Conquistadora (21 page)

He stood and took one step toward the porch railing. He looked down at the
batey
, where, in deference to the crisis in the
patrón
’s house, the workers had stopped what they were doing and squatted in small groups under trees and against the buildings. Ana followed Severo’s gaze, and its effect. One by one the workers, the bosses included, quietly returned to their duties, their eyes cast down, afraid to look in his direction.

Inside, Miguel wailed again. Inés will not sing to Miguel, not anymore, Ana thought; neither will Flora. This is now a house in mourning. In the bedroom, Ramón groaned. Since his brother had left, tears were never far from his eyes. Ana had not known what to say, wasn’t able to console him when there was a possibility that Inocente would return. What could she do now? And who would console her? Suddenly she was shaking with fury.

“Who did it?” she asked, her throat so tight she could hardly speak.

Severo turned to her as if seeing a different person. He was always considerate and respectful around her. She sometimes had the impression that he made himself smaller when he was near her, not to frighten her with his bulk, so that he wouldn’t tower over her, like Ramón and Inocente. He didn’t do that now. He stood over her, brawny, solid. Nothing could move him.

“Alejo and Curro have vanished. The lieutenant assumes they are responsible.”

“What else did the lieutenant say?” she asked, and Severo flinched. “Tell me!” she demanded.

His eyes went vacant. “They were stabbed and hanged by their ankles from the branch of a ceiba tree,” he said flatly.

She gasped, and he moved as if to catch her, but she wasn’t falling.
She would not fall. “What else?” Severo didn’t speak. “I want to know everything,” she said.
“Todo.”

He gave her the details bit by bit, waiting until she reacted before the next one. She listened, her arms wrapped around her rib cage. Her breath came in spurts, and she fought hard to control it. “What else?” she asked once she could breathe, her eyes fixed on Severo’s flinty eyes.

The crime was only recently discovered because the men were dragged far from the main trail. Their bodies were so badly decomposed that they were identified only when Inocente’s pouch was found near the bodies with the letters to Elena and to her parents in Spain still inside. A soldier was sent with the news and the pouch to don Eugenio’s house in San Juan.

“The lieutenant is organizing a hunting party with men and hounds.”

“Find them.”

“¿Señora?”

“Find them,” she said again. “They’re our slaves. Find them.”

“
Sí, señora
, I’ll join the search, and you can be sure that when I find those devils, they’ll be punished. Now, if you will permit me?” He bowed.

She nodded and Severo went down the stairs giving orders to the bosses. Within minutes, he rode into the forest, a whip coiled around his left shoulder, his rifle and revolver holstered, his two favorite hounds alongside his horse.

Ana had not been afraid of Hacienda los Gemelos. She was curious about her new world and determined to prevail over its challenges. But as soon as Severo Fuentes rode out of the
batey
to seek Inocente’s murderers, Ana felt absolute terror. The comings and goings of people she’d taken for granted took on a different significance. Why was Marta crossing the yard from the kitchen to the barn? Why was Teo standing near the coops with his wife, Paula? If Alejo and Curro could kill Inocente, were the others planning to kill her and Ramón? Where was José going with what looked like a fence post? Severo had left one of the foremen to guard her and Ramón. Did he think someone would turn on her and Ramón while he was away?
She tried to suppress the dread that they might want to harm them. But where had Inés taken Miguel? And Flora, where was Flora?

As if she’d heard her calling, Flora appeared.

“Don Ramón is calling for you,
señora
.”

Ana ran to him, away from her own questions.

He was hunched on the edge of the bed, his fists against his eyes as if to press back images he didn’t want to see. “I shouldn’t have let him go by land. Severo arranged for a ship, but he wanted to ride.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t blame yourself—”

“I told him to go to San Juan and marry Elena. If he had a wife, a son, we’d both have the same.”

“You couldn’t have imagined what happened. No one could have.”

