The Sisters of Alameda Street

by Lorena Hughes

  Malena snuck down the stairs, holding onto the rail to prevent a fall; her sense of touch was her only guide in the dark house. At the bottom of the stairs, she felt along the wall until she reached the dining room door. It was ajar.

  Pushing in, Malena dug her hand into her robe pocket to extract the candle and matches she’d borrowed from Claudia’s drawer. Ever so carefully, she lit the candle and looked about the dining room. The room appeared larger now that it was empty. She couldn’t look at the Last Supper on the wall. Jesus would not approve of her recent behavior.

  She fumbled with the curtains until she found the sliding door leading to the courtyard. She unlocked the latch, but before she could open the door, bright lights blinded her.

  She froze in panic. She’d been so close. If only she’d heard the footsteps behind her she could have hid underneath the table, hurried outside, or come up with a reasonable explanation. And now those footsteps she hadn’t heard before were approaching her.

  A hand rested on her shoulder.

  “Lili?”

  Javier smelled of alcohol and smoke, the way men smelled when they’d been out all night. Her father had brought that scent home with him a few times. Her father. Of course, he was the solution to her imminent problem.

  “What are you doing here so late?” he asked.

  She remained stiff, looking straight ahead, the way she’d seen her father do.

  He held her arm. “Lili? What are you doing with the curtain?”

  Mimicking her father, she looked past Javier, focusing on his ear.

  “I’m cleaning it,” she said, certain that he would burst out laughing.

  “Por Dios!” he said. “You’re asleep!”

  She fought the urge to laugh. If she did, she would ruin everything.

  “Let me help you to your bed.”

  He took the candle from her hand and guided her to the foyer. She moved slowly, the way her father did after she found him sleepwalking around the apartment. Javier was so gentle it touched her. But her own capacity to deceive disgusted her. She’d never imagined she had it in her.

  He opened Claudia’s bedroom door and helped her inside. He set the covers aside and helped her lie down. She did her part by closing her eyes, listening intently as he blew out the candle and tiptoed outside the room. She didn’t open her eyes until the door closed.

  Chapter 13

  Claudia’s engagement dinner was not something Malena was looking forward to. She wasn’t used to social gatherings; she’d only been to a few—usually involving her father’s mathematics awards. But the kind of people who attended intellectual events had little or no concern for fashion or etiquette. Malena suspected the San Isidro society was different.

  Wearing her borrowed gown, Malena slid her necklace inside the night table’s top drawer. She could hear the laughter and music downstairs. Had Claudia’s fiancé arrived yet? Aside from her social inadequacies, Sebastian was the greatest reason why she was still locked in Claudia’s room. With just one word, one question uttered in front of the wrong person, he could ruin all of her plans. She’d been lucky enough that Javier hadn’t said anything about the hotel.

  Someone knocked on the door. Malena opened it.

  Javier’s eyes lingered on her chest for an uncomfortable moment. “My mother asked me to call you. Are you ready?”

  She took a moment to respond. “Yes.”

  The two of them walked together down the stairs—Javier, whistling confidently the entire way down; Malena, holding onto the banister. Maybe it had been a mistake to wear Claudia’s dress; she had the mortifying impression that her breasts would make an unpleasant appearance in front of the guests tonight. Why hadn’t she picked Amanda’s outfit instead?

  Everyone was already heading for the dining room. On the last step, Malena tripped with her heel and lost her balance, but Javier seized her arm and broke her fall.

  Rafael scowled at them. “You’re late,” he muttered.

  Beside him, a lady in a hazelnut mink coat seriously examined Malena’s chest.

  “This is María Teresa Paz’s daughter,” Rafael told the woman. “Liliana.”

  After righting herself, Malena extended her hand out to the woman.

  “This is Ofelia Rivas,” Rafael said. “Sebastian’s mother.”

