“So was Agatha,” Mrs. Frymire replied adamantly.
Ms. Martínez sat the paper back on the desk. The list was not the real reason she had come to talk to her colleagues. She was stalling, trying to muster up the nerve to tell them what was really on her mind. She had already shared her concern with Mr. Watts. He said he understood but discouraged her from speaking out.
“Don’t do it, Sandy. Please. You have to understand how things work around here. Leave it alone. Don’t say anything. Just go along with it, okay?”
But she couldn’t just go along with it. She had to say something.
“Mrs. Frymire, I realize Miss Mac was an icon here, a legend in her own time, if you will. From everything I’ve heard about her, she was an exceptional English teacher. Not only that, I also know she wrote and directed countless plays — plays people still rave about.”
“That’s right, she did,” Mrs. Frymire said. Mrs. Pruitt nodded.
Ms. Martínez picked up the copy of the play sitting on Mrs. Frymire’s desk. She took a deep breath. “But this one, Thirteen Days to Glory — The Battle of the Alamo, this one is … how shall I put it?” She probed her mind for the right words.
Mrs. Pruitt made a face. “What’s wrong with it?”
Ms. Martínez licked her drying lips. “Don’t get me wrong. I … I think most of the play is well written. Miss Mac must have done a lot of research before she wrote it. But … ” She scrunched up her face. “But the dialogue for the Mexicans is … it’s kind of offensive, don’t you think?” Her voice climbed up in pitch.
Mrs. Pruitt’s jaw tightened. “What do you mean?”
“Listen to this.” Ms. Martínez flipped through the pages. “Jew are hereby ordered to leef dees meeshun at once. Eef dees order ees not obeyed, we weel deestroy de Alamo and all off de occupants een eet.” She looked at her coworkers glumly. “Why did Miss Mac write the Mexican soldiers’ parts with such an exaggerated accent?”
Mrs. Frymire shrugged. “Probably to make the characters sound more authentic. You know, to sound … Mexicanish.”
“Really?” Ms. Martínez raised an eyebrow in a questioning slant. The look. “Is that what you think I sound like?”
Mrs. Pruitt glared at her. “Don’t try to turn this into a racial issue, Sandy, because it’s not.”
“I’m not trying to turn it into anything.” Ms. Martínez swallowed dryly. “But the play’s liable to offend every Latino in the audience, not to mention anyone else with a trace of sensitivity to the Mexican culture.”
“Well, we’ll just have to take that chance, Sandy.” Mrs. Frymire assumed a posture of superiority. “Let me explain something to you. This play is a tribute to a great woman. And a great friend. Miss Mac dedicated her life to this school and its children. So, yes, we are going to present her play exactly as she wrote it.”
Mrs. Pruitt sat her unfinished donut on a student table. She circled around Ms. Martínez and pointed a finger with a long red nail at her. “And as long as we’re on the subject of the Alamo, there’s something I want to ask you, Sandy. Some of the kids have been telling me that you said the Texas history book has it all wrong. That Davy Crockett gave up at the Alamo. That he surrendered. That he didn’t die fighting. Is that true?” Her voice grew louder as she spoke.
Ms. Martínez was beginning to feel as if she had walked into an ambush. “I … I didn’t tell them the book was wrong. I was only offering the kids another perspective of the Alamo story. Look, if you’ve read the José Enrique de la Peña account of what happened, you would know that in all probability Davy Crockett did surrender.”
Mrs. Pruitt’s upper lip began to twitch. “Did you also tell the kids that Travis didn’t draw the line on the ground when he asked his men if they wanted to stay and fight, to cross it and join him?”
Ms. Martínez forced a smile. “Mrs. Pruitt, there are lots of myths about the Alamo story. That happens to be one of them.”
“Oh, really? Well, then tell me this, Sandy. What makes you such an authority on the Alamo song?”
Ms. Martínez’s heartbeat quickened. She did not want any trouble from them. This was her first teaching job after taking a leave of absence to finish up her master’s degree. She wanted to get along with her coworkers even if she didn’t agree with everything they said or did. “I … I grew up in San Antonio,” she stammered. “Every year, we went on a field trip to the Alamo. I happen to love Texas history. But I don’t claim to be an expert on it.”
