The House of the Scorpion

by Nancy Farmer

  “I could believe he’s your grandfather,” said Matt.

  El Patrón laughed, spraying food particles over his plate. “That’s what comes of not taking care of yourself.”

  “Father decided implants were immoral,” said Mr. Alacrán, “and I honored his decision.” A sudden intake of breath around the table told Matt that Mr. Alacrán had said something dangerous. “He’s deeply religious. He thinks God put him on earth for a certain number of years and that he mustn’t ask for more.”

  El Patrón stared at Mr. Alacrán for a long moment. “I’ll overlook your rudeness,” he said at last. “It’s my birthday and I’m in a good mood. But someday you’ll be old too. Your body will start to fall apart and your brain will deteriorate. See if you’re so high-minded then.” He went back to eating, and everyone relaxed.

  “May I check up on Tom?” Felicia said in her uncertain way.

  “Stay out of this,” growled Mr. Alacrán.

  “I—I only wanted to see if he had food.”

  “For God’s sake! He’s capable of standing on his own hind legs and finding something to eat!”

  Those were Matt’s sentiments too, but he was surprised at the anger Mr. Alacrán showed toward Felicia. How could anyone get mad at her? She was so helpless. Felicia hung her head and withdrew into silence.

  After dinner Tam Lin rolled El Patrón to the bougainvillea arbor for the gift giving. Mr. MacGregor excused himself because he had to rest up for an operation. Matt was glad to see him go.

  El Patrón set great importance on gifts. “You can tell how much someone loves you by the size of the present,” he often told Matt. He preferred to receive gifts, rather than give them. “The flow of wealth should be from outside”—El Patrón opened his arms wide, as though he were about to hug someone—“in.” El Patrón gave himself a big bear hug instead. Matt thought this was very funny.

  Daft Donald and Tam Lin brought the boxes to El Patrón. Matt read the cards and tore off the wrappers. A secretary recorded who had given what and the value of the gift. Watches, jewelry, paintings, statues, and moon rocks piled up on the lawn. Matt thought the moon rocks looked like something you could find anywhere in the Ajo Mountains, but they came with a certificate and were very expensive.

  The faded princess gave El Patrón a statue of a naked baby with wings—one of the few gifts he seemed to like. Matt gave him a wallet that had looked good in the catalog and now seemed shabby next to the other presents. “You’d need a wallet as big as the Grand Canyon to hold El Patrón’s paper money,” Celia had said, “and you’d have to drain the Gulf of California for the small change.”

  The Farmers, one and all, gave weapons: guns that responded to one’s voice, lasers that could burn an intruder to a crisp from the other side of a wall, flying minibombs that clamped themselves on to an enemy’s skin. The latter were programmed to recognize specific people. Tam Lin took the weapons away the minute Matt unwrapped them.

  “Open your presents, Mi Vida,” El Patrón said after a long while. His eyes were half closed, and he looked almost bloated with all the gifts he’d received. A mountain of new possessions surrounded his wheelchair.

  Matt eagerly tore open a small box from Celia. It was a hand-knitted sweater. Where she’d found the time to knit, Matt didn’t know. Tam Lin gave him a book identifying edible plants in the desert. El Patrón gave him a battery-driven car big enough to sit in. It had flashing lights and a siren. Matt was too old for such things, but he knew the car had been very expensive and therefore that El Patrón loved him very much.

  María snatched away the present she’d brought him. “I don’t want to give you anything!” she cried.

  “Give that back,” Matt said, angry that she’d made a scene in front of everyone.

  “You don’t deserve it!” María started to run away, but she was halted by her father, Senator Mendoza.

  “Hand him the box,” said Senator Mendoza.

  “He was mean to Tom!”

  “Do it.”

  María wavered for a moment and then flung the box as far away as she could.

  “Pick it up and bring it to me,” Matt said. He was in a cold rage.

  “Let her go,” said Tam Lin in a low voice, but Matt wasn’t in any mood to listen. María had insulted him in front of everyone, and he intended to make her pay.

