by Jay Begler
His emotional attachment to Rebecca was somewhere between the sayings “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” and its opposite, “Absence makes the heart forget.” Morales’ irrational longings for Rebecca and his accompanying melancholy when he focused on her, diluted by time, occurred less frequently. Sometimes he would go for months without thinking about her and then, provoked by an inconsequential event, for example seeing a woman in a restaurant placing her hand on the arm of her escort or drinking in the aroma of a perfume evocative of Rebecca’s perfume, her image would impose herself upon him.
Morales realized that Rebecca was just a memory and nothing more. He did everything he could, including seeing a therapist, to free himself from the remnants of an irrational obsession. Morales was mostly successful, though Rebecca was always there lurking in his psyche and ready to reappear without warning. He was like a haunted house, and she was the ghost who would make her presence known at unpredictable times.
Except for these kinds of interludes, Morales was getting on with his life. After a year, however, he was growing weary of his lifestyle and job. While Mexico City was an amazing and sophisticated place, Morales missed the gritty vitality of New York City and the freedom he had as a student. He became a captive of routine and daily evaluations by his father. He took these as criticism, and they stirred up both anger and resentment. Morales realized that the warnings from his classmates that working for a parent ranged from virtually impossible to totally impossible were correct.
Desperately unhappy with his life, Morales decided to move back to New York City. As he was polishing his resume, he received a call from Isabella. He knew instantly from her first word “Hector,” not a question, not a statement, but more like a moan, that something was terribly wrong. Isabella, always upbeat even in the worst of circumstances, was hysterical and almost incoherent. At first, he didn’t understand what she was saying. “Isabella slow down, slow down.”
“I’m sorry, Hector. It’s my mother, Hector. She’s dead. She died in her sleep. She was only 59; an aneurism that no one knew existed.”
He responded softly, “I’m so terribly sorry Isabella. She was a wonderful, beautiful woman. I’ll tell my parents and we will come up first thing tomorrow.”
Morales, his parents and the same helicopter pilot that had first taken him to the hacienda over a decade earlier flew in silence. Morales never returned to the hacienda after his summer with Rebecca, despite invitations to do so from Chula and Isabella. He felt that it held too many memories of Rebecca, and being there would only depress him.
As the Helicopter approached Chula’s land, the pilot said in a subdued voice, “You haven’t been here for quite some time. You worked here, and there was this girl, Rebecca, a pretty little thing.”
Morales wanted to say, “Why the fuck did you have to mention her name,” but instead replied, “Yes, I think it’s about eight or nine years.” He asked himself, “Could it really be that long?” and wondered how he’d cope being back at the hacienda and seeing places that would evoke some bittersweet memories.
“Look down there.”
The pilot handed Morales a pair of binoculars. Thousands of steers grazed on deeply green acreage. As the helicopter began its descent and was about ٢٠٠ feet above the land, Morales, surprised by what he saw, said, “This sounds crazy, but they appear to be calm and much larger than I remember them.”
“They should be. They feed on the best grade of grass possible with diets supplemented by the purest and most enriched vitamins and minerals. We don’t use steroids of any sort on them. They gain weight naturally and slowly. And you are right. They are larger by about thirty percent than the average steer. Every day they get a bottle of Dos Equis Ambar or Carta Blanca. The funny thing is that the steers show preferences for different brands. Once a week, we rub each steer down with special cloths. Mr. Chula employs about 200 men and women to do this.”
The increase in size permitted the insertion of an additional five kilos of drugs into the steers and billions in additional revenue to the Cartel. This prompted Chula to once say, “With these profits we can give my steers Dom Perignon.”
Isabella greeted Morales and his parents as they exited the helicopter. There were hugs, kisses, tears and exchanges of sympathy. Morales led her away from his parents. In a quiet voice she said, “Thank you for coming. I know being here probably evokes some memories you might not want to have right now.”
“I’m fine with that. The important thing for me Isabella is to be here for you and your father. How is he?”
“He’s in a lot of pain, but being super macho is putting up a brave front.”
They walked onto the veranda in the back of the hacienda. A few people were speaking quietly to each other. Morales didn’t see Chula immediately, and in the brief interlude before Chula approached, he flashed back to the first night he had dinner with Rebecca. He looked towards the place where they sat that evening, but the small bench was no longer there, replaced by some large potted plants. Morales’ momentary memory was interrupted by Chula, who greeted him. Though still handsome, it was clear that Chula had aged considerably. His face was more wrinkled. His hair, once jet black, was thinner and mostly grey. He seemed to have a slight paunch. Morales wondered at that moment what he might look like at sixty-four.
Chula said in a subdued voice, “Thank you for coming Hector; it’s been a long time. I’ve been following you through your parents and Isabella. I’ve heard you’re doing quite well at the bank.” Chula put his hand on Morales’ shoulder and said, “I’ve got to see a few more people, Hector. Please excuse me. We’ll talk tomorrow after the ceremony.”
At dawn, just as rays of sunlight fell on Adriana’s final resting place, Chula addressed his relatives and friends. “Thank you for coming. The loss of Adriana is devastating to all of us, and we must cope and grieve as best as we can. I think she may be looking down on us now, and if so, Adriana would tell us not to be sad.”
