Coco Junior Novel Page 6

  As the guests moved outside to watch the fireworks, the main hall emptied and the lights dimmed. Ernesto and Miguel descended the staircase into the empty hall.

  “Soon the party will move across town for my Sunrise Spectacular,” Ernesto said. “Miguel, you must come to the show! You will be my guest of honor!”

  Miguel’s eyes lit up. “You mean it?”

  “Of course, my boy!”

  Miguel’s chest filled with joy, then deflated. He lifted his shirt, revealing his now-skeletal ribs to Ernesto. “I can’t. I have to go home before sunrise,” he said sadly.

  “I really do need to get you home,” Ernesto said. He plucked a marigold petal from a vase and held it in front of Miguel. “It has been an honor. I am sorry to see you go, Miguel. I hope you die very soon—” He caught himself. “You know what I mean. Miguel, I give you my bles—”

  “We had a deal, chamaco!” shouted a voice from the shadows. Miguel and Ernesto looked into the darkness but saw no one.

  “Who are you? What is the meaning of this?” Ernesto asked. From out of the dark, Héctor approached, still dressed as Frida Kahlo.

  “Oh, Frida!” Ernesto said. “I thought you couldn’t make it.”

  Héctor yanked off his wig and colorful frock. “You said you’d take back my photo. You promised, Miguel.” Héctor stepped closer to them. Miguel backed into Ernesto’s arms.

  Ernesto rose to his feet and placed his hands protectively on Miguel’s shoulders. He leaned down to whisper, “You know this, uh, man?”

  “I just met him tonight. He told me he knew you.”

  Héctor stepped forward with the photo, and Ernesto immediately recognized him. “H-Héctor?” he stammered.

  Héctor ignored him. “Please, Miguel. Put my photo up.”

  He pushed the photo into Miguel’s hands, but Ernesto intercepted it. He looked from the picture to the faded gray skeleton that stood before him. Héctor looked away, as if embarrassed by his appearance. Ernesto stood there, stunned.

  “My friend, you’re—you’re being forgotten,” Ernesto said.

  “And whose fault is that?” Héctor snapped.

  “Héctor, please,” said Ernesto.

  “Those were my songs that you took. MY SONGS that made YOU famous.”

  “Wh-what?” Miguel asked.

  “If I’m forgotten, it’s because YOU never told anyone that I wrote them!”

  “That’s crazy!” Miguel interjected. “Ernesto wrote all his own songs.”

  Héctor looked hard at the singer. “You wanna tell him, or should I?”

  “Héctor, I never meant to take credit,” Ernesto said. “We made a great team, but you died, and I only sang your songs because I wanted to keep a part of you alive.”

  “Oh, how generous,” Héctor said sarcastically.

  “You really did play together?” Miguel said.

  “Look, I don’t want to fight about it. I just want you to make it right. Miguel can put my photo up—”

  “Héctor,” Ernesto said softly.

  “—and I can cross over the bridge. I can see my girl,” Héctor said.

  Ernesto gazed at the photo, deliberating.

  “Remember what you told me the night I left?” said Héctor.

  “That was a long time ago,” said Ernesto.

  “We drank together, and you told me you would move heaven and earth for your amigo. Well, I’m asking you to do that now.”

  “Heaven and earth?” Miguel asked. “Like in the movie?”

  “What?” Héctor said.

  “That’s Don Hidalgo’s toast. In the movie El Camino a Casa.”

  “I’m talking about my REAL life, Miguel,” Héctor said.

  “No, it’s in there. Look,” Miguel said, pointing to the movie clip being shown across the room.

  Don Hidalgo was in the middle of his speech to the peasant Ernesto: “Never were truer words spoken. This calls for a toast! To our friendship! I would move heaven and earth for you, mi amigo.”

  “But in the movie,” said Miguel, “Don Hidalgo poisons the drink.” He was starting to put the clues together.

  “Salud!” shouted Don Hidalgo from the film. The two men drank.

  Then Ernesto’s character spit his out. “Poison!” he shouted, and the men tussled.

  Héctor looked from the film to Ernesto standing in front of him. His mind raced. “That night, Ernesto. The night I left…”

  He remembered it well. They had been on tour, but he had missed his family too much, so he had packed up his songbook and grabbed his guitar case.

  “You wanna give up now?” Ernesto asked. “When we’re this close to reaching our dream?”