  “That’s the stuff,” El Patrón said gleefully. “Make your women toe the line.”

  “Get it now,” said Matt in the same cold, deadly voice he’d heard El Patrón use on terrified servants.

  “Please, María,” Senator Mendoza coaxed gently.

  Sobbing, she retrieved the present and thrust it at Matt. “I hope you choke on it!”

  Matt was trembling and afraid he’d lose control and start crying too. Suddenly he remembered what El Patrón had said earlier: Is she your little girlfriend? Why shouldn’t María be his girlfriend? Why should he be different from everyone because he was a clone? When he looked into the mirror, he saw no difference between himself and the others. It was unfair that he was treated like Furball when he had good grades and could name the planets, the brightest stars, and all the constellations. “One more thing,” Matt said. “I demand a birthday kiss.”

  Gasps ricocheted around the crowd. Senator Mendoza turned ashen, and he put his hands protectively on María’s shoulders. “Don’t do this,” murmured Tam Lin. El Patrón beamed with delight.

  “It’s my party too,” said Matt, “and I can have anything I want. Isn’t that so, mi patrón?”

  “It’s so, my little fighting cock. Give him the kiss, girl.”

  “He’s a clone!” Senator Mendoza cried.

  “He’s my clone.” Suddenly El Patrón wasn’t the jovial birthday host anymore. He seemed dark and dangerous, like a creature you might stumble on in the middle of the night. Matt remembered Tam Lin’s words about his master: He grew large and green until he shadowed over the whole forest, but most of his branches are twisted. Matt was sorry he’d started this whole affair, but it was too late now.

  “Do it, María,” said Senator Mendoza. “I won’t let it happen again. I promise.”

  The senator didn’t know that María had kissed Matt on several occasions, just as she kissed Furball and anything else that pleased her. Matt knew this was different, though. He was humiliating her. If it had been Tom asking for the kiss, no one would have cared. People would have thought it cute for a boy to flirt with his novia.

  Matt wasn’t a boy. He was a beast.

  María came up to him, no longer angry or rebellious. She reminded him of Felicia bent sadly over her plate. For an instant he wanted to say, Stop. It was a joke. I didn’t mean it. But it was too late. El Patrón was watching them with obvious glee, and Matt realized it might be dangerous to draw back now. Who knew how the old man might punish María if he had his fun spoiled now?

  María leaned forward, and Matt felt the cold brush of her lips on his skin. Then she ran to her father and collapsed in tears. He gathered her up and shouldered his way through the crowd. The paralysis that had seized everyone broke. Everyone started talking at once—not about what had just happened, but about anything else. But Matt felt their eyes on him—accusing, disgusted, repelled.

  El Patrón had wearied of the excitement. He signaled Tam Lin and Daft Donald to take him away and was already being carried up the steps before Matt noticed.

  The party went on with renewed spirit now that El Patrón was gone, but no one talked to Matt. No one seemed to notice he was even there. After a while he gathered up his smaller presents, leaving the battery-driven car for the servants to attend to.

  Matt made his way to Celia’s apartment and laid out Celia’s sweater and Tam Lin’s book. Then he opened María’s gift. It was a box of taffy she’d made with her own hands. He knew because she’d told him about it ahead of time. She was no good at keeping secrets.

  Matt knew María hoarded things—worn-out shirts, broken toys, and gift-wrapping paper—and she go
t hysterical if anything went missing. Celia said it was because she’d lost her mother when she was only five.

  One day María’s mother had walked out of the house and never returned. No one knew where she’d gone, or if they did, they weren’t talking about it. When María was small, she imagined her mother had gotten lost in the desert. She woke up at night crying that she could hear her mother’s voice, but of course she couldn’t. Ever since then, Celia said, María had hung on to things. It was why she rarely let Furball out of her sight and why the dog was such a wimp.

  María had cut squares from her treasured gift-wrapping paper and used them to wrap Matt’s taffy. He felt terrible looking at them. Why hadn’t he listened when Tam Lin told him to let her go? He closed the box and put it away.