  Ofelia gave her a soft handshake in return. Malena stiffened at the sight of the woman’s son looking at her. There he was, Claudia’s fiancé. She could only hope he didn’t remember the hotel incident.

  Sebastian seemed like one of those men who always called attention to himself, even without trying. It wasn’t just his size, but also the confidence in his poise. He had the look of someone who understood his place in the world. Only now did Malena realize how truly handsome he was, how perfectly proportioned his facial features were, like the hero in one of those fotonovelas her neighbor Julia always read.

  There was not much resemblance between mother and son. Whereas Sebastian was tall and sturdy looking, his mother was short and her thin hand gave the impression of a frail woman underneath her gigantic coat. Sebastian’s face was tanned, with a green shadow running along his jawline. Ofelia, in contrast, had blonde hair and light skin—according to her neck anyway—since her face was a spectrum of color resembling the frantic brushes of an Expressionist artist.

  “Nice to meet you, Señora,” Malena said.

  As Ofelia removed her coat, she revealed a youthful figure underneath an elegant blue gown. Javier took Ofelia’s mink and she waltzed into the dining room with Amanda, without giving Malena more than a dismissive glance.

  Amanda glared at Malena’s gown. Claudia, on the other hand, gave her a reassuring nod as she wrapped her hand around Sebastian’s arm.

  “You’ve met Sebastian, right?” Claudia said.

  “Yes.”

  Sebastian stared at her for an unnerving moment. But instead of an imprudent question, he offered a polite nod and a handshake, much stronger than his mother’s had been.

  Javier rested his hand on the small of Malena’s back and led her into the dining room.

  Everyone looked their best tonight, even Trinidad, who had disposed of her light blue uniform in lieu of a black long-sleeve dress with a lacy apron over it; her braid was wrapped into a bun on top of her head that added ten years to her otherwise youthful face. The only one who didn’t seem to realize the importance of this gathering was Alejandra, who had chosen a pair of black trousers and a striped blouse for the evening.

  After everyone had taken their seats, Trinidad placed a cup of shrimp cebiche on top of every plate. For a moment, the clinking silverware was the only sound in the room. Either Trinidad’s appetizer was too good, or the atmosphere too tense with anticipation. The assortment of silverware and glasses puzzled Malena, but she mimicked Claudia’s selections, and based upon Mamá Blanca’s approving nod, she must have done a good job.

  The obligatory subject, the weather, led to the newspaper where Sebastian apparently worked. Once Trinidad brought the second course—a long tray of turkey decorated with peaches and prunes—Sebastian ran his eyes past everyone.

  “Well, this may be as good a time as any.” He focused on Rafael. “Señor Dávila, by now you know the reason for my visit.” He eyed Malena for a split second. “I really would have liked my father to be here with us tonight, but we all know that’s not possible …”

  There was a short silence in the room before smiles faded and people nodded, indistinctly enumerating the list of qualities Sebastian’s father had possessed.

  “Ignacio was such a good man.”

  “What a pity!”

  “Tragic, really.”

  “Such a gentleman.”

  “So good.”

  So Sebastian’s father had died, too. Amanda had said something about the man’s illness a few days ago. At least Sebastian had the consolation that his father hadn’t ended his own life. The comments around the table reminded Malena of her father’s funeral, where strangers had sai
d the same things about him. When people died, it seemed like they turned into saints that could do no wrong.

  Sebastian grasped Claudia’s hand. “But life goes on, and I would like to start a new one with Claudia.” Claudia’s cheeks were as red as her nail polish. “If that’s all right with you,” Sebastian told Rafael.

  Rafael produced a wide smile; so wide he looked like someone else.

  “Of course it is.” He rose and served champagne to everyone. “This deserves a toast!” He raised his glass.

  Malena clicked her glass against Javier’s, sitting by her side, and then Ana’s, before trying the sweet champagne. Her eyes met Sebastian’s for a second as he drank.

