Tarnished Beauty

by Cecilia Samartin

  Rosa giggled nervously, as relieved as I that, for the moment, the conversation with Tomas had been stalled. She left quickly, with excuses that she didn’t want the water to get cold. Jenny also left, saying that she was ready for a long nap.

  Once we were alone, Tomas sat down next to me, obviously annoyed. “I’ve never seen you take such an interest in the condition of your shoes, Antonio.”

  I held my stick out to him. “I can do yours next. I’m almost finished with mine.”

  He ignored my offer, and watched me closely, as though trying to read my mind. When he spoke, I heard that all too familiar tone of resignation in his voice. “You needn’t worry about me, Antonio. If she doesn’t return my love, I’ll know what to do.”

  I threw my stick to the ground. “You’re behaving like a fool! No woman is worth your sanity, let alone your life.”

  “And why not?” he retorted. “Doesn’t the Bible instruct men to leave their parents and cling to their wives and to love them more than their own lives? I’d gladly go to my death if, in dying, Rosa understood how much I loved her.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to this strangely transformed Tomas. I wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him to his senses. A few months earlier, he would have responded with laughter and a playful shove in return. Now I had no doubt that he’d consider such an action to be an attack and would retaliate like an injured animal.

  And so, I was careful with what I said. “Perhaps it would be wiser to wait until you arrive at Santiago. There I believe we’ll all find the strength to accept what we must. And we can continue our lives with renewed hope.”

  Tomas turned to me, his expression as resolved as I’d ever seen it. “That may work very well for you, Antonio. But for me, there is no longer hope or faithlessness, misery or joy. There is only Rosa.”

  23

  FOR SEVERAL WEEKS, Jamilet avoided looking at the mark. And when she bathed, she didn’t run her hands along her shoulders and down the back of her thighs as she usually did. At these times she preferred to imagine Eddie touching the smooth, normal skin on her throat and breasts, as she wondered if true love was powerful enough to make miracles happen. Every evening that she prepared to go meet Eddie, she convinced herself that the world was full of miracles—that they were as plentiful as the stars.

  They’d been meeting at the park every Wednesday evening, after Carmen and Louis went out. One time Eddie even took her to his mother’s graveside, and told her that he hadn’t been there with anyone else. Frequently, they held hands, as they had on that first night, but these occurrences were as fleeting as they were tender. Jamilet knew that the inevitable would follow.

  During their last visit it had been a particularly warm night, and as they were walking back to the tree, Eddie asked, “Why do you always wear long sleeves and keep yourself so covered up?”

  Jamilet should have been well prepared with an answer. But with all the potential scenes she’d been playing over and over again in her mind, with all the strategies she’d devised in order to gently fend him off without discouraging him, the possibility that he should begin with such a simple question had never occurred to her. The various ways she might answer rattled about in her brain—there were so many ill-formed lies to choose from, and each one seemed just as foolish as the next. She took a deep breath and came out with the first idea she could articulate. “My aunt doesn’t want me to have a baby right now,” she blurted out, quite shocked by her own pronouncement, and not at all certain about where it would lead. Nevertheless, she stumbled on. “She makes me wear this kind of clothing to keep the guys away.” Jamilet left it at that, certain that her lie was preposterous enough to be funny.

  But Eddie wasn’t laughing. Instead, he appeared confused, and even slightly annoyed. “With the crazy stuff she wears?” he asked. “Why should she care if you show a little skin?”

  Jamilet shrugged, and even managed a bit of annoyance of her own. “I know, that’s what I say, but as long as I live in her house I have to do what she says.”

  “All the girls I know wouldn’t care what anyone else thought, they’d just wear what they wanted, but I guess you’re different…not like a normal girl.”

  And those words tormented Jamilet more than anything—not like a normal girl—because they were truer than Eddie could ever imagine.

