Ellen glanced at the clock once more, and realized that if María didn’t arrive within the next five minutes, she was going to have to choose between waiting for María and going to lunch. Not that the interview would take long — María had been a fixture in La Paloma all of Ellen’s life, and all Ellen really had to do was explain to the old woman what she wanted done, then leave the house in María’s hands.
Lunch, however, was something else. This would be the group’s first lunch since Alex’s accident, and she was sure that Alex would be the main topic of conversation.
Alex, and Raymond Torres.
And, she readily admitted to herself, she was looking forward to the lunch, looking forward to spending even a few hours relaxing with her friends.
It had been a long summer. Once the decision had finally been made that Alex could go back to school, Ellen had begun looking forward to this day. This morning, after Alex and Marsh had left, she had treated herself to a leisurely hour of pure relaxation, and then spent two full hours getting herself ready for today’s lunch. She was determined that Alex wasn’t going to be the only topic of conversation that day, nor was Raymond Torres. Instead, she was going to encourage the others to talk about themselves rather than the Lonsdales’ problems. It would be wonderful to laugh and chat with old friends as if nothing had changed.
The doorbell and the telephone rang simultaneously, and Ellen called out to María to let herself in as she picked up the receiver. Then, when the voice at the other end of the wire identified itself as Dan Eisenberg, her heart sank, and she waved María Torres into the living room as she focused her attention on the telephone.
“What’s happened?” she asked, wearily setting her purse back on the table.
“I’m not sure,” Eisenberg replied. “But I’d like you to come down to the school this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?” Ellen asked, relief flooding through her. “Then it isn’t an emergency?”
There was a momentary silence. When Eisenberg spoke again, his voice was apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you right away that Alex is all right. It’s just that we gave him some tests this morning, and I’d like to go over the results with you. Both you and Dr. Lonsdale, actually. Would two o’clock be all right?”
“Fine with me,” Ellen told him. “I’ll have to call my husband, but I imagine it will be fine with him too.” She paused; then: “Where Alex is concerned, he tends to make time, even if he hasn’t got it.”
“Then I’ll see you both at two,” Eisenberg replied. He was about to hang up when Ellen stopped him.
“Mr. Eisenberg? The tests. Did Alex do all right on them?”
There was a slight hesitation before Eisenberg spoke. “He did very well, Mrs. Lonsdale,” he said. “Very well indeed.”
A moment later, as Ellen turned her attention to María Torres, she decided to put Dan Eisenberg’s words, and the tone in which he’d spoken them, out of her mind. If she didn’t, the feeling she had of something amiss would ruin the lunch for her, and she was determined that that wouldn’t happen.
María, dressed as always in black, her skirt reaching almost to the floor, still hovered near the door, a worn shawl wrapped around her stooped shoulders, despite the heat of the summerlike day. Her eyes were fixed on the floor. “I am sorry, señora,” she said softly. “I am very late.”
The abject sorrow evident in the old woman’s entire being dissolved Ellen’s impatience. “It’s all right,” she said gently. “I don’t really need to interview you anyway, do I?” Without waiting for a reply, she began giving María hurried instructions. “All the cleaning things are in the laundry room behind the kitchen, but if you’ll just try to get some vacuuming done today, that’s all I really need. Then we can go over the rest of it on Saturday. All right?”
“Sí, señora,” María muttered, and as she started toward the kitchen, Ellen hurriedly threw on a coat, picked up her purse, and left the house.
The moment she was gone, María’s back straightened and her glittering old eyes began taking in every detail of the Lonsdales’ house. She prowled the rooms slowly, examining every possession of the gringo family whose son had been saved by Ramón.
Better if Ramón had let him die, as all the gringos should die. And it would happen someday, María was sure. It was all she thought about now, as she spent her days wandering through La Paloma, cleaning the old houses for the ladrones.
The thieves.
That’s what they all were, and even if Ramón didn’t understand it, she did.
But she would go on cleaning for them, go on looking after the houses that rightfully belonged to her people, until Alejandro returned to avenge the death of his parents and sisters, and all his descendants could finally return to their rightful homes.
And the time of vengeance was coming. She could feel it, deep in her old bones.
At last she came into the boy’s room, and suddenly she knew. Alejandro was here. Soon, la venganza would begin.
For Ellen, the lunch she had so looked forward to had been a disaster. As she’d expected, the conversation had revolved around Raymond Torres and Alex, but she had found herself totally distracted with worry over what the dean might have to tell her after lunch. And now, though she’d listened carefully, it still didn’t make sense. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I still don’t understand exactly what it all means.”
She and Marsh had been in Dan Eisenberg’s office for nearly an hour, and thirty minutes ago Raymond Torres, too, had arrived. But Ellen still felt as confused as ever — it all seemed quite impossible.
“It means Alex is finally using his brain,” Marsh told her. “It’s not so difficult. We’ve seen the results of the tests. His scores were perfect!”
“But how can that be?” Ellen argued. “I know he’s been studying all summer, and I know he has a good memory, but this”—she picked up the math-testing booklet—“how could he have even done the calculations? He simply didn’t have the time, did he?” She dropped the test back on Eisenberg’s desk and turned to Torres. If anyone could make her understand, he could. “Explain it to me again,” she said, and as his intense eyes met hers, she began to relax, and concentrate.
Torres spread his hands and pressed his fingers together thoughtfully. “It’s very simple,” he said in the slightly patronizing tone that never failed to infuriate Marsh. “Alex’s brain works differently from the way it did before. It’s a matter of compensation. If a person loses one sense, his others become sharper. The same kind of thing has happened to Alex. His brain has compensated for the damage to its emotional centers by sharpening its intellectual centers.”
“I understand that,” Ellen agreed. “At least, I understand the theory. What I don’t understand is what it means. I want to know what it means for Alex.”
“I’m not sure anyone can tell you that, Mrs. Lonsdale,” Dan Eisenberg replied.
“Nor does it matter,” Torres pronounced. “With Alex we are no longer at a point where we can do anything about his abilities, or his responses. I’ve done what can be done. From now on, all I can do is observe Alex—”
“Like a laboratory animal?” Marsh broke in. Torres regarded him with cold eyes.
“If you wish,” he said.
“For God’s sake, Torres, Alex is my son.” Marsh turned to Ellen. “All this means for Alex is that he is a remarkably intelligent young man. In fact,” he went on, his attention now shifting to Dan Eisenberg, “I suspect there probably isn’t much this school can do for him anymore. Is that right?”