Broken Paradise

by Cecilia Samartin

  On one of our visits, just as the cigar ritual was about to begin, Alicia’s parents dropped her off to spend the rest of the week with us. Tía was delighted and together she and Lola moved the roll-away bed, pin pan pun, into the large bedroom that Marta and I shared. With her bed right next to mine, the mosquito netting could easily cover us both.

  When it was time for bed and Lola had gone, Tía tucked us in, but before she arranged and inspected the mosquito netting for holes, she locked the doors leading outside. It took quite some time because every room in the house had an identical door that required bolting with a heavy wooden plank. Echoes sounded throughout the house every time she dropped a wooden plank into place. She secured the windows in similar fashion except for those that were locked with a metal latch that was easy to close. Once she was finished, she checked every door and window again to make sure she hadn’t forgotten one. The entire process took almost half an hour.

  “It looks like you’re getting ready for a hurricane,” I said.

  Tía sat down on my bed and looked at the three of us with her magnified eyes. “It’s worse than that. Listen.”

  At first I heard nothing but the chirping of crickets that always comes up as the sun goes down. Then I heard it—a quiet rhythmic thunder that seemed to emanate from the ground, all around us, everywhere and nowhere at once. My heart beat a little faster to the quickening sounds of what I knew to be the African drums, as they grew louder and faster.

  Alicia jumped from her bed onto mine and scrambled underneath my covers. “Tell us about the drums, Tía,” she begged, even though she, as I, had heard talk of these before. We knew the stories of people falling to the ground overcome by evil spirits and writhing like snakes. Those were the lucky ones. The less fortunate were turned into goats or even into rocks and trees. The most frightening stories were of the bloody sacrifices. They’d kill chickens and pigs and…and white children who’d misbehaved so badly that their parents didn’t want them anymore.

  Marta threw her covers off and ran over to sit on Tía Panchita’s frail lap. She clung to her like a baby, and I rolled my eyes, although a chill had crept up the back of my neck as well.

  Tía stroked Marta’s hair. “Don’t be afraid, little one. I was teasing you. Those are just the drums of the Santeros. They’re playing loudly tonight. It’s the music of Africa from long ago, and the black people believe it has special powers.”

  “What kind of powers?” Alicia asked.

  Tía thought carefully. “They’re powers I don’t completely understand. But if you’re afraid when you hear the drums you must say the Our Father and Hail Mary and pray for Papá Dios to keep you safe. You have to say it over and over again until you fall asleep. Come now, get into bed and we’ll say it together.”

  Marta scrambled back into her own bed, and we pulled our linen sheets up under our chins and put our hands together. We prayed softly over the drums that sounded deep and full like one would expect the heart of the jungle to sound in far off Africa. We tried to ignore the intoxicating rhythm of the pounding that forced us to pray to its exotic cadence.

  “Our Father,” (boom) “Hallowed be,” (boom) “Thy name,” (boom boom)…

  Our prayers had never sounded so beautiful before. I wanted to say them again and sing in a loud voice. For the first time, I wanted to dance to the Hail Mary and sing my Amens in keeping with the joyful and mystic glory of the drums. All at once, I was rushing through the green canopy of the countryside in bare feet, hungry for the wild spirit to take me and teach me the ways of the underworld. The place Beba had told me about had to be beautiful, and sleep must come easily in a place where dreams followed the rhythms of the night.

  “Good night, my dear sobrinitas,” I heard Tía Panchita say as she closed the mosquito netting and turned out the light.

  Since I was a little girl I wondered what it would be like to become a woman. I imagined the transformation would happen gradually, in the same way a rose bud opens its petals one by one, until the fullness of its splendor is revealed. And when I asked Mami and Beba if this was so, they confirmed that it was, then quickly changed the subject. But that’s not how it happened for Alicia. Alicia became a woman all at once before my eyes, and after that day she was never quite the same.