She wouldn’t speak it but couldn’t silence her own thoughts, what every owner knew: that slaves challenged their masters, that they killed them, that they set fire to their homes, their land, that they escaped into the woods or to sea. Severo said that young men were the most likely to run away, and those who didn’t try to escape by water hid in the dense forests of the island’s central mountain range. In order to reduce the possibility of conspiracies, they were forbidden to congregate in groups larger than three. Their tools were kept under lock when not being used, and they weren’t allowed to carry any implements or weapons, like knives or machetes, unrelated to the work they were doing at the time.

“If they could kill Inocente, they could come after us, too,” Ramón said. “And why shouldn’t they?”

“Don’t say that,” she said, even though he spoke aloud what she was thinking. “We can’t let them frighten us,” she said, more to ward off her own dread than to console her husband.

“¡Qué horror!”
Faustina climbed the steps that afternoon, breathless, to the
casona
.

“The lieutenant stopped to let us know what happened.” Luis came up behind her.

“Do accept our deepest condolences,” Faustina said. “Our sweet Inocente, what a tragedy, my dears, what a terrible loss.”

“We’re here to help,” Luis said. “You shouldn’t be here alone in your sorrow. Do you own firearms?”

“We have a rifle. You don’t think—”

“Just a precaution,” Luis said.

Having them around relieved some of Ana’s anxiety, and don Luis seemed to be a comfort to Ramón. But Faustina’s chatter overwhelmed her. She pressed Ana for details about Inocente’s trip. Why had Severo left them alone? When would he be back? The more she wanted to know, the less Ana wanted to tell her.

“You poor child,” Faustina finally said, dissimulating her frustration at Ana’s vague answers. “Clearly, you’re overcome with grief and here I am, asking impertinent questions. Please forgive me.”

Ana said nothing.

Faustina pulled her rosary from a pocket. “Our faith is a solace at times like these. We can pray.”

They spent most of the night in prayer. Ana was sure that neither she nor Ramón would’ve been able to sleep in any case. The clicking beads and the rhythmic waves of the invocations soothed Ana’s nerves, and allowed her to be silent with her grief but not alone in her fear. The next morning Luis talked to the foremen as they led the slaves to their chores to make sure that nothing unusual had happened overnight. He reported that Severo had left strict orders for keeping the slaves under close watch while he was away. Only Teo, Marta, Flora, and Inés were allowed to come near the
casona
.

Visitors appeared over the next three days, until the hounds went hoarse from barking at strangers. Marta, Teo, and Flora managed the waves of food and drink that had to be prepared and served. The guests were new to Ana—local farmers and nearby
hacendados
or their
mayordomos
. Padre Xavier said Mass, and some of the
campesinos
joined the
hacendados
and
mayordomos
. The
blancos
and
libertos
heard Mass under the roofed
rancho
, while the slaves were grouped in the full sun of the yard. Soldiers came and went; a few merchants from town brought their wives. Ramón knew them all, and they were warm, generous people, concerned about him and Ana.

“You’re so young!” an
hacendada
exclaimed when she met Ana. “You must be so lonely out here on your own.”

Yes, she was young, only twenty, but she had to correct her on the second point. “I’m not lonely. There’s much to do, and I like being alone.” The woman backed away, offended.

Ramón walked among the guests carrying Miguel, introducing
him to the neighbors, who didn’t know that a child had been born in the hacienda. Some of the women had written when Ana first arrived at Los Gemelos, but she didn’t respond to their welcome notes. They stood in groups now, and even when they sat with her to pray, they seemed to belong to one another, while she was apart, stubbornly unwilling to let them into her life or insert herself into theirs. She was relieved when, by the fourth day, the flow of visitors stopped and she and Ramón were alone again.

But the fear returned. At Luis and Faustina’s suggestion, Ramón insisted that he, Ana, and Miguel lock themselves in at night, the rifle loaded and ready by the bed. Having it so close made her more nervous, and after a few sleepless nights, she told him to put it away.

