The Lord of Opium

16

DANCING THE HUKA HUKA IN NUEVA YORK

Esperanza is trying to send a message,” said Cienfuegos, coming onto the veranda. “In fact, there’s at least two dozen people trying to contact us via the holoport.”

“The patrón has to limit his contact with scanners,” Dr. Rivas said sternly. “Once every few days until he’s fully recovered.”

Matt was eager to get out of the hospital wing and enjoy the fresh air and feel of grass beneath his feet. They passed the pool where the eejit was removing leaves and went up a sweeping staircase to a shadowed porch. Inside were halls even grander than those in the Ajo hacienda. The floors were inlaid with tiles—blue-and-white Chinese willows, geometrical designs from Morocco, flowers from Spain. One room even had a Roman mosaic. The floor-to-ceiling windows were draped with heavy silk curtains. Everywhere were the sounds of fountains and birds.

“If there is Paradise, it is here, it is here, it is here,” murmured Matt. It was so delightful he wondered why El Patrón ever left it.

But the room with the holoport was cold and businesslike. The portal itself was enormous—ten feet square—and the addresses were slowly cycling. Right now it showed an office in Sydney, Australia, with a red light blinking in the corner.

“You can select an address by pressing this button.” Dr. Rivas demonstrated, and the screen immediately changed to show a multitude of icons.

Cienfuegos cried “Hah!” in surprise. “¡Por Dios, Doctor! ¡Tiene bien puestos los calzones! You’ve got guts!”

“El Patrón showed me the method,” said Dr. Rivas, smiling. “You can scroll through the icons by turning this wheel and choose one by highlighting it and pressing the button again. What you must not do, as I’m sure you know, is touch the screen.”

“You’re telling me!” The jefe wiped his face with a handkerchief. “Will you look at all those flashing lights!”

All over the screen, tiny red dots pulsed as drug dealers clamored for their supplies. Matt was bewildered. What if he merely ignored them? What if he cut off everyone’s opium, kept the border closed, and lived happily ever after?

“I’ve selected the Convent of Santa Clara,” said Dr. Rivas. The familiar room appeared. It was empty, but on a back wall was pinned the altar cloth Sor Artemesia had been working on. The Virgin was surrounded by a halo like the sun, and her foot rested on the moon. Around the edge were red roses worked in silk.

After a moment’s hesitation, Matt put his hand on the screen. Instantly his skin swarmed with crawling ants and his heart pounded. He tasted vomit. It’s me, he implored. You know it’s me. The screen dissolved into a tunnel swirling with mist. Matt sat back, sodden with sweat.

“You’re all right,” said Dr. Rivas. The boy felt the doctor’s hands grip his shoulders. He smelled rain and the crisp odor that follows a thunderstorm. The mist cleared, and the doctor took his hands away.

All was as it should be in the peaceful little room at the Convent of Santa Clara. Esperanza came straight in and started talking as though they’d only broken off contact a moment before. “It’s about time! You had me running all over New York for doctors while you’ve been living it up in Paradise.” Esperanza shook her finger at him, exactly as though he were a naughty child. “I’ve succeeded, not that you deserve it. I’ve got five of the world’s top brain surgeons. They demand a million dollars each up front and a thousand for every day they’re working. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” said Matt, who was still overcoming the effects of the scanner.

“He hasn’t been playing,” said Dr. Rivas. “He’s recovering from a severe case of scarlet fever.”

“Eduardo?” asked Esperanza, squinting to make sure. “I thought you were dead with all the other medical staff.”

“Mil gracias for your concern, Doña Esperanza,” the doctor said. “I’d like to help out with the operations. I probably have more experience than anyone.”

“Suit yourself. It’s a fool’s mission, anyway.” The woman inserted a roll of paper into a cylinder like a fat thermos bottle. “I’ve written down the bank numbers and locations to send money.” She threw the bottle into the holoport.

Matt jumped. It felt as though she was aiming straight at him, but, in fact, the cylinder moved as slowly as the bird had, and he had plenty of time to get out of the way. It fell out the other end and struck the floor with a metallic chime.

“Don’t touch it,” warned Dr. Rivas. “Let it come to room temperature.”

Matt saw that the cylinder was covered in ice crystals that were rapidly melting. Cienfuegos nudged it with his foot. “I didn’t know you could send things through the portal,” he said.

“It isn’t recommended, but you can do it in an emergency,” said the doctor. “The cylinder insulates the paper against cold.”

The wormhole meanwhile was swirling with mist. After a while it reestablished itself, and Esperanza was visible again. “The doctors will come through at San Luis after you’ve deposited the money,” she said. “Inside the cylinder is a list of animals and plants I want. We might as well start the ecological recovery while you’re diddling around with the eejits. Major Beltrán can do the collecting.”

