Part 3 (1/2)

And with that, the great Chef Lillou of Bourgogne burst into tears.

”No, no, no, no, no,” he whimpered.

”No, no, no, no.” ”Do not cry, chef,” Patrice said as he patted Lillou's shoulder. ”We can still make a unique pesto.”

”I just want to go home to my restaurant,” the chef blubbered.

”That sounds like a good idea,” said Reynaldo gently.

Reynaldo and Patrice put the chef's arms around their shoulders. Together, the three of them walked out of the field, to return to France at last.

Stanley waited until he could no longer hear voices. Then he carefully peeled himself from his chair and turned around.

”Are you okay?” he asked La Abuela, whom he had been covering the entire time.

She nodded, a smile breaking across her face. She burst into laughter and leaped from the chair. Together, she and Stanley did a little dance. She finished by kissing him wetly on the cheek.

Stanley pointed out the door. ”So that's not not the secret ingredient?” the secret ingredient?”

La Abuela giggled. ”The secret is not the ingredient,” she said in her broken English. ”It is what you do with it.” Her eyes sparkled.

Stanley suddenly understood: It was La Abuela who had told Carmen the secret that made her a great matador.

La Abuela walked into the field and plucked a handful of cilantro from the ground. She took Stanley's hand, turned it palm up, and placed the herbs on the flat of his arm. Then she took his other arm and pressed it on top of the first.

”Now,” she said. ”Rub as hard as you can. I will get the salt.” She ran inside.

Stanley started rubbing. His arms got hot with friction.

Suddenly, Stanley smelled something familiar. It was a smell he knew from his mother's kitchen.

It was the smell of his last breakfast at home.

Stanley breathed deeply. It was the most delicious smell he had ever known.

8.

The Last Bullfight Four days later, the applause was building at the Plaza de Toros in Mexico City. The great matador Carmen del Junco waved h.e.l.lo to her fans as red roses flew from the stands to dot the ground at her feet.

An announcer's voice boomed over a loudspeaker. ”Y bienvenido Stanley Llano!” ”Y bienvenido Stanley Llano!”

”That's me, Flat Stanley!” realized Stanley. He was stationed behind a wooden slat door at one end of the ring. He put on his biggest grin, pushed open the door, and trotted out.

The crowd leaped to its feet.

Carmen took his hand, and Stanley gave a dramatic bow. In his new satin spandex jumpsuit, he looked like a giant piece of s.h.i.+ny red paper folding itself in half.

”You know, it is a myth about bulls and the color red,” Carmen had said when she presented the outfit to him as a present. ”Bulls can't see different colors at all. It is movement that makes them charge.”

Carmen now took Stanley's other hand as the bull rushed into the ring.

A hush fell over the crowd as everyone took their seats.

Carmen winked at Stanley, just as she had before rescuing him on the steps of the Mayan temple. Then she grasped his other hand, lifted him off the ground, and gave him a little shake. The bull did not look very happy to see Stanley. Its muscles rippled. Its hooves thundered in clouds of dust.

Stanley gulped and squeezed his eyes shut.

Suddenly, a hysterical shriek pierced the air. ”STOP THAT BULL!”

I know that scream, thought Stanley.

He opened one eye. With a shrug, Carmen calmly lifted him onto her shoulders and stepped aside to let the bull pa.s.s.

”YOU KEEP THAT BULL AWAY FROM MY SON STANLEY!”

And then Stanley saw: His family was in the front row! Mrs. Lambchop was standing on top of a seat, waving her hands like a trapped octopus. Everyone in the arena was staring at her. Arthur looked the most horrified of all.

”Mom? Dad? Arthur?” said Stanley. ”What are you doing here?”

”You think you can go away for a whole week without calling?” cried Mrs. Lambchop.

”Your mother is right, son,” Mr. Lambchop said. ”We were worried about you.”

Carmen shuffled slightly to let the bull pa.s.s again.