  As the evening progressed, Malena’s eyes continued to gravitate toward Sebastian. Okay, so she was not completely indifferent to him. That didn’t mean anything. It was normal for a woman her age to admire male beauty, especially since she’d never seen a specimen like this outside a movie screen. Her eyes were glued to Sebastian and Claudia as they sat across from her in the living room.

  He whispered something into Claudia’s ear and she giggled. Of course she would. If Malena had the attention of a man like Sebastian, she would be giggling, too. Malena could no longer follow Ofelia’s conversation. Yes, dinner had been excellent, and yes, she had noticed some streets in San Isidro needed repaving.

  Claudia stood up, nodding at Sebastian, and walked toward the piano.

  With the first notes of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, she became the center of attention. Behind the piano keys, there was no trace of that shy girl who seldom smiled and spoke softly. Sebastian’s eyes glimmered as he watched his bride play the piano. For the first time in her life, Malena wished she were someone else.

  Standing in semidarkness, Malena twisted the plastic phone cord around her index finger. With her other hand, she tightened the phone against her ear, listening impatiently to the steady ringing. Julia wasn’t picking up. Of course, she was probably asleep—hopefully without her earplugs. The sun had not yet risen, but this was the safest time to call her friend. After last night’s gathering, everyone in the house would be sleeping in.

  “Hello?”

  “Julia? It’s me. I’m sorry for calling so early.”

  “Malena? Where are you? I’ve been worried sick.” It was so good to hear Julia’s voice, to talk to someone who knew her real name.

  “In San Isidro.”

  “Did you find your mother?”

  “No. Well, sort of.” Malena glanced at the door. “Listen, I can’t explain right now. Things here are a little more complicated than I thought.”

  “But how long will you be there?”

  “I don’t know. A few more days. Have you been watering my fern and picking up my mail?”

  Julia sighed. “Mi reina, there’s something I have to tell you and you’re not going to like it.”

  “The fern died?”

  “No, worse.” She was silent for a moment. “I didn’t want to say anything after your father’s funeral because you seemed so shocked, but it may help you now.” She paused, dramatically. Julia loved to be the first one to share a piece of gossip. Malena could picture her neighbor’s tall bouffant, black roots standing out on her otherwise red hair, like a volcanic eruption in the middle of the night. She might be wearing her silk robe, the black one with fading butterflies, and drying the sweat from the back of her neck with a handkerchief. “The night before your father’s death,” she finally said, “he got into a fight with a man.”

  “What man?”

  “I don’t know who he was. I’d never seen him before, but the two of them were yelling so much I thought they were going to hit each other.”

  Her father yelling? But he’d had the patience of a saint. Then again, her father had turned out to be a stranger.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, mi amor. I saw them. Hugo was out of control.”

  Malena’s moist fingers had left prints on the receiver. “Julia, could you describe the man?”

  “Short, thin, bald.”

  Bald? Her father didn’t have any bald friends. His only friend had been Pedro Córdova. And Pedro had abundant curly hair. He was not thin either.

  “He was not bad looking. Probably in his early fifties.”

  “Did you hear what the fight was about?”

  “No. Your father was just telling him to leave.”

  “You didn’t hear his name?”

  “No.”

  “Lili?”

  Startled, Malena turned around. She hadn’t heard Claudia open the door. How long had she been standing here? Had she heard anything? How could she have been so stupid and careless to call Julia from the house! She hung up the phone.

  Claudia tightened her salmon robe across her chest. “Who were you talking to?”

  “A friend. What are you doing up so early?”

  Claudia studied her. “Looking for you. I was wondering if you wanted to come to mass with me today.”

  Malena followed the future Mrs. Rivas down the street. Claudia was a mystery to her. Sometimes she was friendly, like last night when she’d helped her get ready for the dinner party, or even this morning, when she’d invited her to come to church. But there were days when Claudia wouldn’t say a word to her. She hadn’t asked anything else about the phone call. Would she tell Ana? Then again, Lili must have friends. It wouldn’t be so unusual that she’d be calling one of them.

