Elena pushed herself up from the chair and went into her brother’s room. It was empty, but there was evidence that Carlos had been there. Three new textbooks and a note-book with a large “L” stamped on it were scattered on the bed, and Carlos’ good pants were crumpled on the floor, right where he had stepped out of them. But he had changed. And she wondered why.
She looked at the books. One was bilingual, and she thought, good, Carlos will begin to learn English. Then she picked up the pants and hung them up.
Back in her room, she went to stand at the bay window. She was still embarrassed about the incident with David Martel and irritable about it. Breathing in the cool scent of the eucalyptus trees, she shook her shoulders and determined to rid herself of the uncomfortable feeling. What I should be doing, she told herself, is finding Carlos before he does something to embarrass me. Although I don’t need help; I do well enough alone. Turning, she walked across the room to the hall door. But she didn’t open it. Behind her, through the window, came a shout. “Hey, Carlos, get down! You’ll hurt yourself!” It was Mario.
Elena hurried to the window in time to see Carlos shinny down the trunk of a eucalyptus tree. She smiled. Mario would soon learn that trees were her brother’s other habitat.
Once on the ground, Carlos touched Mario’s chest with his index finger and, motioning to the tree, said in Spanish, “Go on! You do it. It’s easy.”
Mario held back. “I can’t. I’ll tear my pants.”
“What’re you saying?” Carlos asked impatiently.
Mario pointed to a pants leg. Then he took the fabric between his fingers and pretended to tear it. “I’ll tear my pants,” he said again.
“Pants,” Carlos said in English, and the word was as clear as the ring of a bell. “Pantalones.”
“Pantalones,” Mario repeated with a shy grin.
Carlos frowned and dug at the ground with the toe of his shoe. Elena knew that gesture. Her brother was planning something. Suddenly, Carlos raised his head and scanned the house. Then he motioned to Mario, and the two boys disappeared behind the trees.
Elena waited, wondering. When the boys reappeared, Carlos was without pants, his bare legs long and lean like a pair of saplings in the sunlight. Mario was zipping up Carlos’ frayed jeans. “Neat,” Mario said. “These are neat.”
“Andale,” Carlos said, again pointing at the tree. “Go on. It’s easy.”
Mario hugged the trunk of the tree and tried to shinny upward, but he could get no traction. After two or three tries he turned and shook his head fiercely. He was red-faced as he said, “I don’t wanna climb trees.”
Carlos laughed. “Dummy,” he said in Spanish, “why did you put your shoes back on?” Mario looked as if he was about to cry. Carlos bent over and pointed to Mario’s feet. “Shoos,” he said in an attempt at English, “shoos.” And then, “No shoos.”
“O-o-oh.” Mario ran his arm across his face, sat down on the ground, and proceeded to remove his leather-soled shoes. He grinned as he stood up barefooted and said, “Now?”
Carlos nodded vigorously. “Andale.”
Mario hugged the tree trunk once more and, after a couple of rough starts, made it up to where the tree bent gracefully into a sturdy branch. He climbed out onto the branch and called, “Hey, Carlos, look at me!”
Carlos slapped at an insect on his leg and glanced up. “So?” he mumbled in Spanish. “I said it was easy.”
Elena turned away from the window. Well, she had found Carlos, and he was doing a better job at getting along than she was. He had made friends with Mario. And she? How was she going to face Ana or her son?
The closer the time came, the more convinced she was that she didn’t want to go down to dinner. But she couldn’t get out of it. Doctor Montalvo had been firm about their eating the evening meal with the family. If it had been up to her, she would have gone without eating. As it was, she put on the loveliest of the long-sleeved shirts Ana had given her and the mid-calf gray skirt that Doctor Flores in Playa Blanca hated. “You’re hiding those pretty legs again,” he would say whenever she wore it. “Don’t you want to make my patients happy?”
She glanced at the skirt in the mirror, wiped the top of her shoes, and gave her hair some additional brush strokes before calling Carlos away from Mario’s room and the television set.
As they went down the stairs to supper, Carlos told Elena about his day at “la escuela americana.” “That American school is good,” he said seriously. “It is only the way they run it that is bad.”
“And why is that bad?”
“Well, why do you think? Only one person there talks Spanish—and he is a teacher!”
“What a thing,” she said. “And did you learn any English?”
“I learned to say ‘cheequen.’ That’s what we ate for lunch.”
“You are going to have ‘cheequen’ again. Mrs. Addison told me.”
“Do I have to eat it?”
“Yes. And with a knife and fork.”
“You are not my mother, Elena. You are just my sister. How come you always tell me what to do?”
