by Jay Begler
Chula laughed. “You mean they were poor.”
“Some were unbelievably poor. But most had a quality of, I don’t know, toughness and confidence.”
“Drinking and whoring?”
Morales laughed, “Only once for the whoring, but lots of drinking.” He didn’t really consider his experience with Elena whoring. It was more of an educational experience. “And we all smoked pot.” Morales appeared proud when he said this.
“You know Hector, smoking pot even though it is now legal in Mexico or using drugs is strictly forbidden at the ranch. I am totally opposed to drugs of any kind. If I catch any employee with drugs, I fire him on the spot. Any guests caught with drugs are sent home immediately and never invited back. People do not realize that every peso they spend on drugs funds a criminal enterprise.” That night, Morales flushed his stash down the toilet. “So, tell me the reason you wanted to go to this school.”
“I thought I needed to toughen up and face up to a challenge. My private schoolmates are nice enough, but it’s boring with them; the same talk, the same tastes, and interests. And, how shall I say this, they’re soft. I checked the academics of Mexico City High and about five percent go on to college. I figure I’ll be part of that group. My best friend Luis graduated from it, and now he’s going to Princeton.”
Morales waited for the lecture that would be like the one his father gave him, the one about the importance of going to the best high-school so he could get into the right college, preferably an Ivy League college. Chula asked, “And Hector, if I told you that you should listen to your father, what would you say?”
“Mr. Chula, I have great respect and admiration for you, but I’m afraid I’ve decided. I’m going to the public high-school.”
“Fearless and determined too. Hector, you know that your father only wants the best for you and his suggestions are motivated by love and for that you need to respect him and the advice he gives. He’s a wise man. But, when I give you advice, I need to give you the best and the most honest advice I can. You should go to the public high school to face its challenges and deal with the toughs. You will get into a good college; I can assure you.”
Morales, surprised and elated, spoke in a voice that sounded as if he received a present, “Thank you so much, Mr. Chula.”
Chula warned, “But Hector, it will not be easy for you. You are going to be harassed and bullied.”
“I know, but I’m not afraid.”
“Yes, I know. But being fearless is not enough. You need to be prepared.”
“Prepared?”
“Do you know how to defend yourself, to fight, to really fight?” Morales thought about this and realized that he had never been in a fight and did not know how to defend himself. “I don’t, Mr. Chula.”
“Given your upbringing, I’m not surprised. So, here’s what we will do. Besides horseback riding and shooting lessons, I will arrange for you to learn to defend yourself. I have the perfect person. His name is Jeb. He was formerly a combat instructor for the Navy Seals. All you need to know will come from him. You’ll start in the lab with Rebecca at ٩:٣٠ and work for three hours. Tomorrow and every day after that, Jeb will pick you up at six a.m. for your training.”
As he walked towards the guest house, Morales had a series of wishes typical of a teenage boy wanting to impress a young girl. He wished he was more muscular, had those washboard abs that all high school boys try to achieve, but rarely do. He wished he was taller, even though Morales was above six feet, En route to a final six-foot-four. And he wished that he wore something more fashionable or flattering. Morales’ swim trunks looked more like cut-off pants than a bathing suit. He was sure Rebecca would tease him about that, and that thought made him smile. It was the totality of Rebecca that he found so alluring: her looks, her sense of humor, her self-assuredness and even her tactile nature, the way she touched his arm to make a point. The word that he might have looked for to describe her was “beguiling.” He also sensed that there was a certain chemistry between them, perhaps some unspoken sexual energy.
Rebecca didn’t notice him at first. Lying on the ornate tiled floor by the pool, eyes closed behind dark tortoise-shell sunglasses and listening to music on her iPhone through earbuds, she was wearing what fashionistas would call a “Retro-Style” black tank bathing suit. Morales sat next to her and dangled his feet in the pool. He put a single finger into her open palm, and as if knowing who it was, she squeezed it and smiled.
