Roses in the dark, p.8
Roses in the Dark, page 8
With the dawn the birds began to chant their morning hymns. Doreen rose and went into the bathroom, showered, toweled, and dusted herself with silky talcum. Wearing a cream-colored slip, she left the bathroom and opened the glass paned door that led to the Terrace, to breathe deeply the brand new morning’s dewy air. The sun’s first rays, pale liquid gold, skewed through the opening and caught Doreen’s silhouette in their descent.
"Are you an apparition of Aphrodite or a visitor from some distant galaxy, your life support contained in your alien glow?" Esteban asked, propped up on his elbows.
His words made her heartbeat race despite her determination to leave him. "I’m neither," she replied, at war with her ego.
She refused to fall prey to his charms again. Each dulcet word he uttered forged another link on the chain with which he held her captive. She did not look at him, but gathered some clothes from the closet and returned to the bathroom to finish dressing. She locked the door behind her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Breakfast, like Dinner, was a family activity. Chafing dishes filled with scrambled eggs and peppers. Warm rolls made from ground corn and filled with melted cheese. These covered the massive dark wood table, along with bowls of fruits - papayas, pineapples and mangoes, heat-retaining pitchers of coffee, and decanters of orange juice.
Esteban was the last to arrive and took his place at the head of the table. Doreen sat at the opposite end, wearing a mint-green, sleeveless shift, and uncomfortable as usual with the stiffness of the high-backed wood armchair carved with dainty rosettes. Except for the gilded marquetry framing the mirror that hung over the credenza, the room had a dour look. The burgundy rug and the large philodendron plant were Doreen’s contributions to lighten the surrounding austerity. The only quality in the room that Doreen considered redeeming was the overhead chandelier, a brass and crystal fixture of electric lights arranged around a large cluster of white porcelain rosebuds.
As soon as Esteban had said Grace, Rosaria reminded Doreen about her promise to take her to the cinema today. Esteban heard and paused in his conversation with Ramon. He regarded his wife questioningly across the length of the table. No doubt he was wondering how she could take Rosaria to the movies when he had confiscated the Cordoba.
"We’ll need someone to drive us into the City," Doreen said. Rosaria gazed despondently from one to the other, sensing the silent war waging between husband and wife.
Esteban did not answer immediately, turning instead to say a few words to his grandmother.
Rosaria looked at her older brother anxiously. "Esteban, Doreen has inquired if you can have someone drive us into the City."
Ramon laughed under his breath. The contempt in his eyes for his sister-in-law was there for everyone to read.
"Callate!" Esteban said to Ramon, who had the good sense to lower his gaze and resume eating.
"I have some errands in the City for the caretaker’s son," Esteban said. "He can take you both in the utility van."
Rosaria thanked him, her smile a minor beacon dispelling the tension in the room. Esteban doted on his younger sibling. In her he saw his mother. He returned her smile, but it faded when his gaze met Doreen’s.
The caretaker’s son was named Manuel Rodriguez. His family had lived and worked on the Pereira’s land for generations. They mowed the lawns, planted the flowers, and made the grounds a pleasure to stroll through. And at the same time, they earned their living and conducted their own lives.
Manuel had just turned twenty-one and for as long as Doreen had lived in the Pereira household, she had recognized the fact that he was deeply in love with Rosaria. He was a handsome boy, but aware of his position as a servant, and resigned to the knowledge that he could never hope to have Rosaria for his own. As children, the two had played side by side, until the day when Doña Maria informed Esteban that it was time his sister considered her reputation and act like the innocent girl she was. If Rosaria was aware of Manuel’s feelings towards her, she gave no indication of it. She treated him as she had always done ‒ with a smile and a friendly tease, and a familiar way of pinching his cheek.
Today was no different, and when she and Doreen were ready to leave for the City, they summoned the youth who brought the utility van to the front of the house.
"We are ready, Manuel," Rosaria greeted, prancing with excitement.
Manuel was of medium height, slim and strong- thewed from the years spent working with the earth. He respectfully greeted them in turn, but his gaze lingered longer than it should on Rosaria’s upturned face. "Shall I be bringing you back?" he asked, addressing Doreen.
