Lucía Zárate: The odyssey of the world’s smallest woman Page 4

  Zoila arranged all the pieces of the chessboard in her mind. “And in your esteemed opinion, who do you think will be the person who makes the final decision on hiring the governess?”

  Rosita counted all the decision makers on her left hand. “Well, for one thing, the mother set down all the requirements.” She extended her right thumb up. “Two, the father is very mean and shut her up. Three, the Mexican agent just wants his mordida and could not care less what happens to the little girl.” She took a breath and raised her barren wedding ring finger. “And four, the notary wants his mordida from everybody else and he also doesn’t care about Lucía either. And five, the Yankee agent is going to be the one who makes big money on the little one.”

  “What a short and sweet summary!” Zoila said, smiling at Rosita. At last they were getting somewhere. “Would you say, then, that the Yankee agent holds the purse strings and he’ll be the one distributing the money to all the other people? Do you think he’s the final decision-maker?”

  Rosita nodded. “He has all the money,”

  “Love can do much,” said Zoila’s godmother, quoting an old proverb, “but money can do everything.”

  “I don’t know anything about love,” moaned Rosita. She rubbed her ringless finger. “But the notary is going to write down all the rules of the contract, so you’d better ask for more money right up front, Zoila, otherwise he will cheat you. And you’re the only one qualified for the job. You speak all those foreign languages and you’re stronger than a burro.”

  Rosita chewed on one of her ratty braids and sat ramrod straight in her chair as if trying to summon up her fleeting bravado. “And believe me; they will all be thanking me for bringing you in. Won’t they be shocked that the lowly servant found them the perfect governess?”

  “I’m very grateful for your recommendation. Shall we go there now and take godmother’s large market basket with us?”

  “I don’t care what you take,” said Rosita, “but can you please speak in your fancy way to them, Zoila, and ask for more money for me?”

  Zoila walked a few paces behind Rosita along the crowded waterfront towards the notary’s bureau. She didn’t want anyone on the street to make a connection between her and Rosita, the disreputable notary, and the unsolved murder of Don Naveda. The locals here in Veracruz were adept at sniffing out fishy situations; they were accustomed to shifty characters skulking around their port, looking for ways to make money from contraband. Fortunately, no one even glanced at the robust woman carrying a large basket. Everything about Zoila’s external appearance suggested the most ordinary of housewives, like a burro carrying a load of fire logs along the muddy street, or the coquero slicing-off the tops of his coconuts with a sharp machete.

  Today, with the sun finally shining, the strapping coquero was whistling a jaunty tune as he sold dozens of the mouth-watering coconuts, and the stevedores shouted to each other, loading cargo on and off the ships. Zoila walked with her head down trying to figure out ways to win over the Yankee agent. She scoped the crowd from left to right and then approached the coquero. After a few mumbled words, she paid him, and resumed her walk, just as inconspicuously as before.

  On the waterfront Zoila caught glimpses of the huge fishing nets native to Veracruz fishermen. With patience and their oversized nets they were able to catch thousands of tiny fish. Zoila wondered if she was cunning enough to snare the Yankee agent. If he really was the man in charge of hiring her as a governess, then today would be the day Zoila would cast her wide net. She’d catch him, and seal her destiny with this Lucía—the miniature gold mine that the Yankee yearned to display to audiences in the United States and Europe.

  Zoila’s plan when she met the Yankee agent was to behave like a professional governess in the British mode, all efficiency and superior airs. He would be impressed by her competent demeanor and hand over an advance on her salary to cover her travel costs, which included a new wardrobe. If all went well, she planned on manipulating him into distributing a larger mordida to the notary and his servant just to get them off her back. Zoila was prepared to speak in her most precise English, to impress the parents and the Mexican agent with her qualifications, and to let the Yankee agent know that he could count on her to be in charge of Lucía Zárate.