  “This was your dream,” young Héctor said. “You’ll manage.”

  “I can’t do this without your songs, Héctor,” Ernesto said, reaching for Héctor’s suitcase.

  “I’m going home, Ernesto,” Héctor said. “Hate me if you want, but my mind is made up.”

  Ernesto had grown impatient, but he composed himself and switched on a charming smile. “Oh, I could never hate you,” he said. “If you must go, then I’m…I’m sending you off with a toast!” The singer poured a couple of drinks and handed one to Héctor. “To our friendship. I would move heaven and earth for you, mi amigo. Salud!” They both drank.

  Ernesto had walked Héctor to the train station, but when Héctor stumbled, Ernesto simply took his suitcase. Héctor had thought the pain in his stomach was from something he had eaten.

  “Perhaps it was that chorizo, my friend,” young Ernesto said.

  “Or something I drank,” Héctor said, snapping back to the present. “I woke up dead.” He directed a steely gaze at Ernesto. “You…poisoned me.”

  “You’re confusing movies with reality, Héctor,” Ernesto assured him.

  Suddenly, visions of Ernesto’s betrayal flashed before Héctor like old film clips on a continuous loop. Héctor remembered that as he had lain collapsed on the cold street, his suitcase had been opened. A hand had reached in and stolen his songbook.

  “All this time, I thought it was just bad luck,” Héctor said. “I never thought that you might have…that you…” He clenched his jaw, then lunged at Ernesto, tackling him to the ground.

  “Héctor!” Miguel shouted.

  “How could you!” Héctor yelled at Ernesto.

  “Security! Security!” cried Ernesto.

  Miguel looked on in shock as the two men scuffled on the floor. He struggled to understand everything Héctor had said about the toast, the songbook, and waking up dead. Could it be true? Could Ernesto have poisoned Héctor?

  “You took everything away from me!” Héctor shouted as security guards rushed in. He resisted as they pulled him off Ernesto, but it was no use. “You rat!”

  “Have him taken care of. He’s not well,” Ernesto ordered.

  “I just wanted to go back home!” Héctor cried. Miguel felt a lump in his throat as the guards dragged Héctor out of the room. “No, no, NO!”

  Miguel was left alone with Ernesto. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what to do next.

  “I apologize. Where were we?”

  “You were going to give me your blessing,” Miguel said, unsure after everything he’d just heard. Was his great-great-grandfather responsible for Héctor’s death?

  “Yes. Uh, sí,” Ernesto said. He plucked a marigold petal, but hesitated. “Miguel, my reputation, it is very important to me. I would hate to have you think—”

  “That you murdered Héctor for his songs?” asked Miguel, a knot growing in his stomach.

  “You don’t think that. Do you?”

  “I…No. Everyone knows you’re the…the good guy,” Miguel said, but doubt had set in, and it oozed in his voice.

  Ernesto abruptly shoved the photo of Héctor into his suit pocket.

  “Papá Ernesto? My blessing?” Miguel asked.

  Ernesto crumpled the marigold petal. “Security!” he shouted. His guards appeared at the doorway. “T
ake care of Miguel. He’ll be extending his stay.” The guards grabbed Miguel by the shoulder.

  Miguel’s face burned with anger. “What! But I’m your family!” he yelled. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

  “And Héctor was my best friend,” Ernesto said coldly.

  Miguel went pale. “You did murder him.”

  “Success doesn’t come for free, Miguel. You have to be willing to do whatever it takes—to seize your moment. I know you understand.”

  “Let go!” Miguel protested as the guards dragged him out the back of Ernesto’s mansion. They threw him into a large cenote, or sinkhole.

  “No!” Miguel hollered as he fell, finally crashing into water at the bottom of the cenote. He struggled against the deep, dark water, fighting his way back to the surface. Splashing about, he spotted a stone island. “Help!” He paddled over to it. “Can anyone hear me? I wanna go home!” He reached the stone island and collapsed against it.

  Miguel’s soaked hoodie sagged off him, revealing that his skeletal transition was almost complete. He gazed up to the sky. He had to get out. He had to get home, but how? He was alone. He dropped his head, hopeless. Suddenly, he heard footsteps. Héctor emerged from the darkness and stumbled toward Miguel, who lay at the water’s edge.

  “Héctor?” Miguel cried.

  “Kid?” Héctor shouted.

