by S. W. Frank
“You should have aborted me mama. I am no bueno. I am Diablo’s son, the acts I do is because he lives within me.”
The matronly hand that struck a man seared flesh. Repetitive and unrelenting slaps to his face caused a son whose eyes burned with love to see red. His chin elevated higher, absorbing the blows, accepting the punishment for his wicked ways. The downcast eyes of a troubled soul bled. He chose not to weep, the emotional burns were deep and the intense heat had dried human water.
"You are not my son to say such a thing. My Alfonzo had a heart!" She wailed.
The cries are what brought Selange to the staircase. She held the railing, stepping down with feet laden with heartbreak when a mother cast out her son, excommunicating him as if she had the lord’s authority.
Selange reached the landing; the aching had turned fierce at the sight of Alfonzo’s crest-fallen expression. A wife who experienced her husband’s wounds could not breathe when witnessing mother and son face-to-face as adversaries.
The blood poured out, pooled around her, and the loss of a mother was as injurious as the day bodies lay forever silenced by violence. A voice in the chaos, masculine and loving is what she heard and steeled her mind from crumbling.
Always, she would stand with that hope, goodness resided in Alfonzo. Guard him she would with love’s sword in the darkest hours and be his greatest champion when his strength falters as it was now. Alfonzo remained stoic, facing his greatest love thrashing him with tainted holy water and the bleeding cuts open. Selange saw her husband’s soul dying.
“Stop it Maria! Cállate madre, por favor be quiet!” she screamed imploringly.
The fragile soul was not a deity but a son.
Maria ignored her beloved daughter-in-law; she stood on the side of her husband, even when his actions were deplorable. However, she was a mother and bound to instill virtue, but she had failed. When the corruption reaches a loving place and turns on family, Cain and Abel are Domingo and Alfonzo in modern day.
“Blood of family is on you hijo.”
Selange cried her despair. “Maria, please don’t say that, you don’t understand anything. Don’t speak in anger, he is your son, look at him and see your words are cutting…please mama…please stop or leave our house!”
The mother who kneeled in prayer, and believed in goodness ignored her daughter-in-law’s plea. “To kill your blood, the boy who was like your brother is beyond evil.” Her tears flowed to say to her beloved son, “You are not the good boy I loved. My son…my son…my son would never have done such a thing.”
"Then blame yourself for not killing me before I emerged into this shitty world of bad people and wounded you.” The blue warmth was gone. “Your son, that good son you wanted, died from your lies."
The loud smack resounded as if thunder claps. Alfonzo’s cheek flamed red with the imprint. His jaw clenched so tight, Selange remained frozen and afraid.
Alfonzo’s eyes descended, the liquor ignited, he flamed and the fire shot out of his eyes. To a mother who held beads, genuflected every day and did not wait for the Sabbath, he must be the greatest symbol of her sin. Why confess? To a mother he loved, he was bad and whatever he said would never be good enough.
Maria raised her hand –again, but in the air, an invisible wedge brought it to his hard chest to press and then pat the fine material similar to a touch a mourner places upon a corpse at a wake or funeral. Then Maria turned away from her son without a word, to leave him in his tomb.
She refused to do war with someone without remorse. She marched out of the house to have the guard take her to the plane, far away from her wicked boy. She preferred the darkness outside; there a mother felt safe to pray out of the presence of an evildoer.
Selange gasped at what transpired. Never would she have imagined good Maria would say such words because no matter the deeds of her children, they remained her children and loved even when awful. “Alfonzo, she didn’t mean it. Your mother’s upset.”
His eyes remained transfixed straight ahead. His chest constricted with the deepest of sorrows. He walked out the door to the fresh air and saw the brake lights of the car as it exited the gate before he could explain.
Madre, Domingo sold me out and put a gun to my face.
The years of faith spent in ornate cathedrals crumbled in ruin. The stinging to his face did not sear worse than the cross upon his shoulder with Domingo’s birth and death recorded. He would carry the symbol of his greatest evil to the ground. He had consumed copious amounts of alcohol for a calm exterior to confront his mama; however, inside his spirit burned.
Face down in a coffin, there isn’t oxygen, only death.
~
Slippered feet glued to the floor began to move slowly. A bad dream, there is no other way to describe the surreal.
The shouts outdoors brought her sluggish legs to move faster. Alfonzo was cursing someone in Spanish, demanding the key.
Key to what? Certainly, he wasn’t driving anywhere in his condition.
Panic so great leaped and she ran with energy when the eerie sensation had her seeing a burial. She darted past hollow decorative furnishings that could never fill her heart. She ran out the door and saw Alfonzo shoving the guard before getting in the car.
In the night, without a driver or security, he was venturing into danger. An inebriated person in the clutches of hurt can be intentionally reckless.
She yelled, his name, and he shut her out. He refused to hear because that is the Alfonzo who suffers within. He retreats rather than express his turmoil.
Selange looked back at the house where the children slept in a protective fortress. Early in the black of morning, on the soil of Sicily she saw bars of prisons and crime-ridden neighborhoods where homeowners dwelled, believing all the bullshit about living right, yet dying in their fearful abodes.
