I would've been lost except for Alejandra, one of Consuelo's many nieces. Besides Spanish, she spoke English, French, and German, was twenty–five and beautiful. She'd been working in the tourist industry since she was sixteen and had attended the Instituto de Idiomas in
Mexico City
. She ran a translation services agency and taught weeklong immersion classes in Spanish, working with the resorts. "Visit beautiful Huatulco, lie on the beach, and learn espanol," she said. She smiled often with her eyes but when her wide mouth opened into a grin, it was staggering.
It took me five minutes to fall in love with her.
We spoke in French, not because her English wasn't excellent, but because she had less opportunity to practice French. That was a little difficult for me–Mum and I would speak in French.
She introduced me to everybody from Sefiora Monjarraz y Romera, Alejandra's grandmother and Consuelo's mother, to her many cousins' children. I was given name after name, but only held on to a few. The food was both familiar and strange. I ate a tortilla filled with guacamole and some delicious, spicy crunchy thing.
"What is it? Uh, qu'est–ce que c'est?"
Alejandra's eyes were alight. "Chapulines. . . los salta–montes."
I looked confused and she tried French. "Les sauterelles."
It took me a minute. "Les sutere–GRASSHOPPERS? I'm eating grasshoppers?" I unrolled the tortilla and it became all too clear she was telling the truth: legs and all, fried, from the looks of them.
She laughed. "If you don't want them, I'll eat them." She reached out.
Stubbornly, I rolled them back up and ate the rest of it. Crunch, crunch, crunch. It was still delicious but knowing ... I didn't go back for seconds.
The next day I had la turista, really bad, with a fever and cramps and the groaning, stumbling run to the toilet over and over. I wanted to blame the grasshoppers, but no matter what else I thought, they'd certainly been cooked well. Consuelo brought me a bitter tea to drink. When I asked what it was, she said something in Spanish and added, "
Para
la diarrea."
Grasshopper tea, no doubt.
Later, she brought a small wooden box and burned it by the window in a metal pan. When the charcoal had cooled down she mimed eating it. "Comete el carbon de la leha."
"Yuck! Absolutely not."
Alejandra came and coaxed me into taking it. "It absorbs toxins and is the quickest way to stop the diarrhea. You only take it this once. No more after. That would be bad for you."
"I don't want to. You also eat grasshoppers!" I set my teeth and curled in on myself, prepared to resist to the death. But she didn't play fair.
"Faites ceci pour moi, mon cher."
French, dammit.
"For her." I managed half of the charcoal washed down with some salty boiled water. "For electrolytes." And they stopped bothering me.
The runs did stop after that and I was able to eat rice with chicken broth that evening. Two days later, after my first fully solid meal, Alejandra and Consuelo took me out to the patio and we sat in the shade of the banana trees growing near the wall.
"My aunt tells me that you are not just an orphan, but that those who killed your mother and father are still after you."
Reluctantly, I nodded. I knew we had to tell her. It wasn't right to ask her to help without knowing. But I liked her. I didn't want her to push me away, to not want anything to do
with me.
"And she brought you here to avoid them. They would still kill you if they could find you."
"Yes."
"She won't tell me why they want to kill you. She says
only you can tell me."
"Ah." I licked my lips and nodded to Consuelo. "Gra–cias." To Alejandra I said, "That–that was good of her." Consuelo was keeping my secret.
Consuelo said something then, and there was a brief back–and–forth between her and Alejandra that was too fast for me to follow.
Alejandra looked back at me, a little confused. "She says she is willing to try that thing. The thing she said she didn't want to do
Mexico City
. She ran a translation services agency and taught weeklong immersion classes in Spanish, working with the resorts. "Visit beautiful Huatulco, lie on the beach, and learn espanol," she said. She smiled often with her eyes but when her wide mouth opened into a grin, it was staggering.
It took me five minutes to fall in love with her.
We spoke in French, not because her English wasn't excellent, but because she had less opportunity to practice French. That was a little difficult for me–Mum and I would speak in French.
She introduced me to everybody from Sefiora Monjarraz y Romera, Alejandra's grandmother and Consuelo's mother, to her many cousins' children. I was given name after name, but only held on to a few. The food was both familiar and strange. I ate a tortilla filled with guacamole and some delicious, spicy crunchy thing.
"What is it? Uh, qu'est–ce que c'est?"
Alejandra's eyes were alight. "Chapulines. . . los salta–montes."
I looked confused and she tried French. "Les sauterelles."
It took me a minute. "Les sutere–GRASSHOPPERS? I'm eating grasshoppers?" I unrolled the tortilla and it became all too clear she was telling the truth: legs and all, fried, from the looks of them.
She laughed. "If you don't want them, I'll eat them." She reached out.
Stubbornly, I rolled them back up and ate the rest of it. Crunch, crunch, crunch. It was still delicious but knowing ... I didn't go back for seconds.
The next day I had la turista, really bad, with a fever and cramps and the groaning, stumbling run to the toilet over and over. I wanted to blame the grasshoppers, but no matter what else I thought, they'd certainly been cooked well. Consuelo brought me a bitter tea to drink. When I asked what it was, she said something in Spanish and added, "
Para
la diarrea."
Grasshopper tea, no doubt.
Later, she brought a small wooden box and burned it by the window in a metal pan. When the charcoal had cooled down she mimed eating it. "Comete el carbon de la leha."
"Yuck! Absolutely not."
Alejandra came and coaxed me into taking it. "It absorbs toxins and is the quickest way to stop the diarrhea. You only take it this once. No more after. That would be bad for you."
"I don't want to. You also eat grasshoppers!" I set my teeth and curled in on myself, prepared to resist to the death. But she didn't play fair.
"Faites ceci pour moi, mon cher."
French, dammit.
"For her." I managed half of the charcoal washed down with some salty boiled water. "For electrolytes." And they stopped bothering me.
The runs did stop after that and I was able to eat rice with chicken broth that evening. Two days later, after my first fully solid meal, Alejandra and Consuelo took me out to the patio and we sat in the shade of the banana trees growing near the wall.
"My aunt tells me that you are not just an orphan, but that those who killed your mother and father are still after you."
Reluctantly, I nodded. I knew we had to tell her. It wasn't right to ask her to help without knowing. But I liked her. I didn't want her to push me away, to not want anything to do
with me.
"And she brought you here to avoid them. They would still kill you if they could find you."
"Yes."
"She won't tell me why they want to kill you. She says
only you can tell me."
"Ah." I licked my lips and nodded to Consuelo. "Gra–cias." To Alejandra I said, "That–that was good of her." Consuelo was keeping my secret.
Consuelo said something then, and there was a brief back–and–forth between her and Alejandra that was too fast for me to follow.
Alejandra looked back at me, a little confused. "She says she is willing to try that thing. The thing she said she didn't want to do
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