The veins on Mrs. Pruitt’s skinny neck stood out in livid ridges. “Then do me a favor, Sandy, would you? Do you think you could do me one simple favor? Do you? Do you?” Flakes of donut mixed with spit flew out of her mouth. “Stick to your subject and leave the teaching of Texas history to me!”
Ms. Martínez jumped back, startled by Mrs. Pruitt’s anger. “I … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense. E … Excuse me.”
She dashed out the door just as the bell rang.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Marco had one arm behind his back and a silly grin on his face. He walked up to Raquel, who was at her desk clearing out her backpack.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” He brought out a stuffed, black teddy bear and sat it in front of her.
Raquel sprang back and an involuntary “oh” escaped from her throat. For a second she thought Marco had dropped a cat on her desk.
“Like it?”
The bear was covered in coarse, bristly, black fur. It had a red, valentine-shaped nose. The inside of its ears and paws were lined with red felt. The bear held a huge red valentine with the words: “Be Mine, Valentine!” written in bold black letters.
Ugh, Raquel thought, but out loud she said, “Thank you, Marco. Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too.” She stood and gave him a hug.
“Watch this.” Marco picked up the bear and squeezed its stomach. The bear spoke in a high, mechanical voice. It said: “I-love-you-more-than-honey.”
He squeezed it again. This time it said: “You’re-bear y-spe-cial.”
“Pretty cool, huh?”
Raquel had to clamp her lips shut for a few seconds out of fear that an unappreciated laugh would slip out. The bear reminded her of an old “Twilight Zone” episode she’d seen about a murderous talking doll. She was flattered that Marco had been thoughtful enough to buy her a Valentine’s Day present. Maybe something could develop between the two of them after all. But if it did, one thing Marco was going to have to learn about her was that she hated stuffed animals, especially bears.
When Raquel was little, her Tía Chavela gave her a stuffed panda for her birthday. She’d bought it at the Chapultepec Zoo in Mexico City. But the osito panda gave Raquel the creeps. Its large round eyes scared her. They seemed evil, somehow. Every night before she went to bed, Raquel would turn the panda around to face the wall. She couldn’t stand to have those big black eyes look at her. She gazed at Marco’s Valentine teddy bear. It had those same spooky eyes.
As soon as the tardy bell rang, Mrs. Pruitt took attendance. Then she continued her Texas history lesson from the day before.
“After receiving word from James Bonham that no help would be coming, Colonel Travis ordered all the Texans, except the guards, to gather in the courtyard,” she explained to her class. She was trying to undo the damage she felt Ms. Martínez had caused. “Jim Bowie, who had become ill during the siege, could no longer walk. He had to have some of the men carry him to the courtyard on a cot.”
Marco raised his hand. “What was wrong with Bowie, Mrs. Pruitt?” He’d developed a special interest in him ever since he learned he’d been chosen to play Jim Bowie in the play. The part was perfect for him, he thought. Bowie was a tough guy, a fighter, a brawler. He might even have been a boxer if they’d had boxing back then.
“Tuberculosis, pneumonia, maybe a combination of the two,” Mrs. Pruitt said.
Marco nodded. This was good information. It gave him an idea. Maybe he’d cough every once in a while as he delivered his lines to add
realism to his character. He might also walk around with his shoulders slumped to show that he didn’t feel well.
Continuing in a somber tone, Mrs. Pruitt said, “Travis announced to the garrison that they were on their own. Help would not be coming, not in the time needed. Then he listed their options. Surrendering would be pointless, he told them. Santa Anna would have them killed for sure if they did. Slipping through the Mexican lines was almost impossible.”
Raquel sat at her desk, eyeing her teacher with resentment. A spasm of anger and pent-up frustration crossed her face. She’d heard this whole story before. She hadn’t liked it then, and she didn’t like it now.
“Travis made it clear to everyone that they were doomed.” Mrs. Pruitt’s voice cracked. Her eyes became watery.
Marco listened intently, mesmerized by her lesson. He could only imagine what it must have been like for those Texans—Crockett, Travis, Dickenson, Bowie, and all the others to know that they were going to die, to know that none of them had a chance of survival. What a tremendous amount of courage it must have taken for them to remain at the Alamo and fight.