  Spring’s mild temperatures gave way to the relentless heat of summer, and at times Señor Peregrino’s fifth-floor room became unbearably hot. On some days it seemed that steam was rising from the floorboards, and the water from the cold-water faucet ran warm no matter how long Jamilet let it run. She wondered how Señor Peregrino was able to concentrate so intently on his letters when she was barely able to think. She took a break from her reading, and opened the window as far as she could, staring out at the still haze of the afternoon. Even the birds were resting and quiet, and the only sound was the drone of distant traffic, so constant as to be just another layer of silence. The occasional tinkling of the ice-cream truck could be heard, but it never ventured up the drive leading to the hospital. If it had, Jamilet would have run down the stairs and purchased ice cream for the two of them.

  “You’re daydreaming,” Señor Peregrino observed. “Or perhaps you’re indulging in one of your make-believe stories.”

  “I’m only thinking about how nice it would be to have an ice cream right now, it’s so hot.”

  He nodded and wiped his brow with his handkerchief. “I believe it is the hottest day of the year, but it’ll get hotter still, I’m afraid.”

  “How can you stand it, Señor? Why don’t we go down to the garden and enjoy the breeze? We can read down there.”

  He turned back to his papers. “You go. I’ll wait here for you.”

  Jamilet’s physical discomfort prompted her to speak bluntly. “You’re allowed to go outside, Señor. Nurse B. told me so herself, and she’s in charge of this whole hospital. Why don’t you ever leave your room, or walk in the grounds like the other patients?”

  Señor Peregrino looked away, his eyes shadowed with a strange and bitter reverie. “Because I’m not like the other patients, make no mistake about that! And what’s more, your Nurse B., as you call her, is not in charge of me! I’ll leave my room at the appointed hour, and not when you or Nurse B. or anyone else thinks I should.”

  Jamilet hadn’t the faintest idea how to respond whenever he spoke from that secret hate-filled space in his heart. So she said nothing, but when she dared look back at him she saw that his mouth was set in that familiar stubborn frown. She imagined that if he were to smile at that moment, his nose, eyes, and ears would very likely drop off his face. But to her surprise, his sour mood passed quickly, and an hour or so later he invited her to sit and listen to his story until the worst of the heat had passed. The hard lines on his face so secure in their downcast orientation a moment ago were lifted by their roots like dying branches summoned by a new day.

  “I’m afraid,” Rosa whispered to me early one morning in the dining room just before we set off. “But I don’t know exactly what it is that I fear.”

  I tried to understand her meaning and the source of this fear. But my thinking was confused by my longing, and my overwhelming desire to protect her and spare her any pain.

  “Put your mind at ease, my love,” I said while softly stroking her hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  We heard the latch on the door, and my hand quickly left hers. Tomas entered with an expression glazed by sleep and worry. He took in the sight of Rosa for his breakfast, as he did every morning, and found the strength to strap on his pack along with the burden of his love for her. For several days he’d eaten very little, and every night I heard the sounds of his tormented dreams. I tried to wake him once or twice, but it was no longer possible for me to comfort him.

  Jenny joined us a moment or so later with her usual exuberance and talk about her plans for the day, how far she wanted to walk, what she’d determined to be the best destinat
ion, and the best places to rest along the way. One day Rosa said to me, “Jenny has the heart of a lion and the cunning of a fox. I wish I could be more like her, Antonio.”

  “Please, no,” I said, exaggerating my distress in the hope of winning her precious laughter. “That’s like saying you want to paint a mustache on the Mona Lisa or attach falcon wings on a pig to make it fly.” But Rosa’s eyes still glistened at the thought of becoming more like Jenny and I’m afraid that this overwhelmed her appreciation of my humor.

  To the west we caught our first glimpse of the wild mountains of Galicia. The flutter of the pilgrims’ excitement increased as we approached our destination, now only a week or two away. The words on every pilgrim’s lips had something to do with the glory of the Santiago cathedral and the many miracles attributed to its saint. With my miracle secured, my only prayer now was for Tomas. He walked up ahead of the rest, turning every now and then to be assured of Rosa’s presence. She was usually with Jenny, as we made it a point to never walk together.