Rosaria answered, "Of course, but not until just before dark," she said, eyes twinkling with mischief.
Manuel looked worried. Doreen wondered if he read Rosaria’s thoughts and suspected the same as she did, that his young mistress’s enthusiasm for the cinema held an ulterior motive.
She should voice her suspicions, but she wanted to meet this man who, from Rosaria’s accounts, practically swooned at the sight of her young sister-in-law. She would keep the secret of Rosaria and Jose, for the time being; be Rosaria’s chaperon and monitor carefully the progress of their romance, guiding her sister-in-law as best she could. If Jose proved worthy in her eyes, she would speak to Esteban. If Esteban reacted unreasonably, then she would feel no compunction about encouraging the two to elope, anything, so that Rosaria need not be denied the freedom of choosing her own man and living her own life.
Outside the cinema after Manuel had left to complete his appointed errands, Doreen turned to Rosaria. "Young lady, I have a strong suspicion you’ve come here to meet Jose." Rosaria tensed. Doreen promised, "You can trust me not to tell Esteban, but I have to know what’s going on."
"Mi cuñada, you are kind," she said, hugging Doreen. "You will be my confidante, the close friend I have yearned for since Esteban forbade me Manuel’s companionship." Her dark eyebrows drew together as her young mind schemed. "We must be shrewd. If Esteban should ever so much as suspect—"
"He’d probably lock us in the cellar and throw away the key," Doreen said. The girl shuddered, but her chin rose resolutely.
Doreen pushed the ifs and their repercussions aside. "We’ll make sure he doesn’t suspect," she resolved. She was helping a fellow prisoner.
They purchased their tickets and entered the cinema. It was early afternoon. The pelicula, a Spanish feature subtitled in English, was in progress. "There. See? In the sixth row," Rosaria said, pointing.
Doreen squinted, forcing her eyes to adapt to the semidarkness inside the theater.
Her eyes lit upon a dark head set upon a short neck and a pair of wide shoulders.
"It is Jose!" Rosaria whispered, all agog.
How large and beagle-like the girl’s eyes appeared lighted only by the color spectrum streaming down from the small square window of the projection room. "Little sister-in-law let me give you a word of advice." Doreen spoke softly into Rosaria’s ear. "Try playing a bit hard to get. A little less enthusiasm will keep him in tow. As they say in my country... you’re wearing your heart on your sleeve. Too much, too soon."
Rosaria thought a moment, and then she nodded. "You are right, cuñada. I am a lady. Therefore I will act the part." She threw back her shoulders and lifted her round chin. She lived in frilly peasant blouses and pleated flowery skirts that swirled about her knees as she pranced about.
When they reached the sixth row, Rosaria sat beside Jose, and Doreen sat next to her. Jose did not look at them until Rosaria reassured him, "It is safe to speak to me. This is my sister-in-law whom we can trust implicitly."
"You are Esteban’s wife?" he asked, startled. Jose had a husky voice that matched his medium, burly torso that was fitted into a dark, expensive looking blazer. Around his neck he wore a shiny blue cravat.
Doreen tried to smile as she nodded, but she was unable to mask the disturbance she felt. She did not like Jose. It was not the vanity she read in his face. She had come to accept the machismo present in many of the Latin American males. But the distrust and the fear ‒ yes, that was it, inordinate fear that she sensed in his question. He was afraid, too afraid. He was hiding something. She could not decode the aversion she was suddenly experiencing towards this perfect stranger. There was no real basis for it. But for the life of her, what did Rosaria see in this man?
The film’s sound track was not loud enough to drown the murmur of their amorous exchanges. Doreen had no idea what was happening on the screen. Her only concern at the moment was to glean as much information as possible about Jose. She had accepted a serious responsibility. If Rosaria were in any way hurt, there would be much to answer for.
A second film followed, a war movie with an all-male cast. War movies, especially with an all-male cast, had never been her cup of tea. They usually put her to sleep, as they were doing now. She was also tired from listening intently to the couple beside her, while feigning interest in the movie. Her head listed and her eyelids drooped. She dozed, waking to the roar of machine guns and missiles. She checked the two people next to her. They were immersed in themselves. She dozed again.
