by Leylah Attar
“MaMaLu said next time you misbehave, she’ll send you to your uncle.”
“Ha!” Esteban laughed. “She can’t even go a day without me.”
It was true. MaMaLu and Esteban were inseparable, a hard-loving, quick-fighting part of my life. I couldn’t imagine one without the other. They slept in a separate part of the estate, removed from the big house, a small wing that accommodated the help, but I could still hear them some nights—like the time Esteban was gone all day and didn’t get back until past midnight.
That was the first year the cinema had opened in the village. They showed The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, and Esteban stayed for all four screenings. MaMaLu had a right fit.
“Estebandido!” She’d gone after him with a broom when he finally showed up.
Esteban knew he was in big trouble when she called him that. I heard his howl all the way up in my room. The next day he showed up for his chores, looking like Blondie, Clint Eastwood’s character from the movie, wearing MaMaLu’s shawl—all squinty-eyed and chewing on a whittled down tree stub.
The following year Esteban watched Enter The Dragon and thought he was Bruce Lee.
“What do you do, Skye?” he asked.
“I fight back and I fight hard.” I repeated the line he had coached me to use, over and over again, because that was a line from one of the movies he’d seen.
“Ready?” he said. “On five.”
5, 4, 3, 2, 1 . . .
I attempted to free myself from his chokehold. I grabbed his arm using both my hands and followed through with the move he’d taught me, trapping his leg with mine and making a sharp 180-degree turn before pulling him across and away from my body.
We ended up on the grass, a pile of limbs and sharp elbows. I laughed. Esteban did not think I made a good martial arts apprentice.
“You need practice. And discipline. How do you expect to take on Gidiot if you can’t even handle me?”
And so we practiced. Every day, Esteban turned into Estebandido, although he never liked playing the bad guy.
“Just for practice,” he said. “Just for you, güerita. Do it like this. Whoee-ahhhhh! Ready? On five.”
5, 4, 3, 2, 1 . . .
“No, no, no.” He shook his head. “You have to make the sound.”
“Whooo-ah!”
“No, Skye. Like a cat. Whoee-ahhh!”
The couple of times I managed to land Esteban on his back, his eyes shone with adoration.
“You’re not so bad for a girl,” he said.
We were lying in the shade of a tree, looking up at the sky. The branches were covered with clusters of delicate flowers, like yellow lace dripping down from brown limbs.
“I’ll bring you cake tomorrow,” I said.
He nodded and blew the hair out of his face. “Kick his butt if he tries anything, okay?”
I clasped his fingers and smiled.
Esteban wasn’t invited to my birthday party, but Gidiot was. And all of the other kids who private-tutored with Miss Edmonds. There was a magician and a clown and an ice cream truck and piñatas. Silver and pink balloons bobbed all around the garden. I blew out nine candles while my father went nuts with the camera.
“Wait. I didn’t get that. MaMaLu can you light the candles again? Skye, slowly this time,” he said.
Esteban was perched on a ladder, cleaning the windows. Every so often, I looked over and he’d grin. He could see the big slice of cake I had hidden under the table. It had three juicy strawberries on it. Strawberries were Esteban’s favorite, but he rarely got to eat them. The cake was our little secret and it made me feel like he was part of the festivities.
By the time we were done with the games and loot bags, the pink frosting was melting off Esteban’s cake, so I decided to sneak off and give it to him.
“Where are you going, Skye?”
Gidiot had tailed me.
We were standing by the side of the house. I had Esteban’s cake in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other.
“Let me pass,” I said when he blocked my way.
“Are you going to eat all that?” he asked.
“What’s it to you?”
“Skye has a hole in her teeth and a hole in her tummy. She’s a witch with a piggy tummy and no mummy!” He yanked me back as I pushed past him and the cake went splat on the ground.
I threw the lemonade in his face. That made him good and angry. He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me off the ground, shaking me like a rag doll.
“Skye!” Esteban stood before us. Sweat was pouring off his face from being in the sun. “On five.”
We counted down together in our heads: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 . . .
