by Aria Ford
Damiano was suddenly silent. He was aware that he was behaving badly, exactly because of the stress of not being that man anymore and not having the conditions to offer her. But he wasn’t going to just admit that, so he carried on.
“You should also cook. You know… woman stuff!”
“You mean, servant stuff!” she remarked, still angry. “And you gotta be joking! I’ve never cooked in my life! No one in my family ever did! And I am not about to start to. My ancestors would roll in their graves! And if you eat something I’ll cook, I bet you’ll end up in a grave in no time, as well!”
Then she gasped when she suddenly had an idea and blurted it out to him:
“I’d much rather lead the cattle! How hard could it be? I already know how to ride, and I’ve been with my father hunting lots of times. It can’t be harder than that. I just need to come with you one time, and I’ll know how to do it! I am a very quick learner!”
At this proposition, Damiano sat down on a chair and put the gaslight on the table.
“Hm, interesting! And do you also know how to shoot a gun, little lady?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. But why would I…?”
“Rustlers.” he interrupted her, raising an eyebrow.
“Rustlers?” she echoed.
“Bandits!”
“Interesting!” she instantly retorted.
Damiano threw his head backward with a guffaw. Hearing him laughing made her feel good inside. She didn’t know why at first. But as she savored his wide, amazing smile she realized that it gave her the certainty that the Damiano from the letters was still in there, somewhere.
“Oh, you are too much: I say ‘bandits’, and you say ‘interesting’?”
“Who’s the parrot now?” she raised her own eyebrow.
He laughed again, then jumped up and offered her a handshake.
“Deal! I’ll teach you to be a vaquero. But… this also includes milking and making cheese. And I am getting those chicken. I’ll teach you to cook, too. I’m not much of a cook, but at this point, I am better than you.”
She made that delicious pout again that he just felt like kissing. He was actually impressed with how headstrong and willful she was. Just like in her letters. But something was still blocked inside of him; he would’ve never admitted to anything to her, nothing that would have gotten them to come closer, close enough to get hurt again… if he lost her, too.
“What?!” he provoked her. “You said you were a quick learner.”
“One one condition…” she agreed.
“You’ve got conditions?”
“Yes!” she pointed a finger at him. “That when I’m away with the cattle, you fix this place up so that it starts looking like a home again. You know: man stuff! Then, when you’re away, I’ll clean: woman stuff. And I want to be able to bring water easily in here.”
“That’s condition number two. Can’t you just go to the ditch, like I do?”
“Not if you really want me to help you clean this… this abomination!”
For the second time that morning, Damiano Abana smiled, and extended his hand to her:
“OK!”
And she took his hand and shook it.
“Now get dressed! I’ll wait for you at the stables.”
*Margareta was cursing the day she had decided to flee to this land of opportunities… more like the land of lost dreams. She was milking a goat and cursing, something she never thought she had in her. And the poor creature must’ve felt that she wasn’t balanced, and gave her a hard time, fidgeting, turning her head towards her and bleating in her hair, which she found disgusting, as she found the smell. The milk was good, though and so was the cheese.
She had to hold the animal still, by one leg, with one hand and milk it with the other. Her palms were already sore and numb from days of milking and had hardened blisters, another thing she had never thought she’d have. She had also gotten blisters on her inner thighs from riding and had decided to switch to trousers, in spite of her abhorrence towards man’s clothing. One evening, her head down to hide her blush, she had quietly extended the trousers to Damiano, plus two large pieces of leather, for him to sew into the fabric, using the awl, a tool she had noticed he was good with. Equally as quietly, he had complied.
It had already been one month since she was there. She had accepted the agreement with Damiano, and they took turns in taking the livestock grazing. When they went with the herd, they also hunted wild turkeys and small quails. He would sometimes come back with fish. Sometimes, old Benicio and a young man would help them around.
He had kept his part of the bargain, and mended the house they both lived in, and another smaller outhouse, which she fashioned as a washing room. He also made a system for her to bring water from the ditch, without too much trouble. She had also kept her part of the bargain, by cleaning and washing the place and the covers. Although, the one she would’ve really liked to clean and wash was Damiano. He did clean himself up –the stench from the animals was not something he wouldn’t bear on himself- but his appearance was sloppy and showed that he didn’t have too much respect towards his own person.
Margareta wasn’t the type to enjoy being cooped up in an isolated place. So, she began to go to the church and the priest took a liking to her: she was smart, polite and loquacious and quoted the Bible like a nun. Through other activities, she had gotten to know other people in town, as well. She would barter and swap produce with them, even her fancy dresses. She even got some of them to accept gold coins for new covers and sheets and other useful things, speaking to them ardently about how everything was going to change that summer and how San Antonio would become prosperous again. That’s what she loved doing the most: speaking to people and bartering. The people also liked her… and secretly pitied her for being stuck with that Abana savage.