  But one thing Zoila hadn’t factored into her careful plans was the chaos of the notary’s bureau. It was complete pandemonium in there, not only with children crying because they were tired and hungry. Señora Zárate’s shrill voice was making more demands, and the Mexican agent was about to come to blows with Señor Zárate over money neither one had yet received. The Yankee agent stood away from the fray and held Lucía high on his shoulders. She was squirming, and complaining in Spanish.

  “Señor Yankee, put me down, I don’t like heights and you’re very tall. Please put me down.” The more tightly he held her, the more Lucía tried to wriggle free. He refused to set her down because he didn’t want her to get harmed in the fray, but his grip was too tight on her and she started to squeal in high-pitched panic.

  Zoila held her breath, assessing the bedlam inside the office. Then she walked over to the Yankee agent and reached up to take the wiggling, angry girl from his arms.

  “Dear Sir, please allow me to take care of this precious girl,” she said in her most firm and governess-like voice. “Surely, you have more important things to deal with here.”

  She gestured at the crazed adults in the office, and the Yankee quickly handed Lucía over to the safety of Zoila’s strong arms.

  “Thank goodness you speak English, ma’am. These here folks are plain loco and I’ve just about had enough of them.” He put on his felt hat, as if he were leaving, and stepped towards the door. Everyone instantly ceased their antics.

  “No go,” said the notary, trying to engage the Yankee agent with his hodge-podge English.

  Meanwhile, Señor Zárate and the Mexican agent tripped over each other to block the door so the Yankee couldn’t leave.

  In the corner of the room, Zoila set little Lucía down inside the market basket that she had lined with a comfy blanket. She knelt on the floor next to the basket and extended her right hand.

  “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Señorita Zárate,” said Zoila. “If you will allow me, I would like to be your guardian and governess.”

  Lucía sulked and did not want to shake hands with Zoila. She held on to the handle of the basket and pouted. Zoila ascertained that she only had seconds to win over Lucía, who looked like she was preparing to throw a tantrum not unlike her mother’s loud tactics. Zoila spoke faintly to Lucía and everyone in the room leaned in trying to hear what she was saying.

  “I would not enjoy being lifted, by anyone, either. Or do you think that I should ask the Yankee to try to lift me?”

  Lucía burst out laughing. “You’re too big for anyone to lift you like a doll.”

  “Precisely, Señorita Zárate. I am big enough to take care of you and me, don’t you agree?” She extended her right hand again.

  This time Lucía extended her miniscule hand in return.

  “You can call me Lucía,” she giggled. “I like the way your chest smells of vanilla. It reminds me of my home.” Her mood changed and she pouted. “They’re shipping me out on a boat far away, even if I don’t want to go. Can you pick me up?”

  “Of course, I can pick you up. But better yet, here, I’ll let you have a vanilla bean of your own. I carry it with me at all times to remind me of my home, too.”

  Zoila plucked a fragrant, cured vanilla pod from deep in her bodice and handed it over. Lucía inhaled deeply.

  “Your heart is a vanilla bean that clasps its perfume for dear life, isn’t it?” Her voice sounded faraway and dreamy. Zoila was taken aback. This peanut of a girl inherently understood the heart of the matter. Vanilla does not give off its essential scent easily. It clamps it deep in its core, in the same way that Zoila embraced Felipe’s blood and her former innocence, deep within her.

  “Y
es,” Zoila replied. “I do hold on tightly to everything I love.”

  “I’d like to learn to be like that,” Lucía answered. She sniffed the perfumed vanilla bean again and handed it back to Zoila. “What else do you have hidden in your chest?”

  “Shhh,” whispered Zoila. “I’ve never told anyone else about my secrets. Once you and I become good friends when we sail off on the ship, perhaps I will share them with you. Would you like that?”

  The notary observed the budding friendship between Lucía and Zoila and decided to be the first to ingratiate himself with them. He approached Zoila and introduced himself. She greeted him politely, but addressed only the Yankee agent in flawless English.

  “Sir, I understand that you are in need of a governess who speaks several languages and who is willing to travel abroad with you and Señorita Zárate, is this information correct?