I kicked Gidiot in the knee. He doubled over. It was enough for Esteban to catch him unawares.
“Whoeee-ahhhh!” Esteban’s fist connected with his face.
Gidiot let me go and staggered back. He put his hand to his mouth and spit out a tooth. Gideon Benedict St. John looked like a pink-gummed, gap-toothed old lady. Then he let out a scream that was heard clear across Casa Paloma.
“If you can’t take, don’t give,” said Esteban.
I’m pretty sure it was some lost-in-translation line from a martial arts movie. It didn’t matter. Esteban didn’t have time to elaborate. Victor Madera found us. He took one look at the situation and grabbed Esteban by the collar.
“You little punk!”
Esteban twisted and turned in Victor’s grasp as the man dragged him away. “Touch her again and I’ll see you in hell,” he said to Gideon.
He was going all out with the movie dialogues. If I wasn’t so terrified for him, I would have laughed.
The adults started to gather and everyone was fussing over Gidiot. They were trampling all over Esteban’s strawberries.
It wasn’t fair!
I chased after Victor and Esteban, but they were nowhere in sight. I gave up and trudged back up to my room.
Esteban had been there, probably before the party started. He’d left me a present on the bed. A perfect paper giraffe.
I picked it up and marveled at his dexterity. When Esteban was little, he didn’t have many toys, so MaMaLu taught him origami. He couldn’t afford to buy me fancy gifts, so he created whole worlds out of paper—magical, wondrous animals we’d only seen in books, or heard about in the stories that MaMaLu made up: dragons and lions and camels, and something that looked like a kangaroo, but had a horn sticking out of its nose. A kangaroceros?
“Skye?” My father knocked on my door. “Want to tell me what happened with Gideon?”
“Not really.” I picked up the gangly giraffe and propped its neck up.
“Is that from Esteban?”
I didn’t reply.
“Let me see.” He took it from me and examined the gold leafed calligraphy on the paper.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked.
“It is. It’s also from a rare book that’s missing from my collection. I know you’re friends with him, but he just knocked Gideon’s tooth out, and now he’s taken a book from my library? That’s theft, Skye.”
“He didn’t take anything! I gave it to him.”
“Really?” My father put the giraffe back down. “Then you’ll know what color the cover is.” He looked at me expectantly.
“Dad . . .” I was on the verge of tears, torn between my father and my friend. “Esteban probably thought it was just a dusty old book that no one would miss. I know he would never take it. He just borrowed it because he likes making me things out of pretty paper.”
My father was quiet for a long time. “You’re so much like your mother.” He ran his thumb over the locket I was wearing. “She had me wrapped around her finger too.”
“Tell me the story of how you met.”
“Again?”
“Again.”
He laughed. “Well, I had just graduated from college, not a penny to my name, but I wanted to see the world and found myself in Caboras with a few of my buddies. On our last night, we crashed a
wedding and there she was: Adriana Nina Torres, the most beautiful girl in the world. I told her I was a successful entrepreneur, a friend of the groom’s. She called security on me and had me thrown in the lock up for impersonating a guest at her brother’s wedding. I knew it was love at first sight when she came to bail me out the next day.”
“I wish I knew her.” I never got tired of hearing their story, of how he had to prove himself to win her family over.
“You were the most precious thing in her life, Skye. I couldn’t protect her, but I promise it will be different for you. I’m almost there. Just a little longer and we’ll be free.”
I didn’t know what he meant, but I knew he missed my mother, and he loved me even though he was always away.
“Señor Sedgewick,” Victor Madera interrupted from the door. “Gideon St. John’s parents are downstairs. They are demanding something be done about Esteban.”
“Dad.” I tugged my father’s hand. “Please don’t tell MaMaLu about . . .” I gestured towards the paper giraffe. I didn’t want to give Victor any more ammunition than he had. He seemed to enjoy tormenting Esteban. “She said she’ll send him away.”
“I want the book returned right away.” My father shot me a warning look. “And no more ‘borrowing’.” He took my hand and we went downstairs to face Gidiot and his parents. They were seated stiffly on the sofa while MaMaLu and Esteban stood behind them.