That small perfect moment became an unforgettable memory for Morales, one which he often replayed as the years passed. He sometimes thought it was the best moment of his life. They were isolated from everything and everyone. It was their sixteenth summer. Worries about the future and the vagaries that come with age had not yet imposed themselves upon them. An emotion different and far stronger than anything he had experienced before overtook him. Reflecting on it later, he realized that in that single instant, he had fallen irrevocably in love with Rebecca. Years later, when he was writing his paper on Ken Lay, Morales wondered if he could love someone. Most of the texts and articles he read said that a sociopath was incapable of loving anyone but himself. He thought of himself, however, as an exception to this rule.
“What are you listening to?”
She pushed the speaker icon, and after only three seconds, he said, “Easy to Love. I think the artist is or was Nancy La Mott. She died many years ago, but I always thought her rendition was the best. It’s my favorite song.”
She was shocked. “Hector? You really know this?” Rebecca was not prejudiced, but she had certain beliefs imposed on her that made her think it was impossible for a teenage boy to know this song. “How do you know this?”
“Two years ago, my parents took me to see a revival of Anything Goes. When I heard the song, I was hooked.” Then, holding her hand and striking the pose of a performer, and with an edge of sincerity, he sang: “For you’d be so easy to love, so easy to idolize all others above, so sweet to waken with, so nice to sit down to eggs and bacon with.”
He was shocked more than Rebecca at what just happened. It was the first time he had ever sung to anyone. In fact, he never sang. He didn’t understand what had prompted what he regarded at the time as strange behavior. Had Morales focused deeply on the event, he would have realized that for the first time in his life, he was truly happy; that being with Rebecca gave him a sense of joy. Before he met Rebecca, happiness was an emotion that eluded him. Like most sociopaths he was devoid of emotions, no love, no guilt, no empathy and no regrets. While he pretended to be happy, it was always an act. More often than not he was unhappy, brooding or angry, often not knowing why he had these feelings but he hid these emotions from all who knew him.
Once the summer was over and Rebecca returned to New York, any sense of happiness evaporated and he returned to his sullen-brooding self. For the rest of the summer, however, when they were alone, he would occasionally and unexpectedly, break out in song.
She touched his arm again and walked to the edge of the pool and asked, “Swim?” They didn’t swim. Instead, they stood chest-high in the warm pool water and approached each other until, less than six inches apart, Rebecca leaned into him. Intuitively, he pulled her closer so their bodies were touching and kissed her passionately. She responded, her tongue exploring his mouth. The pace of their breathing increased. He pulled down her top and kissed her breasts. She pushed back. “Do you have any protection?”
“I do, but back in my room.” “Thank God for Luis’ gift,” he thought.
“Maybe we can meet tomorrow night. My father will be in Mexico City attending Sabbath services. He won’t be back until Sunday. Hector, I need to admit something to you. I’ve never made love before, but I want to with you” She laughed. “After all, because of Esmeralda, you are a man of experience. My only experience if you can call it that was watching a pornographic film with some of my girlfriends at a sleepover. It wasn’t very romantic, but I suppose instructive in a way.”
/> “We’ll find our way, Rebecca. And I promise you I’ll be romantic because that’s the way I feel about you.”
Rebecca took his hand, kissed it, and then directed Morales towards a table situated under an umbrella. Her demeanor suddenly became serious. She stopped holding his hand and said, “Hector, I have five more weeks here. We can have a wonderful time together. We can be friends, soul mates and lovers. But, Hector, you need to understand that once I leave, it’s over between us. It will be a fantastic summer romance that we’ll always remember, and each of us will have a special place in our hearts for the other forever, but once I leave, that’s it. No letters, no phone calls, no emails. It will be as if we never existed for each other, and our relationship never happened.”
For a moment, he couldn’t speak. How could it be over? He loved her. He stammered, “I don’t understand.”
“Hector, it just has to be that way. For me this is will be a summer romance, and possibly an intense one, but it ends when I leave. That’s my condition. And I won’t change my mind.”
“And if your friends ask about what you did over the summer? You won’t mention me by name?”
