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  “‘The light! The light!’ screamed the pirate. ‘What have you done with the light, miserable fool?’

  “A great rumbling noise rose from the earth, and a cold wind blew, chilling Pablo’s very bones. When he finally picked himself up, the pirate’s ghost had disappeared. On the spot where he had stood, Pablo saw something gleaming and shining as bright as the stars in the sky on a dark night.

  “‘It’s the dagger!’ he cried, rushing towards it. He stumbled over something else.

  “‘¡Caracoles! ¡Caracoles!’ he shouted joyfully. ‘The chest! The pirate left his treasure behind.’

  “The next morning, when the first gleam of daylight brightened the sky, Pablo covered his loot with leaves and carried it carefully through the palm trees until he reached a town. There he bought a boat and returned to his village.

  “Not a word did he say about his past experiences in the Devil’s Hole. In fact, he could not have told them had he cared to, for when the villagers saw him, they ran away from him as one would from a wild beast. Even the children peered at him from behind their mother’s skirts with fear in their eyes.

  “So on the following Friday, Pablo picked up his belongings and sailed away. He settled in another village, where he bought himself a fine house, filled it with servants and took to live the life of a grand señor.

  “Meanwhile in the village, Pablo’s second disappearance struck a vital note. It was clear now to them that he was linked with evil forces. Before long, they had a yarn which reached mysterious proportions with each retelling, a yarn as strange and as worthy of these people who, as I told you before, were the most superstitious people in the entire world.’”

  Don Goyo got to his feet as his audience burst into applause.

  “We better move on,” he said. “It is not so good to travel at night in an oxcart.”

  Mercedes, Teresa and Ramón said goodbye and thanked Pilar and Felipe for the good time they had had.

  “Wait for us,” said Don Goyo. “We can all walk together.”

  They went down the hill, still discussing Pablo’s good luck.

  The driver harnessed the oxen to the cart, and the children jumped into their seats.

  “Goodbye, goodbye,” they called as the cart began to move.

  Ramón, Teresa and Mercedes stood waving to them until the trees hid them from view.

  As the trio turned towards home, the wind brought back the sound of the voices of the children singing in the oxcart.

  CHAPTER 10

  26 TAMARINDO

  The day after the birthday trulla, Teresa and Mercedes entertained the family with their accounts of the celebration. They even went through some of the steps of the seis.

  “I see Don Goyo preserves the original form of the dance,” Don Rodrigo said, watching the girls go whirling around the room.

  “Do you know that this seis used to be an old ritual of the church and was first danced by little children with their heads uncovered during the feast of Corpus Christi?” said Grandmother.

  “I always go to the feast at the small chapel on Cristo Street,” said Mercedes, “but never have I seen children dance there.”

  “Of course not,” said Grandmother. “This happened in the old days, and the custom has been abandoned. No one dances the seises for religious purposes anymore. At present, the only form seen here is the popularized seis which has come to be a set piece at all peasant dances. It’s always the last piece the musicians play to end the dance.”

  “Let’s end ours with it, too,” said Don Rodrigo, laughing. “If we don’t get to the finca and see about those six new sheds, they will never be finished. Come on, Ramón.”

  “How about sewing the sachets this morning, Mamá?” asked Doña Anita. “I have enough material in the basket now.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Grandmother, following her daughter out of the room.

  Teresa and Mercedes looked out the window. Ramón had brought the two horses and was waiting for Don Rodrigo to come out.

  “How long will it be before you let me see the sandalwood box Ramón gave you, Teresa? You promised that if I ever came to the finca, you would show it to me. But every time I remind you, there is something else you want to do. Don’t you really want to show it to me?”

  “I guess I have to,” she said, watching Ramón and her father ride away. “A promise is a promise. Let’s go back to my room.”

  Out of an old trunk from under the window, Teresa took out a small bundle wrapped up in one of her father’s handkerchieves. She untied the knots and showed Mercedes a small sandalwood box.

  “I have not opened this box since Ramón gave it to me,” she said, removing the lid carefully so that Mercedes could see its contents.

  The box was neatly lined inside. Wound round and round a small cushion was a coral necklace and a pair of matching earrings.

  “Oh, Teresa, it’s so beautiful!” said Mercedes. “How long is it?”

  Teresa did not really know.

  “Haven’t you ever worn it?”

  “I have never taken it out of this box. I want to keep it as carefully as Ramón had himself. You see, he believes it once belonged to his mother.”

  “Let me see how it looks on me.”

  Before Teresa could stop her, she had taken out the necklace, slipped it over her head and gone to look at herself in the mirror.

  “Look how long it is, Teresa. It has gone twice around my neck.”

  Mercedes turned around for her to see, but Teresa was busy examining something close by the window.

  “What is it?” asked Mercedes.

  “This tiny, crumpled card fell out of the sandalwood box when you took out the necklace,” she said. “Here is the mark under the cushion where it had been.”

  “Let me see it,” said Mercedes.

  It was a wrinkled card, yellow with age. There was something written on it, which Teresa had been trying to make out. They smoothed the card out and together tried to decipher the writing.

