by S. B. Niccum
“Oh, Alex…” I groaned. I could feel that he had a headache and a sharp pain on his side. I pointed this out to him and he explained that he must have broken or cracked a rib when he landed, after they ejected from the plane.
“You have to tell me where you are, your grandpa is about to call some of his contacts in the military.”
“I don’t know where we are now; they’ve been moving us for a few days. But we were shot down over Cuba.”
“Cuba? Why?”
“We were flying a Dignitary to a diplomatic meeting. We dropped him off and on our way back we were shot down, probably Guerrilla soldiers … who knows.”
“So you’re in Cuba?”
“No, I don’t think so. Suarez is pretty sure we’ve been exchanged somehow, sold or something, she speaks a little Spanish, but she’s badly hurt.”
“Oh yes, the girl.”
“What girl?”
“In the picture, Dorian drew you and two other soldiers. A big guy and a girl.”
“Dor—” Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain on the side of my face as if someone had struck me; and woke up with a start. The spot where Alex had received a blow still tingled with pain as if I had been hit myself. Then a new pain surfaced, one in my chest—Alex was somewhere in Central America getting a beating right now. To what end? Don’t those people know better than to shoot down American planes?
I wanted to hold on to that pain; it was my only connection to his reality right now. But slowly the memory of the pain disappeared.
“What were you dreaming about?” Valerie asked with curiosity. She was sitting up on her bed, with dark maroon circles under her eyes. I regarded her for a moment, unsure of what to tell her that would give her hope and not add further to her distress.
“Alex.” I said flatly. “He’s alive,” I finally told her. “Can’t you just feel it, deep inside you, that he is still alive?”
She nodded numbly. “I guess…very deep down inside I do. But I also have this awful feeling that he is in terrible danger; like he’s bound…or captive.”
This, I couldn’t dispute. “We’ll find him,” I assured her. “Dorian came last night; he turned eighteen yesterday, so he came to live with me. I have to get a place for us.”
“I will miss having you around; you are the only one who knows how I feel!”
She was right. For some strange reason, I did know just how she felt. Not because I loved Alex, we all loved Alex and worried about him. I knew how Valerie felt, just like I know what Dorian is thinking about and just like I’ve always known what Agatha’s true intentions are. I get people. I see them, and, I see more than just their bodies; I see their natures, their intentions, their light; their … auras?
That’s how I knew that Valerie was being irrational in her grief. I knew that she was using this pain to escape reality. She couldn’t control it completely, but she knew that if she gave in to the war inside her head, she would have an outlet for her sorrow.
“It’s true, I do know how you feel. And I know that you’re indulging in your pain right now. By making yourself sick like this, you are adding to their distress, so now they have two people to worry about instead of just one.”
Valerie stared at me; a flash of anger crossed her face. Then her features softened, and she nodded. “You’re right. But I can’t help myself. This—this, whatever this is, rules me.”
“She needs to paint,” a soft voice suggested. It wasn’t Celeste; it was someone else, a high-pitched voice with a thick southern accent.
“Why don’t you paint?” I suggested, while rubbing away the goose bumps on my arms. No matter how many times I heard those voices, I always felt goose bumps.
“Paint what?” Valerie said sarcastically.
“Tell her to paint her pain,” the woman suggested. I could feel the love that the voice had for Valerie, I could feel the sorrow and compassion she felt for her and tears came to my eyes. As I delivered the message, I could see a glint in her eyes and, the moisture gathered around the rims told me that she, too, felt that love. Valerie closed her eyes and took in the feeling…like a deep breath.
“My mother used to tell me that.” Valerie’s eyes were red and tears slid softly down her cheek. “How did you think to say that?”
I shrugged and tried to play it down, but Valerie looked at me suspiciously for a while. When she saw that I wasn’t going add any more information to this, she got out of bed, took a shower, and got dressed for the day.