  Celia had drawn the curtains in his room. As always, she had lit the candle in front of the Virgin. The Virgin looked shabby with Her chipped robe and cheap plastic flowers, but Matt wouldn’t have wanted Her to look any other way. He crawled under the covers. Feeling around, he found the lump that was his stuffed bear. He would have died rather than admit to María that he still slept with it.

  12

  THE THING ON THE BED

  Matt woke up feeling gritty and hot. The candle in front of the Virgin had burned out, leaving a waxy smell that the curtains held in. He opened the window, wincing at the sudden invasion of sunlight. It was late morning. Celia had already gone to work.

  Rubbing his eyes, Matt saw María’s present on a shelf, and the birthday party came back with hideous clearness. He knew he had to make things up to her, but he also knew she needed time to cool down. If he approached her now, she’d only slam the door in his face.

  Matt dressed in cool clothes and found leftover pizza for breakfast. The apartment was empty, the walled garden deserted except for birds. He went out and watered the vegetables.

  The day after a birthday party was always a letdown. The power Matt enjoyed as El Patrón’s clone vanished. The servants went back to ignoring him. The Alacráns treated him like something Furball had coughed up on the carpet.

  The hours dragged on. Matt practiced on his guitar, a skill he was developing without Mr. Ortega’s help. The music master was unable to keep his hands on the instrument and thus was unable to detect mistakes. After a while Matt switched to reading Tam Lin’s present. The bodyguard was fond of nature books, although he read them at a painfully slow rate. Matt already had books on wildlife, camping, map reading, and survival that Tam Lin fully expected him to study. Tam Lin drilled him when they went on expeditions in the Ajo Mountains.

  All Matt’s activities were supposed to be risk free. Thus, he was allowed to ride only Safe Horses, and he could swim only if two lifeguards were present. He could climb ropes only if there was a mountain of mattresses underneath. Any bruise or cut was treated with extreme alarm.

  But once a week Tam Lin took Matt on educational field trips. The trips were disguised as visits to the Alacráns’ nuclear power plant or the opium processing plant—a stinking, clanking horror even an eejit would find unbearable. Halfway there Tam Lin would turn the horses toward the hills.

  Matt lived for these expeditions. El Patrón would have had a heart attack if he’d known how many cliffs Matt climbed and how many rattlesnakes he teased out of the rocks. But they made Matt feel strong and free.

  “May I come in?” said a faint, uncertain voice. Matt jumped. He’d been daydreaming. He heard the person enter the living room. “It’s . . . Felicia,” said Felicia hesitantly, as though she weren’t quite sure of her identity.

  This is completely weird, Matt thought. Felicia had never shown the slightest interest in him. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I . . . thought I might . . . visit.” Felicia’s eyes looked heavy, like she might fall asleep at any moment. A vague odor of cinnamon hung around her.

  “Why?” Matt knew he was being rude, but when had the Alacráns been anything else to him? Besides, there was something creepy about the way Felicia swayed back and forth.

  “May I . . . sit?”

  Matt pulled a chair over to her, since it didn’t look like she’d make it by herself. He tried to help her, but she pushed him away.

  Of course. He was a clone. He wasn’t supposed to touch humans. Felicia half fell into the chair, and they stared at each other for a moment. “You’re a guh-guh-good musician,” Felicia stammered, as though it hurt her to admit it.

  “How do you know?” Matt couldn’t remember ever playing when she was around.

  “Everyone . . . says so. It’s such a surprise. El Patrón doesn’t have a—have a . . . musical bone in his body.”

  “He enjoys listening,” Matt said. He didn’t like to hear El Patrón criticized.

  “I know. He used to listen to me.”

  Matt felt uneasy. He’d probably taken away what little attention Felicia got from other people.

  “I was a great concert pianist once,” she said.

  “I’ve heard you play.”

  “You have?” Felicia’s eyes widened. “Oh. The music room. I was much better . . . before I had my—my . . . ”

  “Nervous breakdown,” said Matt. Her hesitant speech was getting on his nerves.

  “But that isn’t why . . . I came. I want to—to . . . ”

  Matt waited impatiently.

