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Authors: Alex Espinoza
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“Come here,” she said, taking Diego by the hand, squeezing it. Her touch was warm, calming. They walked over to a trunk in the middle of the library. “I had one of the servants pull this down from the attic last night. This is where I keep the things of my former career. I don’t normally show these to the other children I tutor,” she explained. “Would you like to see inside?”
“Yes,” he told her.
Inside there were advertisements for extravagant operas with her name on them, wigs and funny hats, wooden canes and suspenders, pamphlets and newspaper clippings, and more photographs of Carolina in lavish costumes.
“I was a diva,” Carolina said. “Do you know what that is?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“A diva is a great singer. Powerful. My voice had the strongest pitch and widest range in the company.” Carolina closed the trunk and led him back to the sofa. She sat very close to him and placed her arm around his shoulder. “You’re special, Diego.”
“No I’m not, señora,” he said. “I’m not special at all.”
“Of course you are. Why would you think such a thing?”
“I know it,” he confessed. He kept his head down and felt tears welling up in his eyes. “I’ve heard it.”
“Oh?” Carolina asked. “Where did you hear this, Diego?”
He took a deep breath before he spoke, his voice quivering. “My father. He sent me away because I was nothing more than an inconvenience.And Doña Julia. I heard her tell my grandfather that she doesn’t love me. That she can’t. Just like my father.”
Carolina squeezed his shoulder. She sat back and placed his head on her chest. “You’re anything but an inconvenience. You’re special, Diego. A wonderful boy.”
“But how can you be so sure?” he asked.
She laughed and sat up. She looked him in the face, wiping his tears away. “I was shy as a girl. I was misunderstood. My parents wanted me to be a nun. I grew up faithful, very obedient to them and to God. But then something happened when I was around your age.”
She told him that she discovered her voice. But here, she said, it wasn’t just her ability to sing, but a calling, she explained, a realization that she had a purpose in life that would not involve the church and God.
“I saw myself,” she said. “I understood myself. It was as if I was suddenly standing in a very bright room with a thousand pairs of eyes all on me. Everyone noticed me. And I wasn’t afraid. I felt confident. Sure of myself. It was wonderful.”
“But I’m nothing,” he said.
“No,” she said. “You’re not nothing.” She paused and took a deep breath. “You must have faith in me and in yourself, Diego. Can you? Can you have faith in yourself as I do in you?”
“Yes,” he said. If Carolina believed in him, maybe his grandparents were wrong after all. He raised his head, pushed his shoulders back, and looked her directly in the eye. “I can.”
“Good. Then let’s begin your lesson!” Carolina said, rising now, clapping her hands.
She gave him speeches to memorize, and when he told her he couldn’t read very well, she helped him by reciting them first out loud herself then asking him to repeat her words. Over the next few weeks, he improved. His favorite speeches were those written by Cicero, and reading the epic poems by Homer and Virgil because they were filled with wars and battles, gods and monsters, and journeys to the underworld. Just like Elva’s stories, he thought. Carolinamade for Diego a toga by stitching together strips of fabric and cloth. She made a sash and tied this around his waist and fashioned a crown by weaving together a few leaves and twigs she found outside in the garden. He stood before her, atop a stone bench in the courtyard, reading from the
Aeneid
. He was concentrating hard on the words, letting the speech and emotions overcome him when he heard someone giggle. He looked out and there, standing behind Carolina, was Javier, laughing and shaking
“Yes,” he told her.
Inside there were advertisements for extravagant operas with her name on them, wigs and funny hats, wooden canes and suspenders, pamphlets and newspaper clippings, and more photographs of Carolina in lavish costumes.
“I was a diva,” Carolina said. “Do you know what that is?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“A diva is a great singer. Powerful. My voice had the strongest pitch and widest range in the company.” Carolina closed the trunk and led him back to the sofa. She sat very close to him and placed her arm around his shoulder. “You’re special, Diego.”
“No I’m not, señora,” he said. “I’m not special at all.”
“Of course you are. Why would you think such a thing?”
“I know it,” he confessed. He kept his head down and felt tears welling up in his eyes. “I’ve heard it.”
“Oh?” Carolina asked. “Where did you hear this, Diego?”
He took a deep breath before he spoke, his voice quivering. “My father. He sent me away because I was nothing more than an inconvenience.And Doña Julia. I heard her tell my grandfather that she doesn’t love me. That she can’t. Just like my father.”
Carolina squeezed his shoulder. She sat back and placed his head on her chest. “You’re anything but an inconvenience. You’re special, Diego. A wonderful boy.”
“But how can you be so sure?” he asked.
She laughed and sat up. She looked him in the face, wiping his tears away. “I was shy as a girl. I was misunderstood. My parents wanted me to be a nun. I grew up faithful, very obedient to them and to God. But then something happened when I was around your age.”
She told him that she discovered her voice. But here, she said, it wasn’t just her ability to sing, but a calling, she explained, a realization that she had a purpose in life that would not involve the church and God.
“I saw myself,” she said. “I understood myself. It was as if I was suddenly standing in a very bright room with a thousand pairs of eyes all on me. Everyone noticed me. And I wasn’t afraid. I felt confident. Sure of myself. It was wonderful.”
“But I’m nothing,” he said.
“No,” she said. “You’re not nothing.” She paused and took a deep breath. “You must have faith in me and in yourself, Diego. Can you? Can you have faith in yourself as I do in you?”
“Yes,” he said. If Carolina believed in him, maybe his grandparents were wrong after all. He raised his head, pushed his shoulders back, and looked her directly in the eye. “I can.”
“Good. Then let’s begin your lesson!” Carolina said, rising now, clapping her hands.
She gave him speeches to memorize, and when he told her he couldn’t read very well, she helped him by reciting them first out loud herself then asking him to repeat her words. Over the next few weeks, he improved. His favorite speeches were those written by Cicero, and reading the epic poems by Homer and Virgil because they were filled with wars and battles, gods and monsters, and journeys to the underworld. Just like Elva’s stories, he thought. Carolinamade for Diego a toga by stitching together strips of fabric and cloth. She made a sash and tied this around his waist and fashioned a crown by weaving together a few leaves and twigs she found outside in the garden. He stood before her, atop a stone bench in the courtyard, reading from the
Aeneid
. He was concentrating hard on the words, letting the speech and emotions overcome him when he heard someone giggle. He looked out and there, standing behind Carolina, was Javier, laughing and shaking
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