Treasures of the Heart. Carol W. HazelwoodЧитать онлайн книгу.
in the area.”
“Western cultures?”
“The term can be confusing. We use it to describe those subcultures that had villages that coexisted at the time of the Aztecs, but have many similarities to the earlier Olmecs. The locals find artifacts in the tropical forest and bring them to the Institute to sell or trade. The Director of the Institute keeps the artifacts and records where they were found.”
Lucia smiled at Beth’s blank look. “Don’t worry. You’ll learn all about this as well as improve your Spanish as if you were a sponge. By the time you go home the end of August, you won’t be the same person.”
“Hope my parents are like they used to be when I get back,” Beth said more to herself than to Lucia.
“Don’t fret, chiquita. You can’t influence their lives, so do the best with your own.”
Beth lapsed into silence and listened to Lucia’s running commentary about the countryside. Although Beth was excited to be in Mexico, she felt drained. Lucia turned off the main road and drove uphill on a cobblestone street. They emerged into an area with five story apartment houses covered with pink stucco. She parked in front of apartments with barred windows and bright colored tiles set along the base of the foundation. After hauling out her suitcases, Beth waited while Lucia unlocked a double steel door, then followed with her suitcase bumping as she trudged up a flight of tiled stairs behind Lucia. By the time she entered Lucia’s apartment, she was out of breath.
“It’s the altitude,” Lucia said, as she showed Beth around the small apartment.
It was neat, small and full of cheerful colors, just like Lucia. The tiny kitchen had a propane stove. Throw rugs covered the multicolored tile floor. A book case lined one wall of the living area, and doors opened onto a small balcony that had a view of the University and the city beyond. At least, that’s what Lucia said about the view. Thick smog screened the scenery.
“You’ll stay in my bedroom. I’ll use my office while you’re here.” Before Beth could argue, Lucia raised her hand. “No arguments, chiquita. This is the best solution. Sometimes I get up in the middle of the night to work. My brain does not always like to rest when my body does.”
Just as Lucia opened the doors to the balcony, large raindrops pummeled the tile. “Lovely, no? It will stop soon, and the air will be fresher. Las aguas, the summer rains. A little early. Next week is San Juan’s Day, the traditional beginning of las aguas.”
After Beth had settled in, and the rains had stopped, they went down to visit with Rosario, who was outside in the garden overseeing a steaming pit. She was well named; her hair was flaming red and, although it was cut short, it frizzed out in all directions. Rosario welcomed them with a cheerful flood of Spanish and pressed a lukewarm coke into Beth’s hand. Lucia cautioned Rosario to speak slower. Although interested in everything around her, Beth’s head throbbed from Rosario’s rapid Spanish.
“You’re pale and tired, Beth,” Lucia noted. “It’s from the trip and the altitude. You’ll feel better tomorrow. Today eat only a little bit. Rosario will understand. I should take my own advice.” She giggled like a young girl and patted the sides of her curvaceous hips.
“You’re beautiful.” Beth couldn’t imagine Lucia any other way. “You don’t have to worry.”
“For those words, you are my truest friend. No matter how much I muck around at digs, I cannot lose this baggage.” She glanced down at her rounded body.
In slower Spanish, Rosario told Lucia that she was too concerned with her looks. “Marcos likes you just as you are.”
Lucia blushed and turned toward Beth. “You’ll meet him tomorrow. Doctor Marcos Arillos Gonzales is an absent-minded veterinarian, who’s devoted to his patients. In return, all animals embrace him. He’s consumed by a dream of establishing an exotic animal park where inner city children can experience the wildlife of Mexico. I take only a little part of his heart when it’s not occupied with the thoughts of animals.”
Beth hoped Marcos wasn’t one of those people who believed wild animals belonged in cages. “I worked in a pet store at home.”
“Then you’ll be soul mates.”
Rosario fussed over Beth as though she were a long lost child and served the barbecued meal with a flourish, adding little plates of condiments on the side.
“What kind of meat is it?” Beth asked.
“Barbacoa,” Rosario said.
“I know, but what kind of barbacoa?”
Lucia noticed Rosario’s discomfort and intervened. “It’s goat’s meat, steamed and baked in an earth pit, but we don’t use the name goat in Spanish because it has become what you call in English a four letter word. A filthy word.”
“Cabrones?” Beth asked with a merry glint in her eyes. “It’s an eight letter word.” She’d learned about Spanish bad slang from her Mexican friends at school.
Rosario gasped. Lucia put a finger to her lips. “We just call it barbacoa. Enough said.”
After the midday meal, Rosario insisted upon showing off her rose garden. The red and scarlet blooms were as bright as the tile around the building. Despite her interest and Rosario’s enthusiasm, Beth’s eyelids sagged.
“We must call your parents,” Lucia said. “Then I will let you sleep.”
The only telephone in the apartment complex was in the landlady’s flat. Afterward, Beth wished she’d never made the phone call. Her father had left on another assignment, and her mother was home alone. She heard the strain in her mother’s voice even though she assured Beth everything was fine. Lucia got on the line and explained the plans for the following week. There would be little opportunity for another phone call from where they’d be staying.
The following morning dawned with the evening coolness giving way to the warmth of the summer sun. “We can’t dress like peasants when we visit the city.” Lucia said and insisted Beth wear a skirt and blouse and proper shoes, before she dragged a sleepy Beth off to the University.
When they arrived at the campus, Lucia introduced Beth to a homely, serious, girl. Consuelo Payon, one of Lucia’s students, was to show Beth around the area. The girl’s English was perfect, but once she realized Beth could manage in Spanish, she insisted they converse in that language. It soon became apparent to Beth that Consuelo wasn’t pleased with her assignment of guiding a Norteamericana through the labyrinth of the modern campus with its large and brilliant murals.
Whenever Beth asked a question in halting Spanish, Consuelo answered in slow flowing Spanish, but her broad, flat features remained etched in stone. When they stood in front of the central library, Beth gazed up at the giant stone mural in awe. “It’s incredible. All the murals are so massive and colorful.”
“They’re by Juan O’Gorman, an architect as well as an artist. The stadium mural we saw earlier was by Diego Rivera. Mexico has many great artists.”
“You know a lot about art,” Beth said, attempting to be friendly.
“Mexicans know a great deal about their culture. The United States changes history to suit itself, teaching only the negative things about Mexico. We, Mexicans, have much to be proud of.”
“History is not a subject you can fake.”
“You’re wrong!” The two girls stood toe to toe in front of the library. “You’re taught that Mexico started the war that won Texas and California from us,” Consuelo said. “Read more than your textbooks. You’ll see that it was your President Polk and the expansionists who wanted the war, so they could claim those territories for themselves.”
Consuelo’s vehemence stunned Beth and her cheeks flamed red. She was angry at Consuelo, for saying bad things about the United States and herself, for not knowing enough history to argue back. Since Beth was out of her depth, she said nothing but