Because It Is My Blood
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Authors: Gabrielle Zevin
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To my beautiful mother, AeRan Zevin, who always sends me home with second supper and who makes life beautiful
CONTENTS
III.
I RESUME MY EDUCATION; MY PRAYERS ARE ANSWERED; MONEY MAKES THE WORLD GO ’ROUND
IV.
I AM SURPRISED; I AM SURPRISED AGAIN
VI.
I AM AT SEA; BECOME FAR TOO ACQUAINTED WITH THE BUCKET; WISH FOR MY OWN DEATH
VII.
I BEGIN A NEW CHAPTER; AT GRANJA MAÑANA
VIII.
I RECEIVE AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR WITH AN UNEXPECTED REQUEST
IX.
I RECEIVE LETTERS FROM HOME
XI.
I LEARN THE COST OF FRIENDSHIP; MONEY STILL MAKES THE WORLD GO ’ROUND
XII.
I AM CONFINED; REFLECT ON THE CURIOUS NATURE OF THE HUMAN HEART
XIII.
I ENGAGE IN RECREATIONAL CHOCOLATIERING; RECEIVE TWO NOTES AND A PACKAGE
XIV.
I ENCOUNTER AN OLD FOE; ANOTHER PROPOSAL; WIN LOOKS UNDER THE WRAPPER
XVIII.
I ATTEND A SCHOOL DANCE; NO ONE GETS SHOT
XIX.
I GRADUATE; YET ANOTHER PROPOSAL
IN THE DESERT
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.”
—Stephen Crane
Casa Marquez Hot Chocolate
1 red chili pepper
½
vanilla bean
1 cinnamon stick
3 or 4 crushed rose petals
2 cups milk
2 or 3 squares bittersweet chocolate without nuts
*
Pick up your machete and split the chili pepper down the middle. Remove seeds. Are you still holding your machete? If not, what is
wrong
with you? Abuela advises you should never let your guard down in the kitchen.
Okay
. Still holding your machete, split the vanilla bean the long way. Break up the cinnamon stick. This will be hard—your anger will be an advantage in this task. Crush the rose petals with your fists like a teenage girl with a broken heart. (You know about that.)
Drown the chili pepper, vanilla bean, cinnamon-stick pieces, and crushed rose petals in the milk. Heat the milk until it is simmering. Let it simmer for no more than 2 minutes. Any longer, the milk turns bad, and Abuela says that the whole thing will surely be a disaster.
Shave chocolate into thin strips, then whisk into milk mixture until chocolate is melted.
Remove from heat and let rest for 10 minutes. Strain, and heat again. Some like it warm, but not you, Anya.
Serves 2. As your own nana—
que en paz descanse
—used to say, “Share it with someone you love.”
**
*
Balanchine Bittersweet is preferred but you can use whatever you have on hand.
**
WARNING: This is not sweet. Drink at your own risk.
I
I AM RELEASED INTO SOCIETY
“C
OME IN, ANYA,
have a seat. We find ourselves in the midst of a situation,” Evelyn Cobrawick greeted me, parting her painted red lips to reveal a cheerful sliver of yellow tooth. Was this meant to be a grin? I certainly hoped not. My fellow inmates at Liberty Children’s Facility were of the universal opinion that Mrs. Cobrawick was at her most dangerous when smiling.
It was the night before my release, and I had been summoned to the headmistress’s chambers. Through careful adherence to rules—all but one, all but once—I had managed to avoid the woman for the entire summer. “A situ—” I began.
Mrs. Cobrawick interrupted me. “Do you know what I like best about my job? It’s the girls. Watching them grow up and make better lives for themselves. Knowing that
I
had some small part in these rehabilitations. I truly feel as if I have thousands of daughters. It almost makes up for the fact that the former Mr. Cobrawick and I were not blessed with any children of our own.”
I was not sure how to respond to this information. “You said there was a situation?”
“Be patient, Anya. I’m getting there. I … You see, I feel very bad about the way we met. I think you may have gotten the wrong impression about me. The measures I took last fall may have seemed harsh to you at the time, but they were only to help you adjust to life at Liberty. And I think you’ll agree that my conduct was exactly right, because look what a splendid summer you’ve had here! You’ve been submissive, compliant, a model resident in every sense. One would hardly guess that you came from such a criminal background.”
This was meant as a compliment so I thanked her. I snuck a glance out Mrs. Cobrawick’s window. The night was clear, and I could just make out the tip of Manhattan. Only eighteen hours before I would be home.
“You are most welcome. I feel optimistic that your time here will serve you well in your future endeavors. Which brings us, of course, to our situation.”
I turned to look at Mrs. Cobrawick. I very much wished that she would stop referring to it as “our situation.”
“In August, you had a visitor,” she began. “A young man.”
I lied, telling her that I wasn’t sure whom she meant.
“The Delacroix boy,” she said.
“Yes. He was my boyfriend last year, but that’s done now.”