Chula and most everyone in attendance choked bac back tears. “But, of course, that is impossible to do. So, Adriana, wherever you are, please forgive us. Adriana had three wishes for her funeral. We used to talk about our deaths and funeral wishes from time to time. It’s an affectation of getting older I suppose.”
He smiled slightly. “Well, she did; I told her I didn’t plan on dying. Her first wish was to be buried at dawn, in this very spot in the center of this beautiful garden which she cultivated all on her own. Second, and you may think this odd, but I think it’s a wonderful idea. She did not want a headstone. Instead, Adriana asked that we erect a beautiful fountain for her gravesite and an inscription on it, ‘Adriana’s Fountain,’ nothing more. Ironically, just last week she said to me, ‘I don’t want my garden to become a cemetery.’” As he said these words, Morales wondered if Adrianna had a premonition about her impending death.
“Finally, she said that any ceremony could not last over five minutes. So, say your goodbyes and then please go up to the hacienda for breakfast. I need to be alone with my thoughts for a while.”
Morales found Chula on the veranda. “Want some tea, Hector? It is quite good. I have it flown in from Hong Kong once or twice a month. When you develop a taste for this tea, which is more expensive than some of the finest wines, you will never go back to coffee.”
Morales thought it was a strange comment from a man who just lost his wife. Perhaps not mentioning her was a way of coping. He wondered, “How do you cope with that sort of loss in any event?” Chula poured him a cup and Morales said, meaning it, “I think you are right.”
“You know Hector; I’m feeling my age. You cross that sixties threshold and you start focusing on your own mortality with greater frequency, though I never thought Adriana would die first. When you first met Isabella, you were both sixteen and now in what seems to be the blink of an eye you are both 25, and I’ve started my march towards seventy. Seventy, that’s a concept I can’t get my arms around. I keep thinking, ‘How can I be appr
oaching seventy? That’s for people in nursing homes.’”
“But you look amazingly fit and strong,” Morales lied.
“Thank you, but aging I’m afraid is a losing battle. I had planned to have this conversation with you down the road a bit, but Adriana’s death accelerated things for me.”
Morales tried to understand where Chula was going with this conversation, but couldn’t.
“Let me ask you a question. Are you happy in your work?”
Morales answered without hesitation, “Frankly, I’m not happy at all. It’s insufferably boring. Mr. Chula, this is only between you and me, I’m planning to leave the bank and to move back to New York. I haven’t told my parents yet, but will need to do so in the next few weeks.”
“I’m not terribly surprised. But why aren’t you happy in your work? You make a nice living and your father has every expectation that someday you will be the president of the bank.”
“I find the work quite dull. The people I work with are nice enough, but provincial and not very interesting. And, in a way, you’ve spoiled me.”
His remark did not surprise Chula. “Ah yes. I’ve shown you what real wealth can buy, the lifestyle. And you’d like to have the lifestyle, but you can’t because you are only a salaried employee. These days, unless you start some fabulous new company the chances of becoming very rich are quite slim.”
“I understand that completely. Many of my classmates are already pulling away from me in the income category.”
“And your life outside of work? Are you dissatisfied with that as well?
“Yes, and no. To an outsider, my life looks terrific. I have a great apartment, a Tesla ١٠٠٠, a thousand miles on one charge, and I’m saving up for the Tesla ٥٠٠٠. I have good friends and my sex life is, well, better than fine, but I feel like I’m drifting. I’m not enthusiastic about anything.”
“You know Hector, I’ve known your family for many years and have seen you grow up. There are things about you that I really admire. Above all, I feel that you are a person I can trust and rely upon.”
“Of course.”
“Come walk with me.” They walked back into the garden. About a dozen men were already constructing the fountain. Chula surveyed their work and said, “Isabella is really a wonderful girl. I suppose I can call her a girl because I’m her father, but she is in all respects a woman and the most capable person I know. Yet, I worry about her and even more so now that Adriana has passed. She is already a key player in my business, but when I’m gone, hopefully not too soon, she will need someone to collaborate with, to help her run the business. You’d be perfect to do this. And I know it would thrill Isabela if you came into the business.”
Morales wondered, “Is he really offering me a job?” The problem was that he was looking forward to moving back to New York. More importantly, he had no interest in raising cattle. They entered a side entrance to the hacienda, walked down a long hallway and arrived at a door marked “Computer Room.” The room was fronted by a security guard who nodded to Chula respectfully as they both entered the room. Morales passed this door many times when he had stayed at the hacienda, but never gave it any thought. He assumed it was small room with a few computers, much like an area in a hotel for guests who want to use a computer. The contrary was true. The room was about sixty by sixty, with large flat-screened monitors affixed high on one wall. About thirty people looking fully absorbed in their tasks sat at computer workstations. Morales assumed they were entering data, when in fact these clerical types were part of the Cartel’s hacking operations.
Chula led Morales to a computer station where a young woman was entering and monitoring data. “Hector, say hello to Brenda.” They greeted each other cordially.
