Tarnished Beauty (24 page)

We found Doña Gloria in bed propped up against her pillows, her mouth stuffed with biscuits and honey. She seemed quite comfortable, but when she pulled back the blanket to show us her feet, every one of us stifled a gasp. In the course of one night, her feet had swollen to twice their normal size. It seemed they would burst at any moment, and no one ventured to get any closer for a better look. No one, that is, except Jenny. She appeared more curious than aghast, and mumbled to herself while pressing down on the soles of Doña Gloria's feet, which were as shiny as pig tripe stretched and overstuffed with sausage meat.

“I'm afraid this doesn't look good,” she said to Rosa. “There's no ointment that can help because the problem has to do with the way blood is flowing through her feet.”

Rosa's voice wavered slightly as she asked for Jenny's advice on what to do. It seemed that my and Tomas's opinions were not so important anymore, but Tomas took the opportunity to make his thoughts known before Jenny could answer. “Surely if the problem is lack of rest, we should stay together and wait until Doña Gloria is well enough to continue,” he said with inflated authority.

Jenny shook her head, not the least bit impressed with his apparent conviction on the matter. “I'm afraid she won't be able to resume walking in a few days. Maybe not even in a few weeks.”

Tomas puffed up a bit, but he could think of nothing else, short of carrying Doña Gloria all the way to Santiago on his back.

Rosa covered her mother's feet, for which we were all grateful. “What do you propose then?” she asked, looking once again to Jenny.

“Your mother will have to abandon the pilgrimage if she ever hopes to walk again.”

Doña Gloria ceased chewing on her biscuit and began to whimper. Rosa patted her mother's shoulder. “And she should see a doctor…?”

“Oh yes, definitely,” Jenny agreed enthusiastically. “As soon as possible, but he'll only tell you the same thing.”

“I'll inquire at the desk,” Tomas said, and he rushed out of the room, hopeful, no doubt, that the doctor would disagree with Jenny's assessment. He was back in less than a minute, beaming triumphantly. “We're in luck,” he said. “There happens to be a doctor of medicine staying right here. The innkeeper is talking with him now to see if he'll oblige us with a consultation.”

Jenny turned to Rosa. “You mustn't worry about your mother; she'll be fine as long as she rests. Staying away from sweets and alcohol wouldn't hurt either.”

The doctor arrived with traces of marmalade glistening on the tip of his gray mustache. He took a bit more time with his examination than Jenny had, although he seemed eager to distance himself from his patient, who insisted on expressing her distress like a baying mule. “I'm afraid she'll have to stay off those feet,” he said, looking around, not at all clear about whom he should address. “It's a circulatory problem, and a pretty bad case from what I can tell. If it doesn't abate, it can become gangrenous and then well…she could lose her feet.”

Doña Gloria began to wail with renewed vigor and Rosa tried to comfort her, to no avail.

“She should get home as soon as possible for proper treatment,” the doctor continued, wincing at the screeches coming from the bed. “And, madam,” he said, speaking with enough authority to prompt her total silence, “may I suggest that you refrain from indulging in sweets and that extra glass of Jerez after your meal.” With that, he clicked his heels and left.

Arrangements began immediately for Doña Gloria and Rosa's return home. The innkeeper, eager to be rid of the infirm guest, was very solicitous and informed us of the various trains leaving for Barcelona. Rosa and Jenny went to make the arrangements and were gone most of the morning. Later, when Tomas asked where Rosa was, I felt only slightly guilty when telling him I didn't know, although I'd seen her enter the chapel with Jenny not ten minutes earlier.

The other pilgrims had left hours ago for León, and all was quiet. Tomas and I sat together watching as pigeons gathered at the fountain for a brisk bath. And then they started to flutter and hover about with a synchronized purpose, much like a swarm of bees. Before my eyes, they shaped themselves into a white, undulating form that evolved, stretching and condensing until I clearly saw the image of Santiago himself floating over the fountain while pointing his staff toward the road, urging us to leave the square immediately.

“Do you see what I see, Tomas—over the fountain?”

“I see a strange haze. It's hard to make out…”

“It's Santiago. He wants us to go, leave this place right now.”

“And leave Rosa? I won't do it, Antonio, not even to appease Santiago.”

At that moment, Rosa and Jenny emerged from the chapel, arm in arm and smiling broadly. Rosa was no less than jubilant when she dclared, “My mother has allowed me to go on without her.” She turned to Jenny. “As long as I remain with Miss Jenny and her servants are able to attend to my mother on her trip home.”

“What a blessing to us all!” Tomas cried, so loudly that the birds exploded with a splash from the fountain and flew back to their roosts under the eaves of the chapel.

