The Spanish Daughter(38)

She couldn’t possibly.

“Do it!”

“No!”

My mother slapped me with all her might. My cheek felt as if one of the saints had fallen on it.

“You’re not leaving this room until you eat this. Do you know what kind of women smoke?”

I shook my head.

“The kinds of women who get paid to copulate with men: the women of the night! That’s who!”

I stared at the cigarette in my hand, which Franco had gotten for me with much effort, and I took a bite—it was the only way I could ever leave this place. Once my mother got her mind set on something, there was no contradicting her.

The cigarette tasted as if I’d licked the bottom of a chimney and then chewed a piece of paper. I spat tobacco pieces on the floor. Ignoring my coughs, my mother pushed my hand toward my mouth, making it clear that I had to take another bite. I did just that, eyes shut, breath held. This time I swallowed the moist pieces.

“Are you ever going to do this again?”

I shook my head, swallowing the last piece between coughs. My throat itched. I wanted to throw everything up.

“Now you’re going to take me to your room and give me your entire stash.”

*

I’d never thought I’d crave cigarettes so much. I never even knew what they were until Franco offered me one. For as long as I could remember, Franco had been around—a silent boy who alternatively followed his father around the plantation or hunted squirrels, birds, or rabbits with his slingshot. In many ways, he was like me, though, a loner. The other kids in the area always spent time together, including my brother and sister, but Franco and I were younger so we were left out of all the fun and games. Plus, there was the issue of class. Franco was the son of one of my father’s workers, so my siblings didn’t give him the time of day. It wasn’t done on purpose. They just knew that there were implied rules to follow in our micro-society. But I didn’t mind so much.

The first time he’d talked to me I was twelve and he was thirteen, I’d been taking a walk along the stream near my house. He asked me if it was true that I’d seen the Virgin in my room. I avoided the question—I hated talking about that—and asked him if it was true that his mother had magical powers and could see the future.

It seemed like he liked to talk about his mother as much as I liked to talk about the Virgin.

So we decided to talk about ourselves instead. I told him what my favorite activities were (in no particular order): climbing lemon trees, lying on the grass to make out animal shapes with clouds, looking for four-leaf clovers, playing the violin, and reading novels. His were: carving wood, swimming in the river, and playing dominoes. He said that from my list, the only thing that interested him was climbing trees for fruit and he might consider searching for four-leaf clovers, but he didn’t have any interest in playing music (or listening to me play) and he didn’t know how to read. Occasionally, he would look at clouds, he confessed, but then declared that such activity was for small children. On his end, he offered to let me play dominoes with him.

I accepted with a shrug but was shocked to hear that a boy his age couldn’t read. I made a solemn vow that day: I would teach him.





CHAPTER 19

Puri April 1920



I heard Angélica sobbing last night.

It happened after I left Catalina, on my way to my room. I could hear my sister clearly from what I assumed to be her bedroom, and Laurent seemed to be consoling her, calling her ma chère and telling her calmes-toi. I stood by their door for a few minutes but after a while, I couldn’t hear them anymore.

This event, however minor, had propelled an interesting discovery: I now knew where Angélica’s chamber was, and tonight might be my only opportunity to go inside and see if there was any evidence connecting her to Franco or the check in my possession.

During breakfast, I’d come up with the perfect plan. Tonight was Bingo Night and a few couples were coming. They did this every week, Angélica said while serving me a glass of papaya juice, and they rotated hosts and houses. I didn’t care about bingo or my sister’s friends. What this meant was that people would be so distracted they might not notice if I stepped out for a few minutes. And Julia, who seemed to have eyes everywhere, would be too busy tending to the guests. I might even be able to get a hold of my father’s journal in the study.

I wore one of Cristóbal’s better outfits: a three-piece suit with a striped waistcoat, wool trousers, and a matching jacket. The selection might be too thick for the weather, but this was one of Cristóbal’s fanciest suits and Laurent was wearing a tuxedo. It was astonishing how much confidence—and power—an elegant suit could give a person. In it, I felt like a man. I put on my husband’s gambler hat and stepped out of my room.

I could already hear the giggles and compliments downstairs. Interestingly, most of the conversations were in French. From the balustrade, I spotted men in white ties and ladies in long glittery dresses, minks, and feathers in their hair. Straightening my lapels, I descended the staircase. Angélica introduced me to all as her brother-in-law and we proceeded to the dining room, which was filled with appetizers: shrimp-stuffed avocados, conchitas asadas, corn tamales, empanadas de verde. There were also French favorites: chicken liver paté, mushroom vol-au-vent, and caviar.