“I trained in agriculture. I’ll collect them,” said Cienfuegos.

Esperanza waved a heavily ringed hand. “I don’t care who does it as long as I get results. If there’s nothing else—”

“Wait!” cried Matt before she could cut the connection. “I want to see María.”

Esperanza for once looked almost sympathetic. “You kids. She’s been nagging my ears off about you.” Matt’s spirits lifted. María hadn’t forgot him. “I suppose there’s no harm in it, but get this clear: You are not to tell my daughter what happened at El Patrón’s funeral.”

“Why not? She has to find out sometime.”

Esperanza held up her palms for silence. The heavy rings, the Aztec brooch pinned to her black dress, the large silver earrings framing her grim face made her look as uncompromising as a stone idol. “Listen to the voice of experience, chiquito. No one outside of Opium knows what happened at El Patrón’s funeral.”

“What difference does that make?” asked Matt.

“As far as the rest of the world is concerned, the Alacráns are still alive along with their friends and bodyguards. Glass Eye may have taken over the smaller drug states, but he doesn’t know how many enemies he has inside Opium. That makes him nervous.”

Matt could see her reasoning. Glass Eye might want the territory, but he didn’t know what would happen if he tried to take it.

“And let’s not forget the army of sicarios El Patrón has scattered throughout the world. They exist to assassinate his enemies, and as long as they think there’s a strong government in Opium, they’ll carry out orders. My sources say a lot of people aren’t sleeping well these days. What do you think would happen if they learned that Opium was ruled by one inexperienced child? You would get no more supplies on credit. Your bank accounts would be looted.”

Esperanza gazed unblinking at Matt. Her will was iron, but so (and it came from some deep source he didn’t understand) was his. He would not be intimidated by her. But he had to admit her arguments made sense. “You think that María wouldn’t keep the secret,” he said.

“Her heart is too soft for this world,” said her mother. “I blame Sor Artemesia for that. María cannot hide her feelings, and she is afflicted with an irritating honesty.”

Matt privately thought that María had been lucky to be raised by the nun rather than her mother. “Very well,” he agreed. “Please call her for me.” Esperanza left the room.

“Whew! Rather you than me dealing with her,” said Dr. Rivas. “She’s not going to leave you two alone, you know, not even at the opposite ends of a wormhole. At least we can give you some privacy. Come on, Cienfuegos.”

“Give us a report later,” said the jefe, grinning wolfishly.

The minutes passed. Matt opened the cylinder and read the list of animals Esperanza wanted: Squirrels, sparrows, pigeons, crows, and rabbits. These were so common it gave Matt a shock to think that they were extinct elsewhere. The door opened and María ran in.

“Matt! Matt! I’ve missed you so much!” she cried. Immediately an arm shot out and grabbed her. “All right, Mother! I know I mustn’t touch the portal.”

“María,” said Matt, and instantly found himself tongue-tied. It was a problem going back to his early childhood. Sometimes things were so overwhelming that the power of speech left him. Now all he could do was look. When he’d had the fever, he had tried to call up María’s image. He could remember her dark hair and eyes, her hands always in motion, but the spirit of her actual presence was missing. Now—infuriatingly!—she was here and he was rendered speechless.

María understood his problem. She always had. “Take your time, mi vida. I have enough conversation for both of us. Gosh, I’m glad to see you! I wish you’d been with me in Nueva York. You would have loved the concert halls and operas. I think you’d have liked the operas. The sets were beautiful, but I kept thinking, ‘How can the heroine stand it when the hero keeps bellowing songs at her face?’ ”

“I want you with me,” Matt managed to say.

“That isn’t going to happen,” said Esperanza from a chair next to the altar cloth.

María laughed delightedly. “Why can’t I visit him, Mother? I used to do it all the time.”

“You were a child then.” Esperanza in her black dress looked like a patch of midnight in the brightly lit convent room.

“It isn’t as though I’d be alone,” argued María. “Father and Emilia can look after me.”

Matt smiled inwardly as he observed Esperanza’s discomfort. Get out of this one if you can, he thought.

But she didn’t even try. “Tell Matt more about your trip to New York.”

And María, swept along on a tide of enthusiasm, obeyed. The buildings were so huge they were like entire cities, she said. Walkways went from one to the other, and you needn’t ever set foot on the ground. Which was good. The streets were dangerous. Every kind of food was available for the city dwellers, although she worried about the people on the street. They didn’t look happy at all, and she wanted to take food to them, but Mother objected.

“That’s right up there with her idea of inviting the homeless in for a bath,” muttered Esperanza.