She resumed her chores, but she was tense. She always carried the small knife Beba had given her years ago. It was a tool for cutting stems, for slicing branches, for grafting, for peeling fruit. She didn’t want this useful tool to become a weapon, especially not against the men and women who helped her in her gardens and orchards. Arming herself against them scared her more than pretending to be confident and unafraid.

Slaves weren’t allowed to look at
blancos
directly, and their sideways glances made them seem furtive and evasive. Severo had trained them to keep their hands clasped in front when talking to a
blanco
, and Ana was grateful, because whenever she approached, they dropped their tools if they were working and showed their hands. She mirrored the posture. They stood before each other, mistress and slave, no less than three paces separating them, the ground between them vast as the ocean.

Severo returned six days later as dusk was falling. His clothes were ragged and stained; his face was covered with golden stubble. He removed the whip from his shoulder and carried it, still coiled, to the porch, where Ana and Ramón waited. When Ramón pointed to the bench where he should sit, Severo placed the whip at his feet, where it lay like an expectant serpent.

“Forgive my appearance,” he said. “I thought you’d want to know right away. Those
demonios
were caught and punished.”

“How?” Ramón asked.

Severo looked at Ana, then at Ramón. “They were hiding in caves,” he said, “with the other three
cimarrones
who ran away from here before you came.”

Ramón thought that Severo wasn’t about to give more details with Ana present. He stood. “You must be tired and hungry. We can talk more tomorrow.”

“Gracias, señor.”
Severo gathered his whip. “Good night,
señora
.” He bowed.

She didn’t want him to leave. He was unkempt and unwashed; his face drawn, he looked exhausted. Ramón had mentioned that Severo lived with a woman on land he owned close to town, but neither brother had met her, and Ana thought that she was far from his thoughts right now. As he bowed in her direction, his eyes lowered yet seeking hers, she knew that he was waiting for a word from her. He wanted confirmation of what they both knew: he went after the runaway slaves to impress her, not to avenge Inocente.

“I’m grateful to you,” she said, stretching her hand toward him, “for bringing justice to the men who did this terrible wrong to my brother-in-law and to Pepe.”

He seemed startled to have her hand within reach. He wiped his palm on his trousers, then took her fingertips in his and kissed them. “It’s my honor,
señora
,” he said. Following her example, Ramón, too, gave Severo his hand.

“We will not forget this,” Ramón said.

The next day, Ramón went to a notary in Guares and drafted a document deeding Severo Fuentes five
cuerdas
on the new
finca
by the river.

Severo knew the land, every curve of it, each hill and its eventual valley, the sandy patches where the river overflowed during the rainy season, the dry, rocky slopes where only brush grew, the moist hollows of black earth where life writhed unencumbered. Even on a moonless night, the seemingly impenetrable darkness that surrounded him was as familiar as a cloak, its weight tangible and humid. He mounted his horse, Burro, so named not because he bore any resemblance to a donkey but because he was dull-witted, stupid enough to have no fear. Burro hurtled into the night following the customary paths through the labyrinthine canebrakes, his gait smooth and secure on the uneven ground.

Severo kept his head down, the brimmed hat pulled tightly over his ears to block the onslaught of flying insects into his face. He’d been on these paths at night so many times that it didn’t feel much different from riding them in the full brightness of day, except that, were he to look back, he’d have no sight of the windmill in the middle of the plantation.

A hundred meters from where the trail disappeared into the forest, he halted under a mango tree. Still mounted, he removed the whip from around his arm and tied it, coiled, to his saddle. He unbuttoned his shirt and flapped it back and forth to drive the sweat from his damp undershirt and armpits. He rebuttoned and tucked in the shirt, tugging at the collar until he thought it looked straight. He removed his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, and wiped the sweat off on his pants legs. Satisfied, he urged Burro around the tree, onto a path barely visible in daylight that now appeared to swallow him.