When she came into the kitchen, she looked ten times better and more composed. She hugged her father and he in turn held her tightly. All was forgiven and forgotten between them. No words seemed to be necessary; the love they shared healed all wounds.
With Valerie back on her feet, we brought her up to speed. We told her about Dorian’s picture and how the Admiral was trying to get someone to take him seriously. But the man he spoke with basically told him, with the utmost respect, that he was crazy. In his best sailor language, the Admiral gave this General a piece of his mind, and then hung up the phone with a thud.
I wanted to share the fact that I knew he was shot down over Cuba, but how? How did I tell them without raising suspicions of my own sanity? Dorian had been tugging at my sleeve, “what?” I asked, a little annoyed.
He looked down and I immediately felt bad for being so short with him. “Sorry, Dorian. What’s up?” I said remorsefully.
“Mexico!”
“Mexico?” I searched his face for answers, but I felt too frustrated myself to read his intentions right.
“Don’t your aunts live in Mexico?” Katie said, soothingly.
“Oh…” I said, remembering now how my aunt Luz had written, “Bring him,” in the e-mail. “I can’t go to Mexico right, now Dorian. Alex is missing…I can’t just go meet them and feel happy…”
“And why not?” Valerie questioned.
I shook my head, then looked at Dorian, “How did you know about Mexico?” I stared into his big brown eyes that looked determined and unyielding. “Never mind, I promise to take you when I go, but I’m not going any time soon.” He looked crest fallen as he walked away. I felt bad, but I couldn’t imagine going anywhere right now.
The day was long and it brought no new information on Alex. I watched the news and searched the web, hoping to hear some news of a plane crash anywhere in Cuba, or anywhere else for that matter. Valerie painted all day, Dorian drew, the Admiral made calls to everyone he knew, while Katie busied herself with housework.
By mid-afternoon I couldn’t stay indoors one more minute, so I announced that I was going for a walk. Valerie said it was a great idea and she joined me. The day didn’t feel like winter. It was a mild afternoon that fooled you into thinking that spring would come soon. The street where the Preston’s lived was lined with huge houses that had access to the lake, all the front yards were perfectly landscaped and the world, from this angle, looked incredibly prosperous. Walking down this street was like walking in a different world, one where the struggles of every day survival didn’t seem to exist. But they did; and this made one feel all the more miserable and out of place.
We kept our thoughts to ourselves for quite some time, then Valerie finally spoke up. “I think you should go to Mexico,” she said, out of nowhere. I turned and looked at her a bit shocked. “Ever since you got that letter from your aunts, I’ve just have had this feeling that you should go to them right away. I can’t explain it,” she shrugged, “It’s not like you can do anything for him here anyway.”
“I can’t go now,” I said, dismissing the whole thing. Valerie shook her head emphatically. “If it’s me you’re worried about—don’t be. I really think you should go. This is your family and they are anxious to meet you. We’ll call you the minute we hear something.”
“I’m not in a frame of mind to go. I do want to meet them, but… it should be a happy occasion and I just can’t go now, feeling the way that I do.”
Valerie didn’t respond, she knew very well
that no one felt like doing anything. We all felt so helpless; our lives were on hold until Alex was found.
“I dreamt of him,” I finally blurted out. I was dying to tell someone, but I wasn’t sure who. Valerie turned and looked at me with interest.
“I believe in dreams,” she encouraged.
I took in a deep breath. “He was being moved from place to place and had a bag over his head.” She stared at me still; and with her eyes she encouraged me to continue. “He seemed okay,” I added.
“I’ve had dreams … very real dreams. Dane says that they are an expression of our subconscious, and I know that they can be that at times … but sometimes they are much more than that. I think that sometimes they can be a conduit to communication that would otherwise be dismissed by the conscious mind.”
“I think I believe that, too,” I said eagerly, and left it at that, for fear of going too far into things that sounded more supernatural than real.
“Then you believe me when I tell you that I have this very strong feeling that you should go to Mexico and meet your Aunts?”