Marco knew about courage. His grandfather preached it all the time. “You gotta look Fear in the face and let it know you ain’t scared, Marco. Only then will you be ready to win.”
Looking Fear in the face was one thing. Staring down Death took courage to a whole different level.
“Travis unsheathed his sword and drew a long line in the dirt,” Mrs. Pruitt said. She pantomimed drawing a line on the floor in front of her students. “He told his men that he was prepared to fight to the death. Then he invited anyone who wanted to join him to step over.” She stuck her chin up in the air and smiled. “And without hesitation, one by one, each man crossed the line. Even Bowie, who was too weak to walk, said, ‘I don’t know how much good I’ll do you, but here’s another life for Texas.’ He had some men carry him across.”
Marco imagined how that scene would be played out in the Alamo program. He’d lay on a cot, weakened, but still willing to fight. He’d wave his Bowie knife in the air as he was carried over. He assumed he would be provided with a Bowie knife — a prop rubber one of course. He couldn’t wait for the night of the performance.
“Finally, after twelve days of intense fighting, the Mexican Army charged the Alamo for the last time.” Mrs. Pruitt paced in front of the class like a revival tent preacher. Her hands were balled up into fists. Her voice grew louder. “With the last ounce of their strength, almost two hundred Texas heroes valiantly fought Santa Anna’s forces, giving their lives for the right to be free. To be free from Mexico’s oppression.”
“Mrs. Pruitt?”
The teacher paused. She glimpsed at Raquel Flores from above the rim of her glasses. “Did you say something?” She was surprised to hear her voice. Raquel hardly ever said anything in class.
“She’s a good girl. Real quiet,” Mrs. Pruitt had told Raquel’s parents through an interpreter on Parent Conference Night.
Raquel sat up. “Why don’t you tell the class the real truth about the Alamo?”
Mrs. Pruitt looked at her, baffled. “I’m sorry?”
“Tell the class about the U.S. immigrants who crossed over to Mexico looking for a better life. But once they settled there, they didn’t learn the language. They didn’t adapt to the culture. And they didn’t obey the laws of the country.”
Raquel’s feelings that she’d long kept suppressed poured out. They had been bubbling inside her for days. But up until now, only her diary knew about them.
“Tell the class about how the Mexican government had to pass new laws to stop U.S. immigration. But they still continued to cross over … illegally ! Then they started protesting, demanding their civil rights. Finally, they decided to take land that didn’t belong to them to form their own country!”
Some of the kids applauded. Some kids booed.
Mrs. Pruitt drew back, clearly uncomfortable. No one had ever questioned her lessons.
Raquel heaved heavy, shaky breaths. She couldn’t believe what she’d just done. She hadn’t intended to lash out at her teacher. But she had found the whole lesson infuriating. Maybe it was hearing Izzy and Orlando and Felipe reciting that insulting cartoon dialogue in the Alamo program. That certainly added to her anger. Maybe it was all the recent talk on the news about immigration issues. She was sick of her family living in constant fear, always worrying about being arrested and being deported.
“You call Crockett, Travis, and Bowie heroes,” Raquel continued. “But the Mexican soldiers were even bigger heroes, Mrs. Pruitt. They died defending my country against U.S. rebels.”
“Now hold on just a minute, young lady!” Mrs. Pruitt snapped. Ordinarily, she didn’t have a problem with students expressing their opinions. She usually welcomed them. They made for good classroom discussions. But Raquel was pushing the wrong buttons. “Perhaps you need to go back and reread chapter nine. Because you seem to have forgotten that there were a number of Mexicans — Tejanos—who fought at the Alamo. And Lorenzo de Zavala, another Mexican, was one of the signers of the Texas Declaration of Independence. Not only that, he also served as interim vice president of the Republic of Texas. What do you call those men?”
“I call them sellouts!” Raquel answered without hesitation.
The kids snickered.
