business required his attention. He would return shortly to provide more details. Until then, he said, he would turn the fiesta back to Maestra María, and asked participants to cooperate with her and continue the program.
Throughout the ordeal, María's demeanor impressed everyone, although later recollections would interpret her calm as coldness and her sense of responsibility as callous indifference.
Chapter 13
Y olanda tried to ignore the insistent rapping on Pedro's front door. The racket hurt her head. She was waiting for her boyfriend to return from a business trip to Apizaco, leaving her to face the day alone. She sighed, swilled down the last of her warm Diet Coke and headed for the door.
"Un momento." She willed her body across the courtyard feeling as though she'd been drugged. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she said, only half-certain what to expect when she lifted the latch and pulled open the heavy plank door. The cause of the commotion stood in the entryway shifting from foot to foot, her young errand boy, Carlos.
"If you came for more money, you're out of luck. I paid you five pesos this morning and that's all you're getting. I'm not a rich woman despite what you think."
"Con permiso, Maestra. " The boy bowed his head in respect. "The Maestro Director asks that you come to the school immediately. There's been an accident. It's very serious."
"And what does an accident at your foolish school have to do with me? Leave me alone. I'm packing to leave this place forever. Now, be a good boy and leave me in peace."
"With permission, Maestra. The Maestro Director and the town officials say it is urgent that you come to the school. An accident has happened to your husband." Yolanda bit back an insult remembering the boy's high regard in the village, the reason everyone trusted him to deliver their messages. A cynical comment on her part would not set well with anyone, but she found it hard to resist.
"What's the problem with the fool that passes himself off as my husband? The only accident I know about was mine for marrying him. If his accident is serious, why don't you take the matter to the village officials? I'm finished with him."
"I don't know exactly," the boy lied. "I only know what I've been told. If you wish, I'll walk with you to the school."
Yolanda shrugged her acceptance. "If you wish." She preferred to dismiss the boy so she could leave for home, but the image of him accompanying her might paint a sympathetic picture that could prove valuable in the days ahead. The pair set off across the zócalo, the boy walking backward, intermittently tossing stones at their four-legged companion hoping to discourage the hungry mongrel from following them.
"How old are you, Carlos?"
"Ten years, Maestra."
"You're a bright boy. Perhaps you and I can be friends." He could be a useful ally in the future, she thought, particularly since he seemed to know everyone and everything in this despicable village . Undoubtedly, he knew secrets many villagers wished he neither knew nor understood.
"I would like to be your friend, Maestra. I have a lot of friends."
The boy's earnest demeanor touched her. "And what do you want to be when you grow up?" She asked the question absently, her mind elsewhere.
"President of Mexico."
"I see." Yolanda smiled at him. "That's a big ambition, which I hope you accomplish. I will be pleased to tell my grandchildren that on one Cinco de Mayo in the past, the President of Mexico arrived at my door and invited me to walk with him across the zócalo in the little village of Cuamantla."
She realized she embarrassed the boy as he executed a few futbol maneuvers, artfully using only his feet to pick out the roundest rocks from among the cobblestones littering the rocky path. He'll be a heartbreaker when he grows up, Yolanda thought. And who knows? Maybe he will be President some day. The country's certainly done worse.
Nearing the far side of the empty zócalo, Yolanda noticed the small
Throughout the ordeal, María's demeanor impressed everyone, although later recollections would interpret her calm as coldness and her sense of responsibility as callous indifference.
Chapter 13
Y olanda tried to ignore the insistent rapping on Pedro's front door. The racket hurt her head. She was waiting for her boyfriend to return from a business trip to Apizaco, leaving her to face the day alone. She sighed, swilled down the last of her warm Diet Coke and headed for the door.
"Un momento." She willed her body across the courtyard feeling as though she'd been drugged. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she said, only half-certain what to expect when she lifted the latch and pulled open the heavy plank door. The cause of the commotion stood in the entryway shifting from foot to foot, her young errand boy, Carlos.
"If you came for more money, you're out of luck. I paid you five pesos this morning and that's all you're getting. I'm not a rich woman despite what you think."
"Con permiso, Maestra. " The boy bowed his head in respect. "The Maestro Director asks that you come to the school immediately. There's been an accident. It's very serious."
"And what does an accident at your foolish school have to do with me? Leave me alone. I'm packing to leave this place forever. Now, be a good boy and leave me in peace."
"With permission, Maestra. The Maestro Director and the town officials say it is urgent that you come to the school. An accident has happened to your husband." Yolanda bit back an insult remembering the boy's high regard in the village, the reason everyone trusted him to deliver their messages. A cynical comment on her part would not set well with anyone, but she found it hard to resist.
"What's the problem with the fool that passes himself off as my husband? The only accident I know about was mine for marrying him. If his accident is serious, why don't you take the matter to the village officials? I'm finished with him."
"I don't know exactly," the boy lied. "I only know what I've been told. If you wish, I'll walk with you to the school."
Yolanda shrugged her acceptance. "If you wish." She preferred to dismiss the boy so she could leave for home, but the image of him accompanying her might paint a sympathetic picture that could prove valuable in the days ahead. The pair set off across the zócalo, the boy walking backward, intermittently tossing stones at their four-legged companion hoping to discourage the hungry mongrel from following them.
"How old are you, Carlos?"
"Ten years, Maestra."
"You're a bright boy. Perhaps you and I can be friends." He could be a useful ally in the future, she thought, particularly since he seemed to know everyone and everything in this despicable village . Undoubtedly, he knew secrets many villagers wished he neither knew nor understood.
"I would like to be your friend, Maestra. I have a lot of friends."
The boy's earnest demeanor touched her. "And what do you want to be when you grow up?" She asked the question absently, her mind elsewhere.
"President of Mexico."
"I see." Yolanda smiled at him. "That's a big ambition, which I hope you accomplish. I will be pleased to tell my grandchildren that on one Cinco de Mayo in the past, the President of Mexico arrived at my door and invited me to walk with him across the zócalo in the little village of Cuamantla."
She realized she embarrassed the boy as he executed a few futbol maneuvers, artfully using only his feet to pick out the roundest rocks from among the cobblestones littering the rocky path. He'll be a heartbreaker when he grows up, Yolanda thought. And who knows? Maybe he will be President some day. The country's certainly done worse.
Nearing the far side of the empty zócalo, Yolanda noticed the small
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