Casa Rodrigo

by Johnny Miles

  friend.

  Casa Rodrigo

  19

  Chapter Three

  Atlantic Ocean, west of Puerto Rico

  January 1666

  Bernardo stood on deck of the large galleon and looked out over a playful

  ocean. The salt air rushed at his face and ruffled his thick hair, still mostly black.

  Feeling exhilarated, Bernardo took a very deep breath and exhaled, as if exorcising

  his demons. There was a certain freedom that flowed through his veins. It was

  almost as if in the Caribbean he could leave his life—and the world he came from—

  behind him. Here, he could be someone else.

  From his very first trip fourteen years ago with his children and Arbol,

  Bernardo had felt a calling. Every subsequent trip thereafter made to ensure the

  plantation was running smoothly and at its most efficient, or so Bernardo told

  himself, only served to solidify the desire he had to one day retire to the island.

  Instinctively he knew there was something about the mixture of wind flow and

  ocean currents that was adventurous, intoxicating. Even the element of danger on

  the island thrilled and excited him in ways that his quiet and otherwise dull life in

  Spain did not.

  Whether it was truly the island, the Caribbean, or perhaps the distance from

  Mother Spain, it didn't matter. Bernardo knew only he liked the feeling that came

  over him. Here, he could forget he was nearly fifty years old and just enjoy the

  feeling of being untethered, as if he had no responsibilities, cares, or worries in the

  world. There were no pressures. No duties. No obligations. They all simply melted

  away in the Caribbean. It was exhilarating and made him feel young again.

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  Of course, the fact that the water was an inviting greenish blue, the sea air

  warm and balmy, and the sun hot and prickly on his skin might also have had

  something to do with it.

  Oddly, there was also a sense of belonging.

  Curious how I never really felt out of sorts in my own home until I came here,

  Bernardo thought.

  But his business trips would soon have to end. He would have to make a

  decision about the rest of his life, and it would not be easy.

  Would he be able to leave Adelina? They had been married for so long. So

  much had transpired between them. They had a history together. Two young,

  handsome sons. But was a marriage still a marriage if one had stopped loving the

  other? Had they ever truly loved at all?

  Adelina hadn't been the warmest woman in the world, even at the best of

  times. At least, not with him. Bernardo had his suspicions that she might have been

  with someone else since his first trip to the island, but he also was not without sin.

  An annulment? A separation? Bernardo wondered. But those things had a way

  of interfering with business. If people didn't share his views, they would take their

  business elsewhere. After all, hadn't his support of Adelina's views interfered with

  business before? It was only when he had gone against his wife's wishes that they

  not get involved in slavery that their business had boomed and become profitable

  once more.

  In fact, if it hadn't been for the considerable sum of money Raúl had floated in

  his honor, Bernardo and his family might not have survived. He shuddered to think

  where they might be now, and found it strange the very thing that saved his family

  from hunger, kept them clothed, and fixed the roof over their heads was the very

  thing that drove Bernardo and Adelina further apart.

  Despite that rift, Bernardo was still grateful to Raúl. No matter how much of a

  monster he could sometimes be, he had his moments. Especially when they were

  together.

  Casa Rodrigo

  21

  Bernardo pushed Raúl out of his mind, praying Adelina never found out about

  the loan, the arrangements, or the things he and Raúl did together—part of the

  conditions—that sometimes left him satisfied but ashamed.

  No, certainly best that she never know.

  He had tried, on several occasions, to persuade Adelina to join him in La

  Española. Just to see what she thought of the island. But Adelina was not willing to

  leave Spain. She was adamant that travel was for men only, and refused to sail on a

  ship where dirty, smelly, foul-mouthed sailors with no manners scurried about like

  monkeys in trees.

  Still, he had to do something. Soon. He was growing weary. The voyages took a

  long time and wore him down.

  What would it be like? Bernardo fantasized about year-round life on the

  island, as opposed to coming every few years. His sons were more than ready to

  handle the company on their own if Bernardo decided to step back and be a silent

  partner—with the occasional meddling, of course.

  Fernando was a wizard with numbers and ledgers.

  And Alonso was… Well, Alonso was special. He was, it seemed, the heart of

  Casa Rodrigo Importers. Anyone who met with Alonso liked and trusted him

  immediately. The boy looked people in the eye, never flinched, and most

  importantly, treated them like they were his only clients.

  The boy. Bernardo was half amazed that time had gone by so quickly. Hardly a

  boy. He's a full-grown man now.

  He was proud of Alonso. But it was a pity Fernando had chosen to stay in

  Spain instead of coming to the island. He would have preferred Alonso stay at home

  with his mother. But perhaps it was best that way. Surely Alonso would win the

  slaves over and work them more fairly and justly than Fernando would have.

