The Daughter of Doctor Moreau

Chapter 1

Carlota

They'd be arriving that day, the two gentlemen, their boat gliding through the forest of mangroves. The jungle teemed with noises, birds crying out in sonorous discontent as if they could foretell the approach of intruders. In their huts, behind the main house, the hybrids were restless. Even the old donkey, eating its corn, seemed peevish.

Carlota had spent a long time contemplating the ceiling of her room the previous night, and in the morning her belly ached like it always did when she was nervous. Ramona had to brew her a cup of bitter orange tea. Carlota didn't like when her nerves got the best of her, but Dr. Moreau seldom had visitors. Their isolation, her father said, did her good. When she was little she'd been ill, and it was important that she rest and remain calm. Besides, the hybrids made proper company impossible. When someone stopped at Yaxaktun it was either Francisco Ritter, her father's lawyer and correspondent, or Hernando Lizalde.

Mr. Lizalde always came alone. Carlota was never introduced to him. Twice she'd seen him walking from afar, outside the house, with her father. He left quickly; he didn't stay the night in one of the guest rooms. And he didn't visit often, anyway. His presence was mostly felt in letters, which arrived every few months.

Now Mr. Lizalde, who was a distant presence, a name spoken but never manifested, was visiting and not only visiting but he'd be bringing with him a new mayordomo. For nearly a year since Melquíades had departed, the reins of Yaxaktun had been solely in the hands of the doctor, an inadequate situation since he spent most of his time busy in the lab or deep in contemplation. Her father, however, didn't seem inclined to find a steward.

"The doctor, he's too picky," Ramona said, brushing the tangles and knots out of Carlota's hair. "Mr. Lizalde, he sends him letters, and he says here's one gentleman, here's another, but your father always replies no, this one won't do, neither will the other. As if many people would come here."

"Why wouldn't people want to come to Yaxaktun?" Carlota asked.

"It's far from the capital. And you know what they say. All of them, they complain it's too close to rebel territory. They think it's the end of the world."

"It's not that far," Carlota said, though she only understood the peninsula by the maps in books where distances were flattened and turned into black-­and-­white lines.

"It's mighty far. Makes most people think twice when they're used to cobblestones and newspapers each morning."

"Why did you come to work here, then?"

"My family, they picked me a husband but he was bad. Lazy, did nothing all day, then he beat me at night. I didn't complain, not for a long time. Then one morning he hit me hard. Too hard. Or maybe as hard as every other time, but I wouldn't take it any longer. So I grabbed my things and I went away. I came to Yaxaktun because nobody can find you here," Ramona said with a shrug. "But it's not the same for others. Others want to be found."

Ramona was not quite old; the lines fanning her eyes were shallow, and her hair was speckled with a few strands of gray. But she spoke in a measured tone, and she spoke of many things, and Carlota considered her very wise.

"You think the new mayordomo won't like it here? You think he'll want to be found?"

"Who can tell? But Mr. Lizalde's bringing him. It's Mr. Lizalde who's ordered it and he's right. Your father, he does things all day but he never does the things that need done either." Ramona put the brush down. "Stop fretting, child, you'll wrinkle the dress."

The dress in question was decorated with a profusion of frills and pleats, and an enormous bow at the back instead of the neat muslin pinafore she normally wore around the house. Lupe and Cachito were giggling at the doorway, looking at Carlota, as she was primped like a horse before an exhibition.

"You look nice," Ramona said.

"It itches," Carlota complained. She thought she looked like a large cake.

"Don't pull at it. And you two, go wash your faces and those hands," Ramona said, punctuating her words with one of her deadly stares.

Lupe and Cachito moved aside to let Ramona by as she exited the room, grumbling about all the things she had to do that morning. Carlota sulked. Father said the dress was the latest fashion, but she was used to lighter frocks. It might have looked pretty in Mérida or Mexico City or some other place, but in Yaxaktun it was terribly fussy.

Lupe and Cachito giggled again as they walked into the room and took a closer look at her buttons, touching the taffeta and silk until Carlota elbowed them away, and then they giggled aga...