“Yes, it is a blessing,” Rosa agreed, taking hold of Tomas's outstretched hand, and for a moment I thought the two of them might take to dancing a jig in the center of the square. Never had I seen Rosa so expressive, but it was Jenny I watched with curiosity while she gazed at Rosa and Tomas as though she were admiring her own personal puppets on a string. Rosa excused herself, explaining that she needed to attend to her mother's final wishes before she left, and Tomas insisted on helping her, leaving Jenny and me to ponder this sudden change of circumstances on our own.

“You don't seem at all pleased that Rosa will be continuing with us,” Jenny said as the smile eased away from her face. “I'm surprised.”

“That you're surprised by anything is quite a wonder to me, Miss Jenny. Things always seem to go exactly as you plan them.” I was preparing to say more, when soldiers on horseback entered the square. The tall blond soldier from the earlier encounter was among them, leading his lathered and exhausted horse to the watering trough. It was obvious they wouldn't be riding through.

“You know them?” Jenny asked. At that moment, the soldier saw me and left his horse to his subordinates. He looked Jenny over thoroughly, impressed with the fine weave of her garments and female form, but the arrested gaze that overcame him when he looked upon Rosa was absent.

“I trust you are well, sir,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “And that your companion and his sister Rosa are not too fatigued from the journey.”

“Sister?” Jenny echoed, turning to me, with questioning eyes.

He extended his gloved hand to Jenny. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Captain Andres Segovia. I'm traveling the pilgrimage route on government business.”

Jenny took his hand and introduced herself, as the well-bred lady she was. “So I can assume that your inquiry after Miss Rosa is related to government business?”

Andres blushed, appearing for an instant as though he were all of ten years old, but he quickly recovered. “I'm inquiring after the lovely Miss Rosa because I had occasion to speak with her earlier and found her charming.” He turned swiftly back to me, perturbed by Jenny's probing stare. “You will give her my regards,” he said. “And to her family, of course.”

“Of course,” I said with a slight bow of my head.

At this Jenny spoke up. “Her mother isn't well, Captain. She'll be returning to Barcelona by train this very afternoon.”

“I'm sorry to hear it,” Andres said, appearing intrigued. He would have asked more about it, but he was called away by his men. With a stiff bow to both of us, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jenny dumbfounded. I took advantage of this momentary lapse and made hasty excuses about needing to pack, but she had the nerve to take hold of my elbow, forcing me to stop and face her or risk appearing a mannerless brute.

She was still and serious, as though trying to read my mind, like a gypsy. “Is she really…? No, it can't be.” Her expression warmed and her eyes crinkled at the corners from a smile. “It's all a trick of some sort, but why?”

I took exquisite pleasure in annoying her by replying, “All things are not meant for you to know, Miss Jenny. And,” I continued, “some questions are better left unasked.”

A
FEW DAYS FOLLOWING HER ARREST
, Carmen appeared to be feeling better. She stopped talking about Louis altogether, was up early for work, and came home at the usual hour. She appeared uneasy only when sifting through the day's mail, and every time she didn't find the court summons, she heaved a heavy sigh of relief.

“You know, Jami,” she said after a full two weeks had passed, “I think I'm off the hook.” Carmen settled back on the couch, put her feet up, and managed a healthy cackle besides. “I hear this kind of thing happens all the time. Clerical errors, they call it. Something goes wrong with the computer, and just like that,” she said snapping her fingers, “my case is history.”

Reassured by the thought that things were getting back to normal, Jamilet stopped at the market on her way home from work one afternoon in order to buy nopales for a special stew she'd been wanting to make. If she hurried, she'd be able to beat Carmen home and get the meal started. With a bag in each hand, Jamilet was hurrying down the street to get home when she saw Eddie, waiting across the street as usual. He nodded a greeting and Jamilet nodded back. This had been the extent of their interaction since the conversation outside the hospital fence, and on this day Jamilet was not quite as content with it. If she hadn't been late for dinner, she might have lingered outside to see if another conversation might bloom between them.

As it was, she hurried up the front steps noting that Carmen was already home. Jamilet confirmed it was her aunt's car parked out front by the soft pink dice that hung from the rearview mirror. Carmen said they reminded her that life was a gamble, and that up to now she'd been lucky. With her appetite back to normal, Jamilet expected to find her impatiently flipping through one of her magazines or channel-surfing with a vengeance. Carmen didn't like waiting for meals. She didn't like waiting for anything.

Jamilet opened the front door and called out, “Tía, I'm home. I'll get dinner started right away.” There was no answer. She knocked softly on the bathroom door, and it swung open to reveal an empty tub.

