The Lord of Opium(100)

A crescent moon hung not far above the horizon. Rose and saffron hues glowed above the western hills, while the sky overhead was deep blue as though saturated with light. The Mushroom Master’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve seen pictures, but none of them were as glorious as this. Oh, thank you, thank you, Listen, for pulling me out of my shell.” The old man gazed, spellbound. Above the moon, gradually becoming clearer, was a brilliant point of light.

“That’s the evening star,” said Chacho. He, too, was spellbound by the colors.

“That’s not a star. It’s the planet Venus,” said Listen. “You can tell ’cause it doesn’t twinkle.”

“Sometimes I don’t want too much information,” Chacho said.





39





MARÍA LEARNS THE TRUTH




Matt hung Chacho’s drawing next to the lady in the white dress. It was surprisingly good, considering that his friend had little art training. Chacho said he’d been sketching things for as long as he could remember. His grandfather had encouraged him, buying paper and paints, but when the old man died, all that had ended. Chacho was packed up with dozens of other unwanted children and shipped to the orphanage where Matt had first met him.

“Drawing wasn’t allowed there,” said the boy. “We worked all day and at night recited the crotting Five Principles of Good Citizenship and the Four Attitudes Leading to Right Mindedness.” Matt remembered noticing how clumsy Chacho’s hands had seemed, but Eusebio had the same hands. It showed that you couldn’t judge people by their outward appearance.

“The picture is really good,” Matt said. “Would you mind doing a painting of Mirasol? I’ll get you whatever you need.”

Chacho looked up and, for the first time in many days, smiled. “I could work at the guitar factory. It would give me something to do.”

After he left, Matt continued looking at the drawing of Mirasol and the painting (as he imagined) of María. Mirasol’s wasn’t as skillfully done, but it showed her bright beauty and her eyes gazing at something in the far distance. They weren’t dead as they’d been in life, but still remote. María was altogether more interesting. She smiled as though she had some prank in mind that could get you into trouble, but would be fun anyway. Matt was suddenly overcome by a desire to see her.

He hurried to the holoport room, chose the icon, and activated the screen. The sickness that had come over him when he first used it had gone away. The scanner had evidently adjusted itself to recognize his slightly different handprint, and Matt could now open parts of the border or communicate with people as often as he pleased.

“At last,” said a voice behind him. Matt turned to see Sor Artemesia standing in the doorway. “Please let me stay, Don Sombra. I’ve been so worried about María. She must be lonely with me gone and with you . . . neglecting her.”

“I haven’t been neglecting her,” said Matt, stung.

“María doesn’t know that. She thinks you’ve forgotten her.”

Matt was annoyed to have company, but he could hardly send Sor Artemesia away. She was the closest thing María had to a real mother. By now the portal had cleared, and they saw the peaceful convent room. A small woman in a nun’s habit was dozing in a chair.

“Sor Inez!” called Sor Artemesia. The woman jerked to attention.

“¡  Jesús y María! Please wait and I’ll get Esperanza,” she cried.

“Stop!” ordered Sor Artemesia. “You are to fetch María alone. Don’t bring her mother. Do you understand? Alone.”

“Esperanza will skin me alive,” said Sor Inez.

“She won’t if she doesn’t know. I have the Lord of Opium here, and you can’t imagine the pain he’ll cause if you don’t obey.” The little woman scurried off.

“I couldn’t possibly hurt anybody from here,” said Matt.

“I have found,” said Sor Artemesia, “that if you give an order forcefully enough, people will obey it without thinking too much.” María appeared almost immediately, so she must have been waiting nearby. Matt wondered for how long.

“Sor Artemesia!” she cried. “Please come back, or make Mother send me to you. I’m so lonely”—and then she noticed Matt. “Mi vida, why didn’t you answer my calls? It’s been weeks. Have you left me for Mirasol?” Tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Matt felt terrible. He’d been so wrapped up in grief that he hadn’t considered the effect of his silence on María. “Mirasol is dead,” he said. His throat closed up, and he couldn’t speak for a moment.