  The phone call. Malena still couldn’t grasp what Julia had told her. Her father had gotten into a fight with a man, a stranger. It seemed so out of character. And who was that man?

  Claudia stopped and pointed across the street to a sand-colored house with a pitched roof and a concrete fountain in front.

  “That’s Sebastian’s house.”

  So this was where he lived. Sebastian had a quaint house with a black metal fence surrounding the property. He must walk by this courtyard every morning, perhaps touching the water in the fountain on his way out. He might be inside right now, maybe watching through one of the windows. She searched for him in the second story, but all the curtains were drawn.

  “Are you going to move here after you get married?”

  “I suppose,” Claudia said. “But I would much rather live away from his mother.”

  Malena didn’t blame her. Ofelia seemed like a difficult woman.

  Claudia resumed her walk, rubbing the cross pendant hanging from her neck.

  “That is a beautiful cross you’re wearing. Did Alejandra make it?”

  “No. My grandfather Pancho. He gave it to Tía Abigail on her eighteenth birthday, and she gave it to me before she passed.”

  “Do you remember her?”

  “Of course. I was eleven when she died. She was my madrina.” There was a deep sadness in Claudia’s eyes after she mentioned that Abigail had been her godmother. “My room used to be hers. We shared it.”

  Malena halted. She slept on the bed of a dead woman?

  “Really?” Malena forced her legs to move.

  “She was so sweet and beautiful. A great seamstress, too.”

  The sight of the Gothic church standing proud in the heart of downtown silenced their chatter. Claudia covered her head with a black veil and climbed the concrete stairs of the most ostentatious construction in San Isidro. Malena followed her into the cold, gloomy nave flanked by rows of polished pews. The clatter of her heels echoed on a tiled floor covered with geometric patterns. She wanted to ask more about Abigail, to know everything about her, but she could never find the right words. It was apparent that every time she mentioned her, she brought sadness to those who knew her.

  Chapter 14

  Abigail, 1936

  It wasn’t always easy being the weakest one in the family, or more exactly, being thought of as weak only because you were sick as a child. How much longer did she have to pay for having a bad kidney? How many more of these torturous baths?

  The place that had once seemed magical to Abigail for
its natural beauty and warmth had now become her prison. Now that she’d turned fifteen, it was no longer fantastic to have a waterfall directly across from the pool where she sat for hours so the minerals in the water would restore her health. Neither did it seem extraordinary that said waterfall would be named after the Virgin’s mane—Cabellera de la Virgen—for the water that cascaded like women’s tresses along the mountain. As a child, she’d tried to visualize the Virgin’s features somewhere in the mountain’s green vegetation. She’d imagined the largest rocks to be her eyes, watching her, protecting her, and a row of bushes to be her nose. The mouth always changed; sometimes it was the shadow of a tree or a dent, and sometimes, despite how hard she tried, she couldn’t visualize it at all. With the years, the Virgin’s features became harder to find, and then one day, Abigail couldn’t see her altogether.

  She looked away from the cascade and focused, instead, on the warm green water wetting her calves as she sat by the edge of the pool. Tightening her fingers around the slippery rim, she kicked the water, the People Soup, as she called it, splashing all the heads around her. They glared at her. But Abigail didn’t care. She was done with these miraculous thermal waters her mother forced her into three times a week; done with the wrinkled toes and the tight white cap pressing uncomfortably against her forehead; done with the stiff balsa floater imprisoning her chest and the textured polyester of Amanda’s old bathing suit rubbing against her growing breasts. She couldn’t stand any more sick people around her, or more kids splashing about. She longed to be normal, like her sisters, and go to dance contests, like Ana and Amanda were doing this very moment. And, why not, have her own set of admirers.

  Abigail removed her floater and discarded it behind her.

  “Are you going to sit there all day?”