“How long was she sick?”
Jamilet sighed. Although the night was warm, she was shivering from head to toe. “She had to stay in bed and rest her heart for a long time.” Jamilet tucked her hands in under her armpits and told him about her mother’s illness, leaving out that she was certain it had been caused by misery over her mark. Eddie listened closely, and Jamilet feared that he’d sense the gap in her story, the omission as obvious as a giant hole. But after she’d finished he merely said, “My mother wasn’t sick for too long. Everyone says that’s good ’cause she didn’t suffer.”
Jamilet wasn’t sure how to respond. Eddie yearned to experience the comfort of their shared grief, but when her mother died she felt a freedom that wasn’t seemly for a daughter to feel, as if for the first time in her life she could breathe full and deep. No longer did she have to look into those beautiful dark eyes that held her prisoner to unknown fears. When Lorena scrubbed the floors at the Miller house while Jamilet played with Mary, she’d look up from her work, a thick lock of her hair partially covering her eyes, but the pain in them was not obscured. As she sat in her rocker by the window watching Jamilet tend the chili patch, her mouth would turn in a lost smile, as though she were not looking at her daughter, but at the unspeakable future she could never change.
Eddie’s foot moved an inch closer to Jamilet’s, and she realized she hadn’t been listening to him, as he had to her. “Has anyone told you that…” He stopped himself, and stuffed his hands back in his pockets. “…that you’re different…kind of.”
Jamilet felt her insides melt and turn a little. “Yes,” she said.
“I don’t mean that it’s bad,” Eddie said.
“That’s okay.” Jamilet turned away slightly and watched the headlights of passing cars beyond the trees seek them out, trying to penetrate the soft cushion of peace that surrounded them. The light didn’t reach far enough to touch them, and found instead patches of green and dirt and trees, snapshots of normalcy within which their quiet adventure unraveled. She heard the scrape of his jeans across the splintered wood as he moved nearer, and felt his gaze trace the line of her profile. But she couldn’t move, she couldn’t even blink. She was paralyzed by her yearning to be found, and it wrestled fitfully with her fear of being truly discovered.
She felt the fabric covering her arm shift over her skin. Eddie was touching her sleeve, and still she couldn’t move. “Aren’t you hot with those long sleeves?” he asked.
“No, not really,” Jamilet said and squeezed her armpits, which were moist with perspiration.
Eddie breathed deep and turned to look through the trees, as Jamilet was. He said, “I’m not gonna jump you or anything, so you can relax. I just wanted some company. I used to come here with my mom…that’s all.”
“When you were little?”
“Yeah. She used to walk me home from school every afternoon. She brought bread from the house ’cause she knew I liked to feed the ducks.”
“She must’ve been a nice lady,” Jamilet said.
Eddie leaned back on his elbows, so he was almost lying down, as she’d seen him do on Pearly’s porch countless times. “Yeah, but she had a temper.” He whistled softly. “She was nice most of the time, I guess.”
Jamilet loosened her fists. She found the courage to turn and look down on him, and became momentarily lost in the broad line between his shoulders. A beam of headlights swept over them to reveal that he was studying Jamilet too, as though trying to understand his loss in the delicate bridge of her nose, and her soft wide eyes. He looked away again. “Do you think,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “that maybe she’s here right now. I mean…you know, how some people believe that after you die, the ghost kind of hangs around to make sure things are going okay. You know, not like they’re haunting or anything, just watching.”
Jamilet pondered this question for some time. If ever she wanted to be spiritual and more like her grandmother, it was now, but being so near Eddie, it was nearly impossible to transcend the physical realm. Overwhelming sensations were coursing through her body. There was a pleasant tingling running up her thighs, and through her hips, and a delicious warmth was emanating from her abdomen and coloring her cheeks. She looked down at him again, his glistening eyes, his smooth mouth set tight against the relentless tide of grief surging within him, as it had that morning. All at once, she felt the tenderness a mother feels for her sleeping child. The next moment, she sensed his strength, as solid and real as his grief, and the allure of his complexity. All of this, and the wonder that they were sharing this moment alone together on a park bench in the semidarkness of a spring night. The whole of her trembled with a feeling she’d never known before, and it moved her to speak to his desires, and to find the words he needed to hear, even as she looked directly into his eyes.
