The Awakening

by Allen Johnson

  Antonio offered a weak smile. “Not very well.”

  She smoothed an eyebrow. “That makes two of us.”

  “As for me, I slept like a baby,” Diego said. “But then I always sleep like a baby. The older I get, the more I go back to my old ways. I sleep like a baby and think like an adolescent. Right now, I am thinking that you, my dear Antonio, could use a good friend.”

  “I know I have your friendship, Diego, and I am sure that I will be leaning on you. But first I need to tell you something about myself.”

  “Antonio, you do not have to tell us anything,” Diego said.

  “I do. I owe you my life. Sharing my history is the least I can do.” Antonio said this with his head down, staring blankly at Lupita’s hands folded on the kitchen table. Then he raised his head and gazed into Lupita’s beautiful eyes. “My name is Anthony Rossi.”

  “Then you are Antonio, after all,” Diego said. “I knew it.”

  Antonio smiled. “Yes, I am Antonio. But there is much that you do not know about me. I am an American. I am the president of an international construction management firm with offices in Seattle and Paris. For the last ten years, I have lived in Paris.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then, Lupita asked the question that had replayed in her head all night long. “Are you married?” The words were almost inaudible.

  Antonio paused a few seconds too long, and Lupita withdrew her hand. Antonio closed his eyes and tried to recover from the blow to his heart.

  “I am married. But it is not a good marriage; I never really loved her—not in a real sense. It has been breaking up for years. In fact, I think it was breaking up before it began. And, luckily, we have no children.”

  “I see,” Lupita said soberly.

  “No, you do not see, Lupita. What I have told you before still stands. There is only one woman who I love, and that woman is you.”

  Lupita said nothing.

  Antonio clawed at his bad shoulder. “Lupita, I am in agony. I would scratch out my eyes, if I thought it would erase the memory of my past. I am ashamed of my life; it is utterly despicable. My marriage is a sham, and my business dealings are unethical, if not illegal. I use and discard people at will. That is what I meant when I said last night that I was no good. But I swear to you, as God is my witness, that is not the man I want to be today—not anymore.”

  Another long pause.

  “What is your wife’s name?” Lupita asked.

  “Penelope.”

  “Who is Savannah?”

  Antonio tugged at his hair. “She is one of the people I used. And she used me.”

  “Was she your lover?”

  “Yes, but it was not real. It was all a setup. She was the person who lured me into the Arab Quarter in Granada, and it was her partner who nearly killed me.”

  “But she wrote, ‘You were unbelievable.’”

  “Yes, but not in the sense you are thinking. I was ‘unbelievable’ all right: meaning ‘I was not credible and not to be trusted.’ Do you see?”

  Lupita turned and lowered her head, her eyes even more sad.

  “Do you want revenge?” Diego asked.

  “Regarding Savannah?”

  “Si.”

  Antonio looked long at the old man. “No, Diego. You have taught me better than that. In fact, I want nothing of Savannah or Penelope or my life in Paris.”

  “Nothing?” Diego asked. It was only a one-word question, but that single word held a world of complexity and challenge.

  “My old life holds nothing for me,” Antonio said meekly.

  “Yes, my son, but what influence does your old life hold on you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said that you used Savannah.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then Savannah holds your soul.” Diego took his time, letting the statement sink in. “People are not furniture, Antonio. You do not use them and then discard them, when you grow weary of their novelty.”

  “It was she who discarded me,” Antonio protested.

  “That is not the point. I am not talking about her responsibility; I am talking about yours. What responsibility do you have to her?”

  Antonio nodded. In his old life the word responsibility had one meaning: commitment to satisfying his own needs. Diego made him realize, perhaps for the first time, that he had never thought about his responsibility to others.

  “Now, as to your wife,” Diego continued, “you said you never really loved her.”

  “That is right.”

  “Did you make her believe that you loved her?”

  “Yes. In the beginning.”

  “Then you lied.”

  Anthony closed his eyes. His body felt slack and empty. “Yes.”

  “And later, did you prove to her again and again that you did not love her?”

  “Yes, Diego, I did that too.”

  Diego reached over the table and covered Antonio’s hand. “Listen, Antonio: That is a terrible thing. There is nothing that you can do to a woman that is more devastating and more dishonorable.”

  Antonio bowed his head. A tear fell to the table.

  “What am I to do?”

  Diego touched the knot of his red bandanna. “Antonio, you remember meeting my brother?”

  Antonio nodded, picturing the frail priest in his wheel chair staring blankly at a wall.

  “I had good reason to despise my brother; he killed my wife. But hate does not make the world flourish; it makes it more frail and puny. It shrivels the soul as it has shriveled the spirit of my brother. I did not want that for myself, and that is why I rescued him from a prison cell in Barcelona.”

  “How did you have the strength?”

  “I listened to Lupe and Juanito. They taught me that only love makes the world richer. And, know this, my son: Without mercy there is no love.”

  The room was silent for a moment. Then Antonio straightened up in his chair, resolve dawning on his face. He spoke slowly: “Yes, yes. I know now what I must do.”

