The House of the Scorpion (3 page)

But he had liked the girl.

The rest of that day Matt was swept by both fear and joy. He had been warned by Celia never, never to show himself at the window. If someone came, he was to hide himself. But the children had been such a wonderful surprise, he couldn’t help running to see them. They were older than he. How much older Matt couldn’t tell. They were definitely not adults, though, and they didn’t seem dangerous. Still, Celia would be furious if she found out. Matt decided not to tell her.

That night she brought him a coloring book the children had thrown away in the Big House. Only half of it had been used, so Matt spent a pleasant half hour before dinner using the stubby crayons Celia had brought on other occasions. The smell of fried cheese and onions drifted out of the kitchen, and Matt knew she was cooking Aztláno food. This was a special treat. Celia was usually so tired when she returned home, she only heated up leftovers.

He colored in an entire meadow with green. His crayon was almost gone, and he had to hold it carefully to use it at all. The green made him feel happy. If only he could look out on such a meadow instead of the blinding white poppies. He was certain grass would be as soft as a bed and smell like rain.

“Very nice,
chico,”
said Celia, looking over his shoulder.

The last fragment of crayon fell apart in Matt’s fingers.

“¡Qué lástima
! I’ll see if I can find more in the Big House. Those kids’re so rich, they wouldn’t notice if I took the whole darn box.” Celia sighed. “I’ll only take a few, though. The mouse is safest when she doesn’t leave footprints on the butter.”

They had quesadillas and enchiladas for dinner. The food sat heavily in Matt’s stomach.

“Mamá
,” he said without thinking, “tell me again about the kids in the Big House.”

“Don’t call me ‘
Mamÿ,’”
snapped Celia.

“Sorry,” said Matt. The word had slipped out. Celia had told him long ago that she wasn’t his real mother. The children on TV had
mamÿs
, though, and Matt had fallen into the habit of thinking of Celia that way.

“I love you more than anything in the world,” the woman said quickly. “Never forget that. But you were only loaned to me,
mi vida.”

Matt had trouble understanding the word
loaned
. It seemed to mean something you gave away for a little while—which meant that whoever
loaned
him would want him back.

“Anyhow, the kids in the Big House are brats, you better believe it,” Celia went on. “They’re lazy as cats and just as ungrateful. They make big messes and order the maids to clean them up. And they never say thank you. Even if you work for hours making special cakes with sugar roses and violets and green leaves, they can’t say thank you to save their miserable little souls. They stuff their selfish mouths and tell you it tastes like mud!”

Celia looked angry, as though the incident had happened recently.

“There’s Steven and Benito,” Matt reminded her.

“Benito’s the oldest. He’s a real devil! He’s seventeen, and there isn’t a girl in the Farms who’s safe from him. But never mind that. It’s adult stuff and very boring. Anyhow, Benito is like his father, which means he’s a dog in human clothing. He’s going to college this year, and we’ll all be glad to see the last of him.”

“And Steven?” Matt said patiently.

“He’s not so bad. I sometimes think he might have a soul. He spends time with the Mendoza girls. They’re okay, although what they’re doing with our crowd would puzzle God Himself.”

“What does Steven look like?” It sometimes took a long time to steer Celia to the things Matt wanted to know—in this case, the names of the children who’d appeared outside the window.

“He’s thirteen. Big for his age. Sandy hair. Blue eyes.”

That must have been the boy
, thought Matt.

“Right now the Mendozas are visiting. Emilia’s thirteen too, very pretty with black hair and brown eyes.”

That must be the girl
, Matt decided.

“She at least has good manners. Her sister, María, is about your age and plays with Tom. Well, some might call it play. Most of the time she winds up crying her eyes out.”

“Why?” said Matt, who enjoyed hearing about Tom’s misdeeds.

“Tom is Benito times ten! He can melt anyone’s heart with those wide, innocent eyes. Everyone falls for it, but not me. He gave María a bottle of lemon soda today. ‘It’s the last one,’ he said. ‘It’s really cold and I saved it especially for you,’ he said. Do you know what was in it?”

“No,” said Matt, wriggling with anticipation.

“Pee! Can you believe it? He even put the cap back on. Oh, she was crying, poor little thing. She never learns.”

Celia suddenly ran out of steam. She yawned broadly and fatigue settled over her right before Matt’s eyes. She had been working from dawn to well after dark, and she had cooked a fresh meal at home as well. “I’m sorry,
chico
. When the well’s empty, it’s empty.”

Matt rinsed the plates and stacked the dishwasher while Celia took a shower. She came out in her voluminous pink bathrobe and nodded sleepily at the tidied table. “You’re a good kid,” she said.

She picked him up and hugged him all the way to his bed. No matter how tired Celia was—and sometimes she almost fell over with exhaustion—she never neglected this ritual. She tucked Matt in and lit the holy candle in front of the statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe. She had brought it with her all the way from her village in Aztlán. The Virgin’s robe was slightly chipped, which Celia disguised with a spray of artificial flowers. The Virgin’s feet rested on dusty plaster roses and Her starspangled robe was stained with wax, but Her face gazed out over the candle with the same gentleness it had in Celia’s bedroom long ago.

“I’m in the next room,
mi vida,”
whispered the woman, kissing the top of Matts head. “You get scared, you call me.”

Soon the house shook with Celias snores. To Matt, the sound was as normal as the thunder that sometimes echoed over the hills. It in no way kept him from sleep. “Steven and Emilia,” he whispered, testing the words in his mouth. He didn’t know what he would say to the strange children if they appeared again, but he was determined to try to talk to them. He practiced several sentences: “My name is Matt. I live here. Do you want to color pictures?”

No, he couldn’t mention the coloring book or the crayons. They were stolen.

