Tarnished Beauty

by Cecilia Samartin

  “I’m Eddie.” He flicked his head, his eyes never leaving her face. “My girlfriend, Pearly, lives across the street.”

  Jamilet was intrigued with how he spoke, and with the way his lips spread smoothly over his teeth when he smiled in a wide unhurried way, as if the world and everything in it were there for his own personal amusement. When she didn’t respond to his last comment, there was a brief silence between them, and it felt as though he’d crawled into her eyes, diving in deep to where it was dark and cool, and the passing of time didn’t matter. She could not, in spite of her growing discomfort, look away.

  He eased back from her gaze, perhaps a bit uncomfortable himself, and glanced toward her aunt’s house. “She’s pretty cool. She buys us beer sometimes when she’s in a good mood.”

  “She’s my aunt,” Jamilet said, basking in the unexpected delight of their conversation, and realizing that she’d have to respond in some way if she hoped to prolong it.

  He shook his head and wrinkled his brow. “You look nothing like her,” he said. “And that’s a compliment ’cause, no offense…but your aunt’s nothing to look at.” At that moment something prompted him to glance back over his shoulder and his body stiffened, as though someone had poured a bucket of cold water down his back. A striking young woman was walking across the street toward the house where he’d been waiting, her thick platform shoes smacking the pavement with every step. Jamilet was fascinated by her lips, which were painted a deep red, so as to appear almost black, and her long, dark hair, which was streaked with shades of red and gold. But it was the quality of her skin that captivated Jamilet the most. Practically nude in a tank top and miniskirt, it shimmered gold in the sunlight. Her legs, front and back, from ankle to thigh, were powdery smooth. The flesh of her shoulders running down the length of her arms, the curve of her throat and chest beyond her cleavage, was as perfect as if she’d been spun from the finest silk thread. Not a blemish could be seen anywhere, just clear uninterrupted skin going on and on. Jamilet knew that this had to be Eddie’s girlfriend, Pearly.

  Without another word to Jamilet, he sprinted back across the street to her, but she shrugged him away with her creamy shoulders when his arm encircled her waist. Eddie wasn’t easily discouraged. He followed her up the steps to the house and placed his hand on the curve of her hip, resting it there as if she belonged to him and no other. While she turned the key in the lock, he whispered something in her ear, and she pushed him away playfully this time, forgetting her upset. Their smiles were dreamy as they entered the house, and Jamilet was certain she heard laughter after they closed the door. She wondered if they’d immediately rip off their clothes and make love, or if they’d wait a respectable amount of time, maybe have a snack first. Jamilet remembered that Tía Carmen and her boyfriends always ate something before they left to fondle each other in the bed of the old rusted truck that was abandoned in the back field. Tía insisted on it.

  All at once, Jamilet felt the weariness return to her limbs. She sighed, and slowly walked back to the front steps of Carmen’s house, and waited there until evening announced itself as a steely gray dusk that was nothing like the black nights of her village. In this place the lights of the city effectively fought off the encroaching darkness, and the constant traffic stirred up the dust to create a perpetual haze. Even so, Jamilet could no longer help herself. She curled up, well hidden from the street by the wide post on the porch, placed her bundle underneath her head, and fell soundly asleep.

  A strong hand on her shoulder moved her to and fro. “Wake up, you’re scaring the shit out of me.” The voice was both firm and familiar.

  Jamilet’s eyes flew open, and she found herself face-to-face with a woman who looked somewhat like the Tía Carmen she remembered. This woman had the same squat nose and broad face, the same coarse black hair that curled away from her forehead in little cowlicks all around. But she was much bigger than the Tía Carmen she remembered. This woman was easily three Tía Carmens in one.

  Jamilet sat up with a start and stared into dark eyes as sharp as razors.

  The woman switched to Spanish. “Are you my sister Lorena’s girl, Jamilet?” she asked, peering suspiciously at the short hair and boy’s pants.

