Chapter XIII

Of the day

Josefina was carefully aware of her own breathing.

It wasn't completely rhythmic: sometimes the air would stay a little longer inside her lungs, or she would inhale deeply, deeper, just to intake the present moment even more. Because they were one, weren't they?: herself and the small, sleeping one that rested trustingly against her chest.

She opened her eyes and, once again, stared at the shape of the tiny nose that breathed in and breathed out as well, the light lashes and the closed lids. What would he be dreaming of? Could he already dream? The hair was soft and brown and silky, it almost felt like it was made out of a gust of breeze. This was the most precious thing in the world, everything that ever existed or would exist; this, right here and in her arms, this person who was the fusion of Diego and her, the souls of the two of them turned into one.

Then, to her left, there was the already familiar sound of the secret passage's door opening up.

Still in his black attire, except for the hat, mask and cloak, he sat back on the bed by her side and gave her a kiss.

"How long?"

"About an hour," she whispered back. That meant in a couple more hours, he'd demand his second or third dinner of the day. "How did it go?"

"The money of the taxes is safely on the way to Monterrey."

"I'm glad. But you have a little cut there."

"It will be fine in no time. And I can say I got it as I shaved." He got even closer to her: "Do you think I can hold him without waking him up?"

"We can try."

It was a slow process, filled with shushes and hushes and gradual movements. It was finally successful, though they didn't dare to say another single word or make any sound that could interrupt his sleep. So Josefina put her head on Diego's shoulder and stared at one, then at the other; she could spend her whole life just staring at them.

(...)

"... and Jacinta asks me, why is the sauce on the burner?, so I tell her, that is not the sauce, that is the soup. She insists that it's the sauce until she has a look and gets all jittery and asks, then where did I put the sauce?, and I answer, I have no idea, you should know where you put the sauce. It turns out she gave it to the vaqueros, thinking it was the soup. Five minutes later we had them in the kitchen, complaining about us giving them a cauldron of tomato sauce for breakfast."

That kind of scene wasn't uncommon, Josefina remembered it well. Cresencia always reproached Jacinta for having her head not attached to her shoulders, but up in the clouds.

"But did they eat it?"

"They dipped bread in it, so it wasn't a complete waste. Of course, we gave them the soup too and-" Cresencia stopped her story short: they had company.

Diego went straight towards Josefina and took her hand: "My father has just arrived."

This moment was bound to happen. That didn't make it any less scary. Josefina had this vague but firm idea that at some point, he would throw her out of the house. It wasn't a conscious thought, maybe one fabricated by her nerves.

"Shall we?" he squeezed her hand.

"Cresencia, could you...?"

"Absolutely" the lady said, dragging a chair closer to the cradle.

Once they were out of the room and going down the stairs, she had to gasp as if she had been holding her breath.

"I'm right here with you" he reassured her: "He will come around sooner or later, don't forget that."

She nodded and searched in her mind for the dozens of things they had planned to say. Nothing seemed appropriate.

He led her to the library. Once again, she felt just like she did that night a million years ago, when she was carrying her bag towards the hacienda's gates and the old don gave her the last push out.

There he was, just as always, sitting at his desk, like he had been gone only for a week or two. Did he ever take a break?

"Father."

"Buenas tardes" she pronounced, with a voice that seemed someone else's.

Don Alejandro looked at them for a moment, then got back to his glancing through some papers:

"Buenas tardes."

"How was your trip? I hope it went well."

"It did."

"I'm glad." Everything was more inadequate by the second, so she decided to go all or nothing: "Would you like to meet the baby?"

He replied without missing a beat: "I am busy at the moment, so if you would excuse me."

"Sure, forgive me."

After a curtsey that was a reminiscence to her maid days, she headed out.

"He'll never want to meet him, Diego..."

"He will."

"... and not because of him, it's because of me, he hates me."

"Listen to me" he held her by the shoulders: "He is tired from the trip and he does have some urgent paperwork to do. Once all of that is over, once he has rested, I will talk to him. I did, in the letters, or tried to, but it will definitely be better in person."

She wasn't so sure. Either way, she let his embrace wash the fear away.

(...)

It was cool outside, so Josefina covered the child in her arms with the knitted shawl and went down the corridor and the stairs. Diego was taking care of some Zorro business in the pueblo, the servants were sleeping already. The house was quiet, yet the presence of its main señor remained patent… she wasn't expecting, though, to run across him at this time of the night.

She froze. He didn't notice her presence, of that she was almost sure: he had his back to her, sitting at the bottom of the living room, going over some documents or books or papers. The impulse of retracing her steps and hiding back in the bedroom hit her at once, but maybe that would make even more noise than just to continue walking, keep walking, head to the kitchen and stay there for a while, don Alejandro rarely ever went there, anyway.

