Chapter III
The storeroom
She gave her hand to him. He held it gently and looking at her in the eye, he placed a kiss on her white knuckles:
"Señorita. Your servant."
"As gallant as always, Diego."
"I know you two will get along just fine once again" don Alejandro announced. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must greet some friends over there."
"How was your trip, Magdalena?"
"It was wonderful, we arrived yesterday evening and…"
Josefina couldn't hear any more; she had to go to the kitchen to bring the rest of the appetizers that had yet to be served. Not like she felt very much like staying and keep listening anyway. Her excitement from the previous day had proved to be both ephemerons, unfounded and pretty much ridiculous, she could see it now. Standing up for her against that guy, Diego would have done it for any other woman on Earth; asking her about her uncle was just out of politeness. Surely, when finding out about his former seller and repairer of leather articles, someone told him the niece now worked at the tavern, he put two and two together and knew that the girl who used to sweep that dark corner of the shop, was the same that now would serve him wine or tea.
I don't know why you're surprised. Now, keep it together.
The other voice said nothing. It was dead silent at how beautiful that Magdalena girl was, at the way she and Diego looked at each other, how much they talked and laughed, how close they were at all times. And even more so when it was time to dance. As she distributed canapés, Josefina glanced at them with the corner of her eye, like some sort of medieval self-torture method: reverences, clapping, twists and turns, holding their hands, the pretty and rich black mantilla that followed her and twirled along with her.
I hope things are clear for you now.
Crystal clear.
There was no hope.
(…)
A whole week went by until she saw him at the tavern again. He was wearing a tanned suit and tie and a beige shirt. She had to gather her courage to go and serve him wine.
"Good afternoon, señor."
"Good afternoon, señorita." Her eyes were glued to the glass as it filled, whenthe most unexpected thing happened: "May I ask if you gave your uncle my regards?"
Luckily, she was able to conceal her shock and answer as naturally as possible:
"I did. He sends his regards as well, to you and your father."
"Josefina! Dinner, table four."
"Right away! Excuse me, don Diego."
"Of course."
Josefina served the dinner she was asked to, brought more wine to tables two, three and seven, washed cups and cutlery, but if someone had asked her what she had just done, she wouldn't have been able to give a coherent answer. She did everything in a trance, her mind still absorbed by what had just transpired. On one hand, he talked to her, he asked something, anything, as if trying to continue the conversation from the other day. On the other, it felt like a bucket of cold water falling on her. Or boiling hot water, whatever would freeze her to the bones or scorch them. Why didn't she think of that? Why not adding something more to her reply? Something like my uncle says hello to you and your father and he invites you to visit him whenever you please. But the idea arrived way too late, and no, her uncle hadn't really invited anyone home, but sometimes he wasn't very aware of what he had or hadn't said.
So you wanted to use your sick uncle. That's the last straw.
Not use him, just-
And that other thing.
What other thing?
You called him by his name for the first time: don Diego. Now he knows you know his name.
Everyone knows everyone's name around here.
Still.
Sense and sensibility got all tangled up in this fight for the rest of the afternoon. Reasons came and went, and most likely, don Diego was just doing what he usually did, that is, being nice, all the while she was making up a huge story for each step or breath he took.
Absurd.
She was coming from the kitchen carrying a couple of plates for table five, when she heard it. First, the chords of a guitar; then, a voice:
Tus ojos café me matan
cada vez que los veo,
me dicen cosas extrañas
y me ciegan de lejos.
Tus ojos café me atrapan
cuánto brillo y destello,
de tantos ojos que he visto
con los tuyos me quedo.
The audience, innkeeper included, was enjoying the music, nodding their heads to the rhythm. Josefina served dinner to the cozy looking couple, then headed to barricade herself behind the bar.
Y al tratar de decirlo mejor,
en tu ausencia no hay nada,
un planeta sin agua,
una noche sin luna.
Those cups would be squeaky clean and perfectly dry, she'd make sure of it. Anything, to keep herself from looking in his direction, to keep her eyes from drifting towards him, towards his skilled hands that strummed the instrument, or his raised eyebrows, which resulted in those two or three thin lines on his forehead.
Todo el aire que viste tu andar
engalana el espacio.
Yo te quiero despacio
y con toda mi vida.
He looked at her.
It was just a second or even less, the time it takes to bat an eye.