She was resolute in her answer. “No, Hector. I will only describe you as my summer romance. No names or even descriptions. I’m going to describe you only as a ranch hand.” She began to laugh and said, “In a way, you will be my Fantasma, my phantom.” Then in an assertive tone, she said, “I hope you will do the same.”
Morales nodded, not intending to keep his promise.
He was beginning to realize just how strong-willed she was, but it was a characteristic that made her even more attractive to him. “Just understand that our relationship has a beginning, middle, and an end, and the end, Hector, is the end even though it will probably be painful for both of us. Think about it and let me know. If you can’t accept it, then we’ll be platonic friends and still have some fun. I have to run. I’m spending the rest of the afternoon and evening with my father.” She kissed him lightly on the mouth, turned, and walked into the guest house.
He sat at the table, not knowing how to process what she had told him. He wanted to say to her, “It’s too late; I’m already in love with you.” Instead, when Rebecca was out of earshot, he smashed the table and said under his breath, “Fuck!”
Five
•
The Fireflies
At 5:45 the following morning Morales met Jeb. Jeb was a wiry man, about six feet tall and in his mid to late thirties. He had closely cropped hair, was wearing army fatigues and running shoes, and was sipping coffee as he leaned against a jeep. Morales approached. He smiled, extended his hand, and said, “Hector, I presume. Nice to meet you; I’m Jeb.” They shook hands. The strength of his grip impressed Morales.
He replied, “Yes, thank you for teaching me self-defense.”
“Let’s go inside and grab breakfast. We can talk a bit and then begin your training. I always laugh when I hear people talk about self-defense. You won’t learn that from me. You’ll learn to fight, to win. The first rule, however, is to avoid a fight whenever you can. You never want to start a fight. So, if someone assaults you verbally, says he fucked your mother, taunts you, makes a racial slur, you walk away even if you are certain that you can crush that person. Fighting is always risky and carries consequences. You need to bear that in mind. But, when walking away is unavoidable, your mindset always must be that of the aggressor, and you must always feel certain that you will win. The skills I will teach you, the same ones used by the Navy Seals and some other services, are just part of your training. To fight well, you need mental toughness, and you’ll need strength and stamina. Stamina is important because some battles may last a long time and involve running and stopping and running again. Tiring an opponent is often the best first step in winning a fight. This is especially true if you are facing more than one opponent at the same time.”
“You also need to have a psychological edge to place your opponent off-kilter. For example, if a guy approaches and threatens to kick the shit out of you, you could respond with bravado and use a cliché like ‘You and who else?’ That will accomplish nothing. But, if you say something totally out of context and almost whacky like, for example, ‘I like your shoes,’ that will confuse him, possibly injecting a bit of fear in him. The advantage is that in the time it takes for him to process what you said and how to reply, you will formulate your plan of attack. I will also teach you a lot about guns, how to shoot in a life and death situation, and the proper way to use a knife and your ring.”
“My ring? I don’t have a ring.”
“I know, but I have one for you. Who is to say that your fight will always be with your fists?”
The ring that Jeb displayed resembled the type worn by college graduates. It was thicker than most rings, with a large dark stone. “Here, put it on; a gift from me to you.”
Jeb smiled at Morales’s puzzled look. “Hold the ring up. See the little raised ram’s head engraved on the side of the ring just below the stone? Push it up slightly and then in.”
When he did so, the stone hinged open and two small serrated knife edges, each only a half an inch, popped out of the cavity below the stone.
“It’s very effective in close combat situations. Never take it off.” Morales would later learn the value of Jeb’s advice.
“OK Hector, if you are ready, we’ll do an hour of physical training each day and two hours of combat training. You’ll find it very hard at first, but by the end of two weeks, it will become easier. And, by the end of the summer, you will hardly notice the physical strain of your training. When you get home, do yourself a big favor; follow our training regimen at least five days a week. Here’s a card of a friend of mine, also a former Navy Seal, whose exercise studio is in Mexico City. Be sure to contact him. He can help to maintain your fighting skills. After today’s work out, we’ll start on the basics of fighting, starting with hand to hand. Oh yes, Mr. Chula asked me to give you this identification tag. You’ll need it to get into the laboratory.”