“Would you like some food?” But the food might be stolen too. “Do you want to play?” Good. Steven and Emilia could suggest something, and Matt would be off the hook.

“Do you want to play? Do you want to play?” he murmured as his eyes closed and the gentle face of the Virgin of Guadalupe floated in the candlelight.

3
P
ROPERTY
O
F
T
HE
A
LACRÁN
E
STATE

C
elia left in the morning, and Matt spent the entire day waiting for the children. He had given up hope when, just before sunset, he heard voices approaching through the poppy fields.

He planted himself in front of the window and waited.

“There he is! See, María, I told you I wasn’t lying,” cried Emilia. Her hand rested on the shoulder of a much smaller girl. “He won’t talk to us, but you’re about his age. Maybe he won’t be afraid of you.” Emilia pushed the girl ahead of her and fell back to wait with Steven.

María wasn’t at all shy about coming up to the window. “Hey, boy!” she yelled, rapping the glass with her fist. “What’s your name? Do you want to play?”

With one blow, she stole Matt’s carefully prepared speech. He stared at her, unable to think of another opening.

“Well, is it yes or no?” María turned toward the others. “Make him unlock the door.”

“That’s up to him,” said Steven.

Matt wanted to say he didn’t have the key, but he was unable to get the words out.

“At least he isn’t hiding today,” remarked Emilia.

“If you can’t unlock the door, open the window,” María said.

Matt tried, knowing it wouldn’t work. Celia had nailed the window shut. He threw up his hands.

“He understands what we say,” said Steven.

“Hey, boy! If you don’t do something quick, we’re going away,” María shouted.

Matt thought desperately He needed something to interest them. He held up his finger, as Celia did when she wanted him to wait. He nodded his head to show that he agreed with María’s demand and was about to
do something
.

“What does that mean?” said Emilia.

“Beats me. Maybe he’s a mute and can’t talk,” Steven guessed.

Matt raced to his bedroom. He ripped the picture of the man with the bullfrog sandwich from the wall. It made Celia laugh. Maybe it would make these children laugh. He ran back and pressed the newspaper against the window. The three children came close to study it.

“What’s it say?” asked María.

“‘Ribbit on Rye,’” read Steven. “Do you get it? It’s a bullfrog going
ribbit, ribbit, ribbit
, and it’s between two slices of rye bread. That’s pretty funny.”

Emilia giggled, but María looked uncertain. “People don’t eat bullfrogs,” she said. “I mean, not when they’re
alive.”

“It’s a joke, dum-dum.”

“I’m not a dum-dum! It’s mean and nasty to eat bullfrogs! I don’t think it’s funny at all.”

“Save me from eejits,” said Steven, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not an eejit, either!”

“Oh, lighten up, María,” Emilia said.

“You brought me out here to see a boy, and it was
miles
and miles across the fields, and I’m tired and the boy won’t talk. I hate you!”

Matt stared at the scene with consternation. That wasn’t the result he wanted at all. María was crying, Emilia looked angry, and Steven had turned his back on both of them. Matt rapped on the window. When María looked up, he waved the picture and then wadded it into a ball. He threw it with all his force across the room.

“See, he agrees with me,” cried María through her tears.

“This is getting weirder by the minute,” said Steven. “I knew we shouldn’t have brought the eejit.”

“I thought the boy would talk to a kid his own size,” Emilia said. “Come on, María. We have to get back before dark.”

“I’m not walking anywhere!” The little girl flopped down on the ground.

“Well, I won’t carry you, fatso.”

“Just leave her,” said Steven. He started walking off, and after a moment Emilia followed him.

Matt was appalled. If the big kids went away, María would be all alone. It was going to be dark soon, and Celia wouldn’t return for hours. María would be alone with nothing but the empty poppy fields and the …

The
chupacabras
, who came out after dark and sucked your juices and left you to dry like an old cantaloupe skin!

Suddenly Matt knew what he had to do. María had walked a few steps away from the window before sitting down again. She was shouting insults at the vanished Steven and Emilia. Matt grabbed the big iron cooking pot Celia used to make
menudo
and swung it before he could worry much about her reaction. She would be furious! But he was saving María’s life. He smashed out the glass in the window. It fell in a tinkling, jangling mass to the ground. María jumped to her feet. Steven and Emilia rose up instantly from the poppy field, where they’d been hiding.

“Holy frijoles!” said Steven. All three stood openmouthed, staring at the empty hole where the window had been.

“My name is Matt. I live here. Do you want to play?” said Matt because he couldn’t think of another thing to say.

“He
can
talk,” said Emilia after the first shock had died away.

“Is that how you usually open a window, kid?” Steven said. “Stay back, María. There’s glass all over.” He stepped carefully to the opening and knocked out the remaining shards with a stick. Then he leaned inside to look around. Matt had to hold on to himself to keep from bolting to the other room. “This is creepy! The window’s nailed shut. What are you, some kind of prisoner?”

“I live here,” Matt said.

“You told us that already.”

“Do you want to play?”

“Maybe he’s like a parrot and only knows a few words,” suggested Emilia.

“
I
want to play,” said María. Matt looked at her with approval. The girl was struggling in Emilia’s arms, obviously trying to get to him. Steven shook his head and moved away. He looked like he was really going to leave this time.

Matt came to a decision. It was frightening, but he’d never had an opportunity like this before and he might never have it again. He shoved a chair to the opening, scrambled up, and jumped.

“No!” shouted Steven, running forward to catch him. He was too late.

A terrible pain lanced through Matt’s feet. He fell forward, and his hands and knees landed on the shards of glass.

“He wasn’t wearing shoes! Oh, man! Oh, man! What’re we going to do!” Steven pulled Matt up and swung him onto a clear patch of ground.