  Jamilet felt her lips tremble with emotion. It was wonderful to be recognized in this strange place and to hear her mother’s name spoken as if she were still alive. She was filled with a wave of hope and nostalgia that left her momentarily dumb. She could only nod.

  “You showed up a lot sooner than I thought you would,” she said as she jabbed her hand into her purse. She immediately produced keys that jangled like wind chimes. “Some get stuck for weeks trying to cross.”

  “I crossed the river alone,” Jamilet replied, finding her voice, but it was wimpy and girlish sounding, when she wanted to sound so confident and strong. She scampered up and gathered her belongings together before Carmen could unlock the screen door, and the two locks on the main door after that. This gave Jamilet a moment or two to appraise her aunt’s hairdo, as massive as it was intricate, like an elaborate fountain frozen around her face. At her other end were small fleshy feet tightly packed into leather shoes. And in between the two was an impressive girth, as big and round in front as it was in back.

  The door was finally opened and Jamilet followed her aunt into the dark house. A foul bittersweet odor wafted around them, the stale odor of filth left to its own devices. When the light was switched on, her suspicions were confirmed. The furniture was obscured by layers of clutter and trash that appeared to have fused together over time, like wax melting in the sun. If one looked carefully, it was possible to discern the approximate location of a tattered couch, and the television on cinder blocks set right in front of it. The coffee table in the center of the room was a bit easier to distinguish, and on its surface sat the recent residue of Carmen’s domestic life: empty beer cans, grease-stained paper plates, and a multitude of colorful wrappers, their contents long ago devoured.

  Carmen appraised the scene as if for the first time, and shrugged. “Excuse the mess,” she said, after which she tossed her purse on the couch and proceeded to the kitchen, which was in even worse condition than the living room. Jamilet couldn’t help but gape wide-eyed at the sink overflowing with dishes, the counters cluttered with opened boxes of every kind of ready-made food imaginable. Some of the boxes were chewed through, and small pieces were scattered about the floor and counters. Jamilet was familiar with this; the handiwork of rats, and from what she could see, they’d been cohabiting comfortably with her aunt for some time.

  Carmen plowed straight through the obstacles in her way, kicking whatever trash she encountered this way and that as she headed for the refrigerator. She swung open the door with a jerk and retrieved a can of beer. Then she stepped aside, raising her eyebrows as an invitation to Jamilet, who politely declined. Carmen didn’t bother closing the door before she popped the tab, and swigged down half the beer in one swallow. She finished it with another large gulp, tossed the empty can on the counter, and popped open another before slamming the door shut.

  “Now,” she said as genteelly as she could, “I feel human again.”

  She pushed a pile of newspapers off the counter stools and onto the floor, inviting Jamilet to sit. She herself experienced some difficulty with this maneuver as she slid her ample bottom up and over the seat.

  “So,” she said, stifling a burp, which caused her eyes to water. “Now that you’re here, what are your plans?”

  Jamilet still held her little bundle close. She was shocked by her surroundings, but nonetheless exhilarated by the question. No one had ever asked her such a thing before. Her life’s course seemed always to have been predetermined by the chili plants, the remoteness of the village, and the mark. “I want to get a job,” she replied.

  “The old lady expects you to send money home, too, does she?”

  “Some, but I’m going to save most of it.”

  “Yeah? What for?” Her saucy brown
eyes were reading into every second it took Jamilet to respond.

  “I want to save money for…for the future.”

  Carmen narrowed her eyes, not quite convinced. “Don’t think you’re getting a free ride here or anything.”

  “I’ll pay my way,” Jamilet said, delighted that her aunt would let it go at that. She was one of the few who’d actually seen the mark, but it was easy to see how her new life in the north had reshuffled her memory. In this place it wasn’t necessary to know about the best time to plant corn. One could survive without remembering that on the way to the market you should walk in the shade, not only because it was cooler, but because it was also the best way to avoid the snakes, who preferred the sunny spots. Jamilet was tantalized by the possibility that details about her mark were not among her aunt’s scattered collection of memories. Could it be that she’d forgotten about it altogether? Jamilet felt a glimmer of hope. To be hundreds of miles away from anyone who knew about the mark was the closest thing to a cure she’d ever experienced.