For all of MaMaLu’s threats, she protected Esteban fiercely when it came down to it, but she also knew her place and she knew her limits. “I will agree to whatever punishment Señor Sedgewick sees fit for my son.” She held her head high.
Mr. and Mrs. St. John turned to my father while Gidiot smirked at Esteban and me.
“I’m sorry,” said my father as his phone rang. “I have to take this.” He talked for a few moments and hung up. “I’m afraid something urgent has come up, but I can assure you the matter will be dealt with properly.” He left the St. John’s little room to protest as he saw them out. “Look after it, Victor.” He motioned to Esteban after they’d gone.
Victor smiled at MaMaLu, but she didn’t smile back. I don’t think she liked Victor picking Esteban’s punishment.
“And one more thing.” My father returned before she could say anything. “Tell Miss Edmonds she can expect a new student starting next week. I want Esteban to join the class.”
MaMaLu’s jaw dropped. “Thank you, Señor Sedgewick. Thank you so much.”
“I believe you have a book to return, young man,” my father said to Esteban. “I expect you to be in class and to stay out of trouble.” I knew he was doing it to keep MaMaLu from sending him away.
“Yes, sir. I will.” Esteban was smiling so big, I thought his face would crack.
“Happy Birthday, Skye.” My father winked at me before he headed back out. In that moment, my world was complete. I was so happy, I didn’t even care when Victor told Esteban to follow him out for his punishment.
MaMaLu stayed with me. We opened the rest of the presents and she ooh’d and aah’d over the extravagant gifts. We put Esteban’s giraffe away last, with all of his other creations, because she knew I liked it best.
It was almost dark when MaMaLu opened the window and gasped. I flew to her side and saw Esteban on his hands and knees in the garden, cutting the grass . . . with a pair of scissors. It was the garden in the back, with prickly poppies and spiny weeds. Esteban winced with every step. His palms and knees were raw and his t-shirt clung to him from sweat and exertion.
I knew MaMaLu wanted to cuss Victor out, but she bit her tongue. She brushed my hair and tucked me into bed.
“Are you going to tell me a story tonight, MaMaLu?” I asked.
She got into bed with me and put her arm around me.
When Esteban finished, he climbed through the window and listened. It was a tale we hadn’t heard before, about a magic swan that graced the grounds of Casa Paloma. If you caught a glimpse of it, you would be blessed with a rare treasure. MaMaLu told us that the swan hid in the garden, but once in a while, on a new moon, it liked to swim in the lily pond, by the tree with the yellow flowers.
Esteban smiled at me. He flexed his fingers because they were numb from holding the scissors for so long. I smiled back. Casa Paloma meant House of Doves. Trust MaMaLu to throw in a swan. We both knew there were no magic swans, but we liked the sound of MaMaLu’s voice.
“Sing us the lullaby,” I said, when she finished the story.
Esteban scooted over and knelt by the bed. MaMaLu turned her face away from him. She was still mad at him for punching Gidiot, but she let him put his head in her lap.
De la Sierra Morena,
Cielito lindo, vienen bajando . . .
It was Esteban’s lullaby, from when he was a baby, but I was their cielito lindo—their little piece of sky. I snuggled closer as she sang about birds that leave nests, and arrows, and wounds. Esteban and I lay with MaMaLu between us. We didn’t move when it was done because it was soft and quiet, and we wanted to stay there forever.
“Come, Esteban,” said MaMaLu. “It’s time we said goodnight.”
“Wait.” I wasn’t ready to go to sleep yet. It had been the best birthday ever, in spite of Esteban’s punishment. Tomorrow, he would go to class with me and not have to hide in the hutch anymore. “I haven’t said my prayer.”
We closed our eyes and held hands in a circle.
“Dear Lord, bless my soul. And watch over Dad. And MaMaLu and Esteban.” My voice quivered with laughter because Esteban peeked and caught me peeking, and MaMaLu opened her eyes and rapped her knuckles on our heads.