“She’s here right now, Eddie,” she said. “She still loves you. That never changes.”
The muscles of his face softened and relaxed into a smile. He lay back on the bench completely and put his hands under his head as he contemplated the night sky through the trees. “A lot of stars out tonight,” he said. “Lie down and take a look.” He scooted over to make sure she had plenty of room to lie down next to him.
Jamilet stretched out and beheld a smattering of dimly lit stars through a haze of city lights and smog. Still, there were enough stars to lose count if one were of a mind to do it.
“Hey, did you see that?” he asked with boyish enthusiasm. “It was a shooting star.”
Jamilet strained her eyes hard, and shook her head. “I missed it.”
They lay quietly for a while longer and then he said, “You know what they say about shooting stars, don’t you?”
Jamilet said, “It’s a soul going up to heaven.”
“Do you believe that stuff?”
Jamilet had never thought about it before, but she answered, “Yeah. Don’t you?”
Eddie’s breathing quickened and then the silence around them grew heavy with grief. Although he didn’t want to, he wept, his pain sputtering out between the tight fist in his heart. He brought one hand down to his side, and Jamilet thought he was searching for a handkerchief when she felt his fingers on her wrist. They lingered there for a moment, then slipped down to her palm, where they found the spaces between her fingers and folded into them, soft and warm.
They remained this way for a very long time, but neither of them spoke until Jamilet said, “My aunt will worry if I’m not there when she gets home.”
They sat up and were preparing to leave, but Jamilet felt momentarily disoriented, and unsure of herself. It was as though she’d glimpsed the wonders of heaven, and the mysteries of the universe had been hers for a few precious moments. Now she was expected to resume a normal life back on earth as if nothing had happened.
They walked back the way they’d come, a proper and friendly distance between them. They were almost to Jamilet’s house when Eddie stopped a couple of yards from the tree, and announced blandly, “Pearly and me…we aren’t together anymore. But it’s still better for you if she doesn’t see us.”
Jamilet’s eyes flew open. “You broke up?”
Eddie shrugged. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he said and his eyes flickered over her shoulder. “Isn’t that the old man’s car?”
Jamilet turned to see Louis’s Pinto parked out front, with Louis and Carmen still sitting inside, enjoying a long and amorous good-bye. With barely another word, she quietly ran back to the house and managed to appear as if she’d just walked out of the front door when she heard the car drive up. She turned to look back, but Eddie was gone.
Señor Peregrino was glowing with pride as he taped Jamilet’s latest writing exercise on the wall. “This,” he said, with a ceremonious flair, “is your best work so far. Do you realize that you didn’t make even one mistake?”
Jamilet blushed. “Are you sure, Señor? I usually make at least two or three.”
“Not a one,” he said. “And I c
an no longer teach you with blank paper and pen as I’ve been doing. We’ll have to get you some real books from the library.”
Jamilet clasped her hands together at the thought. “We can go together, Señor. I’m sure that if I speak to Nurse B….”
“The truth is that with your current literacy skills, you really don’t need me anymore.” He sighed. “At any rate, you’ve earned yourself a nice rest—a little vacation. How about if you take a week or so away from your studies?”
“That sounds fine, Señor. And then you can spend more time telling me the rest of your story.”
He said nothing, but eased himself back in his chair and began to tidy up his desk. “Well, I think you’ll be glad to know that I’ve decided not to continue with my story, Jamilet. I can’t help but notice how preoccupied you’ve been lately, and well…it only stands to reason that what interests an old man wouldn’t necessarily be of interest to a young woman. I’ll be returning your documents forthwith and you can choose your course.”