  “Oh, Héctor!” They ran to each other. Héctor embraced Miguel. Overcome with shame, Miguel lowered his head. “You were right. I should have gone back to my family—” he said.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Héctor said as he patted him gently.

  “They told me not to be like Ernesto, but I didn’t listen.”

  “It’s okay,” Héctor said.

  “I told them I didn’t care if they remembered me. I didn’t care if I was on their stupid ofrenda.” Miguel sobbed against Héctor’s chest. Héctor held him close.

  “Hey, chamaco, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

  Miguel took a deep breath. “I told them I didn’t care.”

  Suddenly, a gold flicker fluttered through Héctor’s bones. “Huuuh!” he exclaimed, and fell to his knees.

  “Héctor!” Miguel screamed, scared at what was happening to his friend.

  “She’s…forgetting me,” Héctor said. Miguel watched him with despair.

  “Who?”

  “My daughter.”

  “She’s the reason you wanted to cross the bridge?”

  “I just wanted to see her again,” Héctor said softly. “I never should have left Santa Cecilia. Ernesto convinced me that my ‘big moment’ was waiting for me far away from home, but…” He gulped for breath. “I wish I could apologize. I wish I could tell her that her papá was trying to come home. That he loved her so much.” Héctor looked toward the sky. “My Coco…”

  A chill ran through Miguel.

  “Coco?” Miguel reached into his hoodie and looked at the photo of Mamá Imelda, baby Coco, and the faceless musician. Miguel showed it to Héctor.

  Héctor’s eyes narrowed as he stared at familiar faces from long ago. “Where—where did you get this?” he asked.

  “That’s my Mamá Coco. That’s my Mamá Imelda. Is that—” Miguel pointed at the headless musician. “You?”

  “We’re…family?” Héctor said finally, smiling at his great-great-grandson. Miguel grinned back at his Papá Héctor. Family. It felt right.

  Héctor returned his gaze to the photo and his smile faded. He touched the image of baby Coco. “I always hoped I’d see her again. That she’d miss me. Maybe put up my photo. But it never happened,” Héctor said. His voice lowered to a whisper. “You know the worst part?”

  Miguel shook his head.

  “Even if I never got to see Coco in the living world, I thought at least one day I’d see her here. Give her the biggest hug. But she’s the last person who remembers me. The moment she’s gone from the living world…”

  “You disappear from this one. You’ll never get to see her.”

  “Ever again,” Héctor finished. He sat there quiet for a moment. “You know, I wrote her a song once. We used to sing it every night, at the same time. No matter how far apart we were. What I wouldn’t give to sing it to her one last time.” Héctor sang his original version of “Remember Me” in a soft voice. It was a much different version from Ernesto’s. Miguel thought it was beautiful.

  When the last note faded, Miguel said, “He stole your guitar. He stole your songs. YOU should be the one the world remembers, not him!”

  “I didn’t write ‘Remember Me’ for the world. I wrote it for Coco,” he said. “I’m a pretty sorry excuse for a great-great-grandpa.”

  “Are you kidding? A minute ago, I thought I was related to a murderer. You’re a total upgrade.”

  Héctor couldn’t muster a smile.

  “My whole life, there’s been something that made me different…and I never knew where it came from,” Miguel said. “But now I know. It came from YOU!” He gave Héctor a wide smile. “I’m proud we’re family!” Miguel looked up to the top of the hole, where he was tossed down. “I’m proud to be his family! TRRRRRRRRAI-HAY-HAY-HAY-HAAAY!” he yelled in a grito.

  Héctor perked up and followed Miguel’s grito. “TRRRRRRRRAAAAI-HAAAAY-HAAAAAY! I’m proud to be HIS family!” They exchanged gritos until the cenote echoed with the sound. Soon, though, the echo faded. They were still stuck.

  Then something echoed back to them.

  “Rooo-roooo-rooooooo!”

  Miguel and Héctor looked up, amazed.

  “Dante?” Miguel said.

  “Roooooooooo-roo-roo-rooo!” Dante howled and poked his head through the opening above them.

  “Dante!” Miguel shouted and laughed. “It’s Dante!” Dante panted and wagged his tail happily. Behind him were two more figures peeking down at them. It was Mamá Imelda and Pepita. Pepita released a roar that shook the whole cavern. Miguel and Mamá Imelda laughed with joy.