“Because I raised you, remember? And because you will eat like old Pancho’s ugly pig if I don’t. Another thing, Carlos, for the sake of the saints and yours, don’t talk too much.”
She need not have worried. No one talked much at dinner except Mario and David. It was obvious that Mario was excited at having his older brother home, and he was full of questions. Through their talking she learned more about David. He was a student at Loyola Law School. He lived in town with a roommate named Stuart. His yellow car was a Porsche. He like basketball and baseball. He also liked his little brother. And another thing was clear. He had more patience with Mario than she did with Carlos.
A couple of times David tried to include Elena in the conversation, but each time Mario interrupted. She was just as glad. He’s only being kind, she thought, and I’m such an open letter. He can tell I’m still uncomfortable. Every now and then, when he was looking the other way, she glanced across the table at him. In a crisp, open-collared blue shirt, he had lost resemblance to the tee-shirted young man she had bumped into twice before.
Doctor Montalvo, seated at the head of the table, ate hurriedly. Before the meal was over, he rose. “Forgive me, my dear,” he said to Ana, “but I have telephone calls to make before I leave, and the time is getting short.”
Ana stirred. She looked strained and pale as she said, “Do what you must. I understand.”
David leaned back in his chair. “Flying again, Montalvo? On another chartered plane?”
Doctor Montalvo turned quickly, his hands pressed tightly against the table. His eyes were brilliant as he said, “Of course, David. My time is worth money.”
“I’m sure it is,” David said dryly. “But a chartered plane is worth money, too—a lot of it.”
In the short, sharp silence that followed, Elena saw the lines deepen around Doctor Montalvo’s mouth. He nodded curtly. “Indeed,” he said, and turned to her. “Ana has a list of recommended driving schools. Call one and arrange for your lessons. As you know, we expect you to begin on Saturday.”
Her eyes had been on his taut, veined hands. She looked up hastily and said, “Yes, I understand. I will.” She would call first thing tomorrow. Yes. But that was tomorrow, and there was still this difficult evening to get through. Something was going on that she didn’t like. She wished she could excuse herself and leave the table, too.
Sara brought in a tray with coffee and cups. She shot Elena a look as she placed the tray before Ana, and Elena thought, Sara doesn’t like that I am eating in the dining room or that I have that lovely room. She doesn’t like the way they are treating me altogether.
When Ana had served the coffee, she stood up. “I must talk to Salvador,” she said, and then added vaguely, “about the fiesta. The rest of you, please enjoy dessert. It’s your favorite, David. Mrs. Addison’s banana cream pie.”
As his mother left the room, David’s eyes darkened and, for the briefest of instants, his face took on a helpless look. Despite the fact that the dessert had been announced as his favorite, he ate very little of the pie. Mario, however, gulped down every bit and pushed his chair away from the table.
“Hey!” he said to Carlos. “I have a new game in my room. Wanna see it? Come on, I’ll beat you up there!”
Carlos shrugged and looked at Elena, a question in his eyes. But when Mario repeated, “Come on!” and tugged at his arm, he pushed his chair back and raced out of the dining room after him.
After the boys left, there was a long awkward silence. Elena wanted to say something clever, something to show that the incident in the hall hadn’t bothered her, but she could think of nothing. She put down her fork. The pie on her plate was gone; not a bite was left to give her something to do. And her coffee was still too hot to drink. She took a sip of water and stared at the intricate “M” etched into the glass. Finally, David spoke.
“I should’ve explained who I was this afternoon. If I had, our first meeting might have gone better.”
“That wasn’t our first meeting,” Elena said, and took another sip of water. She put the glass down with great care. “Don’t you remember? We met yesterday in the entry hall.”
David threw his hands in the air and let them fall on his lap with a loud whack. “Wouldn’t you know it? Now I have two strikes against me.” He was silent for a moment, then he said, “I’ll appreciate it if you don’t tell mother that you saw me here yesterday. Might upset her.”
“Well, then, of course I won’t.” She’s upset already, Elena thought and fought back an impulse to ask why. She stood up. “I have to go to work,” she said. “Helping the boys. Excuse me, please.” He nodded and she left the dining room without a backward glance, holding her head at what she told herself to be a nice, dignified level.
She found Carlos and Mario again watching TV. “Your television’s too attractive, Mario. We’d better do the schoolwork in my room.”
Later, after their homework was done, Mario brought in a Monopoly game and tried to explain it to Carlos, but Carlos did more shrugging than understanding. Almost immediately, arguments began.
“I’m not a referee,” she told them, “only an interpreter, so forget the game. In any case, there’s no time left for it tonight.”
She was right. In just a few minutes Sara knocked at the door and said it was bedtime for Mario and that his mother was waiting to see him.
