe what he was hearing. María was only a kid. She wouldn't get married for years and years.

“Oh, let's not fight,” María said miserably. “None of us has a choice in the matter. I mean, look at Benito and Fani. Fani said she'd rather drink cyanide than marry Benito, and see how much good it did her. El Patrón gave the order, and her father drugged her until she didn't know what was happening.”

Matt was incapable of speech. How could anyone want María to marry
Tom?
He was such a—such a
rotten little pustule!
It was unthinkable! He turned on the flashlight he always left in the passage and leaned it against the wall. He could see her pale face in the shadows.

“Steven and Emilia like each other, and I don't mind Tom—much. He's getting more like MacGregor, but I can change him.”

“You can't change Tom,” Matt said.

“Patience and love can do anything,” María said. “Anyhow, the wedding won't take place for years. Maybe El Patrón will change his mind.” She didn't sound hopeful.

Matt's mind was almost numb with despair. He'd refused to think about the future. He knew on some level that María would have to marry someday. Then he'd never see her again. But it had never in his darkest moments occurred to him that she'd be handed over to that monster.

“Wait,” he said as an idea came to him. “I have something for you.”

“A present?” María looked surprised.

Matt fished
A History of Opium
from its hiding place. He turned to page 247 and shone the flashlight directly on Esperanza Mendoza's portrait.

María gasped. “M-Mother?”

“You remember what she looked like?”

“Dada has pictures.” She took the book and stared at the portrait and its accompanying biography as though she'd been turned to stone. “Mother got the Nobel Peace Prize,” she whispered at last.

“And a lot more,” said Matt.

“But she n-never came back.” María's face looked so forlorn, Matt's heart turned over.

“She couldn't, dearest,” said Matt, unconsciously using one of Celia's words. “She's utterly and completely opposed to Opium and everything your father stands for. Do you think he'd let her come home? Or that El Patrón would?” In fact, Matt silently realized, El Patrón was capable of ordering her death. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd gotten rid of an enemy.

“She never even wrote me a letter,” murmured María.

“Don't you see? Your father would have destroyed any message she sent. But you can contact her now. Your convent—where is it?”

“In Aztlán, at the mouth of the Colorado River. It's in a town called San Luis.”

“I've read your mother's book,” said Matt, taking
A History of Opium
from María's cold hands and laying it on the floor. He held her hands to warm them up. “She says the Aztlános don't like Opium and would do anything to destroy it. Someone at the convent could send a message to your mother. I'm sure she wants to find you. I'm sure she'll keep you from marrying Tom.”

And take you where I'll never see you again
, thought Matt with a lump in his throat. But it didn't matter. He was going to lose her in any case. The important thing now was to save her.

“I have to go,” María said suddenly. “Emilia will be asking for me.”

“When will I see you again?”

“The wedding's tomorrow and I won't have a second to myself. I'm maid of honor. Will you be able to come?”

Matt laughed bitterly. “Maybe if I disguised myself as an eejit flower girl.”

“I know. It's horrible. I asked Emilia why she couldn't have real children, and she said they couldn't be depended on to do the job right.”

“You know I won't be invited,” said Matt.

“Everything's so unfair.” María sighed. “If I could, I'd skip the wedding and stay with you.”

Matt was touched by her offer, although he knew there wasn't a chance of it happening. “I'll wait for you here,” he said. “Do you want to take the book?”

“No. I can't guess what Dada would do if he found it.” She gently kissed him on the cheek, and Matt kissed her back. The feel of her skin stayed on his lips for a long time after she was gone.

•   •   •

It wasn't a front-row seat, but it was the best he could do. Matt was positioned behind the peephole with a pocket telescope.

He had hoped to find the machine room deserted, but the place was packed. Every view screen had at least two gorillalike bodyguards watching it. They flicked restlessly from scene to scene and spent a lot of time studying boring places, like the spaces behind pillars or curtains. Matt wondered whether they'd seen him hiding there on other occasions.

But as the wedding ceremony drew closer, the men's attention was concentrated on the salon. An altar had been erected, and the priest was prowling back and forth to one side. The eejit choir was lined up like mechanical toys, and someone was
sitting at Matt's piano. Matt adjusted the eyepiece of the telescope. It was awkward to use at a peephole, and his neck was beginning to ache.

He saw Mr. Ortega. He felt sorry for the dusty little man. He'd gone beyond Mr. Ortega's skill level long ago, but Matt had covered for him. He feared the music teacher would suffer the same fate as Rosa if El Patrón found out.

On another screen Matt saw El Patrón sitting in the front row, attended by Tam Lin and Daft Donald looking bunchy in suits.

Emilia waited in a dressing room. She wore a white gown with a long train embroidered with pearls and carried by the girl eejits. Celia had said the gown had been owned by a Spanish queen three hundred years before. The eejits' faces reminded Matt of the winged babies perched on pillars throughout the house. Their eyes were as lifeless as marbles.

María bounced around the room, talking animatedly. Matt couldn't hear what she said, but there was no question she was giddy with excitement. That was the difference between her and everyone else, he thought. She was overflowing with life. Everything delighted or devastated or fascinated her. There was no middle ground. Next to her Emilia looked faded, and Fani, who was drinking out of a brandy bottle in the corner, was positively drab.

The bodyguards turned up the sound. Matt heard the wedding march, and Senator Mendoza took Emilia by the arm. The eejits lifted the train, and María and Fani took their places behind the bride. They left the room with a stately, impressive walk. A whisper passed over the crowd, and the priest signaled everyone to stand.

Steven waited at the altar with Benito and Tom.

Tom. For a moment all Matt could see was his lying face. What you saw was
not
what you got with him. Underneath that angelic exterior was the boy who'd shot a helpless child with a peashooter, who had pulled chairs out from under El Viejo, who'd nailed frogs to the lawn so they could be devoured by herons. You didn't want to leave anything vulnerable around Tom.

A bodyguard blocked Matt's view for a moment. He cursed under his breath.

The next thing he saw was Emilia approaching the altar on her father's arm. María had a tight grip on Fani to keep her from swaying. Benito's wife was almost as loaded as Felicia, who was being held upright by Mr. Alacrán.
What a family
, thought Matt. The women were alcoholics, Benito was as dumb as a guppy, and Tom was a moral black hole. Steven was okay, though. Even the Alacráns couldn't strike out 100 percent of the time.

Now Emilia was given away by her father. Steven placed a ring on her finger and lifted her veil for a kiss. They were married for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death should them part.

But maybe they wouldn't have to part, Matt thought. Maybe they'd all waft up to heaven together, to a special wing reserved for the Alacráns. They'd have moro crabs and caramel pudding and a vat full of whiskey for Felicia.

“Bloody hell! It's the old vampire!” swore one of the bodyguards.

Matt pressed his eye to the peephole. He was so startled, he dropped the telescope.

He saw, far away but hideously clear, El Patrón jerk upward in his wheelchair. The old man clutched his heart and tipped
forward. Tam Lin scrambled to catch him. Mr. Alacrán yelled for help. Willum and several other doctors who had recently taken up residence in the house shoved their way through the crowd. They knelt around El Patrón, completely hiding the old man. They reminded Matt of vultures huddling over an antelope.

Bodyguards streamed out of the machine room, and a moment later Matt saw them on the screens. They rushed into the salon and herded the wedding guests out.

Tam Lin suddenly rose from the huddle with El Patrón in his arms. Matt saw with horror how small and withered the old man was. He looked like a dry leaf clutched to the bodyguard's chest as Tam Lin hurried out with the doctors in his wake.

The salon was deserted, except for Steven and Emilia, who were standing alone and forgotten at the altar.