The Disappearance of Irene Dos Santos Read Online Free PDF Page A

Aguilar had recently replaced his red 1954
     Corvette with the 1968 version in metallic blue.
    “Ay, por Dios, Ismael,” said Consuelo, who had come in during the revelation of Alejandro’s secret identity, “don’t tease
     her and fill her head with mentiras like that.” But she was smiling.
    Ismael turned to Lily, placed a finger to his lips and winked. And Lily understood that this meant the true identity of El
     Zorro was a secret only she and her father and her godfather shared. She winked back and whispered, “Can we tell Mami the
     secret?” And Consuelo had rolled her eyes as Ismael replied in a stage whisper, “Only if she swears to keep it under wraps,
     and learns the secret Zorro Code. I’ll have to teach the both of you.”
    Every day, when her father dropped her off at the Academia Roosevelt, Lily winked at him as she stepped out of the car and
     flashed the secret code, which consisted of writing a big
Z
in the air with the index finger of her right hand. She was almost nine before she understood, with the sorrow of one who
     discovers that it is the parents who put the Christmas presents under the tree and not San Nicolás, that her father was not
     really El Zorro—and that El Zorro himself wasn’t even a real person. She was even more disappointed to learn that El Zorro
     wasn’t even Criollo, but an import from gringolandia. But not long afterward, she discovered such a wonderful thing about
     her father that it didn’t really matter that he wasn’t El Zorro; she discovered that Ismael really
was
a brujo who could be in two places at one time.

    For Lily’s fifteenth birthday, Ismael announced a family trip to the jungles of Maquiritare during the Christmas holidays.
     He told Lily she could invite anyone she chose, and she disingenuously chose Irene Dos Santos. At first both her parents resisted,
     but later, yielding under their daughter’s relentless onslaught (“You said
anyone
”), they agreed. After all, what real harm could come of it, with both girls under their direct supervision for the duration
     of the trip? But Lily’s gladness at finally being reunited with Irene was marred by what she had seen, or thought she had
     seen, when she went to Prados to fetch Irene: her mother’s red satin shoes.
    Since traveling by road to Maquiritare would take days, the four of them—Ismael, Consuelo, Lily, and Irene—flew in a propeller
     plane that belonged to Alejandro Aguilar. The plane’s choppy movements turned Lily’s stomach and made her spew her lunch on
     the tarmac when they landed.
    It was dusk by the time they were installed in their cabaña at the government-run tourist outpost in the province of Maquiritare.
     Everyone voted to have a dinner immediately and make it an early night. The girls slept in hammocks on the porch. But before
     they fell asleep, to make up for her humiliation on the tarmac, Lily whispered to Irene, “Tomorrow let’s swim across to the
     island in the middle of the lagoon.”
    “I’ll race you,” Irene whispered back.
    Early in the morning they took a hike through the forest and then a canoe trip through the estuaries with their Pemon Indian
     guide, and Irene seemed far more interested than Lily had thought she’d be, asking about the flora—what is this and what is
     that. And Ismael had obliged her, rattling off a list of names until Lily felt her head spin. “Perhaps I will be a botanist
     when I grow up,” Irene said.
    When they returned at two p.m., the girls were ravenous and ate two chicken sandwiches each. Afterward, Consuelo and Ismael
     withdrew to the cabaña for a nap, while Lily and Irene lay dozing in the hammocks on the veranda. Her eyes heavy, Lily said
     sleepily that they should forget about swimming to the island. “Besides, our swimsuits are inside.”
    “We don’t need swimsuits to swim,” said Irene, jumping up and grabbing her by the arm. “Come on!” They stepped onto the sand,
     but it was too hot. Lily had her