Tarnished Beauty

by Cecilia Samartin

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Señor.”

  “Oh, yes you do, my dear.” He took a bite of his toast, and spoke before he had completely swallowed, causing him to cough a little. “And only matters of the heart can provoke such drama. I would venture to guess that the young man for whom you suffered a swollen jaw not long ago is at the heart of this.”

  She sighed and felt unexpectedly relieved. “I decided that I hate him, Señor.”

  “Have you? Well, you should know by now that you can’t choose to hate any more than you can choose to love.”

  Jamilet spun around in a flash, her fists tight at her sides. “Oh, yes you can, Señor. Just like I can choose to get up before dawn, even though my body and mind are telling me to keep sleeping. Before long I’m not tired anymore, and I don’t even think about going back to bed. I can choose to love and to hate in the same way.”

  “Perhaps.” Señor Peregrino sipped his coffee. “But you have to fool yourself into believing that will alone defines reality, beyond experience, and even beyond the wildest hopes of your heart. You must deny your heart, your mind, and your body all at once.”

  Jamilet reached around to feel the stubble on the back of her neck. She’d cut her hair so short that it was necessary to wear her collar up or else risk revealing the mark.

  “Sit down and have some coffee with me,” Señor Peregrino said.

  She sat and accepted the cup, allowing the warmth of it to reach through her fingers and palms, up to her arms, until her shoulders were as round and sluggish as she felt. After a shared breakfast of coffee and toast with jam, the story resumed.

  The morning we stood on Monte de Gozo, and saw the cathedral spires as though floating in the distance, the sun was already making its ascent into the pale sky. It was difficult for me to accept that our journey was nearly over. Santiago had grown into much more than a destiny in my mind; it was the culmination of all that it meant to be human, and I feared that my spirit, no more than a wisp on this earth, would evaporate when the clouds decided to part.

  The four of us hiked down the mountain toward the city below, and for the first time, I heard Rosa sing, her soft voice dispersing like the mist. I joined her, and together our song spilled out over the hills, as my heart surged with the joyous realization that I was living my destiny—to love this remarkable woman until the day I died, to raise our children with her, and to become lost in our union forever.

  Then I felt Rosa’s hand slip into mine. No longer concerned that Tomas and Jenny were watching, we walked together toward the cathedral as if it were our wedding day. I turned to see Rosa’s face, radiant in the fragile light of morning. She’d flung her hood back and the dew in her hair appeared like a thousand glistening diamonds. Neither of us dared to look back at our companions, but I felt their bitterness, darker than the clouds overhead, a disappointment equal to our joy.

  We momentarily lost sight of the cathedral as we made our way through the labyrinth of narrow streets that circled the old city, but then all at once we found ourselves in the main square. The cathedral of Santiago soared up toward the heavens in all its glory. It was grander than I had imagined, and the dark gray stone of the facade seemed to breathe with the life of the countless faithful who’d worshipped at her feet over the ages. And at the very crest of the tallest spire stood the statue of the apostle Santiago, with his pilgrim’s staff and wide-brimmed hat, welcoming all who were as he had been—a pilgrim of faith, a courageous and wandering soul, a child of God.

  Rosa and I entered the main doors of the sanctuary, feeling as two drops in a vast river of life. Once inside we took our place in line, along with hundreds of other pilgrims, so that we might see Santiago’s crypt, touch his cape and embrace him, thus officially completing our pilgrimage. Immediately thereafter, we planned to find a priest who’d marry us, right then and there if necessary. We weren’t concerned with shaking the dust of the road from our shoes, we were desperate only to fulfill the destiny we knew belonged to us. Listening to the whispered prayers and the weeping of the pilgrims around us, I realized that with Rosa beside me, I was as close to God as I would ever be. Overcome with emotion I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her with the sacred tenderness reserved for a saint. I kissed her again to let her know I was a man who loved her with all of my soul. And I kissed her a third time because the taste of her lips was exquisite.