“It’s bedtime for all of us,” Elena said, smiling, but Sara didn’t reply.
Carlos, contrary to his usual behavior, didn’t argue about having to go to bed, but instead went into his room and started pulling off his clothes. “Elena,” he said, “when are we going to find Papá?”
“Soon,” Elena said firmly, “soon.” She settled Carlos down and in a few minutes got into bed herself. Her sleep was restless, interrupted by awakenings. Close to dawn she heard the tentative chirping of birds and then slept again.
Birds were chirping above her in the woods as a yellow-wheeled car hurtled down a narrow dirt path. Its headlights beamed on a man who was running to escape it. “Papá!” she screamed. “Jump behind the trees!” He jumped, but the trees disappeared as he did, and he fell over the edge of a cliff, down, down, down to the needle-shaped buildings of the city below. And then she was rolling down an asphalt road. Over and over and around and around the hill she went until she heard the sound of water and came to a sudden stop at the edge of the ocean. David Martel was sitting on the sand. “Are you looking for someone?” he asked.
The dream stayed with her all morning and into the afternoon. Maybe it was because she had too much time on her hands. Ana and David were gone most of the day: Ana, to lunch and a concert with friends; David, to attend a lecture at school. They both returned in time for a dinner that was relaxed and pleasant. Ana was particularly light-hearted. Elena wondered if it was David’s presence or Doctor Montalvo’s absence that made her so.
That night Elena’s sleep was dreamless. She awakened to find sunlight angling through the partially open drapes. The clock on the mantle told her that she had nearly overslept, but instead of sitting up, she stretched slowly. I’ll make up the time, she told herself. And then, remembering: Besides, this is Saturday. I’m on my own until my driving lesson at ten o’clock. She swung her feet to the floor and pulled open the drapes. Carlos and Mario were splashing in the swimming pool. David, in swim trunks, was sitting on the diving board talking to them. What fun Carlos is having! It’ll be hard to tear him away from here. But the sooner, the better. Today I’ll start looking for my father.
At exactly ten o’clock she was sitting on the front steps, waiting for the instructor from the driving school. She hoped he would be a pleasant man because she was going to ask him to let her practice driving in traffic right away. She would suggest streets like the boulevard that La Fonda, the restaurant, was on, and others like Emerald Avenue.
A white Cadillac swung onto the gravel from the side of the house and stopped close to her. David, in jeans and white tee shirt, got out on the far side. He grinned as he walked around the front of the car toward her.
She said, “Good morning. For a moment I thought you were the man for my driving lesson.”
“I am. Get in and I’ll explain.” He opened the car door.
She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m waiting for the man from the driving school.”
“He’s not coming. They called. He can’t be here till Monday.”
“Oh,” she said, and she knew her disappointment showed. She had built her hopes on this lesson, and now…
David looked amused. “I thought I’d give you your first lesson. I already cleared it with the lady of the house.”
“Well,” she said, “if Señora Montalvo says it’s all right…” She stood up slowly and got into the car. He slid into the driver’s seat, and the Cadillac moved smoothly through the open gates.
She was not certain what she felt, disappointment, annoyance, or even a kind of gladness as she buckled her seat belt and glanced at him. He drove silently, a touch of a smile on his mouth. He is as handsome as his father was, she thought, and he smiles like him. When she found herself wondering if his father had used the same musky after-shave that she could smell faintly right now, she forced her mind onto other things. “Can we begin the lesson now?” she said.
“On this hill? Not on your life. It’s loaded with bad turns, including Dead Man’s Curve. No, not here. We’re going to a nice deserted road I know.”
“I already know how to drive a car on a deserted road,” she said. “That’s where I learned, on an empty old road outside of Playa Blanca.” He threw her an odd look and she spoke quickly. “What I need to learn is how to drive on busy streets… like the streets in the city.”
He shot her another look. “You learned in Playa Blanca? In Mexico?”
She nodded. “But I can’t drive here until I’ve had practice.”
“That’s for sure. All right, we’ll go somewhere where you can get used to mother’s car and the Los Angeles traffic.”
“Good,” she said, and added, “Do you know a street called Emerald Avenue?”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s over that way,” she said, waving her arm vaguely. “By a street called Lincoln.”
“Lincoln I know,” he said. “Everyone does.”
The car hummed down the road, curving around the hill. Soon they left the wooded area behind. She began to catch frequent glimpses of the sea and in a matter of minutes they stopped at the traffic light that intersected the oceanside road.
David pulled the car to the curb and opened the glove compartment. He took out a street map and unfolded it. “Now,” he said, “let’s find out where Emerald Avenue is.”