  “Damned right, it is. But I can’t get these fools here to say yay or nay on the deal. They want me to sign documents that I don’t even understand. I reckon they just want to get paid and that’s fine with me.”

  “Would you like me to facilitate the conditions of the agreement?” she asked. “I could tell you the fees that they all expect.”

  “Damned right I do, and do it pronto. We’s gotta be in Philly for the centennial. This here little girl is going to make me tons of greenbacks.”

  Zoila spoke gingerly to the Yankee, the same way her her crooked father used to speak to the foreign vanilla merchants. “If I may suggest, I would not take out all the money you have on your person at this time. Would you allow me to negotiate the fees on your behalf?”

  “Do you take me for a fool, woman?” bellowed the Yankee. “I’m no idiot.”

  Everyone in the room gasped at his burst of anger. All except for Zoila. He was obviously cagey, but she was craftier.

  “Whatever is more convenient for you, sir. I’ll just see to Lucía now and let you handle all the manly negotiations with these gentlemen who so love Lucía and want the best for her—as you do.”

  “These here fellars don’t give a hoot about her,” the Yankee agent scoffed. “At least I’m telling you up front that I don’t give a damn. I just want her safe and sound and happy so that she smiles and dances and talks to people who’ll pay me to gawk at the world’s smallest woman. Am I making myself clear to you?”

  Zoila nodded. “Absolutely, sir. I will make Lucía my top priority and keep her healthy and happy wherever you take us. However, it is my understanding that perhaps this noisy charade has been staged by all present to stall until another agent from New York arrives on the boat this evening and—”

  “So this is a Mexican standoff, is it?” The Yankee pulled out a portion of his money. “Let’s close this deal right here and now. Damn it!”

  “I will let you settle it, sir,” said Zoila. She walked over to Señora Zárate and congratulated her on her beautiful children. She pulled out caramel candies and handed them to the children. In a matter of minutes, Señora Zárate had tears of gratitude for the competent governess who would accompany her daughter abroad. This big woman was heaven sent; of this Señora Zárate was certain. She had never imagined that a guardian angel could come in the ample shape of the woman who had just charmed her little Lucía, but this woman could battle any man, including her ill-humored and sinewy husband.

  The Yankee signed all the documents without understanding a word, and without a care in the world. Once he had Lucía stateside, he would do whatever was best for him, and to hell with any foreign document he’d signed. In the meantime, he was losing his temper with this pack of pirates haranguing him for more and more money. Even the maid had poked her old hand in his face and asked for her fee. He couldn’t tolerate this level of haggling.

  “Come over here, whatever your name is,” he bellowed, “and help me close this deal!”

  Zoila smiled. “My name is Zoila, sir, and I’m at your service.”

  “Zoila, make this money-grubbing nightmare end right here and now and let’s get the show on the road.”

  “You’re the boss, sir. However, I will need twenty-three percent more than what you’ve already distributed among these interested parties and—”

  “Over my dead body. I’ve given these fools all I’m going to give.”

  “Precisely. Now that they know how much more money you have on you, you will need protection in this port until we leave in a couple of days or Heaven forbid what might happen to—”

  “Don’t you worry about me, woman.” The Yankee patted his jacket near his holster. “I’m always prepared.”

  The notary saw the Yankee’s threat of a weapon and opened the door of his office to allow a couple of ruffians to stroll in. The rain had started pouring down again, so they were drenched. They stopped dead on their tracks. One man pointed to Lucía, and screeched, “Is this the evil chaneque that everyone in town is talking about?”

  “Are we here to yank her out of your office before she steals your soul?” asked the second ruffian of the notary.

  “No,” the notary answered. “You’re here to escort the Yankee…when I give you the sign.”

  Señora Zárate hated when people called her tiny children chaneques. Back home they had even accused them of stealing the souls of other young children in the village. Everyone seemed to believe the old legends about tiny sprites that lived near rivers, like the river on her property, but those were chaneques of long ago. How dare they call her children wicked and mischievous sprites that exhale poison into the air of their foggy village! She despised the people who cowered at the mere site of Lucía, as if her perfectly proportioned tiny body had tentacles as long as the roots of the umbrella-like, ceiba trees that surrounded their property.