  As much as I anticipated my union with Rosa and taking her home as my bride, a strange sadness possessed me when I realized that our adventure was almost at an end. On the camino, my heart and mind had, along with the plodding of my feet, found a peaceful rhythm. Life’s irrelevant distractions were gone. We had all that we needed, and every moment was complete in the present knowing of ourselves and our companions. Back in the world, I knew this would change. Even with Rosa at my side, it would change.

  I doubled my step and caught up to Tomas in a couple of strides. He was mumbling to himself and his eyes were half closed. I wondered that he didn’t trip, but his feet were sure and steady on the path. Aware that I was next to him, he raised his head and removed his hood, but he didn’t smile kindly, the way he had before we began the camino. He simply stared at me with vacant eyes.

  “You look tired today, my friend,” I said, feeling guilty for my casual overture when my heart was weighed with the knowledge of what awaited him.

  “And you look full of life, as though you were at the beginning of your journey and not at the end.”

  Afraid that the flush of my face would betray me, I stumbled on a loose stone. “I suppose it’s my anticipation of seeing the cathedral that gives me renewed strength, and helps me think about something other than my aching feet.”

  The breeze that came down from the mountains suddenly whipped up, prompting us to pull our hoods over our heads. Rosa and Jenny were still walking arm in arm behind us, their scarves wrapped snugly against the cold. The wind began to stir the trees into a frenzy, and we heard the whining of cattle searching for shelter. Overhead a thick blanket of black clouds was drifting toward us at an uncanny speed. I spotted a shelter for cattle, thankfully unoccupied, and motioned in that direction. I was sure the storm would be upon us in a matter of seconds.

  We huddled close under the crude thatched awning, watching the spectacle unfold. The sky darkened to a fearsome gray, frothing as the wind howled. Thunder reverberated across the sky in a shuddering roar, causing every creature, and even the stones, to tremble in its wake. We became one with the frogs and birds and beetles that scrambled for cover under our feet. The air was infused with a chilling cold as solid as the mountains in the distance, and we felt the pressure of it upon our chests. Soon the rain assaulted the land in thick sheets of ice and frost. It pounded the thatched roof above our heads and mutilated the foliage around us.

  I moved nearer Rosa, who was staring out at the storm with green eyes like heavenly embers. The cold left me instantly at the sight of her, and my head swam with the ecstasy provoked by all that is beautiful and good in life. Careful that Jenny and Tomas couldn’t see me, I searched for her hand beneath the confusion of all our capes and packs, and our fingers embraced as the storm raged on. My heart pounded louder than the thunder overhead as she caressed my palm, stroking each finger with exquisite tenderness. I returned the gesture and took my time exploring each soft finger from base to tip, my caresses interrupted only by a ring on her third finger. As Tomas shivered next to me, reciting the rosary, imploring God to spare us from certain doom, I perspired with ardor. I might have gone screaming out into the storm to cool off, but shuddered instead, and withdrew my hand for fear that I might lose my composure altogether and give our secret away.

  When the worst of the storm had passed, Jenny was the first to speak. “I’m frozen from the inside out,” she muttered, slightly breathless. “I need something warm in my stomach before I go on.”

  “There’s a village just at the base of this hill,” I offered.

  Tomas returned his rosary to its leather pouch and was the first to leave the shelter to assess the strength of the wind. It had quieted to a soft purr and the rain was misting in fine gusts around us. Standing in the middle of the road, he held out his arms like a toreador taunting a bull. He glanced at Rosa and seemed quite pleased to see her watching him with certain interest.

  “It’s safe to go on,” he proclaimed, as though he and the storm were on intimate terms. “But I caution you to watch your step, as the ground is slippery with mud and puddles. Follow me, Rosa, and I’ll show you the best path to take.”

  The rest of us ventured out from under the shelter as if we’d been hibernating all winter. My muscles were stiff, but I felt reborn. Rosa’s cheeks were emblazoned and her lips curled in a small smile as she watched Tomas meander along the path, skipping over puddles. I have to admit that I felt a slight pang of jealousy from seeing how amused she was, but I quickly comforted myself with reminders that her feelings for me went far beyond amusement.

