Anya, when we were together, I know I spent much time complaining about my responsibilities to the farm and the factories. How I longed for my freedom. It is strange because in all the months I was sick, the only thing I wanted was to get back to the factories and the farm. So, maybe it is a good thing that I was nearly fatally shot. (This is me, joking. I am still the funniest person you know, I bet.)

I hope you will come back to Chiapas someday. You’re a natural at cacao production, but I still have much I can teach you.

Besos,

Theobroma Marquez

I read the recipe, then I went into the kitchen. We didn’t have rose petals or chili pepper but it was Saturday market, so I decided to take the bus down to Union Square to shop for the ingredients. It was Daisy’s morning off, and Natty was occupied with her studies, so I decided to go by myself.

The roses were easy enough to come by, but I had trouble finding the chili pepper and I had just about given up when I spotted a stand selling, according to its sign: MEDICINAL HERBS, SPICES, TINCTURES, & MISCELLANY. I pulled back a striped curtain and went inside. The air smelled of incense. Rolling wooden shelves were lined with rows of hand-labeled glass jars.

The proprietor quickly located a small glass jar of chili peppers. “Is that all you need, girl?” the proprietor asked. “Have a look around. I have many other enticing products, and if you buy two, the third is free.” The proprietor had a glass eye and a velvet cloak and a walking stick, and he looked rather like a wizard. The glass eye was a very good one. The only hint that it wasn’t a real eye was that it didn’t track me around the store like the other eye did.

On the lowest shelf sat a small jar with cacao nibs. As I took the jar in my hand, I felt a rush of nostalgia for Granja Mañana. I held it up to the stall-keeper. “How are you able to sell these? Without getting arrested, I mean?”

“It’s perfectly legal, I assure you.” He paused to give me the evil eye. (Literally, just the one.) “Do you work for the authorities?”

I shook my head. “The opposite.”

He looked at me questioningly but I didn’t feel like telling him my entire life story. Instead, I told him I was a chocolate enthusiast, and he seemed to take me at my word.

The stall-keeper used his walking stick to point to the word medicinal on his sign. “Even in this corrupt country of ours, you can sell all the cacao you want as long as it’s for medicinal purposes.” He snatched the little glass jar from me. “But I’m afraid I can’t sell that particular product to you unless you have a prescription.”

“Oh,” I said. “Of course.” Out of curiosity, I asked him what kind of condition would get me a prescription.

The stall-keeper shrugged. “Depression, I suppose. Cacao is a mood enhancer. Osteoporosis. Anemia. I’m not a doctor, miss. I do have an acquaintance who uses it to make skin creams.”

I stood up from the squatting position I’d been in, and handed him the glass jar of chili peppers. “I guess I’ll just take this then.”

The stall-keeper nodded. As I was paying him, he said, “You’re the Balanchine girl, aren’t you?” Paranoid mobster daughter that I was, I made sure to scan the store before answering. “I am.” “Yes, I thought so. I’ve been following your case closely. It’s all been very unfair to you, hasn’t it?”

I told him that I tried not to dwell on it.

On the bus back home, the aroma of roses was pervasive. I looked in my bag and found that the not-a-wizard had slipped the cacao nibs in with the chili peppers.

Since the crash, I was still a bit on edge during bus rides, but the rose-scented air suffused me with a sense of calm and—dare I say—clarity. My mind relaxed. My brain became soft and empty and then it began to fill with a picture. First, I saw Our Lady of Guadalupe, and I knew it was her because of the roses that haloed around her and because her image had featured so prominently at

Granja Mañana. But then I saw that she wasn’t a real person, but a painting on a wall and underneath the painting were the words, Do not fear any illness or vexation, anxiety or pain. Am I not your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the fountain of life? Is there anything else you need? And the wall was the back wall of a smallish store. And Balanchinechocolate was stacked on the dark-stained mahogany shelves. And the chocolate was right out in the open, even in the front display windows. And the sign on the store said:

Balanchine’s Medicinal Cacao Bar

Chocolate For Your Health—By Rx Only—Doctor On Premises

I sat up in my seat.

I was not my sister. No one had ever suggested sending me to genius camp nor should they have, and I was not given to brilliant ideas. If I had a genius, I’d say it was probably one for survival, nothing more. But this seemed like it could almost work. Cacao might never be legal, but what if there were legal ways around that? Things Daddy and Uncle Yuri and now Fats had never even considered.

The bus was about a block away from Win’s house. I didn’t want to wait. I wanted to know what he would think. I pushed the tape to indicate that I wanted the bus to stop, and I got out.

Outside Win’s apartment, I rang the bell. Charles Delacroix answered. Win and Mrs. Delacroix were still out, but he expected them back any minute if I wanted to wait. Mr. Delacroix hadn’t shaved but at least he had dressed for the day.

Charles Delacroix led me into the living room. I was still thinking about my vision. “How are you?” Charles Delacroix asked me.

“Mr. Delacroix, you’re a lawyer.”

“You’re very businesslike today, Anya. Yes, I am a lawyer. An unemployed one at present.” “Have you ever heard of anyone selling medicinal cacao?” I asked.

Charles Delacroix laughed at me. “Anya Balanchine, what have you gotten yourself into now?” “Nothing,” I insisted. I could feel myself blushing. “I only wondered if a person could sell medicinal cacao legally in the city. I’d heard that you could sell it with a prescription.” Charles Delacroix studied me for a moment. “Yes, I suppose a theoretical person could.”

“And if that were true, could a proprietor sell a customer a chocolate health bar or, say, a hot-chocolate vitamin shake as long as there was a prescription?”

Mr. Delacroix nodded. “Yes. Though I’d have to research the matter in greater detail.”

“And if you were still acting as district attorney, would you have gone after a person who was selling medicinal cacao at a store in Manhattan?”

“I … Such a person might have aroused my interest, yes, but if they had a good lawyer who made sure everything was in order, and all the prescriptions were legitimate, I doubt we would have bothered with them. Anya, you’re looking terrifyingly bright-eyed at the moment. Don’t tell me you know such a hypothetical proprietor.”

“Mr. Delacroix…”

Win and his mother got home. “Aren’t you two looking chummy,” Mrs. Delacroix said. Win kissed me. “Were we supposed to meet? I thought you’d still be at the GEDs.”

“I was at the market, and I thought I’d stop by to see if you were home.” I was still carrying my roses and the bag with the chili peppers and cacao nibs. I told him how my friend from Mexico had sent me a recipe that I’d been planning to try. Win’s mother wanted to know what it was. While it was one thing to pose hypothetical legal questions to Win’s father, it was another thing to admit to recreational cacao consumption in front of him. “An ancient family health drink from Chiapas,” I said.

Charles Delacroix raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t fooling him.

“It’s almost dark,” Win said. “I’ll walk you the rest of the way uptown.” “Goodbye, Anya,” Charles Delacroix said.

Once we were outdoors, Win took my bag in one hand and I linked my arm through his. “What were you and my father talking about?” Win asked.