  Every time a child died, her own children were cursed by the villagers. They jabbed accusatory fingers at Lucía’s obvious diminutive dimensions. Then, when the archeologists from Mexico City started excavating the ancient Totonac settlement at Cempoala and uncovered walls decorated with numerous skulls, the villagers thought this proved that chaneques lived nearby, and the cursed legend lingered.

  Perhaps little people had always lived near Cempoala because Señora Zárate remembered her great-grandmother telling her about other relatives having given birth to tiny tots way back when. Señora Zárate concluded that the apparition of miniature children from generation to generation was something that just happened in her family, like curly hair or cross-eyes in other families; and besides she often reminded Fermín that since they were cousins, he couldn’t blame her side of the family for their doomed children.

  One of the wet ruffians approached Lucía with hands outstretched, but Zoila stood her ground like a ferocious mastiff dog.

  “Don’t worry, big ox,” he hollered. “I ain’t gonna touch the chaneque, even if she is sort of pretty!”

  Hearing the word chaneque again, Señora Zárate started weeping and all her children yowled along with her. All but Lucía, who held on tight to Zoila’s skirt and peeked out to the commotion from behind the security wall of Zoila’s body. Señor Zárate screamed at his family to shut up, but that only made his wife wail inconsolably, and the maelstrom whipped up in the office again. The Yankee agent could take no more of the ruckus.

  “I’ll give you fifteen percent more to close the deal with these pirates,” he muttered to Zoila. “And be ready to leave in two days.”

  Zoila recognized a highway robber when she met one and this Yankee was true to form. Her father’s tick-tock advice told her to insist on no less than twenty-one percent from the Yankee since she would have to distribute at least ten percent of this amount to the notary, the Mexican agent, Señor Zarate, and the maid. Whatever was leftover would then become her mordida. Zoila relished hammering out this deal with the Yankee, whose greed for Lucía blinded him from any further wrangling on his fees.

  Zoila took care to speak calmly.

  “Sir, I will be able to resolve this immediately if you would give me a minimum of t
wenty-one percent—and of course pay me my six month’s salary, in advance.”

  No one in the bureau understood a single word being exchanged between Zoila and the Yankee, but they sensed that Zoila had not dropped the ball and soon they would have a taste of their mordida, their delectable morsel. The notary addressed her formally.

  “My dear lady,” he said. “Can you please tell the Yankee gentleman that I am in charge of these negotiations and—”

  Zoila heard her father’s insistent, tick-tock nudge reminding her to use her language skills to her advantage. “I’m afraid that the Yankee wishes to deal directly with me—and me only—as you just heard him say.” She heard her father’s muffled applause encouraging her to push further.

  “You do speak English, don’t you? Isn’t that what you advertise on your door?” she asked the notary.

  “Er, uh, yes, you go ahead charming the Yankee, but keep in mind that I will process the legal documents that are required, and other matters, heretofore….”

  The ruffians yawned rudely and walked around the office like alley cats on the prowl. They smelled American money and edged uncomfortably close to the Yankee agent. “Step back,” he yelled and touched his holster.

  “They only listen to whoever pays them more, sir,” Zoila said serenely. “With the twenty percent more that you’ll allow me to distribute to those here present—and with my full salary—I can arrange for Lucía and I to meet you aboard the ship. I will take care of all the details with her family. Soon you’ll recoup your investment in Philadelphia, sir.”

  “Nineteen percent and three month’s salary. That’s final…and keep these pirates away from me until I leave.” He couldn’t yet release the money to her.

  “Your money is safe with me, sir.”

  “You’re a big woman, but I think these pirates can take you down easily. Don’t lose my money cuz’ I’ll get it out of you one way or another.”

  “Please, just hand me the money now and leave. Do not worry about me.”