  Bernardo just hoped it wouldn't cost Casa Rodrigo in the end. Sometimes Alonso

  gave away too much to keep their patrons happy.

  Bernardo turned around suddenly, sensing someone near.

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  “Ah! Good morning, Alonso.”

  “Good morning, Father,” Alonso said. He rubbed his eyes against the bright

  light.

  “You're up late this morning. But then, you came to bed late last night. Where

  did you go?”

  “I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk on deck. Looked at the stars for a while,”

  Alonso said dismissively, then changed the subject. “Did I miss that slop they call

  breakfast?” Alonso stretched and yawned. His incredibly thick black wavy hair

  curled from the salty breeze of the ocean, and there was dark stubble on his face.

  “You did,” Bernardo replied, looking into his son's piercing blue eyes. The

  twins had both inherited their mother's eyes, and they were identical in

  appearance, but any similarities between them ended with their looks.

  “And I'm just heartbroken about it,” Alonso quipped. His stomach growled.

  “But I am hungry.” Alonso tucked the billowy, wrinkled white shirt into his coarse

  brown pants. He had abandoned conventional Spanish dress at the start of their

  trip and had made every attempt to fit in among the sailors. They had taken to him

  as if he were one of their own.

  “If you can hold out a few more hours, we'll probably make landfall sometime

  this afternoon.” Bernardo pointed toward the horizon.

  “I can't believe we're almost there!” Alonso exclaimed, perhaps more excitedly

  than he would have cared to admit.
A smile spread across his face. “The last time

  we came here was…what? Ten? Eleven years ago?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Fourteen? Are you sure?”

  “You and your brother were just barely eleven. We left a few days after your

  birthday party.”

  “That was…another person ago. I barely remember. And what I do remember

  seems like it was so long ago, I wonder if it ever happened at all.”

  Casa Rodrigo

  23

  “You might feel that way now,” Bernardo joked. “Just wait until you're almost

  fifty like your old man.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “The things I did last year, last month, last week, even—they're all but

  forgotten. I have to fight to remember them. But the things I did as a child, in my

  youth—even in my twenties—they're more alive in my mind than any other

  memories.”

  “Then I guess I'm just going to have to find a way not to get old,” Alonso

  teased.

  “Who do you think you are?” Bernardo laughed. “Ponce de León in search of

  the fountain of youth?”

  “Pardon me.” A small voice interrupted them. Father and son turned and

  looked down at a boy of mixed race, the ship's musician. His feet were filthy, his

  clothes were disheveled, and his hair was matted as if he had not washed in weeks.

  He held a wooden flute.

  “Good morning, musician.” Bernardo greeted the boy, who could not have been

  much older than ten. “Are you here to play us a song?” he asked pleasantly.

  “Oh no, sir! I'm here because Tocino sent me.” The boy half turned and pointed

  with his flute. Bernardo and Alonso followed the boy's arm to the open door a few

  feet away.

  Normally surly, the bald and burly man with big arms, tattoos, and hoops in

  his ears and nose grinned like a little girl and waved at Alonso.

  Bernardo raised a curious eyebrow, looking from the ship's cook to Alonso, who

  blinked in surprise. His son chuckled nervously.

  “Tocino said to tell you he was making a special breakfast. But just for you,

  Señor Alonso,” the boy added hastily, leaning in so no one else would hear. “He's

  using the last of his eggs. Seeing as how this is the last day of your voyage and all.”

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  The boy suddenly turned and left, playing his flute as he went. On the other

  side of the ship, crew members picked up the pace as they swabbed at the deck with

  their mops. Overhead, seagulls screeched.

  “What was that all about?” Bernardo asked suspiciously.

  “Oh, I'm sure it was nothing,” Alonso said dismissively. “You know how some

  of these sailors are.”

  “Well, in that case,” Bernardo said quietly, his voice dripping with sarcasm,

  “best not leave Tocino waiting. Seeing as how it's a special breakfast. Just for you

  and all.”

  Alonso shrugged with a grin and, stomach growling, jogged the length of the

  ship toward the still-smiling Tocino.

  Bernardo watched as Alonso clapped Tocino on the shoulder. The big man

  grinned more widely, if that were possible. Bernardo wondered if there was more

  there than just friendship. But then he remembered how easily Alonso pulled people

  into conversation. The boy seemed to be able to make friends no matter where he

  went.

  With a sigh, Bernardo turned back toward the horizon. He took a deep breath

  and exhaled, anxious to be on land again walking about their property.

  Tomorrow he would worry about making his decision. For now he would

  simply enjoy the view, the wind, and the thought that later, he and Raúl would

  meet at el Puerco Sucio, the Dirty Pig, and share a bottle of rum. It was the only

  way Bernardo could endure the incomprehensibly pleasurable yet remarkably

  embarrassing things they did together. But the agreement had been necessary,

  hadn't it? Part of a debt to be repaid. Yes, without Bernardo's agreement, his family

  would not have been where they were today. Casa Rodrigo would not have been one

  of the top importers in all of Spain.