“Hector, I know you’ve been curious about the extent of my wealth, so here it is.” Before Morales could falsely protest the point, even though Chula’s observation was correct, Chula nodded and Brenda touched two keys. The monitor revealed a chart entitled “Assets.” Below that there was a listing of all of Chula’s current assets, by type, for example, stocks, bonds, real estate, gold, cryptocurrency and art. Next to each listing was its real time current value. The bottom-line total was twelve billion dollars, provoking an internal “Holy shit,” from Morales.
“If you join us, you will get to know the details flowing from each of the computers in this room. The information is quite vital to the business. Now if you accept the position here….”
Morales interrupted. “You’re offering me a job here?”
“Yes, of course. As I was saying, if you accept you will become an executive vice president of our enterprise, the same as Isabella. I understand from your father that you are making $١٥٠,٠٠٠ a year, plus a nice bonus. With perks, I’m guessing your compensation comes to about $٢٠٠,٠٠٠. How would a package of $٢,٨٠٠,٠٠٠ strike you? The package includes additional perks like your own apartment, a much better one than you have now in Mexico City, and we’ll throw in a Tesla ٥٠٠٠. One million of that is a sign-up bonus, which you get immediately.”
Reflexively, Morales said, “Seriously?”
“Hector, I’m quite serious, and that’s just your threshold compensation.” They walked in silence for a long thirty seconds. Finally, Chula said, “There is one condition, however.”
Morales, in a state of shock, replied, “Sure, anything you want.”
Chula cautioned, “Not so fast.”
They arrived back at the veranda. Chula poured some tea and said, “Now Hector, here’s my condition and it’s at the heart of my offer.”
Chula hesitated, and in that instant, Morales knew what the condition was. “You want me to marry Isabella.”
Chula nodded. “How did you know?”
“I don’t know how I knew; I just did. You know Mr. Chula; I truly love Isabella. She is honestly the most wonderful person I ever met, but I love her like a sister and not in any other way and frankly that will never change. I’m sure Isabella thinks that way about me. Mr. Chula, how can I put this delicately? I don’t think either of us could consummate the marriage.”
“Yes, I’ve considered that and spoken to Isabella. She agrees that your marriage would never be consummated in the traditional sense but she is willing to have a celibate marriage on her side. You would have an open marriage; at least for you. She knows you can’t be celibate, nor does she expect that of you.”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem, well, normal.”
“I agree with you Hector, but let me ask you a question. You’ve made love to many women. Have you truly enjoyed your other experiences?” It was an embarrassing question, but before he could answer, Chula added, “And here I ask you to be totally honest with me.”
“I did, but the enjoyment was fleeting; physical and nothing more.”
“Tell me about Rebecca.”
“Are you sure you want to hear this story?”
“Please.”
Morales did not hold back and spoke at length about Rebecca and his obsession with her. When he finished, Chula said, “Thank you, Hector. I know that must have been hard for you. Look, Hector, I don’t expect you to answer immediately. I wouldn’t want you to make a decision now. Either way, your choice will be life altering. Go home, talk to your parents and think about it. It would be a marriage of convenience, to be sure, but it would be a genuine marriage in all respects. You can have your women, but the most important woman in your life would have to be Isabella.”
“I understand.”
The irony of the situation did not escape Morales. The one person he needed advice from at that moment, the single person who he relied upon more than any other because she seemed to be always right, was Isabella. He knew that in this case she couldn’t, wouldn’t’, advise him. Nevertheless, he said, “I think I should talk to Isabella first.”
She was standing behind him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m here, Hector.”
Chula rose and said, “I think it best to leave you
two alone.”
“What do you think about my father’s proposal?”
“I was shocked. Did you know he was going to ask me to marry you?”
“Yes. It was my mother’s idea a couple years before she died. My father agreed, and then they both asked me what I thought. I said without hesitation that I loved the idea, but that it was probably too radical an idea for you to accept. I pressed him not to ask you because it would put you in a very awkward position.”
“It’s a lot to absorb, Isabella. I don’t know.”
“The last thing I should try to do is to convince you, Hector, and I agree that the whole concept is bizarre and preposterous. If I were in your shoes, I’m not sure how I would answer. We would have those important things great marriages have: love, admiration, respect, and friendship, though we would not have real physical contact or romantic love. And you’d be living here on the ranch, though you’d have our fleet of helicopters and planes to take you back and forth to the city.”
“But why would you want a formal marriage? I would always be there for you under any circumstances.”
“You wouldn’t be at the ranch. Virtually everyone I deal with in the business is a man and all of them, like my father, are super macho. We’ve made great strides in women’s rights, but these cowboys still call me a “girl.” They listen me because of my father. If I were alone running the business, I know their attitude would change. You being at my side would prevent that.”
“Honestly, Isabella, I need to think about it. You know how much I care about you, but right now my inclination is to say no.”
She smiled slightly. “Let me make it a bit more difficult for you. My father didn’t tell you, but I insisted. As a wedding present you’d get twenty-five million dollars and a twenty-five percent interest in the cattle business. So, think about it.”