It was the prayer that had saved me. Or doomed me. I couldn’t decide which.
Damian had gone back to watching his line, supremely confident that I wouldn’t do something as stupid as try to drown myself. His gaze was focused on some invisible spot on the horizon.
I looked through the railing and followed the flight of sea gulls as they caught an air current and rode it to the shore.
The shore.
I blinked.
For the first time in days, I could see land. We weren’t heading towards it, we were running parallel to it, but I could make out trees and small structures and the glint of glass.
What do you do, Skye?
My eyes searched the deck.
I grab the fire extinguisher and bash his brains out.
I stood up slowly and made my way towards the shiny red cylinder.
Damian had his back to me so he didn’t see it coming. I swung at him and felt an odd thrill at the sound of metal colliding against bone as it slammed into his jaw. KLUNK. His head flopped to one side and the fishing rod clattered to the floor. I hit him again, attacking the other side, and knocked him clean off the chair. He toppled over, back curled, limbs drawn to his chest, nursing his head between his hands.
That’s right, asshole. How does it feel to be on the other side?
I was ready to whack him again when he went limp. His hands fell away and his face turned expressionless. I kicked him a few times, disappointed when he didn’t respond. My hands were shaking and there was a wild beast within, a beast that wanted to pound and pound and pound the fire extinguisher into his face until his eyes and nose and lips turned into a bloody, scrambled mess. I didn’t want him to go so easily. I wanted him to suffer.
I stopped, realizing that’s exactly what he’d said about my father:
I just want him to feel it. I want him to suffer.
I was caught up in the same cycle, feeding the same monster. I was turning into Damian, thinking like him, acting like him, becoming a slave to the same dark, powerful emotions. It scared the hell out of me because even knowing that, I still held the fire extinguisher high over my head, wanting nothing more than to bring it down on Damian, again and again.
Vengeance only begets more vengeance, more chaos, more darkness. Vengeance abducts us and imprisons us and mutilates us, and we suffer and suffer until we unravel its probing par
asitic suckers from around us.
I took a deep, steadying breath and let go of the fire extinguisher. When I could think clearly, I searched Damian. I knew he had a phone, but it wasn’t on him. I ran to the deckhouse and started rifling through it. There was a steering station with panels for electronics and engine instrumentation, a chart table, seating area, and a mahogany entertainment center. I pulled all the drawers open. Roasted peanuts rolled around. Snacks, papers, maps, life jackets, a flashlight. No phone. I stared at the one drawer that was locked. It had to be there. It had to.
“Looking for this?” Damian staggered in, dangling the key before me.
Fuck.
He wasn’t dead. He’d passed out and I’d been too busy to notice when he’d come around. He was like a ten-headed hydra. You cut off one head and he just keeps coming. I should have flattened his face into a bloody pancake.
I fled out the other door. I was still faster than he was. He plodded after me, clutching his head. I climbed the ladder to the roof of the deckhouse. If I could launch the rubber dinghy off it, I could get to shore. It was secured to some kind of pole and bolted down with ropes and hooks. I started tugging on one of hooks. It was halfway unlatched when I saw Damian’s fingers grasp the top rung of the ladder. I tugged harder.
His head cleared the top.
I was almost there. But even if I managed to free the dinghy before Damian caught up to me, the cover was stretched tight across, and I had no idea how to start the engine.
Damian hoisted himself over the ladder.
I was out of time. I ran to the edge of the roof. We were closer to the piece of land jutting out in the horizon.
I was a strong swimmer.
I could make it.
I heard the thud of Damian’s foot as he climbed on the roof.
I took a deep breath and dived into the water.
The salt water set my severed finger on fire. I came up, gasping for air. Damian was looking down at me from the boat, an ominous shadow against the backdrop of white clouds—an unsteady ominous shadow. He was struggling to stay on his feet.
Good. I got him good.
I oriented myself with the horizon and started swimming towards land. The water was much colder than I anticipated, but it was calm and the adrenaline was pumping through my veins with each breath I took. I had gone a good distance before I looked back.