350, 500, 650, 700—wow! What a ride! It was almost like free-falling in outer space. All too soon they reached ground zero, where Consuela said, “End of the trip. Everybody out!”
They exited into an incredible scene. There they were, 754 feet beneath the surface of the Earth in a big, dark cavern—and straight ahead of them was a gift shop!
On display were T-shirts with Carlsbad Caverns printed across the front and all kinds of other Carlsbad souvenirs. Beyond that was a photo-supply shop, then a kiosk selling food, and lots of picnic tables, all of them hardly visible in this barely lighted subterranean chamber. The usual crowd of visitors wandered around, calling their kids in half a dozen languages.
“This is the cavern?” Ashley asked. “It looks like Disneyland, only darker.”
Consuela just smiled. “This is only the starting point,” she said. “The cavern and caves and tunnels snake out for 30 miles beyond here—at least that’s how much has been discovered so far. Let’s go! We need to eat quickly if you’re going to make that two o’clock tour.”
Jack and Ashley ordered slices of pizza; Consuela ordered chicken strips; and Sam said all he wanted was one of the big soft pretzels. “That’s not enough,” Jack told him. “Do you want to keep on being a Mini-Me, or do you want to grow up nice and tall like I am?” At that, Sam agreed to order a hot dog.
“And milk,” Jack told him. “Milk will help you grow.”
“G-g-get some for Ashley, then,” Sam said, which made Jack laugh loudly until Ashley stuck her tongue out at him.
They found an empty picnic table littered with crumpled napkins and discarded cups. Consuela quickly swept them up and deposited the trash into a nearby garbage bin, clucking, “Honestly, people should be more careful. This is a national park, after all!”
When they finally settled in, the smooth plastic benches felt cold beneath Jack’s jeans. He was just taking a bite of pizza when Consuela asked, “Kids, would you mind getting some utensils? I could never eat chicken with just my fingers, even if most people do. I’ll need a plastic knife and fork.”
“Sure,” Jack agreed, getting up.
“Ashley, you and Sam go, too,” Consuela said.
“Huh?” Ashley’s pizza stopped in midair, just inches from her lips.
“You all go. And get me some”—Consuela’s dark eyes seemed to search the kiosk—“some napkins. And an extra cup. And some salt and pepper, too. And honey if they have some. Please.”
“But Jack can—” Ashley began.
“Don’t leave your brother to do it all. Go on, now,” Consuela told them, making a shooing gesture with her hands. “Take Sam with you.”
Giving Jack a look, Ashley shrugged and said, “OK. Let’s go, Sam.”
Without a word, Sam slid out from the bench and trotted after Jack and Ashley.
The whole thing struck Jack as odd. The kiosk was only 40 feet away, yet Consuela was asking three kids to do the work of one. Whatever! he told himself as he began to gather up the plastic supplies she’d requested. The extra cup would take a little longer, since they’d have to wait in line for that. Ashley had unfolded a paper napkin to hold the various packages of condiments.
“I’ll t-t-take the f-f-fork,” Sam offered. “She c-c-can start eating.”
“You do that, Mini-Me,” Jack answered. “We’ll be right behind you.”
“Jeez, I hope my pizza won’t be stone cold,” Ashley murmured as she dropped three packets of salt into the makeshift bag. “I still don’t know why all three of us had to get this stuff.”
“Who knows? Maybe Consuela believes in teamwork or something,” Jack guessed.
When they finally set the napkin full of condiments in front of Consuela, her skin had flushed to the color of copper. “Thanks a lot, kids. Now, you’d better hurry up and eat. Sam here says he’s not hungry, but I’ve never met a boy who couldn’t pack in enough for three adults. Maybe you can get him to take a bite. He’s just been fiddling with that pretzel.”
Right away, Jack noticed there was something wrong with Sam. It was as if in their absence the air had been sucked out of him. His eyes were glued to the tabletop, and he had shrunk into himself the way he’d done when he’d first arrived at the Landon home. Only the pretzel moved, swinging back and forth between his fingers like the pendulum on a clock.
“Hey, what’s wrong, guy?” Jack asked, sliding next to him.
Pressing his lips together, Sam quickly dropped the pretzel onto the tabletop and turned away, his shoulder blades protruding like knives.
“I think I know what may have upset him,” Consuela began, but just then a man at an adjoining table said something to her in Spanish.
“Que es?” she answered. Since she was wearing a park uniform, the man must have thought she was a park ranger rather than an office worker. He spoke rapidly to her, interrupted by his wife, who kept breaking in with comments of her own, all in Spanish. Every time Consuela tried to take a bite of her food, they stopped her with another question, which she politely answered. Both the husband and wife took turns speaking excitedly in a stream of nonstop Spanish, which kept up the whole time Ashley, Jack, and Sam were eating their lunches. Poor Consuela never got a mouthful.
Whatever she had been about to say about Sam and his strange behavior seemed to get lost as she focused on the man, who gestured wildly at the cave ceiling as if he could punch it with his fists. Although Jack didn’t understand Spanish, there was one word he could make out—“no.” Whatever the man was saying, Consuela was arguing against.
For some reason, Sam had shrunk to the end of the bench, pressing himself close to Jack as though he were trying to get as far away as possible from Consuela.
“Hey, move over,” Jack told him. “You’re crowding me.”
Sam moved about an inch, then slid down on the bench until his chin almost touched the tabletop. What is with this kid? Jack wondered impatiently. He was about to ask when Consuela tapped the face of her wristwatch, apparently telling the Hispanic couple that she had to go, because at the same time she got up and gestured to the kids. She looked regretfully at her uneaten chicken strips, then took them over to the trash bin with all the rest of the debris from the table, saying, “We have to move or you’ll miss the tour. The last one of the day will start in ten minutes.”
“You know, if we miss it, we don’t have to tour Left Hand Tunnel,” Ashley suggested. “We could just walk through the Big Room. That’s a self-guided tour, isn’t it?”
“Nuh-uh!” Sam insisted. “L-Left Hand Tunnel.”
“Why?” Ashley demanded. “That’s all you’ve talked about ever since we got here. What is so important about Left Hand Tunnel?”
“B-because.” Sam took a deep breath and managed to get the whole sentence out without stammering. “It’s about people like me.”
“You mean stutterers?” Ashley asked uncertainly.
“No.”