  “Good. Just keep listening to your heart.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  After a moment, Diego offered to freshen everyone’s coffee. All refused.

  “I have a question for you,” Antonio said to Diego. “Your response will help me plan my life.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I am a very wealthy man. Under the right conditions, would the two of you ever consider living in France or the United States? I could give you both a very comfortable life.”

  Lupita and Diego looked at each other.

  Diego took hold of Antonio’s forearm. “My life is already very comfortable. This is my home, Antonio: my earth, my people, my ancestors. No, I could never leave Spain.”

  “Nor could I,” Lupita said. “Espejo is my village. The people need me, and I need them.”

  Antonio nodded. “Yes. I do not know why I even asked; I knew that would be your answer. Of course, you are right. This is your land,” he said, letting the idea go, his mind already drifting to other thoughts.

  “What will be your next step?” Diego asked.

  “I would like to begin by transferring some money to your account, Diego.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “To help repay you.”

  “But we did not take you in for money. We love you; there is no charge for love.”

  “I know that, Diego. I am not asking this for you; I am asking for me.”

  “If you want to give us something, Antonio, give us your love. That is all that I cherish.”

  Antonio turned to Lupita. “I suppose that you feel the same.”

  “Absolutely,” she said, putting her arm around her grandfather.

  “I am not sure I know what it means to love. I am only a crude student. But I have the best teachers in the world,” he said, grasping both their hands. “My only desire is to love you purely and deeply.”

  “Then do it,” Diego said. “Be the man you are meant to be.”


  Those words stung, but Antonio knew Diego was right. He had to take charge. If he ever was to love, he would have to be intentional about it.

  “What do you need from us?” Diego asked.

  Antonio thought for a moment. “First, I would like a little time to think alone. Then, I think I would like to make a call or two to Paris. May I use your telephone?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Antonio stood, stepped behind Lupita, and kissed her on the cheek. With that kiss, Lupita caressed the side of his face—a warm and tender touch that gave him renewed life.

  Antonio moved to the balcony, where he sat for over an hour. Slowly he pieced together his next steps with one thought in mind: to be true to his heart and Diego’s standards of honor. He was about to move to the living room to make his telephone calls, when he heard Lupita’s voice.

  “Would you like some company?” she asked from the doorway.

  He turned and looked at Lupita, who looked, all at once, beautiful, courageous, and sad. “Please, come talk with me.” He stood up, took her by both hands, and led her to a chair next to his. “I am glad you came; I am always at peace when you are with me.”

  “What will you do now?” Lupita asked.

  “The right thing. I have to do the right thing.”

  “Yes, I know, Antonio. How long will it take?”

  He shook his head. “I do not know. My heart is here, Lupita—you know that—but I have a great deal of work to do. My neglect, my abuse has hurt a lot of people, and I have to make that right; I have to do what is honorable. I need time, Lupita. Can you wait for me?”

  “And if it takes a lifetime?”

  Antonio did not know how to answer that question. Finally, he said, “Lupita, I cannot imagine my life without you. But can you imagine my life with you, if I simply ignored my debts? Diego has asked me to follow my heart, and that is what my heart is telling me. Would you want me to do any differently?”

  “No, of course not.” Then, after a long pause, she said quietly, “I just do not know if I can ever be happy again without you.”

  Lupita’s words tore at his heart. “Lupita, your happiness is more important to me than my own breath. If there is any way on earth that I can come back to you, I will find it. I put my love for you above all things . . .”

  “Except honor,” Lupita said, finishing his sentence.

  “Yes, except honor.”

  Telephoning Paris was not easy; it was opening the door to the raw ugliness of his past; and, yet, he knew it must be done. It was the first step in reconciling his past life with his future life.

  It did not take Antonio long to decide whom to telephone first. There was only one person he knew he could trust with his life; that was his secretary, Lucy. She was not only fully competent, but, more importantly, she could keep a secret.

  Always efficient, she picked up the phone on the first ring. “TMS. How may I help you?”

  “Hello Lucy.”

  “I’m sorry. Who’s speaking please?”

  Of course, Lucy did not recognize him. The injury to his larynx had changed his voice—now a little breathier, a little raspier.

  “I’ve been in an accident, Lucy. It damaged my voice a bit, but I think you know me. Please don’t say my name. This is Antonio … Anthony Rossi.”

  Lucy gasped. “Oh, my. Oh, my God.”

  “Lucy, I know that you always have a lot of traffic around your desk. Is that the case right now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is anyone in my office?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Go to my office and pick up this line; I need to talk to you privately.”

  “Yes, sir. Hold on.” Lucy transferred the call to Anthony’s office and dashed to his door. “Damn.” She had forgotten that she had locked the door and ran back to her desk to find the keys. She fumbled with the keys, until she found the right one and stabbed it into the door lock. Anthony’s phone was on the third ring; it would transfer to an answering machine on the fourth ring. Lucy dove across the desk to grab the phone, sending blueprints and reports flying.

  “Hello, hello!”

  “Yes, Lucy, I’m still here.”