However, she also loved going out with the herd, although it proved exhausting. Yet what she loved most was… that “Abana savage” and that was the hardest part of it all. It would have been easier for her if he had been dense and obtuse through and through, but from time to time, he would give her small glimpses of the man he had come to know and love in the letters. Yet each time she wanted to come near him, he would reject her, sometimes with sarcasm, sometimes by being rude, but most of the times by just being aloof and working himself to sleep. The only conversations he would allow her were regarding work. He would hear nothing of going with her to the church or other kinds of gatherings in the town, and when she went on her own nevertheless, he would be extra grumpy and quiet upon her return.
The only big slip he had made was after an incident that had frightened her to death. It was her day for guarding the animals and she had just climbed down her horse, to cool her face in the river, when she heard:
“Hey, there, little missy.”
Her heart jumped in her chest when she turned and saw this dirty unknown man grinning at her with his disgusting wooden teeth, already too close to her for comfort. Her gun was in the saddle, but other two men had already seized her horse. She tried to make a run for it, fearing for her life. That’s when the man grabbed her by her arm. She yelled.
All of a sudden, there was the loud noise of a gun shooting. Arisen out of nowhere, riding his horse, Damiano was pointing his firearm at the men. He had already shot one of them in the shoulder and the poor bastard was wailing.
“Let… her… go!” Damiano said menacingly, through his teeth.
The bandit did just that, instantly and put his hands up, whining:
“Don’t shoot!”
“Get the hell outta here!” Damiano shouted. “The next time I’ll see you, you’ll be chewing on these bullets! No warning!”
The men got quickly on their horses and rode away, in a gallop. Margareta felt her legs weakening and fell to her knees on the ground. She was shaking like a leaf. Damiano jumped down from his horse, with a grimace of pain, when he landed on his wounded leg. Nevertheless, he kneeled quickly next to her.
Tears were rolling freely down her cheeks. She asked in a trembling voice:
“How… how are you here?”
“Something wasn’t right. I could feel it,” he said, with fear in his eyes.
She clung to his shirt and started crying loudly. And then he simply pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly, almost desperately, saying:
“No… no, don’t cry, Margy! It’s alright! I’m here! Don’t cry… “ then he added in a whisper “You’re breaking my heart.”
That made her stop after a few more sobs, but she remained in his arms for a while longer, until he whispered:
“Come on, I want you to go back and rest for the day.”
When he returned that evening, he asked her with a smile, almost lovingly, if she was alright and she confirmed. He told her she should just remain around the house for a few days, that he will get the other men to help him. Then he made a gesture like about to stroke her hair, but stopped his hand in mid air, baffled by his own reaction. He turned on his heels and saw to the cattle, without calling her to help him, like he usually did.
After that, he turned even colder than he had been till then, even more rude, and work oriented. Margareta was confused that evening. And angry. So, when Damiano called to her from the other corner of the stable if she was finished, she yelled back:
“I’m sick of this! To hell with it!” and she let the goat go.
Damiano got up and came to her, in a menacing stride, so worked up that he had forgotten to hide his limp. It didn’t impress Margareta, who, in her turn, got up to face him. He folded his arms over his chest while she put her hands on her hips.
“So?!” he began.
“So, what?!” she retorted.
“So, just go, if you don’t wanna be here!” he gestured.
“Go where? To the house?” she asked, confused.
“Back to Spain!” he threw to her.
“What?!” she exclaimed. “Is this what you want me to do?”
“Don’t make this about me!” he gathered his arms defensively over his chest once again.
“It is exactly about you! You… you… wild boar! Did you think this was about the goats?”
Damiano puffed through his nose, frowned, tightening his lips and exited the stable.
“Don’t you run away from this, from me.” the girl followed him, determined to get to the end of it.
Outside, dark clouds were riding in the sky, pressing low over their heads. It had been like that for one week: no rain, just a hot wind, and that nasty pressure. Damiano looked up worryingly but then moved his attention towards Margareta, who was still shouting after him.
“Damiano!”
“Look, Margy! You should just leave me alone, right now!” he told her, his back to her.
“Yes, but why is this any different than all the other times I should just leave you alone? I want to know why you’re trying so damn hard to keep yourself in the dark?”
“I’m not trying anything… the darkness is safer.” and he was amazing at what he had just gotten out of his mouth.
Margareta was amazed, too. But felt like something was breaking. So, she went on, this time milder, trying to get in his face, though he just turned his back again.
“What happened to you, Damiano? You used to have such depths to your soul!”
“War happened!” he retorted, trying hard to compose himself.
“War ended!” she remarked emphatically.
“It didn’t end in here!” he suddenly shouted, turning to her, raising his hand to his chest, his face distorted by grief.
The girl was startled, both at his tone and at the heartbreaking look in his eyes. She was wondering for how long he had kept that shout inside of him.
“The depths you seek are now filled with gurgling blood, screams, and gunshots. Do you have any idea what it’s like to see so much death and return home and find that it has followed you? It is a fate worse than dying!”