  “Imelda!” Héctor yelled up at her with a charming smile.

  Mamá Imelda’s relief turned to coldness. “Héctor.”

  “You look good.…” Héctor offered a smile.

  Pepita flew out of the cenote and ascended toward the clouds, carrying Imelda, Héctor, Miguel, and Dante on her back. Miguel hugged Dante fiercely.

  “Dante, you KNEW he was my Papá Héctor the whole time! You were trying to bring us together! You are a real spirit guide!” Miguel praised him. “Who’s a good spirit guide? You are!” Dante smiled dumbly at Miguel. Suddenly, before Miguel’s eyes, neon patterns spread outward from Dante’s paws. “Whoa!” Miguel gasped as little wings sprouted on Dante’s back.

  Dante spread his new wings and jumped up to fly. But he plummeted beneath the clouds!

  “Dante!” Miguel shouted, and then Dante was back up, flapping goofily and barking his head off. He was a full-blown spirit guide.

  Pepita flew into the small plaza where the other dead members of the Rivera family waited.

  “Look, there they are!” Papá Julio exclaimed, pointing as they landed. The entire family rushed over to Miguel, rambling excitedly.

  “He’s all right! Oh, thank goodness!”

  Héctor dismounted from Pepita’s back first and raised a hand to help Imelda down. She glared at him, dismissing his help.

  Miguel stroked Dante lovingly. Pepita gave Miguel a big lick.

  Mamá Imelda pulled Miguel into a tight hug. “M’ijo, I was so worried! Thank goodness we found you in time!” Her eyes fell on Héctor, who held his hat in his hands sheepishly. “And YOU! How many times must I turn you away?”

  “Imelda,” Héctor said softly.

  “I want nothing to do with you. Not in life, not in death.” She glared at him. “I spent decades protecting my family from your mistakes. He spends five minutes with you and I have to fish him out of a sinkhole!”

  Miguel stepped between Mamá Imelda and Héctor. “I wasn’t in there because of Héctor. He was in there because of me,” he explained. �
��He was just trying to get me home. I didn’t want to listen, but he was right. Nothing is more important than family.”

  Mamá Imelda raised her eyebrows at Héctor.

  “I’m ready to accept your blessing. And your conditions. But first I need to find Ernesto. To get Héctor’s photo,” said Miguel.

  “What?” Mamá Imelda said.

  “So he can see Coco again. Héctor should be on our ofrenda. He’s part of our family.”

  “He left this family!” Mamá Imelda exclaimed.

  “He tried to go home to you and Coco, but Ernesto murdered him!”

  She looked to Héctor for confirmation.

  “It’s true, Imelda,” Héctor said.

  Many emotions flickered across Imelda’s face. “And so what if it’s true? You leave me alone with a child to raise and I’m just supposed to forgive you?”

  “Imelda, I—”

  Héctor’s body shimmered, leaving him winded. Imelda gasped.

  “I’m running out of time, Imelda,” Héctor pleaded. “It’s Coco.”

  Mamá Imelda stared at him, trying to understand what was happening. “She’s forgetting you.”

  “You don’t have to forgive him, but we shouldn’t forget him,” Miguel said.

  “Oh, Héctor, I wanted to forget you. I wanted Coco to forget you too, but…”

  “This is my fault, not yours,” Héctor said. “I’m sorry, Imelda.”

  Mamá Imelda, holding in her emotions, turned to Miguel. “Miguel, if we help you get his photo, you will return home? No more music?”

  “Family comes first,” Miguel said.

  Mamá Imelda considered the situation. She turned to Héctor. “I—I can’t forgive you, but I will help you.”

  Miguel smiled.

  “So how do we get to Ernesto?” Mamá Imelda asked.

  “I might know a way,” Miguel answered.

  Hundreds were gathered to watch Ernesto’s Sunrise Spectacular. On the huge, freestanding stage, Frida’s dramatic performance piece swelled with symphonic music as a giant papaya ignited. The papaya seeds unfurled to reveal dancers dressed like Frida Kahlo, with thickly painted unibrows. The Frida clones gyrated their bodies nonsensically as they rolled out of the flaming papaya. Next, a giant cactus that resembled Frida was illuminated. All the dancers slunk into it. In the midst of all this, nine Riveras, dressed as cloned Frida dancers, inched their way out of the spotlight and toward the wings.