  “There is an R and an A,” said Mercedes, “but the others are so creased that I can’t read them.”

  “They look like an N and another A,” said Teresa.

  “Let’s write the letters down on paper, so we can make out what they mean.”

  They substituted dots for the empty spaces.

  “RA…NA—what do you suppose it means, Mercedes?”

  “Look, Teresa, here is a capital A as clear as it can be, and isn’t that a Y?”

  “It is,” said Teresa, “but the rest is missing, too, except for those two others which look like an L and another A.” She put them down beside the ones she had written. They made out “AY…LA.”

  “This is a name, I am sure,” said Mercedes.

  Teresa put the card down and concentrated on the slip of paper.

  “Let’s substitute the letters of the alphabet, until we get some name out of it,” said Mercedes.

  Some of the letters made little sense, until they came to the M and the N.

  “RAMONA!” cried the two excited girls.

  They began to work with the second name. As soon as they added the first letter of the alphabet, they made out “AYALA.”

  “There it is complete now: ‘RAMONA AYALA.’ You were right, Mercedes. It is a name. Perhaps it is Ramón’s mother’s name.”

  She picked up the card and inserted the missing letters in their proper places.

  “There’s something written on the back of the card, too,” said Mercedes. “Turn it over and see.”

  On a side that had escaped the creases was written 26 Had.

  “What do you suppose it all means, Teresa?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but that is what you and I will have to find out. Only, we mustn’t tell anyone until we know. Not even Ramón. Will you promise?”

  “Of course,” said Mercedes, “but how are we going to find out if we don’t tell someone?”

  “We can, we can,” Teresa assured her, “if we find where 26 T
amarindo is. It must be the name of a street.”

  “But we are always at the finca. How are we to find out?”

  “By asking, of course. Let me have the necklace back.” She wound it around the cushion again, closed the box, wrapped it in the handkerchief and put it back in the trunk.

  When they came back to the front room, Grandmother said she was just about to call them to help fill the sachets with dried patchouli. She gave them a handful of sachets she had finished sewing.

  The girls sat down to work with their minds full of the secret they were keeping between them.

  “If Teresa thinks of asking where 26 Tamarindo is, why does not she begin now?” thought Mercedes. She looked at her friend, but Teresa was working, apparently interested in the work she was doing.

  Maybe if she began, she could give Teresa a lead to ask Grandmother. She could try anyhow. So she asked Grandmother why the paths in the finca did not have names.

  “What an idea,” said Grandmother. “There aren’t that many.”

  “But for the few there are, there could be names,” Mercedes insisted. “There is the path leading to the butterflies. Why can’t it be called Butterfly Path?” She was carried away by her sudden idea.

  “Oh, Teresa,” she said, “let’s make a map of the finca and name the places we like best.”

  “There is a map of the finca,” said Doña Anita. “Hasn’t Teresa shown it to you? Rodrigo has all the important places marked with red ink.”

  “I wonder if the place where the big tamarind tree is has been marked?” asked Teresa. “I don’t remember.”

  Mercedes looked at her quickly. Teresa smiled. She had gotten her point after all.

  “I don’t remember it either,” said her mother.

  “Tamarind is a good name even for a street, isn’t it, Grandmother?” asked Mercedes, for whom the conversation had taken an added interest now that Teresa was with her.

  “Someone else must have thought the same thing,” Grandmother said, “because there are some streets by that name.”

  “There are? Where?” both girls asked, forgetting all cautiousness.

  “Isn’t there one in Cidra, next to the public square?” asked Doña Anita.

  “No,” said Grandmother, “that is Tuna Street, but there is one in Cayey.”

  Antonio’s arrival interrupted the conversation. Sixta had sent him to fetch Teresa and Mercedes to go and try on the new dresses.

  The girls followed Antonio quickly out of the house. They were glad to see him turned towards his home, leaving them to go alone to Sixta’s house.

  “We must go to Cayey and find out,” said Teresa, as soon as Antonio was gone.

  “Maybe Ramón will take us again,” said Mercedes.

  “No, not Ramón, Mercedes, I don’t want him to know why we want to go there.”

  “How about Sixta? She has to return some of her work sometime.”

  “That’s it, Mercedes. Sixta, of course. Why didn’t I think of her before.”

  They ran the rest of the way until they reached Sixta’s house.

  “I did not expect you so soon,” said Sixta when they arrived. “Antonio must have misunderstood me. I said you could come down any day except Thursday. That is the day when I go to deliver my work in Cayey and pick a new batch.”

  “Can we go along with you?” asked Teresa.

  “But I go on business and come right back. It won’t be any fun for you.”

  “We can always walk around town while you deliver your work, and meet you at Martín’s place.”

  “Please take us,” said Teresa. “Mother will let us go if you come and ask her.”

  “All right,” said Sixta. “Let’s get on with these dresses, since you are here now. I think I can have them ready for you by the end of the week.”

  Sixta adjusted the seams and took up the hem of both dresses while the girls stood up on chairs. But they showed little interest in the dresses. Teresa wished she could tell Sixta about their plan, but she had decided not to let anyone know. Maybe after they looked for 26 Tamarindo, but not before.