Margareta was remembering the time her mother died of TB and she was spitting blood, sometimes choking on it. When she gave her last breath, she actually did make a gurgling sound, that gave her nightmares for years. She was 10. As to screams and gunshots, those were the reason she had fled from Spain. The streets were slowly becoming a battleground.
“Working is the only thing that makes me forget.” Damiano continued. “I thought… when I saw that photograph of you… I thought… and then when you came to me on horseback, like a vision…” his eyes glowed as he said that, going for an instant to a different place, but then frowning again and going “No…” and turning his back to her again.
Margareta approached him carefully, the way you approach a wild animal. She could feel him flinch when she slowly put her hand on his shoulder.
“People die on you,” she said quietly. “Especially loved ones. I know what it’s like. I have looked death in the eye for a couple of times, myself.”
“It’s not the same as being surrounded by it.” he stubbornly affirmed, trying to shake her hand off his shoulder.
Margareta only tightened her grip and came around to face him, her eyes all lighting bolts:
“No,” she said with a sarcastic tone, “it’s not the same! No experience compares to yours! Only you have suffered! Your pain is the biggest in the world! Is this what you think?”
He grabbed her shoulders, without being able to utter a word, his green eyes glistening.
“What? You think I can’t understand pain or loss? I lost both my parents and my home and I am 5000 miles away from the place I was born, with no way to return.” she grabbed his face in her palms. “Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you let me inside? I know you’re still there! I know!”
“I can’t!” he said through his teeth, lowering her hands. “I can’t let you in, only to have you leave, or… die on me. On that day, with the rustlers, you can’t imagine how… how…”
His voice was trembling. She threw his arms around him, overwhelmed by the look in his eyes and the intensity of his and her emotions.
“I… won’t… leave!” she said. “No matter what you say to me, or how much toil you put me through. I know it’s you! It’s you! It’s the dear you I’ve always wanted to run to!”
He hugged her back, tightly:
“How do I know? How do I know He’s not gonna take you, too?”
And she knew he meant God. So, she said the first thing that came to her mind:
“For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and future.”
She could feel him softening in her arms. He leaned his head on her shoulder. Then, like a lost child, he began sobbing silently, his back jerking slightly. Margareta’s eyes filled up with tears, too, but, at the same time, she had an understanding smile on her lips.
Rain drops started to fall on their heads. He caressed her cheek with his and whispered in her ear:
“Thank you!”
She cleared her throat, touched, and answered:
“You definitely need a shave.”
He chuckled and she laughed.
*When he woke up, a mysterious, dim blue light came in through the window. It was raining and he was glad at first, then he moaned at the prospect of having to go outside. Another faint moan answered him. His heart jumped when he laid his eyes on her: she was curled up in front of him, smiling in her sleep, just a slight movement of the corner of her lips. They were lying on his bed on their sides, facing each other.
In an instant, he remembered everything: their talk, him breaking down, her comforting him, her going past his door towards her room and him calling her inside, to show her he had shaved. They had talked till late in the night and, when they were too sleepy to stay awake, he had simply told her:
“Stay…”
He didn’t want to wake her up, but he was feeling numb and made the slightest move in order to release the arm trapped underneath his body.
She exhaled and opened her eyes, blinking a few times, until she widened them, in surprise. Like him, she had forgotten they had slept in the same bed. But was reminded of everything in an instant.
„Hey,” she said lovingly.
Her eyes were glistening in the semi-darkness and her hair was falling on her neck.
„Mornin’...” he retorted, feeling a sweet mixture of nervousness and expectation.
He had a strong urge to remove that lock of hair from her neck, to feel the warm throb of her pulse under his fingers, but he cherished that simple moment so much, that he didn't want to risk spoiling it.
Like so many times, she had a similar idea, only she didn’t censor it: slowly, comforting, she placed a hand on his cheek, still amazed at how much a shave could change a person. His skin was smooth. She could see the line of his mouth clearly and the shape of his strong jaw.
He made an effort not to start, when her fingers touched his skin, the same way his heart started in his chest. Her palm gave tingles to his cheek. He closed his eyes for a second, just feeling it.
“Your hand is so warm…” he wondered in a low voice, covering her hand with his.
“Yours is… too,” she answered and her smile grew.
He smiled back. She licked her lips and blinked a few times, the way she always did when she was thinking of something to say.
“Did you know…” she started. “Um…”
“Yes?” he mildly encouraged her.
“Well… scientists have suggested that the first thing of the body that is formed inside the mother’s womb is the heart.”
“Oh?” he went, amused.
He was thinking that she must’ve just said a random thing, to alleviate some of the tension and so, he humored her thread of conversation:
“I thought it was the brain, would have been logical more logical.”
“No, no. The brain is formed way later. It’s actually the heart that’s first. And… afterward…”
She slowly turned her hand around and entangled her fingers with his, biting her lower lip, drawing nearer to him, a strange force of attraction which she couldn’t resist, working on her.