She decided, hard as it was to go to the end of the unknown with her love once again and bring him out. “Protect our family dear father. If we die, it is your will and a fitting end for my wrongs.” That was the prayer of a sinner.
Unlike Maria, Selange did not walk away from a troubled offender but ran to him and wrapped him in unconditional love and mercy.
Maria romanticized about their lifestyle. She was with Bruno and he charmed her to make the realities palatable. However, Selange came from the crime-ridden streets of Brooklyn. Chaos, sirens and killings were the norm, inside and outside of some broken tenements. Hopeless people gripped by poverty and the faithful determined to find a way out. She walked the pissy floors pass gangbangers, drug dealers and thieves and many knew her by name from the kiddie days before they dropped out of school. It’s then she saw the world, the girls pushing carriages with boyfriends on the Island or shot during a botched drug transaction. That is the rawness of ghetto living, yet mansions hold killers and thieves who pay to have these deeds done. They’re in suits impregnating young girls or flying on their fancy jets to poor parts of the world to engage in perversities with children. Their women wear fine clothes; platinum blonde cosmetically altered Barbie’s to hold on to the money and not the man.
The goodness Maria wanted from her son she would never get unless she admitted they were all damn sinners. Good kids go bad and bad people pretend to be good. She’d seen enough in her years to stand with her husband because their hearts were ultimately –loving amid all the bullshit and hypocrites faking love and religion.
Stand on that pyre of hypocrisy Maria, but I’ll be damned if I let Alfonzo burn when your transgressions are what brought him into this sinful world!
She raced through the yard and put herself in the emotional fray, by sprawling on the hood of Alfonzo’s auto to demand his attention. “You’re not going anywhere without me, do you understand that –dammit?”
Alfonzo was too angry to laugh, but he wanted to, what the fuck was she doing? He leaned out the
window. “Selange, loca, get off the hood, I can’t see.”
“No, Al, I lost a friend. I cannot lose my husband-friend,” she said sadly. Her eyes settled on him sitting there with a heavy heart that only she could feel its insurmountable weight. He needed help to bear the crushing boulders and someone to balance his side when he tired.
“Babe, get down.”
“No.”
That’s where Allie inherited her stubbornness he realized when dealing with her mother. "Go in the house, you’re half dressed!" He scolded, giving her an intimidating stare that had no power over a determined wife. She wore those short boxers, a lace bra and fluffy slippers. Her theatrics were comical; however, he was dead serious about going for a spin to clear his head.
“I’m going with you.”
“No you’re not, now stop the shit and go back in the house.”
She put her feet on the ground, making him believe she would obey the order and instead grabbed the passenger door. She yanked it open and flopped in the seat before Alfonzo could speak. Selange clicked her seatbelt and stared straight ahead at blackness. "We made a pact, remember?"
Blue eyes shone from the liquor. "I need to do this alone babe. It's been a long time since I've had any freedom."
"I know," she whispered because she understood completely. She also at times felt trapped in a box wanting air. She did yoga, meditated for peace and gave to worthy causes. It eased the bad they’d both done and would do to stay living.
"Get out of the car."
"No."
He growled in exasperation. "Get the fuck out of the car!"
"No."
"Babe, I've had too many drinks."
"I know. That’s why we should go inside together and sleep this night off. You’ll have a clearer head in the morning."
"Nah, I need to take a drive.” He frowned. “When I wanted to think, I’d get in my car and just cruise. I’m tired of people driving me around. I’m tired of invisible chains holding me to the ground. I’m tired of all this bad shit I do when what I want is to just come home to you and my children and simply chill tu sabe?"
"Yes, I do."
“Do you, do you really chica?”
“Yes, I feel you completely.”
He punched the dashboard, shook the steering wheel and then fell back against the seat, beating at his heart with a tight fist. “Do you know it killed me to do that to Domingo? I blacked out with rage I was so damn mad. He put a fucking gun on me…me…chica…blood…we were blood mami and he turned on me like that didn’t mean shit!”
Selange listened, the sorrow and remorse Maria wanted spilled out to his woman who sat without judgment to hear the truth she already knew. Domingo’s killing had wounded Alfonzo, too.
He grabbed hold again to the steering wheel thumping his forehead on the edge. “You’ll never know how it feels to kill someone you love…it hurts…I don’t ever want to hurt like this babe but I’ll suffer the pain to keep you and the children safe –always!”
She listened. A faint melancholy song wafted from hidden speakers in the high-end car. Things, are collected, not people. She could never replace her husband if he did something foolish believing he was so far gone, there was no turning back or nobody cared enough to follow and return him to the path.
“Parents say their hurts aloud when they’re angry and so do their children.”
Alfonzo sat erect with a barreled chest. He had heard what his wife was saying. “I love my mom and it’s killing me neña inside that I’ve hurt her and Tia –everybody.” Alfonzo exhaled.