“Saint Francis would have done it,” María said.

She had learned the latest dances, the fósforo, the paseo de luna, the huka huka (although that was vulgar and not proper for young ladies). The dance instructor got hair oil on her dress while teaching her, and Mother fired him and bought her a new dress. Oh! The clothes in Nueva York were so beautiful! Did Matt know that the latest rage was glow-in-the-dark underwear? Of course you had to wear something transparent over it.

Matt didn’t take in much of what she said, although the glow-in-the-dark underwear caught his attention. Mostly he basked in her warmth. If she were there with him, he knew he could face the terrifying problems hanging over his head.

“Who’s that?” asked María.

Matt snapped to attention and looked around. He half expected to see Cienfuegos eavesdropping, but it was Mirasol.

She must have been in the room all along. Matt was so used to her presence that he’d stopped noticing it. She followed him everywhere, sitting (as she was now) on the floor to await orders. She was wearing a sky-blue dress instead of her waitress uniform, and he wondered where she’d gotten it. She was as different as it was possible to be from María—fair-haired and blue-eyed, with a frosting of freckles instead of María’s magnolia-petal skin. But the main difference, of course, was her behavior. She was utterly passive, with none of María’s fire. She simply waited, her eyes fixed on Matt, for whatever he might require.

“I’ve never seen her before,” said María. “Is she a guest of the Alacráns?”

“A guest—no.” Matt scrambled for an explanation.

“Hey, there! What’s your name?” called María.

Mirasol rose gracefully to her feet. “I am called Waitress,” she said.

Esperanza laughed harshly. It was the first time Matt had heard anything like humor from her, and it wasn’t cheering. It sounded like someone choking on a piece of gristle. “She’s an eejit,” Esperanza said. “You can tell by the eyes.”

“An eejit!” María’s mouth fell open.

“A very pretty one too,” her mother said. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? El Patrón used to like pretty waitresses.”

“It’s nothing like that!” cried Matt.

“Then . . . what is it?” said María. She had backed away from the portal and was standing next to her mother.

“She’s a pet.” Matt knew immediately that he’d made a mistake. The argument might work with Mr. Ortega and Daft Donald—though he suspected they laughed at him behind his back—but not María.

“You don’t make pets out of eejits,” she said.

“You made one out of me,” Matt said, hoping to deflect her anger. “I used to be an animal, remember?”

“You were a friend. Eejits are different. Liking them is—is—perverted.” María had a mulish streak, and it was in full display now.

“I felt sorry for her, that’s all,” Matt said lightly. “Like you do with the homeless.”

“It’s not at all the same.”

María’s face was pale, and her hands were clasped—a bad sign, Matt remembered. She did it when she was about to lose control of her emotions. He was close to losing his, too. How dare she attack him when he was trying so hard to do the right thing? All he wanted was to save the eejits.

“I understand about drug lords having girlfriends,” said María. “They all do it, and the wives have to put up with it. MacGregor kept Felicia for years. But at least she was a real woman, not—this.”

“Shut up and listen for a moment,” said Matt. “Waitress is just someone I’m trying to help. I don’t know where you’re getting these crazy ideas, but if you don’t like her, I’ll send her away. Go to the kitchen, Waitress. Now.”

Mirasol turned and glided out of the room.

“I don’t know if I believe you. I’ll have to think about it,” said María.

“Fine! Go ahead and think. You’ve been doing the huka huka with greasy men in New York, but that’s okay. You’re Miss Butter Wouldn’t Melt in Her Mouth. You think you’re Saint Francis’s baby sister.”

“Don’t you make fun of Saint Francis!” María’s nostrils flared like an angry pony’s.

“I will if I like. He’s only a myth, anyway,” said Matt. He knew he’d gone too far, but he couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. That’s the stuff, an old, old voice whispered in his mind. Make your women toe the line.

María gasped and fled the room. He couldn’t pursue her. He couldn’t do a thing.

Esperanza rose. “Well, that was entertaining.”

“It’s your fault! You put the idea into her head,” accused Matt.

“Did I? Oh, fie! Bad girl!” Esperanza playfully slapped herself on the wrist.

“You won’t win this battle. I know María. She’ll forgive me, even though there’s nothing to forgive.”

“We’ll see,” said the woman. “Just to show you my heart’s in the right place, I’ll let Ton-Ton, Chacho, and Fidelito visit. They’re trashing the convent anyway.”

Matt was surprised at her gesture of goodwill, but she had achieved her goal, to drive a wedge between him and María. As for Ton-Ton, Chacho, and Fidelito, Esperanza could easily let go of them. They were expendable. She didn’t care what happened to them.