  “Let me show you around,” Carmen said brightly, beer still in hand as she slid off the stool. She led the way out of the kitchen and through the living room with Jamilet following close behind. “I didn’t have time to fix up your room, so don’t get all excited.”

  Carmen stopped at the last door at the end of the hallway and flipped on the light. The room was the size of a large closet. It was crammed from floor to ceiling with boxes, shoes, and old clothes. So many layers of dust had settled on top of everything that it all appeared to be draped with a thin gray blanket. In the far corner, propped up against the wall, was a stained and mottled mattress.

  “I use this room for storage,” Carmen said as she shoved the box closest to her away with her foot. “Most of this stuff I probably don’t need anymore.”

  Jamilet attempted to find a pleasant place to rest her gaze, aware that Carmen was watching her, but she was well-practiced at hiding her feelings. She’d learned long ago how to keep the muscles of her face relaxed, and her eyes steady and calm, even when a storm of emotion was raging inside her. At that moment she knew that if she allowed herself a moment of weakness, she’d collapse to the floor in a puddle of tears. “This will do just fine, Tía,” she said brightly. “I’ll clean it all up in the morning, but tonight, if it’s okay with you, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Carmen stared at her niece. “For an instant there, you reminded me so much of your mother,” she said, uncharacteristically wistful. Then she shrugged, kicked off her shoes, and waddled back down the hall on bare feet that were as thick and square as waffles. She flicked on the lights in the bathroom, in the center of which stood an enormous claw-foot tub, before waddling back toward the living room. Staring at her niece for some time, she folded her arms like a giant pretzel. “Okay, we need to get some things straight if this is going to work out,” she said. “You were still little when I left, so you probably don’t remember the only surefire way to piss me off.”

  Jamilet shifted on her sore feet, and shook her head.

  Carmen considered her niece with a wary eye, looking her up and down. “You can call me a fat bitch and it won’t piss me off. You can say I’m the biggest slob north of the South Pole and it won’t piss me off either. You know why?” Her mouth twitched into a near smile, and then she was dead serious once again.

  “Why, Tía?”

  “Because it’s the truth, that’s why. But if you tell me I’m the cutest thing on two legs, I’ll be pissed as hell.”

  Jamilet met her aunt’s fierce gaze, and fought the temptation to return a smile. She remembered that sometimes her aunt was funny without trying to be, or wanting to be, and it could get you in trouble. “I won’t lie to you, Tía,” she said as sincerely as she could.

  Carmen waved her arms about in a sudden gust of good humor. “I don’t mean just you…anybody. I don’t like liars, that’s all.”

  Jamilet placed her bag on the arm of the couch, not quite sure of what to do next. Carmen left for a moment and returned with an old blanket that she tossed at Jamilet.

  “Tía,” Jamilet said, unfolding the blanket. “Don’t you eat dinner before you go to sleep?”

  “Naw…I ate at the bowling alley. A big cheeseburger, like I do every Wednesday on bowling nights.”

  Jamilet lowered her gaze. The mere thought of a cheeseburger made the saliva overflow in her mouth. The last time she’d had anything to eat was that morning—the remainder of her burger that she’d saved from the night before. Her stomach had been complaining since noon, although she’d been able to quench her thirst by drinking from the faucet in the yard.

  Carmen propped her hands on her hips. “Are you actually hungry…now?” Jamilet could only answer with the unmistakable gaze of the famished. “Well, I…I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Carmen said, flustered and perturbed. “There’s nothing here, except maybe some crackers.” She thought for a moment and added. “Maybe…”

  Jamilet considered the hopelessness of the situation and brightened. “That’s okay, Tía. Right now, I need to sleep more than I need to eat.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’ll be fine.” And that was enough to send Carmen on her way to bed without another worry.