  It was the next morning, and we sat along Tía Panchita’s sun flooded porch, dosing and chatting in the warmth, watching the bees hover about the empty guarapo glasses that were still on the steps. Tía and Lola rocked in their chairs, drinking coffee and commenting on the unusual heat of the day.

  “We won’t get many visitors today,” said Tía, squinting out at the road through foggy glasses.

  “Anyone who has any sense will stay indoors,” Lola agreed.

  It was then that we saw the outline of a young man on horseback take shape beyond the heat of the dusty road. He looked like a wavering ghost, floating in a brown haze. At first we couldn’t be sure he was riding toward us, but with a flick of his wrist he deftly maneuvered his auburn horse onto the narrow path that lead up to the house. As ignorant as we were about horses and as far away as we were from this particular specimen, we could tell that it was not like the other horses we’d seen. It was young and full of fire, the kind of horse only an expert should ride.

  “Tony, hola, Tony!” Lola stood up from her rocker and waved both hands at him.

  “It’s nice he’s come. It’s been a while,” Tía Panchita said, gathering the empty glasses together and tidying up a little for this new visitor, new to us at least.

  The young man rode his horse up to the fence and in one smooth motion, swung his leg over and dropped to the ground. The auburn horse raised his great head in protest at being tied up to the fence and not allowed to munch on the grass beneath his hooves. I was fascinated by the clean perfection of his muzzle and spirited precision of his every move, so fascinated that at first I didn’t notice the amazing young man who’d been riding him.

  But when I did, I no longer paid any attention to the horse. Tony was beyond beautiful. His skin was the color of burnished gold, and I imagined that if I touched the tip of my tongue to his cheek it would taste of honey. His light eyes were the color of the shallow sea close to shore where the water turns blue to turquoise to blue again, and they held a dreamy sort of gaze as though he were always contemplating pleasant thoughts.

  He bounded up the steps of the porch two at a time, clearly comfortable with his body and unaware that his every move possessed a grace and strength beyond that of ordinary people, and kissed Lola and Tía Panchita warmly on the cheek. I don’t remember what he said only that his voice was deep, but not deep like Papi’s, for there was still a sweetness suggesting that boyhood hadn’t completely left him. Yet the width of his shoulders, and the hint of the well-muscled body underneath his clothes left no doubt that he was not like our same-age boy cousins, who we could still push around with encouraging success.

  He hadn’t noticed us staring at him, and I preferred to watch from a safe distance, fearful that the strange sensations coursing through my body should become noticeable. An unusual warmth had collected in the very deepest part of my belly and floated down to create a tingling between my legs I’d never felt before. It was like the heat of being discovered in a fib but strangely pleasant and reminiscent of the intoxicating rhythm of the drums.

  Alicia straightened her skirt, smoothed her long uncombed hair back with one hand, and walked straight up to the three without a word to Marta and me. Tony’s back was turned to us when Alicia introduced herself, and we could see her above the broad curve of his shoulder.

  Her face glowed and her lips were shining and red, as if she’d just eaten fresh strawberries and didn’t bother to wipe her mouth. Several strands of hair had escaped her ponytail and framed her face like corkscrewed ribbons of gold. Her golden green eyes were swimming with allure and confidence as she rested one hand on her hip and played with a strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulder with the other. Never before had I not
iced the swelling beneath her blouse or the way her hips flared when she put more weight on one leg like she was doing. Alicia had walked to the other side of the porch and become a woman.

  “Come over and meet Lola’s nephew,” Tía Panchita called over to Marta and me.

  Marta and I dragged ourselves over to the other side of the porch, but there was no similar transformation in store for me. I felt fantastically awkward when Tony stood and offered me his hand. It was firm and slightly callused and his touch and gaze rendered me speechless. Marta giggled and asked questions about his horse, while I attempted to strike the same sort of womanly pose as Alicia had, but my socks had fallen down to my ankles and my blouse, that Tía had reminded me to tuck into my skirt, billowed about, effectively hiding any semblance of a waist. And when Tony smiled at me and winked one of those incredible eyes in my direction, I felt my knees turn to jelly and my tongue to stone.