“I believe you, but—”
“We—I, will be fine; if that’s still bothering you.”
We finished our walk in silence and when we got home we planned the trip. By the end of the day, everything was set. It was also decided that while we were gone, Valerie would do some apartment hunting, so that Dorian and I would have a place to live upon our return.
Chapter 19
We couldn’t see the front door to my aunts' house from the curb. A thick, fuchsia bougainvillea hedge covered the view of the house from the street, but there was an open gate that we passed through as we lugged our heavy bags.
We walked down a cobble stone path that was partially covered with scattered white sand. To the sides of the path, the lawn had patches of sand here and there, where the grass was sparse. There were palm trees and colorful overgrown flowerbeds planted at their base. The house looked Colonial, white stucco walls and a red tile roof. A beautiful red climbing rose decorated the entrance, giving the thick wooden front door a welcoming splash of color.
Dorian was beaming; he seemed to love this place already. I looked at him both puzzled and glad, and he responded with an even bigger smile and an unprecedented hug. We knocked on the door, and we could hear from the inside a rush of feet and exited voices. The door was opened suddenly, bringing a gust of salty sea wind inside with it.
“Tess, Dorian?” said a woman, with long, wavy, white-blond hair. She looked like a hippie, with a colorful scarf framing her face, dangling earrings, and the soft, musky and floral smell of patchouli and geranium. Another woman popped her head out from behind the first one. They were each identical, yet somehow different, versions of the other one. “Hi!” she said, then tucked herself back behind the first woman.
“Come here!” the first one chided, pulling us both to her in a warm embrace. “Let me give you a big overdue hug!” Before we knew it, we were both squeezed together into a tight squeeze. “I’m Maria de Amor, your aunt, Roger’s mom. This is Luz,” she reached behind her and pulled out her sister. “Aren’t you going to give them a hug, Luzita?”
Luz had pigtails and a girlish dress on, with lots of ruffles with a big bow tied in the back. She looked like she was ready for an ‘Alice in Wonderland’ play at the local theater.
Luzita smiled shyly and refused to give us a hug right away. Though she was identical to her sister, she looked younger—much younger. Her behavior was such that you soon forgot that she was an adult, and naturally thought of her like the child she was.
After a moment she came to my side and gave me a little squeeze. “You smell like jasmine and mint,” she declared. Then she went to give Dorian a hug, but stopped herself; looked down with an embarrassed smile, and then retreated to her sister’s side.
Inside the house, the floor had large terracotta tiles mixed in with smaller, hand painted tiles. The furniture was thick, rough-hewn walnut. The kitchen opened up to the dining room and the living room, and this main living area had a sprawling, open view of the ocean; separated only by some French doors. From the kitchen window you could see a luscious vegetable garden, and the intoxicating smell of something homemade emanated from the oven.
“What is that wonderful smell?”
“Bread. Luz makes it!” Amor said, as she guided us through the house.
“I’ve never had homemade bread before.”
“Really? That’s all I’ve ever had!” Luz said with amazement.
“Oh, that’s not true Luz; you’ve had plenty of store bought bread. But we do have a family tradition of making our own for everyday use. Our mother, Celeste, enjoyed making it, and taught us how, when we were young.” Amor paused, then placing her outstretched arms on my shoulders added; “now we have to teach you, so you can teach your daughter … some day!”
This last comment brought a pang of sadness to me. A daughter … children … marriage, … Alex … oh, Alex! I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but I couldn't hide the burning in my eyes, and Amor noticed this.
“I bet Dorian would love to learn,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. No sooner had I said this than Luz was at his side and talking to him about all kinds of things. Dorian smiled and nodded, fascinated by her.
The kitchen had a rustic, well used, and old fashioned look to it. It was cute, clean, and homey. It reminded me of a fairy tale kitchen, complete with herbs hanging to dry in bunches from an exposed beam on the ceiling. I walked up to the spices and gently smelled them to see if I recognized any of them.
