Treasures of the Heart. Carol W. Hazelwood

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 seethed about Consuelo’s game of one-upmanship.

      Silence fell between them as Beth followed her guide’s broad swaying hips through the university’s botanical gardens. Only when Beth put forth a question or murmured in surprise or awe at a particular plant did Consuelo speak. They walked through two large greenhouses then out onto three acres of exterior planting. Beth perspired; her feet and her head ached. Consuelo, on the other hand, maintained an aloofness both from Beth and the heat.

      Unable to withstand her guide’s behavior any longer, Beth stopped and, with arms akimbo, asked, “Am I taking you away from something you’d rather be doing?”

      “Doctora Lucia asked me to show you around, and that is what I’m doing.”

      “But you don’t like the job or me!”

      “I have no feelings about you. You’re a mere Norteamericana.”

      “Well, this ‘mere Norteamericana’ will continue the tour alone since you’re so unhappy about everything. Just show me how to get back to Lucia’s building.”

      Consuelo stared at Beth, her black eyes buried beneath heavy eyebrows. “I don’t mean to be rued, but truthful. I am cautious. Your people view Mexico with disdain.”

      “Not all Americans do.”

      Consuelo shrugged. “My country’s history is tied to those who wish to dominate us. My lineage dates back to the pre-Columbian peoples.”

      “Really? How do you know?”

      “I know. That’s what’s important. Your country has not been kind to us. I’ve experienced your hospitality in the north. You do not like us if we are not beautiful. That’s what is important to you.”

      “I’m sorry. Perhaps I can change your mind about us.”

      Consuelo’s taught lips relaxed. “Perhaps.” She walked away, stopped, and looked back at Beth. “Are you hungry?”

      “Very. And thirsty.”

      “We can walk to a torta shop. Doctora Lucia sometimes forgets about eating. Not everyone is so engrossed in their work that they forget to eat.”

      At the store Consuelo bought tortas, a hard roll filled with avocado, cheese, and ham. Beth accepted the lukewarm Coke with a shrug. Didn’t they believe in ice in this country? For fear of getting another lecture, Beth kept quiet about the ice. While they ate, Consuelo continued her lecture about Mexico’s history, while Beth kept thinking that what happened years ago wasn’t her fault.

      When it was time to meet Lucia, Beth sighed with relief. She’d thought the morning would never end.

      “We’ve got a ride into town,” Lucia said. “You’ll miss the bus ride.”

      “What a shame.” Beth smiled for the first time since she’d been with Consuelo. Although Beth was wearing comfortable shoes, the hot weather and walking had made her feet swell, and she had a blister on her heel. At the moment the last thing she wanted to do was walk through a museum, but she had little choice. Lucia’s enthusiasm was boundless.

      “How was the tour?” Lucia asked.

      “Interesting.” Beth waited for Consuelo to add something. When she didn’t, Beth felt obliged to continue. “We had a snack.”

      “Good. Glad you thought of that, Consuelo. Especially after I explained to Beth how we eat our main meal at midday.” Lucia smiled. “Pobrecita. You won’t believe anything I tell you anymore. It’s getting late. I want to show Beth some of the Museo Anthropologia before we meet Dr. Gonzales.” With Beth and Consuelo at her heels, Lucia walked to her friend’s car that waited to give them a ride into town. “We’ll see you at five-fifteen tomorrow, Consuelo.” Lucia noted Beth’s surprised expression. “Didn’t Consuelo tell you? She’s joining us on the dig this week. I thought you’d enjoy the companionship of another girl near your own age.”

      Chapter 3

      Traffic, on the drive into Mexico City, jammed the streets in a honking, bumping crush of metal. Thick fumes spewed into the air. It was worse than anything Beth had experienced in Los Angeles. СКАЧАТЬ