Chapter VIII

The cliff

Before

"My son, you wanted to talk to me. Here I am."

Diego placed the cigar in the ashtray when seeing his father enter the living room and take a seat in front of him, on the other side of the little table that was usually an arena for duels of checkers or chess.

He hoped the subject of this day wouldn't end up in confrontation.

"Yes, I know we've been very busy lately, with the new cattle and all of that, but this is important."

Don Alejandro nodded: "I'm all ears."

Diego couldn't remember the last time he'd vacillated about what would be the best way to start saying something. He'd always had a way with words, prompt and precise in his speech, but this was something else. It was best, then, to just go straight to the point:

"Father, many times you've insisted that I should get married."

"I have. And I keep it."

"Well." How to put it? Yes: nothing but the truth: "I'm glad to let you know I've found the right woman."

Don Alejandro's usual stern expression lit up: "Diego! This is incredible news, you're not joking, are you?"

"No, of course not."

"I always knew this day would come!" he even gave him a hug: "We have to celebrate this, wine?, no, champagne, Bernardo!, ah, he went to sleep already, it doesn't matter, wine will do." He uncorked the bottle and kept on, all the while serving two glasses of Venetian crystal: "You had me thinking I'd go to my grave without seeing any grandchildren running around this house, but tell me, is it Magdalena? Or Rosarito? She and her family are living in Monterrey at the moment but that's not a problem, we can make an engagement party here and another one there. Cheers! Is it either of them? Or Elena Torres, perhaps?"

The son took a sip: "Neither of them, no. Her name is Josefina."

Don Alejandro surveyed his memory, with no success:

"I don't think I know her, whose daughter is she?"

"I haven't asked her parents' names, I didn't think that would be too relevant."

"But what's her family name? How did you meet her?"

Diego placed the glass on the table, next to the ashtray: "Father, Josefina is don Pedro's niece, he used to own the leather shop at the market. She helped around there but since it closed, she works at the tavern now, as a waitress."

The father stared at the son for a few moments, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard well.

"Ah." He headed back to his chair. "A waitress… at the tavern."

"Is there a problem with that? Or anything reproachable?"

"Don't put words in my mouth."

"I didn't mean to. Forgive me, I just didn't know how you'd react. I know you'd been expecting the daughter or granddaughter of one of your friends. But she's the one I want to be with."

"Diego, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this girl, but there are señoritas from well-known families… Magdalena for example, she cares about you, you know it well."

"Yes but you have to meet Josefina. Not only is she beautiful, she's intelligent and we can talk for hours and that's exactly what I always want to do, just be with her at all times and-"

"You didn't get her pregnant or did you? I'm being entirely frank here, I'm your father."

"And I'd allow only my father to ask such a thing about her. She might be a waitress but that doesn't mean she-"

"All right, all right, but you must admit it's not an outrageous question, given the circumstances."

"If we were talking about the daughter of a rancher, would you have asked me that question?"

"Evidently not, but I know how they were raised and who their families are."

"And I know Josefina."

Both wine glasses were half empty on the table.

He had to keep trying:

"Listen, father, just give yourself the chance to meet her and I assure you you'll see what I see. A wonderful woman, sweet and courageous at the same time, honest, she also takes care of her sick uncle and-"

"Can you let me think for a moment?"

It was an order, not a request.

Don Alejandro opened the wooden box of the cigars and took one. He always did, when something worried him or a decision had to be made.

For a while, the pendulum of the antique clock was the only sound in the living room of the De la Vega ranch.

At last, the eldest one of the presents spoke:

"What you said about you wanting to be with this girl all the time… it reminds me of how I felt when I met your mother. It wasn't enough to have permission to visit her half an hour a day, I wanted to… precisely that, be with her at all times." When he talked about his deceased wife, which happened rarely, it seemed his eyes traveled back to the past, to see something that only he and no one else could see. Then, he came back to the present: "Son, facts have proven something to me: that a father could not be more proud of his son, than I am of you. And I don't say this only because of Zorro but because of everything. Truth is, if I died right now, I'd happily go, having the certitude that you are a full grown man, with integrity and criteria, whose decisions have always proven to be the fair ones, at times even against my own perhaps obsolete ideas. If you really like this girl, Josefina-"

"I love her."

"Then I have no objections. Cheers."

(…)

After

"The first time I saw you after I got back from Spain, you didn't see me. I was just coming into town and the carriage pulled over. And right at the center of the market, with all of the people around, there was you and I immediately remembered you from the shop. You were at a fruits stand, waiting to pay I think and… you were talking to a dog."

Apparently, it's actually possible to cry and laugh at the same time. She didn't know any more if her feet were touching the ground, or if this was happening in reality or it was another one of her fantasies.

It's real.