A rush of cold fear shot through Jamilet, all at once, as she rushed to Carmen's room, and flung open the door, not bothering to knock. Carmen was lying on her bed with eyes half open and a letter resting on her chest. Jamilet didn't need to look to know it was the court summons. She took firm hold of her aunt's shoulders and shook her soundly. “Tía,” she shouted. “Tía, wake up, Tía!” Carmen didn't move or blink, and her eyes remained perpetually drowsy, looking at nothing and no one. Only a thin line of spittle dribbled out of the corner of her mouth as an empty pill container dropped off the bed to the floor.

Jamilet slapped her aunt's face while shouting at her, almost choking on her own screams and trying to calm the wicked fear raging through her like a storm. She slapped her aunt's face until it was red, and until her hands were wet with her aunt's saliva. Frantic with the knowledge that she was dead or dying, Jamilet ran out of the front door and into the street in a bewildered state. “Eddie, you have to come!” she shouted. She called out in Spanish too and in English again, her voice nearly shrieking. And she was trembling so violently that she couldn't be sure if he'd heard her, so she continued screaming for him in English and Spanish. It seemed to her that she was screaming for close to an hour before he came, although later he'd tell her it was only seconds.

Somehow she managed to explain what had happened and Eddie ran into the house before she could finish. He shook Carmen's shoulders as Jamilet had, but even more roughly, so that her neck and shoulders bounced off the bed. There was no response. He instructed Jamilet to call the fire department, and as she did so he crouched over Carmen and began breathing into her mouth, deep breaths that caused her chest to rise and fall. Over and over again he did this, and every now and then he put his ear to her mouth, and then resumed breathing into her as if the earth would stop spinning if he didn't. He stopped only once to tell Jamilet to go outside and wait for the ambulance.

When the paramedics arrived, they pushed Eddie aside. Jamilet watched, dazed, from the doorway as several uniformed men cut off Carmen's clothes with large shears. Underneath she wore a matching set of bright red panties and bra—Louis's favorites. Carmen always complained about how uncomfortable they were, but joked that a woman needed to make sacrifices for her man if she hoped to keep him around.

“Is she dead?” Jamilet asked Eddie, who was panting softly.

“I don't know,” he said.

One of the men inserted a long tube down Carmen's throat, while another tried to put a needle into her arm, but he couldn't find a vein through the fat. Eventually he had to stick the needle in her hand. Together, the men lifted her from the bed and onto the gurney. It occurred to Jamilet that Tía would hate to be sleeping while so many young men hovered over her practically naked body, but still her eyes remained vacant, neither open nor closed.

A quivering sensation grew strong in Jamilet's legs and she swayed a bit and leaned against the wall. One of the paramedics asked her if she planned to ride along in the ambulance, but she didn't answer until he asked her a third time, and then she turned to Eddie.

“I think you should,” he said.

“Will you come with me?”

He hesitated and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I can't,” he said. But he waited on the street and watched as Carmen was wheeled outside and put into the back of the ambulance, and once Jamilet had climbed in after her, the ambulance drove off to County General.

 

Three mornings in a row had been gray. The fog clung to the sidewalks, the houses, and the trees in a chilling embrace. It was difficult for Jamilet to be alone in the house. The quiet was the worst part. Even with the traffic buzzing outside, people calling to one another, planes rumbling up in the sky, the space in the house muffled the life outside with its thick, smothering silence. Sometimes it was difficult for Jamilet to breathe; it was as if she were inhaling the silence into her lungs and even the beating of her heart slowed to a lethargic pace.

In only a few days, the sink had piled up with dishes and the beds were unmade. Carmen's last beer can was still on her bedside table. It was nothing close to the calamity Jamilet had walked into when she first arrived, but the stench in the sink was a reminder that it was headed in the same direction. Before long the malodorous invisible thread would be pungent enough to follow her into the bedroom and haunt her through the night, but for now it was enough to close the door, close her eyes, and forget. Tomorrow after work she'd clean it up. She'd missed three days already and had no doubt that certain difficulties would be waiting for her. Each day she'd called to say that a family emergency prevented her from going in, Ms. Clark received her excuse with silence followed by measured questions about the expected length of her absence. It was apparent that Ms. Clark had heard such excuses before, and was not moved to pity or curiosity, but kept an eye on the practicality of replacement. On the third day, she was put on hold and Nurse B. came to the phone.

“This is highly irregular,” she said. “What kind of family emergency are you dealing with, Monica?”

“My aunt is sick and in the hospital,” Jamilet answered. “If I'm not there, she gets upset.”

Nurse B. breathed hard, surges of air blowing in and out of the receiver as though she were jumping rope, but she was winded only by her upset. “If you don't report to work by tomorrow morning, I'll be forced to hire another replacement. When there is a change in his routine your patient becomes….” She paused and made a gurgling sound deep in her throat. “He becomes detestable,” she said.