“The guard on duty that day claimed that you kissed him.” She paused to look me in the eyes. “Twice.”
“I shouldn’t have done that. He had been injured, as you probably read in my file, and I suppose I was overcome to see him well again. I apologize, Mrs. Cobrawick.”
“Yes, you did break the rules,” Mrs. Cobrawick replied. “But your infraction is understandable, I think, and human really, and can be overlooked. It probably surprises you to hear an old gorgon like me say that, but I am not without feelings, Anya.
“Before you came to Liberty in June, acting District Attorney Charles Delacroix gave me very specific instructions regarding your treatment here. Would you like me to tell you what they were?”
I wasn’t sure, but I nodded anyway.
“There were only three. The first was that I was to avoid any unnecessary personal interaction with Anya Balanchine. I don’t think you can disagree that I followed that one to the letter.”
That explained why my stay had passed in such relative peace. If I ever saw Charles Delacroix again (and I hoped I’d have no reason to), I’d be certain to thank him.
“The second was that Anya Balanchine was not to be sent to the Cellar under any circumstance.”
“And the third?” I asked.
“The third was that I was to contact him immediately if his son came to visit you. Such an event, he said, could possibly necessitate a revision to both the quality and length of Anya Balanchine’s stay at Liberty.”
I felt myself shudder at the word
length
. I was well aware of the promise I had made Charles Delacroix regarding his son.
“So, when the guard came to me with the news that the Delacroix boy had been to see Anya Balanchine, do you know what I decided to do?”
She—horrors!—smiled at me.
“I decided to do nothing. ‘Evie,’ I said to myself, ‘at the end of the year, you’re leaving Liberty and you don’t have to do everything they say anymore—’”
I interrupted the conversation she was having with herself to ask, “You’re leaving?”
“Yes, it seems I’ve been forced into early retirement, Anya. They’re making a huge mistake. Not anyone can run this kingdom of mine.” She waved her hand by way of changing the subject. “But as I was telling you before … ‘Evie,’ I said, ‘you don’t owe that awful Charles Delacroix a thing. Anya Balanchine is a good girl, albeit one from a very bad family, and she can’t help who does or doesn’t visit her.’”
I offered cautious thanks.
“You’re very welcome,” she replied. “Perhaps someday you’ll be able to return the favor.”
I shivered. “What is it you want, Mrs. Cobrawick?”
She laughed, then took my hand in hers and squeezed it so hard one of my knuckles cracked. “Only … I suppose I’d like to be able to call you my friend.”
Daddy always said that there was no commodity more precious or potentially volatile than friendship. I looked into her dark, red-rimmed eyes. “Mrs. Cobrawick, I can honestly say that I won’t ever forget this act of friendship.”
She released my hand. “Incidentally, Charles Delacroix is an incredible fool. If my experiences working with troubled girls have taught me anything, it’s that no good ever comes from keeping young lovers apart. The more he pulls, the more the two of you will pull back. It’s a Chinese finger trap, and the finger trap always triumphs.”
Here, Mrs. Cobrawick was wrong. Win had visited me that one time. I had kissed him, then told him that he should never come again. To my great annoyance, he’d actually obeyed me. A little over a month had passed since that encounter, and I hadn’t heard from or seen Win since.
“As you’re leaving us tomorrow, this will also serve as our exit interview,” Mrs. Cobrawick said. She opened up my file on her slate. “Let’s see, you were brought here on…” She scanned the file. “Weapons-possession charges?”
I nodded.
Mrs. Cobrawick put on the reading glasses she wore on a brass chain around her neck. “Really? That’s it? I seem to remember you shooting someone.”
“In self-defense, yes.”
“Well, no matter. I am an educator, not a judge. Are you sorry for your crimes?”
The answer to that was complicated. I did not regret the crime I had been charged with—having my father’s gun. I did not regret my actual crime either—shooting Jacks after he shot Win. And I did not regret the deal I had made with Charles Delacroix that had ensured both my siblings’ safety. I regretted nothing. Of course, I could sense that saying this would have been frowned upon. “Yes,” I replied, “I’m very sorry.”
“Good. Then, as of tomorrow”—Mrs. Cobrawick consulted her calendar—“the seventeenth day of September in the year 2083, the city of New York considers Anya Balanchine to be successfully rehabilitated. Best of luck to you, Anya. May the temptations of the world not lead you to recidivism.”
* * *
It was lights-out by the time I got back to the dormitory. As I reached the bunk bed I had shared with Mouse these past eighty-nine days, she lit a match and gestured that I should come sit by her in the bottom bunk. She held out her notepad.
I need to ask you something before you go,
she had written on one of her precious pages. (She was only allotted twenty-five per day.)
“Sure, Mouse.”
They’re letting me out early.
I told her that was great news, but she shook her head. She handed me another note.
After Thanksgiving or even sooner. Good behavior, or maybe I use too much paper. Point is, I’d rather be here. My crime makes it so I can’t ever go home. When I get out, I’ll need a job.
