Page 234 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)
P. 234

Mamá respected Thalia too much to coddle her. She would not insult Thalia with

               false assurances.
                   Spring  came,  in  all  of  its  flush  green  glory,  and  went.  We  received  from
               Madaline one postcard and what felt like a hastily written letter, in which she
               informed us of more troubles on the set, this time having to do with financiers
               who were threatening to balk because of all the delays. In this letter, unlike the
               last, she did not set a time line as to when she would come back.
                   One warm afternoon early in the summer—that would be 1968—Thalia and I
               went to the beach with a girl named Dori. By then, Thalia had lived with us on
               Tinos for a year and her disfigurement no longer drew whispers and lingering
               stares. She was still, and always would be, girded by an orb of curiosity, but
               even that was waning. She had friends of her own now—Dori among them—

               who  were  no  longer  spooked  by  her  appearance,  friends  with  whom  she  ate
               lunch,  gossiped,  played  after  school,  did  her  studies.  She  had  become,
               improbably  enough,  almost  ordinary,  and  I  had  to  admit  to  a  degree  of
               admiration for the way the islanders had accepted her as one of their own.
                   That afternoon, the three of us had planned to swim, but the water was still
               too cold and we had ended up lying on the rocks, dozing off. When Thalia and I
               came home, we found Mamá in the kitchen, peeling carrots. Another letter sat
               unopened on the table.

                   “It’s from your stepfather,” Mamá said.
                   Thalia picked up the letter and went upstairs. It was a long time before she
               came down. She dropped the sheet of paper on the table, sat down, picked up a
               knife and a carrot.
                   “He wants me to come home.”
                   “I see,” Mamá said. I thought I heard the faintest flutter in her voice.

                   “Not home, exactly. He says he has contacted a private school in England. I
               could enroll in the fall. He’d pay for it, he said.”
                   “What about Aunt Madaline?” I asked.
                   “She’s gone. With Elias. They’ve eloped.”

                   “What about the film?”
                   Mamá and Thalia exchanged a glance and simultaneously tipped their gaze up
               toward me, and I saw what they knew all along.
   229   230   231   232   233   234   235   236   237   238   239