Jamilet promised that she'd be there, and tried to settle her mind to sleep by reminding herself that she was no longer dealing with Carmen on her own. Louis was back, and in some ways it was better than before. He'd rushed to the hospital after hearing rumors circulating at Chabelita's Bar about Carmen's suicide attempt. He was at the bedside when after almost twelve hours of a deep, deathlike sleep, Carmen finally woke up. His were the first eyes she looked into, and they held each other as they wept for some time after that. Louis proclaimed to Carmen and everyone who came into the room—nurses, doctors, the janitorial staff—that this was the woman he loved, and that he was prepared to stop living a lie. He promised Carmen and Jamilet that when his wife returned, he'd inform her as well, and marry Carmen, as he should have years ago.

“Don't wait, tell her now,” Carmen said when she was feeling stronger.

“I don't want to tell her when she's so worried about getting home, but don't worry, my little flower,” Louis said. “I'm saving money to bring them over, but it's going to take me a while. It's four of them, you know.”

“How much you need?” Carmen asked.

Louis's eyes glanced up to the ceiling as he did the calculations in his head. “Oh, I figure about…,” he closed one eye. “…two or three thousand.”

“Shit!” Carmen said, bringing her hand down and splattering a good deal of orange juice on the sheets. “You'll be dead and buried before you save that kind of money. Hell,” she went on,
“I'll
be dead and buried.”

Louis said nothing and took her hand to his cheek. Carmen shrugged happily when she normally would have found reason to argue and complain. She had her man back and for the moment that was all that mattered.

Even so, Jamilet wasn't able to let go of her worries for Carmen quite so easily. She couldn't be sure how long her aunt would be satisfied with the present arrangement Louis had proposed. Carmen's brand of satisfaction wasn't the lingering kind that ran deep, strengthened by faith and long-suffering patience. It lasted about as long as a good joke stayed amusing, and Carmen wasn't one to keep laughing for long.

 

Señor Peregrino's room was in disarray—laundry scattered all over the floor, and trays from the previous day's meals stacked in one corner, dripping from one level to the next like a gritty fountain left to years of decay. Señor Peregrino didn't turn from his desk when Jamilet stepped in and over the obstacles on the floor in order to place the breakfast tray on his bedside table.

By now an expert at walking silently in her hard-soled shoes, Jamilet drifted between the various piles on the floor, organizing the laundry as best she could.

She was making relative progress when he spoke gruffly without turning around. “Leave it,” he said. Jamilet jumped and dropped the bundle of clothes she held.

“I told you yesterday,” he continued sternly. “You are not to touch anything in my room, do you understand?”

“Excuse me, Señor,” Jamilet said. “You never told me that.”

Upon hearing Jamilet's voice, Señor Peregrino spun around, the legs of his chair screeching across the cement floor. He looked at her as if she were a dead relative come to life: overjoyed at first, but then his eyes narrowed and the line of his mouth stiffened into a neat little scowl. “So, you decided to return, did you?”

“My aunt was ill, Señor.”

“Look at this place,” he said, flinging both arms out at once. “Look at the filth I've had to endure.”

“I'm sorry, Señor. I thought they'd send someone else until I came back.”

“They're all idiots!” he declared. “I can't take time to train each and every fool who comes through here. It was difficult enough training you, and you're less foolish than the average idiot.”

Still in his pajamas, Señor Peregrino stood and stretched, as though waking from a long and restful sleep. A fine growth of beard mottled his chin and jaw with a silver haze. “I'll be showering presently,” he announced. “And when I'm finished, I expect to find the bed made, the floor cleared, and every one of those foul trays out of my sight. Then,” he continued with an elegant half bow, “I'll take my breakfast in bed, after which we'll resume your lessons. And, if you're lucky, I may have a mind to continue with my story after lunch.”

“Very well, Señor,” Jamilet said. “And you'll be wanting your linens changed as well?”

He was heading for the bathroom. “Yes, and call down for another pot of coffee. This one will be cold by the time I'm ready for it. And…and be sure they make enough for both of us.”

“Of course, Señor.” Jamilet smiled to herself as she proceeded to separate the laundry on the floor.

But Señor Peregrino lingered in the doorway of the bathroom, and then addressed her in a softer voice. “I…I didn't think you were coming back,” he said. “You should know that an old man like me is prone to worry.”

Jamilet looked up from her work into eyes that were filled with tenderness, and felt a small ball of joy well up in her throat, warm and brooding, like a dormant seed that had refused to sprout and was now beginning to rattle with life. She swallowed hard on it for fear it might choke her. She could have told him that she'd been worried about him too, and that she'd wondered who was looking after him. But she thought better of it, and tightened the muscles around her eyes, brimming with tears, as she continued separating the laundry with impatient jerks this way and that. She even managed a weary sigh. “You know I'd never leave without my papers, Señor. And there's so much work to be done, I really don't see how I'll have time to listen to your story today.”