A few months ago, Jamilet would have been overjoyed by such news. But hearing it now, she felt that she was being cheated somehow and for the first time she could remember, it seemed very important that she speak out for justice. “This is unfair, Señor,” she said with surprising forcefulness. “We had an agreement. I was to listen to your story, all of it, until it was finished, and then you’d return my papers, not before.”
Señor Peregrino cocked his head to one side, a quizzical expression playing on his face. “I stole them from you. Don’t you remember?” He shrugged. “Perhaps ‘found them’ is more accurate, but I forced you into this arrangement. There’s no denying that.”
“But…but that doesn’t matter now.” Jamilet talked very quickly, as though to keep herself from thinking too much.
“And why not, child?” He peered at her steadily, trying to see beyond the youthful sheen of her face.
“I just…I want to hear the rest of your story. I need to hear it because…because I don’t have my own stories anymore.”
“Your own stories?”
She nodded emphatically. “I used to make up stories all the time, but since I started hearing yours, I can’t pretend anymore.”
“I see,” he said, slightly dismayed. “Once again you accuse me of pretending.”
“Aren’t you pretending at least some of the time?” Jamilet asked cautiously.
Señor Peregrino’s gaze turned inward as he thought about how to answer her. Then he straightened in his chair and his eyes brightened. “What I have learned is that we’re always pretending, Jamilet. From the moment we wake up in the morning to the moment we close our eyes at night. From the day we’re born to the day we die—everything around us is an illusion. Reality emerges over time from those experiences in our lives that we choose to believe in.”
Jamilet fastened her mind on his glittering eyes and tried to grasp his meaning. As usual, it eluded her, but she felt inspired nonetheless. She stood up, straightened her shoulders, and proclaimed, “Then I choose to believe in your story, Señor. It’s my reality and it’s wrong for you to take it from me.”
He chuckled and then sobered, his cheeks quivering with emotion. “You’re an amazing child, Jamilet. And it is my constant entertainment to be witness to that fact.”
“Then it’s only fair that you provide me with some entertainment in return.”
“Well, I don’t know about that…”
“And you can’t possibly stop when you’re at the most exciting part of the story, even though there have been many exciting parts.”
“Yes, that’s true,” he said, getting caught up in her enthusiasm in spite of himself.
“There was the time when you first saw Rosa, and when you stood up to Andres, and the time Rosa saved you and Tomas from the duel, but this last part was the best of them all.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Oh yes. But I have to tell you that I knew right from the beginning that Rosa was going to fall in love with you.”
“How could you be so sure?” he asked, clearly delighted by her prediction.
“Because if she hadn’t, there’d be no reason for you to tell me your story.”
Señor Peregrino smiled while crossing his arms across his chest and appraising his student with newfound admiration. Later that afternoon, his story resumed.
In an instant, my world forever changed. What did it matter if night followed day, if it was necessary to eat when hungry, and sleep when fatigued? I was overcome by a whirling ecstasy that all at once rearranged everything I understood to be important in life. Rosa loved me, and there was nothing else that mattered next to that. I felt as unworthy as a worm plucked out of the dirt, and placed upon a golden throne. And, while I considered everything about my angel to be perfect, I wondered if she might not be a bit foolish to love me when she could have chosen from any number of wealthy and accomplished men. But this thought I pushed away from my mind whenever it arose. The love I felt in my heart overcame all of my doubts.
I wanted to declare my love for Rosa to the world, but she convinced me that it would be disastrous if Jenny and Tomas knew at this stage of the journey. Upon our arrival in Santiago, we would tell them both the truth. We had no doubt that the miraculous power of Santiago’s love and healing would ease their pain, and our anxieties as well. Until then, we vowed to keep our love and our plan to marry a secret.