  And together we mounted the steps that led to the crypt of our saint. If moments in life could be strung like pearls along the chain of our existence, this would have been the most precious jewel of all.

  “We must thank Santiago,” Rosa said. “We must thank him as pilgrims, and as two people who will soon be man and wife.”

  “Yes,” I agreed enthusiastically. “We must ask him to bless our marriage and the many children we’ll have, and the grandchildren and great-grandchildren.” Holding her as I was, I had every intention of getting started with the matter of procreation as quickly as possible.

  When we entered the crypt, our eyes squinted at the remarkable sight—the intricacy of gold carvings surrounding us at every turn, from floor to ceiling, inspired awe. And the golden statue of Santiago was the most magnificent of all. He faced out toward the congregation, with his back turned to us. We embraced him together, and our prayers swept across the interior of the cathedral, out through the tinted glass and moss-covered stone, beyond the thickening clouds, escaping into the heavens and reaching the ear of God.

  It was difficult to find a priest who’d see us, as they were busy with the duties of their oficio, all the more pressing on Sundays. While a pilgrim mass was celebrated daily, on Sundays the ceremony called for the use of the botafumeiro, an enormous incense pot that swung from the rafters during the service. And it was not entirely for religious purposes, as it was also known that over the centuries, it had effectively masked the malodorous fumes emanating from those who hadn’t seen soap and water in months.

  But eventually we encountered a young priest leaving the confessional. Fatigued and diminished by the constant barrage of sins he’d been subjected to absolve, he tried his best to avoid us, but it was Rosa who captivated him with her sweet entreaty. He gazed reverently at her face while she spoke, and when she was finished, agreed to marry us the next morning at eleven for a small fee. I remember how he quickly glanced at her midsection as we left to see if she were with child.

  We remained for the mass and watched as the botafumeiro swung from the eaves, filling the nave with clouds of sweet smoke. Try as I might to keep my eyes on the altar, I couldn’t help but turn and gaze at the woman standing next to me who was so soon to become my wife. All said and told, we’d probably spoken fewer than a hundred words to each other, yet I felt that she was part of my spirit. While the other pilgrims asked God to absolve them of their sins so they could return home with their place in heaven assured, I thanked God for the heaven I’d already found and for the wondrous blessing of Rosa’s love. “I’ll be good to her, dear Lord,” I vowed. “I’ll protect her from all harm, and faithfully provide for our children.”

  The mass was concluded with the singing of hymns from all over the world. Voices could be heard singing in French and Italian and Greek and English as all faces turned toward the altar in praise of the apostle Santiago. Then we filed out into the square, which was bathed with a brilliant golden light. The sun had decided to make an appearance, as if persuaded by the ecstatic song that broke out among the pilgrims. We were swept up in the joyfulness of the crowd, laughing and singing along with them, and even sharing in a swallow or two of wine from another pilgrim’s wine bag. It was then that I saw Tomas standing at the doorway of the refugio, watching us as if we were the only people in the square. Rosa saw him too, but Jenny was nowhere in sight.

  I asked Rosa to go inside so that I might speak with Tomas alone. I had decided while in the midst of my prayers during the mass that I would tell Tomas of our plans to marry, before and not after the ceremony as we had plan
ned, and ask him to be our witness. This I hoped would be a decisive step toward the healing of our relationship.

  It was the first time Rosa passed by Tomas without drawing his gaze, or prompting a smile. His eyes, somber and grave, stayed affixed to mine.

  I drew in my breath, straightened my shoulders, and mustered up the courage for my task. “I haven’t been honest with you, my friend—” But he did not allow me to finish.

  “I once considered you to be the most noble man I knew. Now I wonder if you might not be the devil himself,” he said.

  “Because of Rosa?” I placed my hand on his shoulder.

  He immediately shrugged it off. “You promised to leave her to me, and I trusted you.”

