Observance
By Laura Schiller
Based on: Elena of Avalor
Copyright: Disney
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Esteban had dreaded the arrival of Dia de los Muertos this year, and hated himself for doing so. He knew that, as an Avaloran, he should be proud of his people for bringing back the sacred traditions Shuriki had tried to suppress, and as a member of a family, he should pay his respects to the spirits of his loved ones. The trouble was, he couldn't see how a visit from him could possibly do that. Surely the last person Raul and Lucia would want at their altar was their traitor nephew. The only respectful thing to do, in his opinion, was to stay away.
It was with a heavy heart that Esteban walked through the royal family's private wing on his way to the stables. A sound coming through one of the closed doors, however, startled him out of his thoughts.
Someone was crying – and by the pitch of the voice, there was only one person it could be.
"Isabel?" He knocked on the door. "May I come in?"
There was an indistinct sound, as if muffled by a pillow, which he took as a yes.
His youngest cousin lay curled up on her bed, surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper. The leather-bound sketchbook Elena had given her sat open beside her. When she looked up, her eyes and nose were so red that it was obvious she had been crying for a long time.
Esteban hovered in the doorframe, torn between compassion and anxiety. What in the world should he say to her? Are you all right? seemed like a hopelessly stupid question, and so did What's wrong?
Isabel spoke first, in a hoarse voice that was almost a whisper. "You're not going to the party?"
"No, I'm not."
"Me neither." She pulled a handkerchief out of her nightstand drawer, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "I don't know what to say to Elena. I told her my costume ripped, but I just don't want to wear it."
She folded back the edge of the blanket, revealing a neatly folded Dia de los Muertos gown, which the seamstress must have delivered only that morning. The white skeleton pattern stood out clearly against the blue background. Death symbols like this one in fashion and food were a cherished tradition, meant to inspire people to live life to the fullest, but Esteban had never cared for them either.
"It is rather macabre, I suppose." He adjusted the lapels of his red jacket, which he had pointedly refused to change out of. "But I'm sure she will understand if you prefer something else."
"It's not just the dress." She threw the blanket back over it with an impatient flick of her hand. "It's everything. I don't want crowds and dancing and marigolds and candles and all that stuff. I don't want to have to build an altar to talk to Mami and Papi. I don't want them coming to visit from the Spirit World for just one day. I want … I want them here."
Her hand came down on the pillow, and with that one gesture, she called up a lifetime's worth of memories for them both.
Bedtime had been the one time of day the King and Queen had saved for their children, no matter how busy they were. Little Isabel had squealed with delight when Raul swung her through the air. Elena had bounced on the bed with tireless energy; only a story could make her sit still. Lucia had read fairy tales with all the characters' voices and played lullabies on her guitar. Esteban had pretended to be too grown-up for all this, but still lingered as long as he could, before they blew out the candles and he had to go back to his dark, oversized bedroom by himself.
Of course Isabel wanted those moments back.
"So do I," said Esteban, coming to sit beside her at the edge of the bed.
"I wish I could be strong like Elena," she said, looking down at the debris of unfinished sketches around her, "But I'm not."
His heart broke a little at the sound of that confession. Of all the family, Isabel was probably the one who resembled him most. Like him, she was an introvert, prone to overthink, sensitive to the judgment of others, and fond of patterns and order. She shouldn't have to suffer from trying to be someone she wasn't, as he had done when he was her age.
"You are strong, Isabel. Never doubt that. It takes great strength to face your grief like this." He put a tentative arm around her small shoulders. "The two of you are very different people, that's all … and I, for one, appreciate that. Two Elenas, ay-ay-ay, it would be chaos. Please don't tell her I said that."
Isabel let out a tearful laugh and leaned her head on Esteban's shoulder. He stroked her soft brown hair, smoothed out the tangled strands, and adjusted her blue ribbon where it had gone crooked.
He had missed this. He'd never been much of a hugger when he was young, but for forty years, the only people who touched him had been his barber, his tailor, and Shuriki when she wanted a hand up from her throne. Elena squeezing his face or tackle-hugging him out of nowhere still startled him, but Isabel's gentleness was a priceless gift.
"Thanks, Esteban."
He kissed the top of her head. "You are most welcome."
"Was there, um … " She began gathering up the crumpled papers on the bed, as if now that she felt better, it embarrassed her to be surrounded by such a mess. He understood how that felt. "Was there something else you wanted to talk about?"
"Actually … I would like to ask a favor."
He didn't know how the idea had come into his mind, but it must have happened while they had been talking, and now appeared as complete as if he'd had it all along.
She looked up, her hands full of paper. "What is it?"
"I have my own way of observing Dia de los Muertos. Would you care to join me?"
