Chapter II
The tavern
Three different things can happen to a feeling in four years, two months and eighteen days: it can slowly fade away, because time heals all wounds and you have to let time take its course, plus other phrases with the word time in them, that aunt Caridad was a fan of. It can become an obsession, a fixation that rules all aspects of life and tries to find hope in any ghost or shadow. Or it can mutate from emotion to memory, making peace with it. The latter happened to Josefina. Sure, there was a lot of crying on her pillow, a lot of entire afternoons reading the most tragic poems ever written, all of them dedicated to him in her mind. But pain began to weaken, tears slowly stopped showing up, poems started to seem pretty boring and sadness gave way to acceptance. According to some knightly novel she read at some point, it's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Well then, she had loved for real, and that was a part of her now. It proved she was alive. And why not?, giving a thought to don Diego de la Vega's honest and gentle smile every once in a while, would always make her smile as well.
There was something else too. After aunt Caridad's passing and uncle Pedro's illness, the shop hadn't been able to stay afloat, and not for the first time in her life, Josefina found herself (almost) alone and (virtually) broke, so she had to find another job. Uncle Pedro didn't like it very much, but truth be told, it was the only thing that was supporting them both at that point.
"Josefina! Table three, more wine."
"Right away!" Last year's harvest: she stretched out her arm to reach out for one of the bottles lined up on the shelf. "Excuse me, gentlemen."
"Go ahead, bonita."
Red liquid was starting to fill the first cup, when this voice like a bell resounded behind her back:
"Don Diego de la Vega! Welcome back!"
At the sound of that name and that last name, with all of their vowels and consonants, she felt as if someone had all of a sudden been able to uncover every ridiculous thought and absurd idea she'd ever had about him, and exposed them in the town's square for everyone to watch and mock.
She was pouring the second cup, when other people joined in the greetings:
"How long has it been, amigo?"
"Welcome home!"
The soldiers she was serving were telling jokes and laughing. The third cup was almost full. Then, she heard him:
"Thanks a lot, gentlemen! It's good to be back home and more so, in such excellent company."
No problem. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was just a matter of getting a better wine, one from 1813 perhaps, which the recently arrived party would surely appreciate. It'd be nice to see don Diego again, interesting, even funny to think that because of him, she had filled not few sheets of paper with poems that she couldn't get to rhyme.
"Josefina! Our best wine for-"
"Table one!" she finished don Theo's sentence.
He wouldn't remember her, that was for sure, and that was actually a relieve; if aunt Caridad had noticed her pathological nervousness when he was around, back then at the shop, maybe he had noticed it too. So it was better off this way: two strangers in a tavern, each of them on opposite banks of the river.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Our best wine."
"And it couldn't be any less for the prodigal son!"
Josefina couldn't help a courtesy smile, mostly out of habit. She poured one, two, three, four cups of wine.
And at last, she dared to look at him in the face:
"Thank you, señorita."
A hole in time and space opened up, pulled her in and dropped her right at the entrance of her uncle's shop, broom in hand, completely mesmerized as she stared at prince charming on his horse reciting a good morning, señorita, phrase coined in this world solely for her.
It was him, dear Lord, and she'd be damned if he wasn't even more handsome. Wiser, more grown up, someone who knows well what to do in each situation and how to solve any problem. More… would she there to think about it, to put words to it?: less of a young guy and more of a man. He was wearing a navy blue suit and that same look in his eye: intelligent and perceptive.
"My pleasure."
She managed to pull herself together. She was sure she hadn't shaken like a chicken, like her aunt suggested back then. That's on the outside. On the inside, the invisible stuff behind the eyes, a struggle was starting to surge between two still fuzzy sides.
The rest of the tavern began to spin around that still point that was don Diego de la Vega. As she served wine here and there, Josefina could perceive some fragments of conversation:
"Hombre, tell us about our motherland, Spain. I haven't been there in years."
"Well, as you probably know, Spain is a magnificent place to learn History and Literature. The peoples are generous and-"
"The señoritas are especially generous, eh? I bet you left behind more than one broken heart."
"The peoples are very generous and kind, don Antonio."
At least he didn't come back with a wife.
Why do you care? What does it have to do with you?
Realistically, nothing, but I'm glad to know.
You've just said it, that's the key word: realistic. You have to be realistic.
Both sides gained shape and started their war inside Josefina's head.
