Hope
Maria tried to sleep. She buried her face in a pillow like an ostrich. She flopped from side to side like a beached whale. She curled into a ball like a caterpillar. But she couldn’t fall asleep. Her mind raced over the events of the last few days. Finally she was afraid she would wake Victor, so she quietly climbed out of the bed, planning to sit in a chair and look out the window.
Voices from the other room, however, drew her to the door. She pressed her ear against it and listened. Frida and Fulang were discussing them, wondering where they came from and where their parents were.
A desire to talk and maybe find answers overcame her shyness. Maria opened the door and walked into the living room.
“You should rest,” Frida said, seeing her.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Then let’s get you some warm milk.” Frida led Maria into the kitchen. “It’ll help you sleep.” She poured milk into a saucepan and lit the burner on the stove.
“Pepper,” replied the pepper shaker.
Frida smiled. “I heard you telling your brother the wrestling story. It was wonderful.”
“Thank you,” said Maria.
“But you know Quetzalcoatl must never defeat Huitzilopochtli, or the other way around.”
Maria knit her brow in confusion.
“They must always be in balance. We must have both life and death, peace and war, happiness and anger. Without one the other cannot really exist.” Frida poured the warm milk into a mug. “Drink this.”
Maria sat at the breakfast table and sipped the milk. “I don’t understand. Don’t you always want the good to win?”
“In children’s stories, of course. But in life we must experience the pain to appreciate the pleasure. Both good and bad must live in a delicate balance.”
“Then my story is all wrong,” replied Maria. “I was planning to have Quetzalcoatl tear Huitzilopochtli limb from limb so that there would be peace in the world forever.”
Frida smiled. “If only it could be so.” Frida pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and flexed her aching foot. “It just occurred to me that I have been doing the same, but only the opposite.”
“What?”
“Lately, the world has seemed a very bad place,” explained Frida. “So I’ve been preparing myself for death.”
Frida shrugged. “Sometimes it takes the darkest dark of night to finally find the courage to admit the truth.” She looked into Maria’s eyes. “I’ve been planning to kill myself.”
“No!”
Frida sipped her hot milk and thought for a minute. “Well, I was feeling that the world could only get worse so I might as well leave it.”
“But there’s so much good. There’s so many things to see and experience,” protested Maria, her mind flashing to all the things she wanted to do in her life.
“Well, this is true,” admitted Frida. “But I’ve been painting myself into a corner and now either I kill myself or face the paint.” She laughed ruefully at her own joke.
Maria didn’t quite understand and looked at Frida quizzically.
Frida took her hand and squeezed it. “When I was a young girl not much older than you, Diego told me, ‘Art is like ham. It nourishes.’ I don’t think I quite understood that before. Until I met you.”
Maria blushed.
“If I am going to find hope and nourishment, I have to look toward my art, my painting. That’s what Diego’s been trying to tell me all along, and until I do that he can’t be with me.” Frida poured more milk into Maria’s cup. “Does that taste good?”
“Mmmm.”
Maria and Frida sat at the table in silence.
Fulang watched from the doorway. For the first time in days, she had a sense of optimism.
“So why have you ended up in Coyoacán?” asked Frida.
Maria blew into her cup and answered. “We’re looking for our mother.”
“Do you know where she is?” asked Frida with concern.
“We thought we did.” Maria dug the envelope with the address out of her pocket and showed it to Frida.
“Lourdes 27,” Frida read aloud. “That’s the Cisneros’s home. They moved.”
“We discovered that today when we found the house,” explained Maria, pulling out her mother’s handkerchief. “This is the only thing we found in the house … my mother’s favorite handkerchief.” Her shoulders slumped.
Frida took the hanky. “It is beautiful.” The handkerchief was embroidered with red and green thread depicting several cacti and a heart. After a moment she said, “Well, I know they’ve moved north, to Detroit in the United States. Alfredo is an engineer and has gotten a job with Henry Ford. Diego and I have spent a lot of time in Detroit and have many friends. I recommended Alfredo to Mr. Ford, and he moved him up there.”
“Oh,” said Maria. “Did my mother go with them?”
“Was your mother Ana, their cook?”
“Yes, Ana Ortiz. She left our village last year to work here in the city. She wanted to send for us as soon as she could.” Maria looked up at Frida.
“Of course Ana went,” replied Frida. “What a wonderful cook she is. And she always talked about her beautiful children. Didn’t she write that she was going north?”
Maria shook her head.
“She must have. The letter must have been lost. Ana would never abandon you.” Frida looked down at her own cup of milk. “No mother would.” She stood. “Well, I’ll see what I can do to find your mother. Now, you must go to sleep.” She led Maria back to the guest room. “You can stay with us until we find her.”
Maria smiled with gratitude, feeling hopeful. “I guess you’re right. I’d better get some sleep. Good night.” She left Frida in the kitchen and returned to the guest bedroom.
For a moment Casa Azul was quiet except for the chirps and squeaks of the night. Then—
“Noooooooo!!!!” screamed Maria long and loud.
Maria fell to her knees before the bed.
“Noooooooo!!!” she sobbed. “It’s empty!”
Frida and Fulang dashed into the room.
“It’s empty!”
“What’s empty?” asked Fulang.
Maria pointed at the bed. The blankets and sheet had been pulled back roughly, and Victor was gone. Curtains fluttered at the open window.
“How? Why?” gasped Frida. She bent over Maria to help her. Fulang leaped through the window to search the courtyard.
“Someone stole the kid,” said the portrait of Frida’s sister.
“Oswaldo,” said Maria as her chest heaved. “It has to be him. He must have been the one buying tortillas.”
“Tortillas? Who’s Oswaldo?” asked Frida with concern.
Maria explained how Oswaldo had tried to kidnap Victor earlier that day and had perhaps followed them to Lourdes.
Fulang returned. “There’s no sign of anyone.”
Frida stiffened. “Why would this boy want Victor?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but his father, Oscar, seemed very interested in my brother,” explained Maria between sobs. “He also stole my grandma’s brooch.”
Frida made eye contact with Fulang. They both held it for a moment.
“This is not good. We have to do something,” Frida said, her jaw set.
“I’m so tired of standing,” said the portrait to no one in particular, and no one answered her. Everyone had already left the room.