Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 1, No. 12, December 1956

My cousin Antonio picked up some bread and a slice of meat.

“That’s just what we’re going to do,” he said. His voice didn’t sound at all like it usually did; it was rough like coarse sand.

He’s scared too, I thought. It made me feel better, to realize that my cousin, who’d been born in Los Angeles, was nervous in a house like this one. I smiled and went over to the nearest couple.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Juan.” It still seemed strange, hearing my own voice say things in English.

The girl backed away from me. The boy with her, a blond kid about my age, muttered, “Hello,” and then sort of looked past me, as if I wasn’t there. His Adam’s apple kept jumping up and down in his throat.

Up where Switch was, an older man and woman had just come in from some room in the back. The man put his hand on Terry Fletcher’s shoulder.

“I’m Ralph Fletcher,” he said. His voice sounded very loud over the quiet in the room. “This is my house. I don’t think I, or my son, invited you into it.”

“Oh, don’t feel bad, Mr. Fletcher,” Switch said. “We don’t carry grudges.”

The woman kept edging sideways, toward the telephone on the stand by the table. Switch stepped between her and it. He was smiling, more happy looking than I’d ever seen him, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife.

The woman froze. She let out a little gasp and stepped back, toward the man.

“Easy, Martha,” Mr. Fletcher said.

Switch snapped the blade open. If anything, the room grew stiller than ever. He made me nervous too, and I’d seen him play with the knife before; he was always playing with it, sometimes throwing it, but more often just snapping it open and shut.

“You wouldn’t want to call anyone, now would you, Mrs. Fletcher?” he asked. “You wouldn’t want to break up the party...”

He picked up the telephone cord and held it in his left hand.

“Course you wouldn’t,” he said, snapping the knife down, into the cord. The two cut halves fell loose at his feet. Why should he cut the cord? This I did not understand — not at all.

“Start up the music!” he cried. “Let’s have some fun!”

My cousin Antonio grabbed hold of the girl beside him. The boy she was with started to protest, then backed off. The music started up, a baile this time, with the good strong beat I’d always liked to hear, fiesta music. The girl was pretty stiff, but Antonio was a wonderful dancer. He knew all the steps. He led her through them, while the kids at the party stood back and watched them. Anyone, I thought, would stop to watch my cousin, when he was really dancing.

After a while Pepe and Miguel and the others joined in. Switch just stood by the table, talking to Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher; I couldn’t hear what he was saying, over the music. Then he swung around, facing out at the kids who’d been at the party before us.

“Hey, you squares, you dance too. Don’t just stand there gawking...”

The party started up again, with everyone dancing, but somehow it wasn’t the same as before. For one thing, no one was laughing. I thought it must be because of Switch and his knife.

I turned to the girl I’d said hello to earlier. She looked frightened.

“You want to dance?” I said.

She didn’t answer. The boy she was with pushed her forward.

“Don’t make them mad,” he said.

I danced with her until the music changed, but it wasn’t much fun. She was like lead in my arms. I thought, no, this girl isn’t from Mama Ortegas’ or anywhere like that; she’s too unfriendly. I tried dancing with another girl, but it wasn’t any better. If only I’d brought Rosa, I thought. She’d probably never been to a party like this.

After awhile I grew tired of dancing. Somehow, the longer I stayed at the party, the more disappointing it became. It didn’t seem like a fiesta. No one was having fun. I kept thinking, they were having fun until we came. Maybe we should have stayed away. Maybe they didn’t want us.

It made me feel bad, thinking like that. Even my purple jacket didn’t help. I went outside, past Mrs. Fletcher, who looked very white and sort of sick, out onto the terrace. Something was wrong, this I knew for a certainty. What... I didn’t know.

No one was swimming now. The kids had all come out of the pool and were huddled back at the far end of the terrace, by the diving boards. Then I saw Switch. He was down at the far end of the pool, beside a little house that first I thought must be for the plumbing and then I realized probably wasn’t, not here. He was talking to a girl.

My cousin Antonio was dancing and I didn’t want to bother him. Pepe and Miguel were dancing too. I thought, I want to go home. I don’t like the party; it doesn’t have the fiesta mood, at least, not for me. I don’t belong here.

I wanted to tell someone I was leaving. I didn’t want my cousin to worry about me, later. I started over toward Switch. Though I did not like to speak to him, he was near.