  “It’s true that I broke my promise, but you must forgive me and understand that it was impossible to keep myself from falling in love with Rosa. We’re getting married—tomorrow morning, and I’d like you to be at my side when we do.”

  “And what about Jenny?” he asked.

  “What about her?”

  “She’s so overcome with grief that she was barely able to make it here even with my help.”

  “Jenny will get over her obsession with me, I have no doubt of that.”

  He came in closer to me and whispered, “But I will never get over Rosa, and I intend to tell her now how I feel—today. And then we’ll see what she decides.”

  “Do as you wish, but she won’t betray me, Tomas. You’re wasting your time.”

  “Give me the afternoon to speak with her,” he replied. “At least give me that.”

  Reluctantly, I conceded, and entered the building in search of a room and much-needed rest. Later that evening, when I heard the sound of the dinner bell echoing throughout the stone corridors of the refugio, I figured that they’d had enough time to talk and set about looking for Rosa. It was only right that we should enjoy this meal together on the eve of our wedding, and it was well known that the meals provided for pilgrims at this hostel were the best on the camino. There would be plenty of fresh meat and vegetables, and good-quality wine, all lovingly prepared for those who’d found the strength and inspiration to finish their journey. I looked forward to sharing this experience with Rosa, but as I made my way to the dining room I was unable to rid myself of an anxiety that had settled on my brain like an annoying fly. Could it be that Rosa was actually taking time to seriously consider Tomas’s proposal? Jenny’s words kept repeating themselves over and over again in my mind: “He is able to give her a life that you never could. They are meant to be together, Antonio, just as we are.” It seemed absurd to think that Rosa would be persuaded by such an argument. And yet, I was unable to put the thought out of my mind.

  I entered the dining room to find a large and elegant space overflowing with countless jovial pilgrims. Hanging on the stone walls were colorful tapestries that reached from floor to ceiling and there were many long tables laid end to end, upon which were placed massive bowls filled with fragrant stews and mountains of bread still steaming from the oven. Although in one corner two men played the guitar and flute, it was impossible to hear their music over the sound of clinking glasses and hundreds of voices eager to divulge the miracles that had taken place while on the camino.

  I spotted Tomas sitting alone at one of the tables and went to sit with him. Without a word, he served me a plate of food, and I began to eat, but was only able to get down a mouthful or two. His plate was also untouched, and his expression glum.

  I pushed my food away. “Have you spoken with Rosa?”

  He nodded. “I have emptied my heart and my soul. I’ve done everything within my power to persuade her to make a life with me.”

  “And what did she say?” I asked, sounding like an impertinent child.

  “Don’t you know, Antonio? Hasn’t she come looking for you to tell you herself? Just a few hours ago, you were so sure of her love.” He folded his arms across his chest and sneered. “Well, if she hasn’t told you, then neither will I.”

  My fists clenched with fury and for the first time in my life I thought I might strike him. Instead, I stormed out of the room, my long strides resulting in several collisions with baffled pilgrims who knew better than to start a quarrel when they saw the loathing on my face. I looked for Rosa in the women’s dormitory, but was told that she wasn’t there. I walked the grounds of the hostel, and searched in every public room I could find, and even made my way to the well where some of the women were washing. Back in my room, I collapsed on the mat on the floor. My mind was an old rag used one too many times, yet I persisted in wringing out the anxieties contained within its fibers. My God, I’d waited long enough, and it was cruel to keep me waiting much longer. Didn’t my love realize that I desperately needed to see her again, and hold her in my arms?

  The room was dark, and I was preparing to resume my search for Rosa when the door opened and I saw her standing on the threshold, appearing as a column of light. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the corridor was empty, then entered, closing and locking the door behind her. “Antonio,” she whispered, breathless with fear. “I need to see you alone. Tomas doesn’t know that I’m here.”

  “What does it matter if he knows? We’re together, as we’re meant to be, and we’re free to tell the world.”

