“It was such an easy metal to work,” Grandfather said. “It took no sophisticated tools, and the people loved its color, like the sun. They thought that it was kin to the sun, and they made sun idols, great plaques like the sun to catch its rays.
“Your golden eagle is worth many thousands of dollars. I don’t know what effect the added inscriptions would have on its value, but I shouldn’t think too much. Teodoro must have been a very flamboyant young man, to think of making such a gift to his two babies. Though perhaps a very practical one, after all. I was a hard-headed fellow, Bethany, to hurt Kathleen—to hurt your mother as I did. I have regretted my handling of the situation all of my life since.”
“But they must have been happy, Grandfather, that short time.”
“Yes, but Kathleen would have been happier still if she had had my blessing and not had to marry secretly, and keep that part of her life hidden. And if she had come home to have her babies, perhaps—” He shook his head, as if to drive the thought away. “I have wondered what Marjory thought, putting the eagle in the box like that. Could she have meant to give it to you later on, and to tell you the whole story? And to tell me? It’s almost as if she left the whole matter to chance. That would be like Marjory: if you discovered it, she would tell you, and if you didn’t, she would wait until you were grown, perhaps. I must think that she didn’t tell me at once because she felt I was still too—that Kathleen’s death was still too mixed up with her defiance of me and with my disapproval of Teodoro, so that perhaps I wouldn’t want you. But not want my own grandchild?
“And then I suppose later she couldn’t bear to give you up. And even she didn’t know the whole story, knew nothing of Ninea.”
“And the eagle was there all the time. Why didn’t I find the secret compartment for myself, by accident? How could I not have? Ninea did.”
“I suppose because you just never pushed the right place. But what if you had? Would you ever have thought to ferret out your name among that tangle of lines if you hadn’t had some reason to be looking with more curious eyes? Still, you most likely would have found out what the eagle was and where it came from, and that would certainly have led, at some time, to a discussion of Kathleen visiting Panama.” Their eyes met. Would the truth have come out anyway, without Selma’s church to start it off?
“But it was Ninea,” Bethany said. “Even without the seances, she knew; she said she dreamed of me. She could—she is very strong, Grandfather.”
“There are different kinds of strength, though.” “And she knew about the eagle, she knew it had some special meaning or her grandmother—our grandmother—wouldn’t have hidden it otherwise.” “Are you nervous at meeting her, Bethany?” “Yes. Oh yes, Grandfather, I’m like Jello.” The landing at Guatemala had been brief, and now the sky cleared so they could see the great jungles of Honduras and Nicaragua lying below them, but Costa Rica was hidden under a heavy gray smear of smoke and ash from its sputtering volcano. They had a leisurely dinner, and were just finishing dessert when the plane began to drop into Panama. The tropical heat, even at seven at night, hit Bethany like a great weight when she walked off the plane. Cowed under the heat, she waited patiently in the customs line with Grandfather, saw her suitcase opened and intimately inspected, then turned from the customs gate—
She had thought that first meeting might be as shocking and terrifying as Ninea’s dark appearances in the Church of the Zagdesha. Might be like walking toward a full length mirror to suddenly find that the reflection approaching you had come alive and stepped out of the glass. She stood facing Ninea now and she didn’t know what she thought: like a mirror, yes. As if you could touch yourself. They were both frightened. And fascinated. They stood staring while Senora Ruiz made little cordial noises to Grandfather and welcomed Bethany. Grandfather took Senora Ruiz’s arm and engaged her—that was the only word Bethany could think of—freeing the two of them.
They stood staring, not knowing whether to bristle or throw their arms around each other. To see yourself in someone else—it was a strange and unsettling experience. Bethany walked around Ninea once, looking at her from the back where you can never see yourself, saw herself from the back, her legs, her profile; and Ninea walked around Bethany once. They could have been two dogs circling to fight. And then they stood staring again, and it was as if something in your own self, the part you don’t always like had suddenly come alive and stood facing you. There seemed nothing they could do but stand locked in an attitude almost like defiance. And then a big swarthy boy ran past, jostling Ninea roughly, and she turned and kicked at his shin so he tripped, furious, then hobbled on; Ninea whirled back to face Bethany, her eyes sparkling with deviltry, and all of a sudden they were laughing, shouting, swinging each other around in the airport with people staring at them. And it was all right. It was all right.
They took hands finally and followed Grandfather and Senora Ruiz through the huge echoing terminal, and Bethany recognized its ugly proportions because Ninea knew them; Bethany knew the places they passed in the car in more detail through Ninea’s thoughts than she could ever see in the darkness, knew what the shops were like inside, what they sold, knew how they smelled—incense and cedar and perfume—knew where narrow alleys crept behind the buildings. But when they stood at last in the Ruiz house, the tall living room seemed to Bethany very strange and quiet, for before when she had stood here it had been overflowing with people and with talk.
Senora Ruiz, so self possessed and correctly cordial —not quite cool, but then not terribly warm either, seemed to feel no shock or discomfort at Bethany’s presence, this duplicate of Ninea so suddenly thrust upon her. Yet she should feel it, Bethany thought. She should be uncomfortable with me; she should be making little unnecessary comments about how alike we are. But then, how could she? It was she who caused us not to know each other; it would be stupid for her to gush. Still, it’s going to be a very strange ten days, Bethany decided. And if there’s any trouble, if Ninea and I can’t get along, then Grandfather might not be able to persuade Senora Ruiz to let us take Ninea home.
Ninea, catching Bethany’s thought, turned abruptly, stared at her unhappily for a minute, then picked up Grandfather’s bag and started for the stairs.
Alarmed, Bethany grabbed her own bag and went after her, trying to know what Ninea was thinking; but Ninea’s mind was closed.
They were in Ninea’s room at last; the red spread was folded down and the sheets turned back on two sides so that Bethany knew she was to sleep here. What had bothered Ninea? “Don’t you want to go home with us, at least for a little while?” And the hurt in Bethany’s voice was enough to turn Ninea away from the mirror and make her reach out to Bethany.
“I don’t know if she’ll let me, I don’t know—” and there was more to it than that muffled in her mind.
“You don’t know if you want to.” Bethany said slowly. She held Ninea away and looked at her. “You don’t— You don’t know how you feel really. Grandfather said it would be like this. But won’t she let you if you want to? Grandfather should have just as much say about it.”
“He should have more say. It wasn’t his fault we were separated.”
It wasn’t his fault, they thought together, then grinned at each other.
Chapter 12
They fled at last, having unpacked Bethany’s few things, leaving their elders, flew out into the hot twilight street, running; Ninea led her down the crowded streets where people were gathered laughing, flirting, playing little radios, happy after the day’s work. They loitered in the streets until the night began to come down in earnest, then home, and for several mornings they were out early, almost as if, if they kept exploring, they would not have to come to grips with the vagrant unease that lay between them. Perhaps each one did not feel quite whole so close to the other, and each feared that silent, introspective mood that would magnify this.