The Spanish Daughter(40)

“It’s not a snail, is it?” I said, grimacing.

“No.”

I jumped up and down. “Then, what is it? What is it?”

“I can’t tell you.” She turned around to make sure no one was behind us and whispered. “Tonight. At your house.”

“But Mamita will be cross with me.”

“She won’t see me.”

I hoped she was right. The last time Mamita had seen me talking to Elisa, she’d yelled and spanked my bottom. “I don’t ever want to see you with that girl again! You hear?” she’d said.

I’d promised I wouldn’t talk to her again, but Elisa was so much fun. Much more pleasant than Angélica, who never let me touch her dolls.

“You’ll get them dirty,” she would say, wiping Ursula’s porcelain cheeks with a moist handkerchief. “Look at your hands! Don’t you see that these dolls are ornaments? You’re too young to understand now, but when you’re thirteen, like me, you will.” She smiled that awful, evil smile of hers. Her teeth in perfect alignment already, unlike mine which were just coming out, big and awkward in a foreign mouth. “Well? Don’t you have something better to do? Why don’t you go practice your violin or play with Alberto?”

Oh, if I could just pull those blond ringlets out of her stiff head!

I couldn’t imagine on what planet it would be fun to play with Alberto. All he ever did was pretend his corks were soldiers immersed in gruesome battles, which involved spitting sounds and rolling around on the ground. You would think Angélica would want to play with me. I was her only sister and nearly ten. But Angélica would rather sit in the presence of adults, looking as stiff as one of her precious dolls, while they engaged in those boring, never-ending conversations. I’d rather watch hair grow than listen to them. The only sign that Angélica was still alive was that every few minutes she would stand and offer roasted peanuts and olives to my father.

Elisa, on the other hand, was like a fireball. She always knew where the fun was (it usually involved an activity that was forbidden to us kids) like climbing on rooftops blindfolded (it was a test of trust, she would say, as you were supposed to let the other person guide you when you were on top), jumping off the highest branch of a tree (and not crying, even if you had a painful landing with scrapes and blood), or standing on the back of a horse while he strolled. The one time Alberto had joined us, Elisa had insisted we play the hold your breath under the water game, but there was a twist. She was the one who decided how long my brother’s head would remain inside the pond. She held him down for almost a minute, even though he was flapping his arms and kicking the ground. When she finally let him go, he cursed her (“?Maldita!”). I’d never heard him say the Forbidden Word before, my mother would’ve been aghast if she knew. Alberto had darted off swearing that he would never play with her (or me) again. In response, Elisa had laughed and called him a baby.

The other thing that was fascinating about Elisa was that nobody knew where she lived or how she’d arrived at the hacienda. One day, she was just sitting there on a rock by the pond and no explanations were given. When I asked her who her parents were or where her house was, she pointed at the sky and said she lived on one of the clouds.

“Which one? That one?” I said pointing at the fattest one.

“No! The one behind it!”

“The grayish one with the shape of a pear?”

“No, silly! The one next to it.”

“Oh,” I said, though I couldn’t be exactly sure of which one she meant—they were all moving. “Are you an angel then?” I asked, but honestly, I doubted it—she seemed a little too dirty to be one, but I had to ask.

Her sole answer was a smirk.

She kept coming every other day, and our games became bolder. When my mother saw us hanging from the railing of a bridge, she yelled until her ears turned red. She forbade me from ever speaking to that ni?ita machona again. After the mother incident, Elisa disappeared for over a month, which is why I couldn’t say no to her when she offered to bring me a gift. Besides, who rejects a gift?

Lying under my sateen sheets, I heard the tap on the window.

The moon was bright and full behind Elisa. She was carrying a package wrapped in newspaper. I was so excited I could barely unlock the window.

When she stepped in, she studied my room as though it were a museum. She walked in circles, exploring every one of my possessions. Once she’d concluded her inspection, she handed the package to me.

“Here.”

I unwrapped it with trembling hands. Virgencita del Cisne, it was a doll! A dancer! But the strangest one I’d ever seen. From the waist up, she was a regular girl, but her bottom was made out of a round pillow covered with a red skirt. She was beautiful, even if her face was soiled and she was half-bald, which told me that this doll had been played with, unlike my sister’s.

“She’s so pretty,” I said. “Are you sure you don’t want it?”

“It’s yours.” She’d found my book of prayers and was sifting through it. “With one condition.”

“Whatever you want!”

A knock on the door startled us. “Who’s in there, Catalina? Who are you talking to?”

“Nobody, Mamita.”

“Don’t lie to me! I heard another voice. Is it that girl?” She banged the door. “Open!”