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That was how the two cousins found themselves on a beach outside the city. It was too narrow and rocky to attract many people even in summertime, so on a November day like this, they had the place entirely to themselves. A brisk autumn wind ruffled Esteban's hair and made Isabel huddle into her shawl as they picked their way along the shoreline. The afternoon sun left an almost painfully bright trail of light across the ocean. Seagulls cried out over the crashing of the waves. Dry grass crunched underfoot.
"This is where you go?" Isabel asked, shading her eyes against the dazzling light.
He nodded. "Every year."
"Alone?"
"Until now."
He braced himself for pity or confusion, but her little face showed nothing but understanding as she looked up at him. "It's perfect," she said. "I think they'd have liked it. Your parents, I mean."
"I believe so. They were travellers, both of them. They loved the sea."
They stood side by side and watched the ocean, too deep and too cold to swim in even this close to the shore, though still not as deep or cold as the Northern waters in which Esteban's parents' ship had been lost. The white foam was delicate as lace on the dark gray-green water. The waves had a rhythm all their own, wilder and more graceful than any dance he'd ever learned.
"It doesn't scare you?"
"No," he said truthfully. "It may sound strange, but I still love it. If ever their spirits watch over us, it would be here."
"What were they like?"
"My mother was much like yours. Green eyes. Beautiful voice. I've been told she was an expert navigator and a fearless explorer, but what I remember most is the way she always sang me to sleep when she was home."
"Like "Love Always"?" Isabel asked softly. "That's my favorite."
"Mine as well."
If he listened closely, he could almost imagine her gentle voice among the waves, and the cool breeze was her hand brushing back his hair. Even the color of the water in some lights was the color of her eyes.
"What about Tio Antonio?"
"Oh, well … " He'd known this question was coming, but it made him uneasy all the same. "He was a pirate."
Isabel's eyes went wide. "Really?"
For a coastal kingdom that depended on trade, pirates were and always had been a serious problem. For every honest, hardworking merchant crew, there were some who found it easier to just steal someone else's cargo instead, and others who came from poverty and felt they had no other choice. Esteban had never found out to which category his father had belonged, but either way, it still troubled him. Truth be told, this was the real reason why social status mattered to him so much, and why he'd been so obnoxious when Naomi Turner joined the Council. In the back of his mind, he still worried that a child from the port did not belong in the palace.
"Yes. It caused a great scandal when Mama ran away with him. Our Abuelos didn't speak to her for a while, though they did welcome her back when I was born. I was a difficult baby, apparently. Abuela never lets me forget it."
"So that's why they almost never talk about Tia Margarita," said Isabel. "I always wondered."
"They did care for her," Esteban assured her. "They loved both their daughters, I have no doubt of that. They even accepted Papa after a while, on the condition that he gave up piracy. He was very … charismatic, you see. It was impossible not to like him. He didn't really know how to deal with me until I became old enough to sail, but once I did, I would have crossed the seventeen seas in a bucket if he asked."
It was a strange and volatile mixture of emotions Esteban felt for his parents: the child's love, the adolescent's shame, and most recently, the grown man's empathy. Antonio Ramirez had known what it was like to live with crimes on your conscience and receive a second chance. Margarita Flores had loved him enough to give up everything: her rank, her fortune, even her family. If anyone alive or dead could understand what Esteban was going through, surely they could.
If they couldn't, he really was lost.
"I wish I'd known them," said Isabel wistfully.
"So do I," said Esteban. "But I suppose it's not entirely too late to introduce you."
He took off his backpack and brought out the reason they were at this beach to begin with: a wreath of marigolds (carefully wrapped in tissue paper), two candles and a box of matches. It took several tries before the matches would light in the stiff breeze, but they didn't stop until both flames were bright and steady.
"Is it okay if I sing?" asked Isabel. "I didn't bring my guitardeon, but … "
"Oh no, no, no, you didn't have to. But please, sing. You have a true Flores voice."
Isabel smiled.
As their tiny ofrenda floated out across the water, her crystal-clear soprano went with it, singing a slow a capella version of "Love Always". Esteban joined in, nearly faltering at one point – "Love is like a dream you never wake from" was hard to say after too many nightmares – but when she squeezed his hand, he found he could continue after all.
From the angle of the sun, they still had time until the party at the cemetery. They'd make it back before they could be missed. As far as he was concerned, though, the real holy day took place here, between the sky and the water, with memories in his heart and someone who understood by his side.
If Dia de los Muertos could always be like this, perhaps he didn't need to fear it after all.
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Author's Note: The names i used for Esteban's parents were taken from the YouTube video "Black Sea" by Camelot836. If you're looking for quality EoA fan tributes, look no further than her channel.