  After ridding the couch of all the beer cans and food wrappers, Jamilet made her bed as best she could. She closed her eyes and tried to forget her hunger by remembering Eddie and how he’d peered at her through the fence earlier that day. She sensed a rare tenderness in his soul, and imagined that he was the sort who’d go to great lengths to catch a spider in the house and release it unharmed, no matter how loudly the women protested. “You’re a chick,” he’d said to her, and she liked how he’d smiled, as though he was pleased, very pleased to know that she was.

  4

  JAMILET APPRAISED the fruits of her labor. In the kitchen, she surveyed the gleaming counters, and the coffee cups stacked neatly next to the coffeepot, ready for tomorrow’s breakfast. In the living room, there wasn’t a beer can to be found. They had all been gathered up, along with load after load of food wrappers, and deposited in the trash cans outside until they bulged, their lids tilted off center like cockeyed hats. The couch had been thoroughly cleaned and the cushions propped up evenly from end to end, and it was no longer necessary to squint through layers of greasy dust to see the TV screen. In the bathroom, the tub was scrubbed, the mirror polished, and the floor mopped. In her own little room, Jamilet threw away what was obviously trash, organized and rearranged the myriad boxes into one corner, and swept out the rat filth along with everything else.

  The only room she didn’t touch was her aunt’s bedroom. She did peek in, however, and was not surprised to find that the clutter had invaded this room as well, although to a somewhat lesser degree. There was clothing draped everywhere, and various books and magazines were strewn about on the bed. They were similar to books she’d seen thrown into a pile in one corner of the living room. Jamilet had organized them as best she could so that they all faced in the same direction. Now and then, she flipped through the pages with her thumb, first in one direction and then the next, enjoying the cool slip of air on her face, and the smell of ink on paper.

  She studied the pictures on the covers next. They were different, and yet all the same. Beautiful ladies swooning in the arms of athletic men whose muscles bulged as they struggled to control their wanton passion, for there was almost always a breast or a thigh poised to reveal itself. Their expressions were also fascinating, with eyes half closed in breathless rapture, nostrils flaring, and lips parted as though preparing to bite into a succulent peach. Never had she been more curious about the kinds of stories that could provoke such a frenzied state.

  As she cleaned, she returned to the books several times in order to stare at the faces and wonder. While polishing the mirror in the bathroom, she tilted her chin, and narrowed her eyes in an attempt to imitate one woman’s expression: passion laced with anger; the tender surprise of a fawn covering
her naked bosom; and the seductive eyes, ready to submit or be taken by force. All the while she played this game, she pondered the most intriguing question of all: When and how had her aunt managed to learn how to read?

  When Carmen came home, she stood frozen in the doorway. The grocery bag she held in one hand slipped through her fingers and dropped to the floor with the unmistakable clunk of a six-pack. Her purse was the next to go.

  “My God,” she said, tugging on the loose flesh under her chin. “I didn’t realize how big this place was…”

  She drifted in as though in a trance, not sure of where to look next, and then turned suddenly toward the kitchen. There she stood in the center of the room, mouth half open and eyes blinking slowly. Swiftly, she ducked her head under the counter, as if she might catch someone there, and here too her eyes met with a wondrous sight. Where yesterday it had been impossible to accommodate her feet, it was cleared out and spotless. She straightened up slowly, her face slack with the shock of it all. It was rare that Carmen should ever find herself speechless, and it took a few moments before she could shake the feeling and find her bearings. “How did you do it all in one day?” she finally asked.

  Jamilet felt herself pump up with pride, and she straightened her shoulders in spite of her fatigue. “I’m a hard worker.”

  “You sure are,” Carmen said, heaving her massive chest as if she were out of breath just thinking about it. “You did the work of ten people here, Jami.” Then she burst out laughing. “Oh man, Louis is going to shit his pants.”

  “Louis?”

  Carmen propped her hands on her hips, feeling much more herself. “Oh, you’ll meet him,” she said all a flutter. “He’s coming over tonight.” She glanced at her watch, waddled quickly to her bedroom, and stood before her door, uncertain about whether or not to enter.

  “I didn’t clean up your room, Tía,” Jamilet said. “I thought I should ask you first…”