“These are my collection,” Amor commented. I let go of them fearing that I would be disturbing them somehow, but Amor waved her hand in an encouraging manner. “Oh, no, no, you can touch them, go ahead. What I meant to say was that I like to grow herbs, spices and other plants, not just for cooking but for medicinal purposes as well. There are a lot of poor people here that have no access to doctors and I’m an Herbalist, so a lot of people come to me for medicine.” She pointed to the hanging clusters, “I’m always drying something so I can turn it into a powder and then into teas or stuff it into capsules for people to take. It’s time consuming, but I love it!”
“That’s really neat!”
“Yeah, we keep busy around here,” Amor made a sweeping motion with her hands. “We have a large garden outside that grows most of our food, and we have chickens and a goat, and we also do a great deal of charity work for Paz’s school and the congregation.”
“Is she there now?”
“She is. She runs a school for underprivileged girls at the convent.”
“I used to live there,” Luz put in, and went back to talking to Dorian.
“That’s right. Luz lived with Paz in the convent for a little while, but…it didn’t work out so well. Apparently, life in a nunnery was not Luz’s cup of tea. So I brought her home with me and Roger,” Amor said, waving her hair away from her face and releasing a sigh. “Now, tell me all about you. Paz will be here shortly for tea, and we can bring her up to speed then.”
“Bring who up to speed?” A flutter of black and white swept into the kitchen. “You must be my beautiful, Tess!” Paz said, with an authority that only a principal or a nun could impose.
“I am,” I said with a smile, and she hugged me tight in her boney arms. Paz had the same features as the other two, but she was much thinner, and though kindly, her features were sterner, and she smelled of books and chalk.
“What? No tea yet? Amor, its 3:15 P.M!” Paz mocked as she tapped her watch.
Amor shook her head and shoved the nun out of her way. “There is only one rule you have to follow while you bunk with us,” Amor said, as she filled a copper kettle with water. “Tea is at 3 p.m. sharp, every day. We are just as devoted to our afternoon tea as we are to the Pope.” Paz crossed herself and nodded in agreement, then led me to the table.
I watched as Amor set five dainty looking cups on five matching saucers, then set a strainer over the
set’s porcelain kettle and filled it with some strange looking herbs. She handed the tray to her sister, and then started on another that held a sugar bowl, some butter, homemade jam and a generous amount of sliced bread, right out of the oven.
“Now this tea will most likely be unlike any other tea you’ve had,” Amor started. “You see, I make my own mix to boost Antioxidant levels, energy, and immunities. What you’ll try today is what we usually have, unless of course one of us needs something special whipped up,” she raised her eyebrows and looked at me meaningfully. “Sometimes instead of energy, we might need something to calm us down. Or even knock us out!”
“You can do that?”
Paz laughed. “Oh yes, dear. She most certainly can. Don’t worry, all the ingredients are legal, in Mexico of course.”
“Stop it, Paz.” Amor shook her head, then took the whistling kettle from the stove and poured the water through the strainer. I cranked my neck to get a whiff of the herby, minty aroma that rose from it.
By now my mouth was watering and my stomach gave a lurch. “I’m sure glad I made it right on time for tea then,” I joked. Suddenly, an odd feeling came over me, a faint sadness and forlornness. This should have been my home! I could have grown up here, running on that beach and tending that garden.
Then I looked at Dorian, sitting there, listening to whatever Luz was telling him. He looked like he had found his home too. He glowed of peace and contentment here. I let out a sigh. For him, I would do it again, just to see him happy like this. “Thanks for inviting him; he looks happier than I’ve ever seen him.”
My aunts exchanged mysterious looks.
“We are so happy to see you both here, but we had no idea—” Paz started, “that he existed.” Amor finished.
“I knew he existed!” Luz protested. “That’s why I invited him.”
“We didn’t know about him until you wrote to us, saying that you would bring him as requested,” Paz added in a whisper, like she was telling a secret.