Rosaria woke her. "Cuñada, the movies are over. Manuel must be waiting outside."
Doreen shook off the drowsiness. Jose was gone.
"Jose has gone," Rosaria said, guessing the question in Doreen’s eyes. "He will come to the garden tomorrow. You will watch for us?"
The blast of bombshells exploding and men screaming riveted their attention to the screen where a trailer for next week’s feature was showing. Doreen made a face. She hated war films. She found no entertainment in seeing human beings killed. Rosaria’s last question was forgotten as the audience crowded into the aisles to leave the cinema.
During the ride home, Rosaria stayed noticeably quiet. The past few hours had had a maturing effect on her. Her composure was restrained and she held her chin and nose a bit higher. Manuel glanced askance at Doreen. She shrugged, as if to say, who can tell with a girl like Rosaria.
Manuel was a simple young man who had never broken trust with the Pereiras. He was good to his parents and conscientious in his duties. Better he were Rosaria’s secret lover. He had loved the girl for years and he respected and admired her. Doreen trusted him.
A knock at the bedroom door woke Doreen and Esteban the following morning. They had both overslept.
"Carajo! Who disturbs us?" Esteban growled in half-sleep.
"Esteban," Rosaria entreated, "grandmother and I were worried. You did not come down to breakfast, and lunch is already on the table."
"Well then go and eat it!" Esteban barked ungraciously.
Doreen chuckled. In their happier days, Esteban and she had missed several breakfasts. More likely that the time for Rosaria’s rendezvous with Jose was drawing close and Rosaria needed her sister-in-law to play sentinel.
"Cielos! What is happening in this family?" Esteban grunted as he climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
Immediately after lunch Rosaria cornered Doreen in the vestibule. "You have made Esteban sleep too late today. Now he will not take his siesta. You must keep him busy until Jose has left."
"Esteban is in his study at the moment."
"But he may not remain there long enough."
"I’ll take care of Esteban," Doreen assured, not certain how. "What about your grandmother and Ramon?"
Doña Maria rarely went out until the cool of the afternoon. "Grandmother has gone to her room. She will probably nap. And Ramon has gone out." Rosaria said. She started for the garden.
"Wait, niña," Doreen hurried after her.
"Rosaria turned. She vibrated with impatience. It was nearly time for Jose to scale the wall.
"Remember, you’re a lady," Doreen said, closing the distance. "And hopefully Jose will remember too."
"There is no need to remind me again. And I am not afraid of Jose. He is an honorable man. I can tell from his eyes."
Doreen gasped. "Oh, you are less than a child! It isn’t solely by his eyes that you judge a man."
Rosaria stamped her foot. "I am not afraid. I have never seen a face as kind as his, nor have I heard such words of love as he has spoken to me."
"Don’t be fooled, Rosaria. His words may flatter, but they can also be like ocean foam, quickly rushing to meet the shore, then as quickly dissipating to nothing."
Rosaria shook her head. "I am not easily fooled. Please keep Esteban entertained so he will not stray into the garden for the next two hours."
There it was again, that word, entertained, that made her feel like a commodity. Once again she wished she had never come to Panama.
Esteban acknowledged Doreen’s knock with a curt "Quién es?" and when she identified herself, "Come in." He sat at his desk, appearing not at all pleased to be disturbed during the time he had allotted to his paper work.
Doreen entered and sat down in the carved high-backed chair facing Esteban’s desk. Feverishly she searched for an excuse as to her untimely visit. An idea surfaced and she cleared her throat. "Esteban, I have a suggestion to make which may help ease the tension between us." She paused to see if he was receptive so far.
He leaned back in his chair somewhat puzzled. "Go on," he condescended.
"I need to be away from this house. I need a change, new vistas, new faces." His brow furrowed and she was sure he was about to object. She hastened to explain. "I don’t mean alone. Together, a second honeymoon. A couple of weeks at the most, but I think it would benefit us both tremendously."