  But after tonight, Bernardo thought, his cock twitching despite his shame, the

  de Rodrigo family would finally be free of all debt to Raúl Ignacio Velasco.

  Casa Rodrigo

  25

  * * *

  Casa Rodrigo stood at the top of a hill, facing south toward the harbor. The

  two-story home was still made from the original mustard-colored stucco but barrel

  tile had replaced the previous thatched roof, and the windows were now protected

  by wooden shutters.

  Arbol stood in line with the other slaves just outside the arched veranda that

  ran the width of the house. His back was straight, shoulders back, head lifted. He

  wanted to stand out from the others, to be chosen as a house servant and spared the

  arduous fieldwork he had performed since he had been brought to the island. He

  only hoped don Bernardo remembered him. It had been so long ago.

  Señor Perez, who doubled as overseer for the de Rodrigo and Raúl Velasco

  plantations, paced back and forth, anxiously awaiting their arrival. From where he

  and the slaves stood, they could all just make out the mast in the distance.

  It wasn't long before they heard the horses.

  Arbol held his breath as first the two horses pulling the uncovered wagon came

  into view, then Augusto, who was in charge of the stable. Sitting beside him was

  Don Bernardo, and behind them, holding on to the wagon, was one of the sons.

  But which one? Arbol wondered and hoped that whichever son it was, he had

  not changed. Life had a way of doing that to people. Oftentimes for the worst.

  The wagon came to a stop, and several slave boys scrambled en masse to take

  care of the trunks and traveling bags. Don Bernardo jumped down and shook hands

  with señor Perez. The overseer began talking animatedly.

  Arbol looked away and stared instead at the tall young man in the wagon. He

  watched the Spaniard stand, stretch, and walk toward the edge, then jump down

  smoothly and solidly.

  He was not at all what Arbol had expected or what he remembered. This was a

  young, handsome man with thick impossibly black curly hair. He had a long,

  graceful neck and broad shoulders that tapered down to a thin waist. He was slim

  in the hips with a round, sculpted rear and long, shapely muscled legs.

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  Johnny Miles

  Arbol's breath caught in his throat as the young man bent over to adjust his

  boots. Arbol sighed and licked his pink lips. And then the Spaniard stood and their

  eyes met.

  Even from that distance, Arbol was hypnotized by the penetrating gaze and

  the slow, easy, sensual smile that spread across the young man's face.

  Does he recognize me? Arbol dared to hope so.

  But it was his heart that responded.

  This man was the boy who had brought his very own toys to Arbol when they

  were children, who had played with him. And he knew just by the feelings coursing

  through his body that this young man, this handsome creature who now approached

  striding slowly and confidently, was the very same boy who had shared his birthday

  cake.

  Arbol's heart lurched as if with a mind of its own, then stopped as the world


  around him slowed down dramatically. The only thing that existed at that very

  moment was the beautiful man with the warm smile standing before him. Arbol's

  knees went weak, and he grew dizzy. He was sure he would faint.

  And then the young man spoke. His voice was deep and resonant. Rich and

  textured.

  “Why do you look familiar?” the young man asked, head cocked to one side.

  And then his eyes lit with recognition.

  “Are you Arbol?”

  “S-sí, señor,” Arbol replied awkwardly, lowering his head. And yet he could feel

  the young man's gaze.

  Alonso leaned in and whispered, “Good to see you.” Then he gave Arbol an

  unexpected, powerful hug. Their eyes met as Alonso pulled away, and Arbol

  suddenly felt lost in the most wonderful of ways.

  Uncertain of what to say, Arbol nodded and grinned sheepishly as Alonso

  clapped him on his arm and squeezed.

  Casa Rodrigo

  27

  Even as the young man moved away and introduced himself to the next slave,

  Arbol could still feel the warmth of Alonso's hand on his arm and the hot breath in

  his ear.

  He had to think of the most horrible, ugly thing he could imagine to keep from

  growing hard, lest anyone notice just how excited Arbol had become.

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  Johnny Miles

  Chapter Four

  Alonso stood in his darkened bedroom completely naked. It wasn't something

  he normally did at home. But here, in the Caribbean, things were different. All he

  had to do was breathe the air into his lungs, and he was aroused. There was a

  certain energy, like a charge. Something he could feel more than touch. It was

  almost as if lightning had struck in that part of his mind where sexual desire

  resided.

  It had been one thing, on the ship, to allow Tocino leeway, let himself be lured

  down a path he had never followed. In fact, late the night before, they had been

  most indiscreet while on deck. They had been in shadows but could still have been

  seen if someone truly had bothered to look. It was part of what added to the

  excitement of their hurried encounter.