"…military university? Fencing, combat techniques?"
"Truth be told, those subjects didn't interest me very much. That's partly why I came back to California. I prefer a good reading and…"
"Josefina! Table five."
I like reading too, we have something in common.
I hope you like to serve wine and wash pots and pans. Table five, and make it snappy.
(…)
Sometimes he'd go to the tavern with Sergeant García, who wouldn't have been able to taste a single drop of wine if it hadn't been for don Diego paying the check: the soldier's credit had run out months ago. Some other times, he'd show up with his servant, a deaf-mute guy who'd smile at everything and everyone. Also, with his father or a friend. And oftentimes, alone. From the bar area, Josefina would see him walk in the joint, go straight to table one if it was free, then sit for a couple hours to read a book. And to watch, she could tell: people coming in and out, those who played poker or chess, those who drank and ate and talked. He always seemed to be listening to every sound, looking for something or someone, or waiting; and in those cases, he'd rarely order wine.
"Your tea, señor."
"Thank you, señorita."
"Hey, girl! More wine." The character at table two had already chugged down two bottles all by himself.
"Right away, señor."
Harvest from few months ago. At this point, he wouldn't even notice.
"How much?"
"The bottle is two pesos; if it's only a cup-"
"That's not what I meant."
He looked at her up and down. Ah, it was one of those. Guess being a waitress at the tavern implied having to deal with drunkards sometimes: it came with the job.
"We only sell wine and food here, señor."
"You're very pretty." She turned away to leave, only to be brusquely held by an arm: "Hey, I'm talking to you!"
"You better let go of me right now."
"Just gimme me a little kiss at least-"
"Señor! You heard the señorita. Remove your hands from her on this instant. And apologize."
Sweet Jesus, it was him. She'd never heard him talk like that, he was always so well-mannered, but this time he'd raised his voice and was visibly upset. Because of her? To help her?
"What you gonna do bout it? Hit me with your book?"
"Believe me, you don't want to find out."
The man let go of her and for a moment, he seemed willing and ready to get into a fight. But don Diego was pretty much a whole head taller than him, so he stepped back.
"You're not welcome here anymore, señor" Josefina stated: "Get out."
He hesitated yet again, as if trying to comprehend, over the haze of alcohol that clouded his senses, what exactly was happening to him.
"My apologies, your grace" he told her with a mocking reverence.
"And don't come back!" he heard her sai, as he stumbled towards the entrance.
At the neighboring tables, all of those who had witnessed the scene went back to mind their own businesses.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. And I really appreciate it, you shouldn't have."
"But of course I had to. Some need to be taught how to behave in front of a lady."
Finally, his stare softened, only to go and pierce right through her thinking, just as before. Just as always.
"Once again, thank you, señor."
She was almost already going to (try and) carry on with her chores, when he continued:
"How's your uncle?"
Her heart started to thump in her ears.
He remembered her.
"My uncle?"
"Don Pedro is your uncle, right? I heard he's had some health issues."
"Yes, well, he's been a bit better these days. He's been walking a little and now goes to eat at the table."
"I'm glad. Would you please give him my regards and best wishes?"
"Of course, thanks for asking."
He remembered her. He remembered her. He hadn't forgotten her face, not even because she was in a different place than before.
He's only being polite. He probably went to get something at the shop, didn't find it, asked about it and someone told him about uncle Pedro.
That's uncle Pedro. This is me. He recognized me. What does he think of me?
That you're just another member of the serving staff.
He remembers me... he remembers me! He does, he does! I'm not just a random girl.
You are.
I'm not!
"Josefina! Do me a favor and glue this sign to the door."
"Yes, don Theo."
She didn't even pay the slightest attention to the contents of the poster: a reward was being offered for the capture of a certain outlaw nicknamed Zorro people were talking about a lot as of lately.
One of her mind's sides was quiet for the moment. The other one was still in awe about what'd just happened that afternoon:
You heard the señorita. Remove your hands from her. And apologize.
He remembered her.
Are you all right?
He remembered her.
Don Pedro is your uncle, right?
After more than four years, he remembered her.
She could hardly catch any sleep that night.
(…)
Note: for this chapter, I got inspiration from a Zorro episode in which a guy named Rodolfo stands up for a waitress at the tavern in a similar situation. Thanks for reading and please drop me a review!