How long would things continue like this? He had only arrived hours ago and she was already running away. It was embarrassing, all of it.

"What do you think?" she whispered at the little one, pouring herself some water in a cup: "Should we go talk to him? Hm?"

She knew she had to… but maybe today wasn't the day. Maybe, yes, he was tired from the trip and from all of that piled up work and it was better off to wait another day. Or days.

There was the plain table and four chairs where she had had breakfast, lunch and dinner for four or five years; this one, to the left, was her usual spot. It felt funny to occupy it once again.

"Do you remember that, mi cielo? Ohh, no: you weren't here yet, were you?" she reached for a piece of bread. "Shhhh, it's alright…"

It would be. Diego had said it, so it had to be.

Suddenly, there was someone else in the kitchen. She turned to see:

"B... buenas noches, don Alejandro, I… can I get you anything?"

Idiot, why would you say that?

It just came out.

Great.

"No. Sit down, please, you don't have to… you shouldn't even have to be in the kitchen."

"I just came for some water, the one I keep in the-in the bedroom ran out."

The old man seemed absent for some moments. Then, he took a seat on one of the other chairs and, at last, decided to take a deliberate look at the child.

"How old is he now?"

"Two months tomorrow."

"Ah."

"Sí…"

The cuckoo clock. Always the cuckoo clock.

"I don't even know his name."

It seems Diego hadn't provided him with that specific information in the letters they exchanged during his absence. However, she had the feeling it had been intentional; like he had said, some things are better in person.

"Alejandro. That's his name."

Interesting: for the first time ever, she felt he looked at her not as a maid or as someone who had broken all of the laws of Heaven and Earth.

"May I?"

"Of course."

Little Alejandro complained a bit, stretched and flexed arms and legs, but calmed down again when he found himself in a new place. This one was less soft and smelled different, but it would sure do to make himself at home for a while. And he stared at that face, and that face stared back at him.

"I said some awful things to you, Josefina."

"Oh, no, please don't worry, that's not important at all."

"No, I do worry. Even if you and Diego made a mistake, because you are aware that you made a mistake, aren't you?"

"Yes! Yes."

"Despite that, I should not have treated you… the way I did. And for that I apologize."

"Seriously, that's all in the past, please, don't worry about it for a second."

It's your turn.

Just let it go.

"And you're right, I behaved...badly. You opened the doors to your home to me and gave me a job and I know I… betrayed that trust, and I don't want to justify myself but I truly… love your son, and I promise I'm going to do my best to be a good wife, and a good mother. I'm sorry."

Don't cry.

Don't cry.

Her voice broke a little, but she managed not to.

"In your words: all of that is in the past." Now she was for sure about to burst into tears. "What matters now is the future, isn't that right?" he added as he passed a hand over the baby's head.

"Gracias…"

Diego appeared all of a sudden.

"I was looking for all of you."

"It has been twenty seven years, Diego; almost twenty eight..." don Alejandro recalled, as his son crouched down between them: "... and I still remember this face. In your mother's arms. As if I'm looking back in time. It is your face."

Alejandro wasn't paying much attention to any of that. He realized that soon, it would be time to eat and that's all that mattered to him.

(...)

She was always first to fall asleep. Not this time; he must have been pretty fatigued from his Zorro endeavors, because they got into bed, talked for a few minutes and he soon dozed off. In the darkness of the room she could hardly make out his face, and yet, she could see him so clearly: the curl of that rebellious lock on the top front of his hair... his breathing, she could almost see it too.

The little one napped as well in his cradle, a couple meters away, his little stomach fully satisfied.

And in here, when Josefina fell asleep at last, she wouldn't remember it later on, but she dreamed of the day that had just finished, of the nights they had spent in her old room, of the afternoons and evenings and early mornings when she was always thinking of him. Of the dawns they now watched together. And of the many days to come.

END.

(...)

Note: finishing a story always fills me up with all kinds of emotions. I kinda want to cry, not sure if out of happiness or sadness, because I'm saying goodbye to these people for a while, until I write another story, that is :-D

I actually had to Google what do two month old babies do, lol, because I was like, should little Alejandro babble? Laugh? Talk? Ok, not that one XD Another thing: I kinda have the idea that back then, it was mostly the servants who took care of babies. Not sure if it was normal for them to be all the time in their parents' bedroom, like it happens nowadays, especially when they are this little. But oh well XD And similarly, I guess old dons like don Alejandro wouldn't be so inclined to carry babies (?) I'm not sure, I feel like, back then, it was, you know, a women's thing to do, or the servants'. However, well, they were getting acquainted :-D so it felt right.

Thanks so much, guys, for reading and staying tuned! I loved writing this and sharing it with you.