Chapter XVI
The room
During the two endless months of aching for some sort of sign, Josefina had sunk in a kind of lethargic sorrow, a swamp of inactivity that was a bottomless labyrinth at the same time. She wanted to do something, but what? She feared any possible move could backfire, same as it happened with the visit to the church and the market that one time.
However, padre Felipe's visit brought faith back, and with it, the spirit that the other night had given her the courage to hop on a horse and head to the quarters all by herself, to face Monasterio and, on top of that, even attack him physically when it was necessary.
And it's just that, sometimes, we end up doing things we didn't know we were capable of.
She couldn't show it, of course. During the countdown for May eleventh, everything had to be as it'd always been: the same empty hours at the library, the same failed attempts at the piano… while, inside, her mind continued dissecting to the core and for the thousandth time, the message of the priest.
First of all, Diego was alive and well, or at least mostly recovered from the wounds he could have had. That alone was enough to lower down the volume of her fear. He was alive.
Thank you, God.
Second, he'd given her the chance to abort the plan before even starting it, to stay safe at home. A nice gesture of his (like all of his gestures, like always) but he probably knew it was just a formality. Whatever was the strategy he and father Felipe had managed to put together who knows how, no matter how risky, there was no way she'd stay out.
Third, there'd be no guard outside her window on the appointed day. So, they weren't alone in this. It was no shock, considering the people in town and of course, the hacienda's servants were on Zorro's side. But who, how had they contacted them, how would they get rid of the soldier, were some lancers also on this side? She doubted it. Bernardo was the most logical option, but father Felipe hadn't mentioned him. So Josefina would see him get her a cup of tea, help her reach for the books on the highest regions of the shelf, come back from the market with the nicest apples for her, and she wondered, is it you, Bernardo? Are you aware of this? Do you know your patrón and I are leaving and we'll leave you here?
There was no turning back, we're leaving, no matter where. To the mountains, to Texas, she'd already considered several alternatives. We're leaving, that's a fact. Or it was, until two days before.
The French poetry book was yet another excuse to pass time, in the bedroom in this occasion, when the raised voices of a heated up discussion reached her from some point of the house.
Her very own doorman and bodyguard followed her down the hall and down the stairs.
"...out of my property in this instant! Get out!"
A moment later, the last person she would have wanted to meet emerged from the library.
Face to face with him once again, and yet again the paw of fear snatching her heart away and squeezing it like an orange for juice.
Does he know something?
He knows nothing.
There had to be a way to pull herself together.
"What are you doing here?"
Monasterio's expression was neutral, at least, not triumphant or mocking.
"Good afternoon, señora. I owe you no explanations of course, but I was passing by to present my respects to your father in law. And to make sure everything is working as it should around here."
"Well I don't know if you've noticed, but your respects are not welcome in here. Goodbye."
"A moment, please."
Her knees wobbled. Literally.
He knows something.
He knows nothing.
Don't you dare look down, look at him, you have nothing to hide.
"You, out." The lancer disappeared in a jiffy. Now the Comandante seemed annoyed. He spoke: "I'll go straight to the point."
Heknowssomething
Heknowsnothing
Heknowssomething
Heknowsnothing
"Even though it was you who started attacking me that day, I can assure you that a variety of things might me said about me: that I'm stern; authoritarian, perhaps; strict, definitely; but it could never be said I've ever raised a hand against a woman. So, I beg your pardon if I caused you any harm. That's all."
Another thing that could be said about Monasterior, is that he, for sure, wasn't used to apologizing to anyone.
"I… attacked you, because you had a gun and you were heading to get my husband and trust me, I'd do it again. And if it's harm we're talking about, what's really harming us is this chase you have against all of us."
"What you call a chase is a rightful prosecution protected by the law, which De la Vega got himself coming, if I may add. But I have no interest in continuing this pointless discussion with any of you, so, if you'll excuse me, good afternoon."
Josefina breathed again when he closed the door behind his back. Her relief didn't last long: just two days before, that man showed up at home. It couldn't be that-
He knows nothing.
He knows nothing.
Say it again.
He knows nothing.
(...)
It seemed that each and every object around screamed in excitement and fright: the cupboard, that was also the entrance of the not-so-secret-anymore passage; the piano, the chimney, the rug, the curtains and even the chicken and vegetables pie Cresencia made for dinner. Everything was burning, jumping up and down and spinning around, on this May eleventh at seven o'clock.