  “Thank God. I thought I lost you.”

  “Have you locked the door behind you?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Do so.”

  “Okay. Hold on.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Lucy locked the door, circled Anthony’s desk, and sat down.

  “I’m back.”

  “All right. Please forgive all the cloak-and-dagger stuff, but I’m not ready for anyone to know that I’m back.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m still in Spain. It’s a very long and complicated story. I’ll take you out to dinner one night and tell you all about it. But for right now, I need your help. All right?”

  “Of course.”

  “I knew I could depend on you. Do you have a pencil and paper?”

  Lucy opened the top desk drawer and pulled out a pencil. Then, swiveling half circle, she took out a clean sheet of paper from the printer behind the desk. “I’m ready, Mr. Rossi.”

  “Good. Are you sitting at my desk?”

  “Yes.”

  “On the bottom right hand side there is a file drawer. Find the folder titled ‘Anthony Rossi.’”

  Lucy was following his directions as he spoke. “Yes, I’ve got it.”

  “Good. Inside that file are photocopies of my birth certificate and my passport.”

  “Wait a minute. Yes, they’re here.”

  “I want you to overnight both of them to me at this address.” He gave the address to the Garcias’ home.

  “All right. I’m with you.”

  “Second, what can you tell me about the project with Harry Tubbs in Águilas?”

  “Harry didn’t know what to do when you didn’t come back. He waited for a few days and then sent the contract to Mr. Duncan.”

  “Has Hennessy signed off on it yet?”

  “I think so.”

  “Has legal signed off on it?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. I don’t care how you do it, Lucy, but do not let that contract go out. Find the contract and lose it somewhere. I don’t mean destroy it; I mean misplace it for a week or two, until I can get back to the office.”

  “I can do that.”

  “I know you can; I’m counting on you. Third, who is running the company?”

  “Mr. Duncan.”

  “How is he doing?”

  “He’s trying to fill your shoes, but it’s a pretty poor imitation.”

  “Am I still the president of the company?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know for how long. There has been some discontent among the board members. I think they would like to figure out a way to take your title.”

  “And do what?”

  “I’m not sure. But it doesn’t look good for you. Forgive me for saying, Mr. Rossi, but you don’t have a lot of friends on the board.”

  “I know, Lucy. And don’t worry; you can speak frankly with me.”

  “The next board meeting is in three days. I don’t know the details, but I do know that legal has been working on a proposal for a new organizational structure, including your role in the company. I wish I could tell you more, Mr. Rossi, but I’ve been left pretty much in the dark.”

  “That’s all right. Here’s your third task. See if you can postpone that board meeting. Tell them there’s a critical report that needs to be posted before the meeting. Tell them anything. Just get it postponed for ten days. That’s all I need.”

  “It’s done.”

  “I have a fourth item.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “This will be the most difficult for you, but please be absolutely honest with me. What has happened between Hennie and Penelope?”

  The phone went silent.

  “Lucy?”

  “Yes, I�
�m here. It’s not good, Mr. Rossi,” Lucy said very slowly.

  “What is it?”

  “When you fell off the face of the earth, Penelope filed for divorce. I think she figured you were . . . this is very hard for me, Mr. Rossi.”

  “You’re doing fine, Lucy.”

  “I think she decided you were . . . well, having a romantic interlude in Spain somewhere. Frankly, she had no interest in finding you; she didn’t even try. She just wanted out of the marriage.”

  Now it was Anthony’s turn to be silent. The news was not unexpected; in fact, in a way it was what he hoped for. And, yet, he was saddened. It was true that their marriage was in shambles, but he still felt that he owed her something. He owed her respect.

  “Mr. Rossi?”

  “Yes, Lucy, I’m just taking it in. When did she file for divorce?”

  “I’m not absolutely sure, but I think it was in early October. I don’t know if you know this, Mr. Rossi, but Washington State law dictates that a divorce cannot be finalized for three months.”

  Anthony remembered Lucy’s divorce. Of course, she would be up on the rules.

  “That’s right about now.”

  “Yes.”

  “But wouldn’t she need my consent?”

  “Correct. But, given the unusual circumstances—namely your disappearance—Penelope could appeal to the court to grant a divorce in your absence. In fact, I think that is what she has in mind.”

  “Okay. I’ll try to get back before it’s finalized.”

  “There’s one other thing, Mr. Rossi.”

  “Yes?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you this,” Lucy said softly, “but Hennie, I mean Mr. Duncan, has moved in with Penelope.”

  Anthony felt the grain of his beard. “That doesn’t surprise me, Lucy. It’s all right. Thanks for telling me.”

  “Can I do anything else for you?”

  “No, I think that will do it. There is just this: Lucy, you are a soldier. No, that’s not what I want to say. I called you because you were the only person I could trust. And, frankly, I don’t know why you should be loyal to me. I have not always treated you with dignity, and for that I am truly sorry.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Rossi,” Lucy said, her voice breaking up. “Thank you very, very much.”

  “Goodbye. I’ll see you in a week or two. And remember, not a word of this to anyone.”