  “Help you,” finished Felicia. There was another long pause as Matt wondered what kind of help she thought he needed. “You upset María. She cried all night.”

  Matt felt uncomfortable. What did Felicia have to do with this?

  “She wants to . . . see you.”

  “Okay,” said Matt.

  “But she . . . Don’t you see? Her father won’t let her come here. It’s up to you.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Go to her,” cried Felicia with more energy than Matt had expected. “Go now.” The outburst seemed to exhaust her. Her head drooped and she closed her eyes. “You wouldn’t have something . . . to drink?” she whispered.

  “Celia doesn’t keep alcohol,” said Matt. “Should I call one of the maids?” he said.

  “Never mind.” Felicia sighed, rousing herself enough to stand. “María’s waiting at the hospital. It’s . . . important.” With that, Felicia made her way to the door and drifted into the hallway like a cinnamon-scented ghost.

  • • •

  The hospital wasn’t a place Matt went willingly. Set apart from the rest of the buildings, it was surrounded by a wasteland of sand and low, flat bullhead vines. The vines protected their turf with the meanest, nastiest thorns ever and could even stab through shoes.

  Matt picked his way carefully through the wasteland. Heat radiated off the ground, making the gray, windowless building shimmer. The hospital was like a prison with a strange, alarming smell inside that permeated everything. Matt was dragged there twice a year to undergo painful and humiliating tests.

  He sat on the front steps and inspected his sandals for bull-heads. María was probably in the waiting room. It wasn’t too bad there, with chairs and magazines and a cold-drink machine. Sweat ran down Matt’s face and stuck his shirt to his chest. He opened the door.

  “I don’t see why I should talk to you at all,” said María. She was sitting in one of the chairs with a magazine open on her lap. Her eyes looked puffy.

  “It was your idea.” Matt bit his tongue. He wanted to make up with her, not pick a fight. “I mean, it was a good idea.”

  “You’re the one who invited me,” said María. “Why couldn’t you find somewhere nice? This place is creepy.”

  Matt’s alarm system went on at once. “I didn’t invite you. Wait!” he cried as María started to get up. “I do want to see you. I guess—I guess—I was a pig at the birthday party.”

  “You guess?” María said scornfully.

  “Okay, I was. But you didn’t have to take back the present.”

  “Of course I did. A present’s no good if it’s given in anger.”

  Ma
tt stopped his first reply before it could get out. “It’s the nicest gift I ever got.”

  “Oh, sure! Nicer than that weenie sports car El Patrón gave you!”

  Matt sat down next to her. She moved away as far as she could. “I really like how you wrapped the candy.”

  “It took me a long time to decide which papers to use.” María’s voice trembled. “You’ll only wad them up and throw them away.”

  “No, I won’t,” promised Matt. “I’ll spread them out carefully and keep them for always.”

  María said nothing. She stared down at her hands. Matt edged closer. The truth was, he liked it when she kissed him, even if she kissed Furball sixty times as often. He’d never kissed her back, but he might try it now, to make up.

  “Good. You’re both here.”

  Matt recoiled. Tom stood in the doorway. “How did you find us?” Matt snarled.

  “Of course he knew where we were. You told him to bring me here,” María said.

  “No kidding,” said Matt. The pieces were falling into place now. Tom had pretended to carry a message to María, and Felicia had done the same with Matt. They had to be working together. Matt had never thought of Felicia as dangerous, but he didn’t really know her.

  “I thought you might like to see something,” Tom said. His face was open and friendly, and his blue eyes shone with innocence. Matt wanted to roll him in the bullheads.

  “Here?” said María doubtfully.

  “It’s like Halloween, only better. It’s the ugliest, gooshiest thing you ever saw, and I bet both of you wet your pants,” Tom said.

  “I’ve done things that would make your eyes drop out,” María sneered. “Tam Lin showed me how to pick up scorpions, and he let a tarantula walk up my arm.”

  Matt was surprised at María’s daring. Tam Lin had shown him the same things, and Matt had almost done what Tom described.