"Señora, should I take his dinner to don Alejandro or will you?"
"I will, Cresencia, thank you."
It was a long time since he'd come to eat in the dining room. These days, he spent the entirety of this time either on the hacienda's work, in business meetings or in his bedroom. He, too, was trapped inside his own labyrinth and personal hell: his only son missing, the guillotine hanging over his neck.
If I could just tell him Diego is all right…
What did father Felipe say about that?
That I should tell not even him but-
He might do something trying to help you both, and instead end up ruining it all.
But-
No buts. Just wait and trust. And keep your mouth shut.
Under the watchful eye of the lancer in the corridor, she knocked several times before coming in, same as every night.
"Don Alejandro?" And just like every night, he was sitting at the desk made up of polished wood, whether it be reading papers or writing, or doing nothing in particular just… there. "I brought your dinner. Cresencia prepared the pie you like."
Some days, he wouldn't answer, as if he didn't even notice her presence. Other times, like this night, he nodded and kept on reading some yellowish paper.
It was incredible: the señor that before, she'd see only from a distance, the millionaire rancher, righteous and fair, though with a temper, from the first moment she stepped into his house had accepted her and treated her even with affection and, just like he said... how long ago? (too long): like they were family already. She could never thank him enough, and now…
Keep. Your mouth. Shut.
"Good night" she turned to leave.
"Josefina."
She stared at him from the doorway. He had the same determined look as always, but now and since weeks ago, sadness in the eyes.
"Yes?"
"Thank you. Hija."
"You're welcome." She had to leave right away not to cry.
(...)
Eight o'clock was time to be in her… and Diego's bedroom. His pocket watch, the one he brought from Spain, was exposed on the desk like a museum piece: three minutes after eight.
The wave of vertigo showed up, but it was a type of vertigo that pushed her forward, perhaps the adrenaline that makes people act in extreme situations or moments of danger.
She went to the window to close the curtains. The soldier was still right outside.
Well, like uncle Pedro used to say: time's a wastin.
The first order of business was to get rid of the dress replace it for something more appropriate for the occasion. If she had to run, climb over a fence and crawl under a bunch of hay, the worst thing she could do was wear a skirt. It could be considered complete insanity, but certainly not as much as running away from lancers infested house, to go and meet a criminal at large. She opened up one of the trunks and rummaged through, until she found his navy blue pants, which were actually almost black. With a pair of scissors, she cut off almost half a meter of the pants' legs, put them on and tightened them with a belt. Not very pretty… a horror, doña Graciela would say, but completely practical.
Low shoes and a black long sleeved blouse that had belonged to aunt Caridad: colors that would disguise her well in the moonless night. She almost laughed at the thought: if Zorro dressed in black to go out, it made sense that his wife did too.
His wife. Zorro's wife. Still surreal.
Hair in a bun, no rebellious lock should be in the middle of the way. A pillow and some clothes tucked strategically under the bed cover; a precaution of this type wouldn't hurt, simple but effective, and it could get her a precious minute of edge in case of-
No. There'll be no surprises or unexpected events.
There always are, life is full of them. You'd better think about what you'll do if one of them comes up.
Such as?
…
She didn't dare to give it a thought. Monasterio's face insisted in appearing in the front of her mind.
What if they catch me?
Then they'll catch me fighting.
She looked at herself in the mirror one more time. Yes, one last thing.
She took off the rings and strung them together into a piece of yarn, then placed it around her neck, to hide them underneath the blouse, just like she did back then at the tavern.
Lights off, then she sat on the bed with the watch in her hand. It was so dark she could hardly see the golden hands, but yes, it was eight fifty.
If they catch me, it'll be fighting, she repeated.
The screams of the objects around gave way to a quietness in suspension, the calm before the storm, like they say.
…in good times and in bad…
Eight fifty five.
Would her hands shake when the moment came? She was prone to tremble like jelly when nervousness hit.
No. You're strong.
I'm weak.
You're not. Do you love him?
I love him.
No matter what?
No matter what.
Onward and upward, then.
Still half an hour to go.
Josefina began to unravel the silence around.
And waited.
(...)
Note: when I first wrote this chapter, in Spanish, I was at a café. And when I was writing the part with don Alejandro I got so emotional, then a song started to play there, don't know which one, but oh, tears poured out. I really felt it. Thanks for reading!