“I’d much rather be working outdoors.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, you’ll be working side by side with Rebecca.”
Morales thought, “If you only knew.”
Morales, exhausted and aching from his training, walked along the path from the hacienda to Chula’s laboratory. The three-story building was as large as those used by some of the most successful Mexican pharmaceutical companies. Like the hacienda, a thick stone wall, close to 16 feet high, surrounded it. At a single narrow entryway through the wall, a security guard greeted him. After inspecting Morales’ identification tag through a locked wrought-iron gate, the guard opened the gate and escorted him into a large room.
Morales turned when he heard Rebecca’s voice. “Hello, Hector. I’m glad you are here.” A mask, similar to the ones used during the great Corona-19 epidemic years earlier, covered most of her face, allowing Morales to focus on her beautiful violet eyes.
“I’m glad to be here too. Rebecca. Where is your father?”
“Oh, he’s upstairs, either on two or three. He’ll be down a little later on. We’re not allowed on those floors. What goes on there is what Mr. Chula calls ‘proprietary.’ He’s developing alternative medicines and health products for his cattle and doesn’t want his competitors to find out about them. There is very high security here. Come, I’ll take you to our workstation, and I’ll explain what we are doing.”
She took Hector by his hand, squeezed it playfully, and led him to a workstation. He didn’t want to let go. When they arrived at a table bearing various plants and test tubes, Rebecca began a detailed explanation of what they would do, but he cut her off and lied, “Rebecca, I thought about what you asked, and I agree. Once you leave, it will be over. I promise.”
“Thank you, Hector. And please don’t pin any hopes of having me change my mind. I may want to, but won’t. When I decide something, I never change my mind.”
“No, I understand fully.
You have my word.”
They walked towards stables about three miles up a dirt road. En route, they held hands and occasionally darted off the road to hide behind some trees and kiss. “I can’t wait until tonight,” he whispered.
“Neither can I, but remember, I’m a first-timer.”
He became hard instantly, and she pressed against him and, feeling his erection, pulled back slightly and said in a whisper, “Better save that for later.”
When they reached the stables, Morales was surprised by what he saw. He had expected a barn-like structure and a field with a few fences. Instead, the buildings were reminiscent of those populating a high-class Virginia horse ranch he had seen in a magazine. Two white houses with green wooden shutters, each fronted by identical large porches, stood overlooking a well-tended lawn surrounded by a white picket fence. A young man dressed in a white and green uniform was waiting for them. Morales noticed that it had the same logo as the helicopter.
“Greetings, Miss Rebecca. I have Daisy ready for you and Mister?”
“Hector.”
“Thank you. I have Challenger waiting for you, but don’t let the name scare you; he is very tame and will sense your experience.”
“I have no riding experience.”
Rebecca said laughingly, “What about Esmeralda?”
The young man asked, “Is that a horse?”
Morales laughed and said, “Don’t mind her. I have no experience.”
“I can give you a quick lesson.”
After a half-hour lesson, Morales and Rebecca were ready to ride. They rode slowly along a gently sloped path. After about a mile, they came to a secluded pond and tied up their horses. Rebecca took a small blanket roll that was on the back of her saddle and put it on the ground. Lying on her back, she whispered, “You wouldn’t have protection, would you?”
“I do.”
Without speaking they slowly undressed each other and, tentatively at first, explored each other’s’ bodies. They kissed softly, but soon their love making grew in such intensity it seemed frenzy like. Their moaning, heaves and sighs were palpable. Rebecca’s orgasm was so intense that she cried afterwards. It was in a way a pivotal moment for her. It confirmed what she already knew about herself, namely that sexual pleasure would be one of the most dominant forces in her life and that lust, a word that her parents equated with sin, would always be an integral part of her persona.