  Appearing like an angel who’d lost her way, she knelt beside me and placed her fingers on my lips. Her gaze intensified, but she did not speak right away. Finally, she whispered, “I saved you once before and I’m going to save you again.”

  “The only way you can save me is by leaving with me this instant,” I said. “We’ll steal away into the night and never look back.”

  She spoke as though in a trance. “Sometimes it is impossible to run away, Antonio, as much as we may want to.”

  “Don’t torture me with such words, Rosa. The only thing that matters is the love we have for each other. Don’t be tempted by Tomas and his wealth and empty promises. Come away with me now, before it’s too late.” Kneeling before her, I pressed her hands against my forehead and began to weep, fearing that I’d already lost her.

  “May God forgive me,” she whispered and then stood up, and without another word she removed her skirt and let it fall in a heap to the floor. Moments later, her blouse fluttered down, only to be followed by a series of undergarments each smaller than those that preceded it, until she stood before me wearing nothing at all.

  Overcome, I reached up for her and pulled her down to me. Our union was ecstasy, every movement a submission to the truth in our hearts, a consummation of our perfect love. Words were no longer necessary to assure me of her devotion. I had no doubt that she would be mine forever.

  I can’t be certain of how much time we lay together, only that we were still breathless with passion when she hastily took up her clothing and dressed. Pressing into my hands the small Bible she’d carried with her on the camino, she said, “Always remember that everything I do, I do because I love you.”

  “What are you saying, Rosa?”

  “I’m saying that even though I love you with all my heart, I have decided to go away with Tomas. We must face the harsh realities of this life, Antonio. We are both poor, and we will always be poor if we stay together, but now we have a chance for a better life—I with Tomas and you with Jenny. We must accept these miracles we’ve found on our journey.”

  “No, I won’t accept it, Rosa. I’ll never accept it. I can’t believe what you’re saying.”

  “Believe it, Antonio, because I have never spoken a truer word in all my life. After this day, you will never see me again.”

  The words struck me like a lethal blow to the chest. I couldn’t believe what came from her mouth, yet there was no mistaking the conviction in her eyes. And I could only watch, paralyzed and miserable, as she walked out of the room, taking everything that was hopeful and beautiful in my life away with her into the Galician mist.

  Señor Peregrino’s eyes were half open, fluttering between waking and sleeping. He hadn’t sp
oken for several minutes, but Jamilet remained mesmerized as she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’d succumb to sleep at any moment if she didn’t say something.

  “So then what did you do?” she asked abruptly.

  His eyes widened slightly as he continued, “The next morning, once I had sufficiently recovered from my stupor, I set out with a vengeance to find Tomas and Rosa. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that something other than money must have influenced Rosa’s decision, and even if I had to beat the truth out of Tomas, I intended to discover what it was. But it was Jenny who I found waiting for me in the square, her hand coiled around a scroll of some sort. It seems that the priest we’d arranged for earlier had been put to good use, and Jenny wasted no time in showing me the place on the marriage certificate that revealed Rosa and Tomas’s signatures. After seeing this, I staggered back to my room as though I were delirious with drink, but I would neither eat nor drink anything for several days.

  “To think that Rosa had actually married Tomas, and that they were husband and wife nearly destroyed me. I couldn’t comprehend it. The pieces just didn’t fit together in any way that made sense. But Jenny stayed by my side during those difficult days, all the while speaking gently and persuasively as I wept and raged like a madman. She told me that all women are practical creatures at their core, and that poor women are even more so. She said that I should forgive Rosa for her feminine weakness in these matters and get on with my life, and many more things besides. I didn’t know what to believe, or even if I was dead or alive. All I knew was that in order to survive, I had to hold on to something and the only lifeline within reach was Jenny. She convinced me that in time she’d cure my broken heart, and before the week’s end she’d bought passage on a ship that took us far away from Santiago, from Spain, and from everything else I knew.”