Selange reclined and sighed. “I want to take a ride. My dad often drove around with me when I was small and I’d look out the window and fall asleep just enjoying the scenery, being with him was always so calming. He’d take me along because I wouldn’t let him walk out the apartment after I’d hear him and mom argue. I’d cry to go and he’d take me. He didn’t know I was scared, he’d leave and never come back. I’d think if you go Selange, he has to take you back home.” She wiped a tear, thinking about her dad. “I thought with me at his side, nothing bad will ever happen. I just wanted to have my family whole and my mom happy. I didn’t understand life doesn’t work like that. You can’t change everything, but there are some things that can be avoided.”
Alfonzo silenced, his eyes moved to see she’d traveled elsewhere, he listened, hearing a girl who loved her dad grieving. Her eyes were on the distant nowhere as she continued talking. “He sold that junk of a car and bought a later model. I was happy the car had heat. I even told him that and he said he loved me and my smart mouth.” Her lips twisted to accent a dimple, a characteristic they shared. “I wasn’t there for him, I wasn’t there for my mom or Shanda, but I’m here with you riding shotgun honey through all of the good and the bad. You are extremely loved and appreciated by the kids and me. You are not the mafia or Luzo, you’re you,” she said and then turned to him with fiery eyes, trusting in him, setting aside fear to don a reckless heart. He'd bring her home -safe. "What are you waiting for? Start the damn car. Let's cruise to nirvana papi."
Damn she’s tripping!
I’m glad she loves me and all but, I was only driving to the 24-hour café in the next province. I sent a car ahead to survey the roads and to check out the place –and there’s another car behind us. Shit, I’m not that drunk, but hey, if she wants to come along and save me in her underwear, I’m not complaining. Hell, if this is the savior I get despite my bad ass, then somebody up there must be looking out.
The engine roared and Selange turned up the volume to hear the song. The lyrics were their backseat passenger as they drove in silence, reflecting on the past, present and future, allowing the lyrics to croon their hearts.
‘Oh baby, oh baby, oh we both know the truth
If it were the real me and you…
It's too late to run away from it all,
It's too late to get away from it all,
I'm done with running so I give in to you,
This moment has caused a reaction,
Resulting in our reattachment,
Will you take me to nirvana?
I don't think this will last,
But you're here in my arms…’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cleansed of impurities, Yosef padded nude to the bed, moved aside the pretty cover and gave a snort of gratitude at how comfortable it was. His thick arm went beneath his wife and he tugged her close to his side to plant a loving kiss to her vibrant hair without gray.
She swiveled in his arms, surprising Yosef, it was very late and he thought she slept. He wondered if the disturbance to the bed had awakened her.
“You are beautiful, no matter the hour bubbula.”
“What mischief are you up to Yosef?” she asked, unaffected by the compliment. Many men sought to wilt her with empty platitudes as if beauty encompasses every attribute and there’s nothing as important.
“Mischief?” His hand roamed, kneading her soft tush before deft fingers slid inside from the rear of her panty to stroke like a chin her outer lips before venturing further in. It should be a crime a woman aged so beautifully and bring an arousal to the young and the old. She was a weapon of a fleshy sort, dangerous and enticing. “I work. That is what I do.”
“Work is not selling women?”
Yosef laughed. “They are professional prostitutes, of age, who willingly enter into a mutual exchange. They have a commodity that brings money in order to live what they deem as luxury.” He rubbed his fingers together, smiling at the viscosity of her cum clinging to his digits. It was creamy, as Sophie is sweet. His fingers went in again deeper and she latched on unconsciously. “It is not illegal to exchange pleasure for money here in Sicily. I do not sell anything.
The women are the distributors. I only receive compensation for their transport, housing and protection.”
“Organized prostituzione indoors or controlled by third parties is illegal, bello,” she said without an outward sign of her enjoyment in his touch.
Sophie had discovered Yosef’s burgeoning business, which filled a supply and demand for exotic women from every corner of the world to pleasure Mafiosi. She found his choice of operating a gentleman’s club questionable, since Yosef dealt mainly in the drug and arms business. The club and the others he scheduled to open were fronts. She had been married to a Mafioso; did Yosef think she did not have a brain?
“Do you partake, bello?” she asked and maybe she should not have. Did she really want to know whether the husband she took had a mistress? What she began to feel for Yosef was strong possession and that is not good with the untamable.
Yosef’s broad smile, displayed his sharp canines. An attractive bad man to Sophie was always the most charming.
“Ah, bubbula, you are jealous. Do not worry my shvantz enters only you. There is nothing offered; I do not already have. Besides, I do not wish to share what is yours as I will not share what is mine.”
Sophie’s eyes flashed. “Do not tell me what you have told whores in dim parlors to appease me, Yosef. Your religion does not ensure your mind or flesh are kosher. People are oxymora. We are the perfect examples of that. I am not deceived by your charm or impressed by your yarmulke made of cloth.”
“Do not offend by insulting my religious attire. Those are the harshest of words to my ears.”
Sophie sat up, her cantaloupe breasts straining the camisole and Yosef followed their movement with appreciative eyes as his saturated fingers slid out to the bed.
“You must live elsewhere. This arrangement has become unsuitable.”
The comment occurred as she put her feet to the floor and stepped out of the panty that he made her soil with his touches.
“Is that what you want?” he asked, happy that she was angry, it proved she loved him but was too proud to admit her feelings.