Esteban considered her proposal. "You may be right, mujer." The impatience on his features dispersed and the harshness in his gaze melted. The enraptured lover, hopeful and eager, suddenly stared back at her. "We can perhaps recapture what we once shared."
When it came to his love for her, Esteban was vulnerable. The spontaneous sincerity of his reaction nagged at her conscience. "Esteban—"
"What is it? You do not appear satisfied," he asked softly. He left his seat to come and stand in front of her.
If she threw all concerns aside and told him the real reason she had come here ‒ to keep him occupied so he would not venture into the garden and catch his innocent sister in the arms of a stranger, the warmth in his expression would change to contempt. Later, perhaps, when Jose had gone....
She stood up. "Esteban, take me in your arms and hold me." She did not need to ask him twice. The paper work was forgotten.
For a long time he held her in his arms. Then as the Old Spanish clock on the mantel chimed the hour, he cupped her chin affectionately. "Would you enjoy visiting the Archipielago de las Perlas," he asked. "We may not find pearls, but of beauty and solitude, there is plenty."
"Yes, I think I would," she answered honestly. "And soon, make it very soon."
"Would tomorrow be soon enough?"
Doreen felt dazed. This was a side of Esteban she had long accepted had ceased to exist. "Yes," she replied eagerly. Then she remembered Rosaria and Jose. How could she go away with Esteban and leave Rosaria to the mercy of Jose. But it was too late to change her reply without rousing Esteban’s curiosity.
She was still grappling with the question when she entered the garden a short time later.
Rosaria knelt on the grass, with her skirt spread gracefully about her. She held a white carnation pressed to her heart. Her gaze was raised heavenward.
"Did he show?" Doreen asked, hoping he hadn’t.
Rosaria returned to earth. "Oh yes. He left but a moment ago. I was thanking Dios for this wonderful man he has sent me."
Doreen gave an exasperated sigh. "Rosaria you mustn’t see him again. You’re too young and naive, and that’s putting it mildly."
"Are you going to betray me?" Rosaria asked, leaping to her feet. The flower slipped from her fingers and lay at her sandaled feet.
"I don’t like Jose," Doreen said. "I can’t pinpoint the reason, but I have this bad feeling. He’s no poor peasant boy who considers himself unworthy to approach Esteban. I noticed the clothes he wore to the cinema, the tailored blazer, black sunglasses protruding from his breast pocket. I don’t trust him at all, and I will tell Esteban." There went the vacation and a second chance at happiness out the window. "Tonight I’ll tell him. And you’ll not see Jose again. Is that clear?"
Rosaria’s back arched catlike. "I will see him again," she said. "And if you tell Esteban, I will make sure he knows you helped me. Especially today. You have a flushed look about you cuñada. I am not that naive. I can guess, somewhat, the methods you employed to keep Esteban occupied, so he would not wander into the garden. He will be as angry with you as he will be with me."
Absolutely, Doreen thought miserably. "Nevertheless, you will not see Jose again." She sounded as intolerant as Esteban, but it was Rosaria’s future happiness she was thinking of. "I’ll tell him, unless of course," Doreen relented, endeavoring to soothe the girl, "Jose agrees to come and present himself to Esteban and your grandmother, and make his intentions regarding you clearly known."
Rosaria did not appear as yet convinced. Doreen urged, "I have a conscience. You may dislike me for it, but I care enough for you to follow my intuition, that if Jose refuses to see Esteban, then he is not the gift from heaven you credit him to be."
Rosaria studied her sister-in-law narrowly, shuffling her feet nervously, but she maintained her composure. "I will try to convince Jose, but if he refuses and you disclose our meetings, then I promise you, you will suffer along with me."
That evening at the dinner table, Doreen resolved her dilemma of leaving Rosaria to Jose’s mercy in the only way feasible to her. She asked Esteban to bring Rosaria with them to the Islands.
"Mujer, you are a crazy woman," Esteban declared. "Why would my sister want to come along on our private vacation."
"I won’t leave her alone for two solid weeks. She’ll be bored stiff. As you yourself pointed out to me some days ago, Rosaria needs my companionship."