  “Tony, why were the drums so loud last night?” Panchita asked.

  Tony’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Were you scared, Doña Panchita?”

  “I certainly was. I thought Satan himself was dancing on my bed. I could hardly sleep!”

  Lola and Tony laughed and I noticed that Tony’s teeth were perfectly straight and white. Mami always said that black people had the best quality teeth of any race. I guess she was right, although I knew that Tony was mulatto and not black. Mami also said that mulatto people are sometimes the most beautiful because they have the best features from both, black and white.

  “Don’t be scared. Satan was far away last night. They were preparing for the initiation ceremony tonight.” Tony was still laughing as he said this and even though he was talking with Tía, he was turned toward Alicia.

  “Oh dear Lord, that means there will be more drums tonight! I need some more coffee, good and strong this time.” Tía left to prepare the coffee, and Alicia swiftly sat in her rocking chair.

  She crossed her legs and fingered the hem of her skirt. “Will you be there tonight?”

  Tony’s smile was soft, and his voice softer still. “I’ll be there.”

  “And what will you do?”

  “I’ll dance with friends…have a good time.”

  “I bet you’re a good dancer.”

  Tony’s smile lit up again and for a moment he seemed to lose his composure as his gaze quickly swept across Alicia from head to toe, lingering on her bare knees that pointed straight at him, ever so slightly parted so that only the finest writing paper could pass between them, but parted nonetheless. It all happened so fast that in a blink I would’ve missed it. But I didn’t miss it, nor the slight trembling of Alicia’s hand when she swiped an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

  I felt suddenly guilty and turned to join Marta, who was slowly inching her way toward Tony’s horse, when Tía Panchita returned balancing a tray loaded with cookies and three cups of coffee. Tony stood up and helped her with the tray, but then expressed his apologies, saying he had business to take care of in town. I was glad to hear it.

  With hasty good-byes to all and a lingering smile for Alicia, he sprung back on his horse and headed down the path. He was almost at the road when Alicia snatched a handful of cookies and wrapped them in a napkin. She jumped down the stairs and ran after him, and even though his horse shied a little, she didn’t hesitate as she reached up to offer him the cookies. When he took them from her she didn’t release them right away, and their hands touched. I saw this too even though I pretended to be amazed and distracted by the horse dropping that Marta was pointing out to me and listening to her chatter about the hay sticking out of it.

  I was glad to see the bronze shiny rear of the horse, its tail swishing like a broom as they headed out, and I was relieved when the strange sensations I’d felt since Tony’s arrival began to fade. I was myself again. Alicia, however, seemed possessed, and alternated between melancholy and jubilation for the rest of the day. She ignored Marta and me, preferring to sit with Tía Panchita and Lola on the porch all afternoon, asking them endless questions about Tony. How old he was, where he learned how to ride horses so well, what kind of business he had in the city, what word would best describe the color of his eyes. She must’ve spent an entire hour pondering this one, finally concluding that his eyes were the color of the sky at twilight, just before the stars appeared.

  Marta and I attempted to entice her with a walk through the sugar cane fields or a game of dominoes, but she turned us down, gazing out toward the road Tony had taken into town.

  Eventually, when Alicia was convinced that she’d learned everything she could from Lola and Tía Panchita, she stood up from her chair, sighed loudly and wandered back into the house, smiling to herself and humming along to music only she could hear.

  “I believe your niece is in love,” Lola said as she helped herself to the last of the cookies on the tray.

  Tía Panchita nodded and chewed her own cookie pensively. “No doubt about it.”