We marched on through villages with thatched-roof houses surrounded by green fields dotted by sheep and cattle. As we ascended higher along the lonely ridges, my love and imagination flourished with the heather, and broom, and wild thyme surrounding us. I pictured my homecoming, with Rosa on my arm. The road to my village was rough, and not unlike the one upon which we traveled. The first thing one sees is the old church with its weathered stone gate and tower. The bells would be ringing, of course, and my neighbors would be seen peeking out of their windows, toothless old ladies gaping at the sight, and children looking up from their chores to admire the dark angel, too stunning for words. My parents, already aware of my decision to leave the clergy, know it is because of a woman and are ashamed that their son should be as vulnerable to human need as their neighbor boys. They’ve already decided that no woman could possibly justify such a decision. But when they see her, their criticisms are silenced. When they hear her voice and come to learn the workings of her sweet mind, they are convinced of her worthiness, and the infallibility of my decision, as surely as if Santiago himself had appeared before them to bless the union. The cold reception they planned is instantly transformed into a celebration for the new couple.
The hours on the road passed quickly when I occupied my mind with such thoughts, and the pain in my feet was easy to endure when I stole glances at my exquisite prize. But it was impossible to envisage a homecoming without thinking of Tomas. He would be there too, and when I tried to imagine him happy by our side, sharing in the joy of our love, my vision grew hazy and when the clouds parted, I saw his limp body hanging from a tree, eye sockets empty and bleeding from the incessant picking of birds. These thoughts too I pushed out of my mind by reminding myself that in Santiago, miracles awaited.
We arrived at Foncebadon as weary as we’d ever been, yet we agreed to walk a few more kilometers to the next town. We’d heard that there we’d find a hostel that, for a nominal fee, provided pilgrims with a tub of hot water in which they could submerge their entire bodies. The cost of this experience depended upon the number of people willing to make use of the same tub of water.
We walked the last few kilometers with renewed vigor as we anticipated this uncommon luxury. I had no doubt that Tomas was thinking, as I was, how to ensure that he was next in the bath after Rosa, for there was no doubt that this heavenly soup would satisfy any man for an eternity. I glanced at Tomas. He was watching Rosa with eyes blazing. He’d spoken little to me in the past several days, but there were precious few days left and I had no doubt that he’d attempt to speak with Rosa about h
is feelings for her soon, something best avoided if we were to keep our own love a secret.
When we arrived at the hostel, the bath was prepared in a small room off the kitchen. In this way it was easier for the attendant to carry buckets of hot water, one after the other, until the deep metal tub was filled. Once this was done, there was no need to question who would be first to bathe. Jenny sprang to her feet instantly, and disappeared without a word into the closet. Meanwhile, the three of us took in a bit of the rare Galician sun. The mist that hung low and thick for most of the day suddenly parted to reveal a world that seemed to have been magically colorized. Rosa sat at the edge of the field dozing before a vivid backdrop of green, her cheeks warm with the heat of the sun. I found a sharp stick to poke at the hardened mud encrusted on the bottom of my boots, and it fell to the ground in large chunks.
Tomas cleared his throat. “Rosa, I was hoping to speak with you after the meal tonight…”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind.”
Rosa shrugged. “Why don’t we talk here, right now?”
Tomas looked at me as though to implore me to leave, but I pretended to be far too absorbed with the matter of removing the mud from my shoes to notice.
“I believe there’s a heavy brush in the kitchen that would do very well for that, my friend,” he said, trying to sound jovial and offhanded in his attempt to get rid of me.
“This is working quite well, actually,” I responded as I managed to wedge off another giant clump that disintegrated the moment it hit the ground.
Tomas stood and sighed, looking out toward the meadow, glistening with sunlight. A pleasant path wound its way through the field as it headed toward the foothills. He would ask Rosa to join him on a walk along this path, I was sure of it; and he was gathering the courage to do so when Jenny emerged from the kitchen amid a cloud of steam, wearing a rosy smile. Never before had I been so happy to see her.
“I feel human again,” she announced. “I must weigh ten pounds less than I did before the bath.”
Tarnished Beauty Page 26