  Sixta kept her promise, and on Thursday Teresa and Mercedes led their horse towards the road where Sixta was already waiting. They carried the basket of lunch Grandmother had prepared. Concealed under it was the sandalwood box.

  Sixta was also carrying a basket filled with her work.

  “What’s in your basket?” Sixta asked when the girls joined her.

  “Lunch,” said Teresa. “Grandmother thought we might stop on the way back and eat it in some cool place, like we were out on a picnic.”

  “I might have known it was a picnic you were thinking of all the time. But, since we have to eat somewhere, we might as well do it under the trees instead of in a hot, stuffy restaurant in town.”

  Sixta was a good rider and the girls found it hard to keep up with her.

  When they reached the smithy, Martín was standing at the door talking to a group of men.

  “Wo!” he called gladly. “The finca has come to town.” He looked up the road, expecting to see another horse.

  “No, Martín, Ramón and Antonio stayed home this time,” said Teresa.

  He helped them down and took their horses away. When he returned, Sixta was gone and Teresa had taken the sandalwood box from the bottom of the basket.

  “Will you keep this lunch for us, Martín? We are coming back here to meet Sixta after she delivers her work and picks up the new orders.”

  “And where are you bound?” he asked. “Is it the candy shop again?”

  “No, Martín, but to Tamarindo Street. How far is it from here?”

  “Now, let me see. I have not been in that part of town for some time.” He thought for a while and then gave them some directions. “Go up Comercio Street,” he said, “until you come to Palma, then turn left and walk three blocks, then turn right. Yes, I think that is correct.”

  He stood at the door, basket in hand, watching them run up the street. “Whatever’s taking them to that street must be important,” he said to himself, “running that way and the heat of the sun rising.” Martín sighed. Many a time he, too, had raced up that street, but that had been many years ago. He looked for the coolest place in his shop to set down the lunch basket.

  When the girls reached Palma Street, it seemed to them as if they had crossed the full length of the town. It was a narrow street shaded by high trees. The wooden houses stood close together on each side of the street. There was no sidewalk, so the girls walked in the middle of the street, dodging wheelbarrows, cats and scrawny-looking dogs, besides children and grownups who seemed to be out sunning themselves.

  They turned left and walked three blocks. They came into the shortest street they had ever seen. Almost in front of them was a pole with a placard across it. Tamarindo Street they read on it, and the first house they came to had a number six written out in black letters.

  “It’s on this side of the street,” said Teresa. “Let’s walk close to the houses—the numbers are not very clear.”

  They checked each house, because in some of them the paint was cracked and the numbers were even missing.

  At last they came to a large square house with a backyard full of trees. The girls stopped. Right on the door was a large 26.

  “26 Tamarindo, at last! I wonder what is behind that door for us,” said Teresa.

  “We will never know if we stand here just looking,” said Mercedes.

  They knocked.

  “Entre—come in,” said a voice.

  They pushed the door and went in.

  The room was filled with stools facing a large blackboard with the first six letters of the alphabet legibly written out in yellow and white chalk. Two middle-aged women sat on black rocking chairs, embroidering.

  “Buenos días,” said Teresa. “We would like to see Ramona Ayala.”

  The two women jumped to their feet. “What is that you said?” they asked.

  Teresa repeated her question. “We have a
card with her name and address in this box,” she continued, untying the handkerchief.

  “The coral necklace! How did you come by this box, children?” they asked.

  It did not take Teresa long to explain how it had come to her house and had become her possession, and how through Mercedes’ curiosity she had found the yellow creased card.

  “We want to see Ramona,” said Mercedes when Teresa finished.

  “You have come to the right place,” said one of the women. “However, Ramona had been dead for many years.”

  “Dead?” the girls exclaimed. “Then we have made the trip in vain.”

  “We are the sole survivors of the Ayala family,” she continued, ignoring their remark. “I am Gloria, and this is my sister, Selina. We both recognized the coral necklace because it was a family possession until our mother donated it for a church bazaar. That card was the one she included with her gift. It was the usual thing to do in those days, so that notes of thanks could be written to all donors.”

  “Given away as a prize?” said Teresa, losing all hope of finding out anything else about it. She was about to wrap the box up when Selina took it out of her hand.

  “It’s been a long time,” she said, almost caressing the small box. “Remember the man who won it, Gloria? How very excited he was that night.”

  “What was his name?” asked Teresa quickly. “Do you remember it?”

  “Remember it, we have never forgotten it, and often wonder what has become of him. You see, a bazaar draws visitors from all parts of town and nearby villages. They come and go. This man was a rare visitor and a talker, besides.”

  Teresa thought she would never come to the point and answer her question. Selina was having a good time reminiscing while she and Mercedes hung onto her words, waiting.

  “Before he left the booth,” Selina continued, “he told our mother he and his wife had been brought up in El Refugio, the orphanage for children. They had left it when they became of age, and had met years later in Guayama, where they got married.”

  “You have not told us his name,” said Mercedes.

  “Ah, yes, his name. Julián Ramón Santiago, that was it, and his wife was Amalia. He kept mentioning her all the time and saying that the coral necklace would make a grand gift for her.”