But Raquel hadn’t said it to be funny. “You say Texans fought for freedom. Of course they did. For the freedom to keep their slaves. For the freedom to disobey Mexican laws. For the freedom to steal land that didn’t belong to them. For the freedom to …”
“That’s enough, Raquel!” Mrs. Pruitt’s face burned with indignation. “Maybe that’s the way they teach this in Mexico, but that’s not the way we teach it here in the USA!”
Then she rattled off something else, but Raquel missed it. She turned her head away in angry defiance.
After class, Marco caught up with her. “Man, what did you eat for breakfast?”
Raquel glared at him. “Why didn’t you speak up, Marco? Why didn’t you defend me? You’re supposed to be my friend.”
He froze.
“You sat there like a tonto and said nothing!”
Her words stung him like angry wasps. “Well, wh … what was I supposed to say?” he sputtered. “That I agree with you? That I think the Texans were the bad guys and the Mexicans were the good guys?”
“But it’s the truth, Marco. You know it is!”
“No, Raquel, that’s your truth. Not mine!”
Her eyes narrowed with contempt. “You can’t possibly understand how I feel, Marco. But then, why should you? You were born here!”
The wasps stung him again. “Hey, don’t take it out on me. I didn’t do anything.” He put his arm around her. “Come on, we’re friends. Let’s not fight. I gave you the teddy bear, didn’t I?”
“This?” She stared at the black bear in her hand and snorted. “Take it. I don’t want it.” She jerked away from him and shoved the bear against his chest.
“Raquel …”
“Leave me alone!”
She stomped away and disappeared into a crowd of kids.
Marco lingered for a second. Then he trudged down the hallway to his next class with a wounded look in his eyes. The bear dangled at his side. Man, I didn’t know she was like that. Was I wrong about her! He gazed down at the teddy bear. And to think that I spent almost ten dollars on this. What an ingrate.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Let’s go over Scene Seven.” Mrs. Frymire scanned the notes on her clipboard. “The Mexican Army has just attacked, and the Texans are trying to regroup.”
Billy Ray Cansler as William B. Travis, Andy LaFleur as Almeron Dickenson, and Agatha Hornbuckle as Susanna Dickenson took the stage.
Billy Ray: “Cease fire! Cease fire! They’re retreating! Looks like they’ve had enough for one day. Captain, have your men check the casualties. Get Doc Sanders to help you.”
Andy: “Colonel! Look! Over at that church. They’re r
aising a red flag.”
Billy Ray: “I see it. The Mexicans are letting us know with that flag that they’re not showing us any mercy, any quarter.”
Andy: “We’ve gotta get the women and children outta here. Soldier! Gather ‘em all and load ‘em into wagons. Let’s move ‘em out as soon as possible.”
Agatha: “Oh, Almeron, I’m not leaving you. I want to stay.”
Andy: “Susanna, that’s crazy. You saw what just happened. And that was nothing. The Mexicans will attack again at any moment, and it’ll be much worse next time. I want you and Angelina out of here immediately.”
Agatha: “Oh, Almeron, I’m not leaving you. I want to stay.”
“Agatha?”
She looked down from the stage at Mrs. Frymire. “Yes?”
“You already said that line. Say the next part.”
Agatha tried to remember what came next, but nothing came to mind. Her body stiffened, and she balled her hands into tight fists. “Um, Mrs. Frymire, could you please help me with the first few words?”
“I’m so worried.”
Agatha’s face grew pale. “Please don’t be worried, Mrs. Frymire. I’ll learn all my lines. I promise.”
“No, Agatha. ‘I’m so worried’ is your next line.”
“It is?”
“I’m so worried. The Mexicans scare me,” Mrs. Frymire read from the script.
Agatha stared blankly.
“Say it, Agatha. Say, ‘I’m so worried. The Mexicans scare me.’”
“I’m so worried. The Mexicans scare me.”
“That red flag scares me.”
“That red flag scares me,” Agatha echoed.
“But I know you’re just as frightened as I am.”
“But I know … ”
“ … you’re just as frightened as I am.”
“You’re just as frightened as I am.”
Marco couldn’t believe Agatha had been given the part of Susanna Dickenson. She couldn’t act at all. Raquel would’ve done a ten times better job than her. But then, he thought, Blanca’s cabbit could’ve done a better job.
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