  That night we said our prayers over the drums again. They were louder this time and faster too. It was easy to imagine the dancers swirling around a huge bonfire, their giant shadows playing against the trees, the beads around their necks swinging and catching the light like miniature planets on a frenetic orbit. I imagined their heads wrapped in handkerchiefs, some all in white like Beba, dipping and swaying to the hypnotic rhythm. Even from such a distance, it was impossible to keep from moving my toes under the blanket to the delicious beat that pounded out its cry like a wounded heart, begging to be loved, trading life for the promise of seduction. Any price could be paid for a moment of bliss. That’s what Beba said and even though I had little idea what she was talking about, I liked the sound of it better than anything else.

  As soon as Tía turned out the lights, Marta’s breathing grew heavy and regular, but I sensed that Alicia was still awake, waiting in the dark and holding her breath. I’d been angry with her ever since Tony left and refused to answer her when, posing in front of the mirror, she asked me which way I preferred her hair: up in a pony tail or loose around her shoulders.

  I looked over toward her bed, but she was lying well below the only stream of moonlight that came through the window slats, and I couldn’t see her.

  I closed my eyes. The sound of the drums slipped into my dreams, and the anger began to melt away with the promise of a new day. Surely the next day things would be as they always were. After breakfast, we’d sit on the porch and invent a new game to play. Marta would follow us into the sugar cane fields, and Tía would warn us to not get dirty just in case visitors came by. A smile had already curled the corners of my lips when I heard Alicia speak to me. At first I thought I might be dreaming because her voice was so soft. But I heard it again, a desperate whisper, “Nora, I’m going there.”

  I opened my eyes, and she was sitting up in bed, her face glowing in a thin ray of moonlight, her eyes huge with excitement. She was wearing the white dress she normally wore to mass on Sundays.

  “Why are you dressed like that?”

  “I’m going to the drums. I’m going to see Tony.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Going to the drums? Going to see Tony? The huge doors of Tía’s house were locked and bolted, every one of them. And the drums…the drums were not for us.

  I was about to protest when she placed her hand over my mouth, and I tasted the bitterness of Tía Panchita’s expensive perfume on her fingers. “Be quiet and don’t bother trying to talk me out of it. I have to see Tony. I know you don’t understand.”

  She was right. I couldn’t begin to understand what would possess her to go out into the night and risk her life to see this man, any man. She was still a child, a mere girl. Yet at that moment, wavering in the moonlight with her hair loose around her shoulders, she looked remarkably like a full-grown woman. It wasn’t her face or the emerging maturity of her body, but the expression in her eyes: determined, self-assured, and glowing with a light from inside.

  She removed her hand from my mouth. “
You’re going now? In the middle of the night?” I whispered.

  “I know Tony will be there. You can come if you want.”

  I shook my head, horrified at the prospect of venturing out into the night. This was beyond the realm of forbidden, far worse than our plans to run away. It was lethal to the soul. “I…I can’t go.”

  Alicia moved aside the covers, smoothing out her skirt and I noticed she was wearing shoes, but no bobby socks, her bare ankles reflecting in the moon light. Silently, she approached the door leading to the field. Placing her hands on the heavy wooden plank, she paused, lifted the plank, and leaned it against the wall without the slightest sound. Marta did not stir despite the creaking of the floorboards and the groaning of the door that Alicia slowly, almost imperceptibly, opened.

  Sounds of the drums flooded our bedroom. Alicia stood breathless for an instant before stepping over the threshold and slipping out into the night.

  Although it was warm and humid, I trembled beneath the covers for what seemed like hours. I stayed in bed, straining my eyes against the dark and praying as intently as any nun or priest could pray, abandoning the verses I’d memorized over the years and speaking to God with my own voice in a desperate plea for help. But mostly, I listened to the sounds drifting in through the slim sliver of night. Were those footsteps outside? Had Alicia come to her senses and returned, or were her captors searching out fresh victims?

  I shut my eyes again. “Make this nightmare go away, Papá Dios.” I prayed fervently. “Please make it go away and let the sun come up over the ridge of the green mountains so we can have our café con leche like we always do and play dominoes on the porch.”