Everyone applauded.
"Thank you, ladies, gentlemen, but it's time for me to leave."
Don Theo came along to help with the flatware:
"Clients like that one help the business grow. That señor, the one who is with the señorita, is don Diego's friend. He asked him to help create a more romantic mood, you know, for the lady."
Maybe the King of Spain himself had asked Diego to play the guitar and sing that song. But not even the Queen of France rising from the dead could deny it: he did look at her.
(…)
She didn't have to light up a single one of the storeroom's lamps; the scarce moonlight that came in through the window was more than enough. Josefina knew well each aisle, row and shelf, and had learnt by heart where each object was supposed to be, since for don Theo, there was nothing more important than perfect order.
Here, small dishes (that song about brown eyes, was it about her eyes?) Over there, clean napkins which had to be neatly folded (his interest for her uncle, was there actually a hint of interest towards her in it?) Then, the large bowls (was she seeing ghosts in thin air, which, in turn, came from a ghost that rose from the past to torment her?) The glasses-
There was a noise and something like a struggle. At this hour, there wasn't supposed to be another soul in the tavern or the kitchen, let alone the storeroom.
Steps. Whispers.
Josefina stuck her back against the wall, back there, between two shelves.
"If you appreciate your life, give me the document."
Silence.
The other one then spoke:
"If my boss finds out I don't have it, he'll kill me."
"That's why you have to leave town. I'm giving you that chance, go away and never come back, understood? I'll be watching you."
Steps fading away, towards the tavern area. But the other one had stayed, the one who made the death threat.
"Don't come any closer."
If you're going to wield a pistol, you better be ready to use it. Well versed in belts, holsters, bullets and guns, her uncle's words to a neighbor popped up in her mind all of a sudden. It was probably possible to apply that same logic to a chicken boning knife.
"I'm not going to hurt you, señorita."
With her fist clenched around the wooden handle, she dared to take a step forward and that's when she could get a better look at his tall frame, all wrapped up in a black outfit, staring at her behind a mask.
"You're Zorro."
"So they say. And you are Josefina."
"How do you-"
Voices and noise, back there in the tavern.
"If it's all right with you, I'd like to continue this conversation some other time."
He didn't wait for her to put the knife away. He just came closer to her and therefore, to the window, with cautious steps, as if each of them should trust the other.
And she'd heard a lot about this alleged outlaw, of course; she knew that had he wanted to snatch the knife from her, he'd have easily been able to do it. Instead, he just took a leap, landed on the window's frame and with:
"So long, señorita" he disappeared in the night's shadows.
Josefina got rid of the knife right before a bunch of soldiers stormed in through the door:
"Is everything all right, señorita?"
"Well of course, why do you ask? Actually, you scared me."
"Have you seen that delinquent that calls himself Zorro? Was he around here?"
"Zorro, here? No, I haven't seen anyone."
"Are you sure?"
"Are you calling me a liar?"
"No, of course not, I'm so sorry."
She blurted out all of this without thinking, guided by a gut feeling.
Fifteen minutes later and she had already reached her home's doorstep. Uncle Pedro was probably deep asleep, everything was calm and quiet.
And in the middle of her dark room, three words fluttered behind her forehead, vibrated in her ears, echoed against the walls and the ceiling:
So long, señorita.
That voice.
It wasn't possible.
Or was it?
(…)
Note: The "Sense and sensibility" I make reference to, about the struggle inside her mind, I took that phrase of course from Jane Austen's book. About Josefina and the knife, I took it from something similar Anna María does in the series. About the guy Zorro was chasing and the document, it's not really too important; Zorro's endeavors will be seen mostly tangentially in this story.
Also guys, this is the translation for the song, written by a singer named Ilan Chester (the song is from like the 1980's, but I liked it for the story. I tried to find a song that I could really feel, for the English version, but I couldn't. Also, in the original song it's green eyes):
Your brown eyes kill me
whenever I see them,
they tell me strange things
and they blind me from afar.
Your brown eyes capture me,
so much shine and sparkle,
out of so many eyes I've seen
I'm staying with yours.
And when I try to explain myself better,
there's nothing in your absence:
a planet with no water,
a night with no moon.
All of the air that wraps your walking
embellishes the space,
I love you slowly
and with all of my life.
Thanks for reading and reviewing! (*wink*)