  Jenny shook herself from head to toe with the exuberance of one engaging in spring cleaning. “I for one can find my own way,” she said, with a nod that let us know she was miffed by Tomas’s oversight.

  “Of course I’ll help you as well,” he said, somewhat embarrassed. He held his hand out to her for good measure, but she waved it away and proceeded to adjust her shawl with exaggerated care.

  “We ladies can fend for ourselves. Isn’t that true, Rosa?” she said, extending her arm so that they could continue walking as they had been before the storm. “Perhaps you boys should walk up ahead and find a proper café where we might redeem our humanity.”

  “I believe it would be wiser,” Rosa said as she patted Jenny’s arm in a warm and friendly manner, “if we stayed together.”

  Behind Jenny’s yellow-gray eyes, sparks flew. “Nonsense,” she returned, enunciating each word hard against her teeth, as if she might spit were she not such a lady. “We’ll be perfectly safe. I can protect you better than either of these two,” she said, coloring at her own remark.

  She fumed in the mist, appearing to turn orange against the somber green of the darkened field. At that moment a glittery flash of light prompted me to look at her hands. My knees weakened as though I’d been kicked from behind by a horse, for on her third finger Jenny wore a ring—two golden snakes twisting into each other and crowned by a pair of wings. It was undoubtedly the ring I’d encountered moments earlier. Rosa was wearing no ring at all.

  I felt Jenny’s glare on my back like a spear prodding and poking me all the way down the hill toward the village. When we arrived, I sat by the fire apart from the others, and Tomas approached me with a mug of warm cider in hand. “Has the cold gotten to you?” he asked, genuinely concerned. He almost sounded like the Tomas of old, and I was unexpectedly comforted. For a moment I wished that we were back in our previous life, anything in order to avoid feeling like a foolish boy who’d been seduced by his own shadow in broad daylight.

  “I’m okay,” I responded, taking the cider and forcing myself to drink. With that, I glanced back with every intention of finding Rosa, but my eyes found Jenny instead. She had spread herself out over a chair with her shawl slung back across her shoulders, revealing the tight damp bodice that clung to her torso. She caught me looking at her and read my expression like a scholar of the most lurid intentions known to man. Her face, which h
ad been slack and tired a moment ago, tightened with pleasure and she smiled at me.

  I turned away and breathed in the cider, hoping that it would revive my sanity, but still, even after several cups of cider, and a meal besides, I could smell only her.

  24

  EXCEPT FOR THE SMALL LAMP that emitted a dim cone of light across the corner of her desk, Nurse B.’s office was dark. She attempted to stand when Jamilet stepped in, but thought better of it and dropped down the couple of inches she’d managed to lift herself. It had been several weeks since Jamilet had seen her, and even in the semidarkness surrounding them her deterioration was striking. The white uniform, once taut across her belly, now bulged, straining each button as it desperately clung to its position. The flesh encasing her face had grown denser in some places and looser in others, giving the impression that parts were melting away.

  She indicated that Jamilet should take the chair across from her. She leveled her eyes at her and even attempted a weak smile, but it did little to improve her appearance. “It’s been some time since we’ve had the opportunity to speak,” she said. “The time has passed quickly, and I’m impressed with how long you’ve lasted—much longer than the others—and I’m trying to figure out why that is.”

  Jamilet lowered her eyes. “I do my job,” she muttered.

  “The others did their jobs too,” Nurse B. said, lifting her nose as though sniffing the air for a clue. “And they had better credentials as well.”

  They stared at each other for an uncomfortable length of time and Jamilet was the worse for it. She felt the sweat on her palms begin to penetrate the coarse fabric of her skirt and dampen her thighs. “He doesn’t seem so angry anymore, I guess,” Jamilet said, eager to break the silence.

  “He’s been angry since he came here,” Nurse B. shot back, but then her tone softened. “But perhaps,” she said with a gentle, almost humble nod, “you have discovered something the others did not, something that has helped him to calm down. I would be most grateful if you told me what it was.”