Are you sure?

Yes.

Great

"You seemed to be having a very interesting conversation with it. Your face, and what a lovely face, had all of these little, different expressions, as if you were telling a story to it. Then the dog walked away but your smile lingered on you. And on me too. I told myself you had to be very pure in spirit to do that, just because you felt like it, like there was no one else around. And since then I've been just like this: looking at you, staring at you, trying to find a way to talk to you and always wanting to be closer to you. Because there's no one in the world like you, Josefina."

She squeezed his hand.

Yes, it's real.

"I don't have to pretend anything when I'm around you, Zorro, Diego, it doesn't matter, I'm just me and even though the life I live, as you very well said, has its dangers, I promise I'll do everything in my power, and everything not in my power as well, to keep you out of danger's reach, and I'll always keep you safe and I'll always love you, just like I love you today and more if possible, if you marry me."

Was there anything to ponder?

"Yes" she said, tears pouring down: "Yes… with or… without danger, I don't care about that. I'm with you no matter what." They kissed again.

Then he showed her the little polished wooden box: "It belonged to my mother. And to my grandmother before that. It was their engagement ring. Now it's yours. May I?"

She nodded and nodded again.

He took her left hand, the hand of the heart, which was shaking as if it were freezing cold around, and placed the ring in her finger: it was made of silver with three gemstones, the one in the middle being the largest.

"Sorry I'm tearing up this much, it's…"

"It's all right." The shawl had slid down to her shoulders, so he wrapped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. "I'm happy too."

"I love you, Diego" it came out muffled against his chest, against his black Zorro shirt.

"And I love you, Josefina. I love you."

(…)

At about three in the morning she was back in her bedroom, a place that seemed utterly tiny and minuscule to hold inside everything that was radiating out of Josefina's pores.

She let herself fall backwards on the bed, stretched out, laughed, regarded once more the ring in her hand; even in this darkness, it managed to steal light from somewhere and sparkle a little bit. It had been his mother's, his grandmother's… something so meaningful for him and surely for don Alejandro too. And holy Jesus in heaven, it was now in her hand as a symbol of…

"Love! Love, love, love, lovelovelove, I love yooooou" she whispered about eight hundred times. A whole life by his side flashed before her eyes, having breakfast, lunch and dinner together, every day; talking, making decisions and why not, let's be realistic, sometimes arguing, doing everything together, and she even remembered how aunt Cari, long time ago, had explained to her, with very little detail, how is it that husbands and wives do to make babies.

And she laughed again. And cried and laughed, until the first morning birds began to chirp.

(…)

"Don Theo, may I leave earlier today?"

"What time?"

"Could it be at four?"

"How come?"

"If you'll excuse me, it's a personal thing."

The innkeeper took a look around before answering: "In over two years that you've been working here, you'd never asked for permission to arrive late or leave early. And coincidentally, now that you're… all mixed up around there, you need to leave early because of a personal thing."

"I'm not all mixed up around anywhere" she replied, trying hard to stay calm: "May I or not?"

"You may. Just for this time."

"Thank you."

"Look. Josefina, during all this time I have grown fond of you, that's why I'll take the liberty to give you a piece of advice, because of that and also because wisdom comes with this white hair you see. Diego de la Vega has always been an exemplary man, a gentleman. But men like him, who come from reputable families, never pursue anything serious with girls that aren't in their level. Keep that on mind."

What she was in fact keeping, but underneath the blouse and against her chest, was the ring of the De la Vega ladies, hanging from her neck with knitting yarn, double turn and quadruple knot. She'd sense it through the white fabric every now and then, to make sure it was still there.

"I appreciate your concern, don Theo. I'm going to take the meals to those tables over there."

And she really did appreciate it; she knew he meant well, just as uncle Pedro had.

It's just that life surprises us all sometimes.

(…)

The blue dress would do. In fact, it was the only one she could count on, because the pink one had grew a few random stains of some sort, from moisture and from being kept inside the armoire for so long. It's not like she had a lot of opportunities to wear either of them, her usual attire consisted in a skirt and blouse. The hairdo was pretty acceptable, simple but still a little different than she usually wore it at the tavern, the metallic hairpins had helped. The pearl earrings that belonged to her mother, the only thing she could save from her father's gambling and pawn shops. A ribbon as necklace.

"Uncle Pedro!" her head popped out of the armoire, as the trunk on the floor had garments and knickknacks of all type and age pouring out: "Have you see my aunt's shawl? The silk one with the embroidery flower."

"The what? No, I don't know about that. Come here for a moment."

"I think I saw it around here at some point but I can't remember where…"

"Josefina."

"…I mean I have the white one but it's a little-"

"Josefina de Jesús, come over here right this instant."

It'd been years since the last time he'd called her by her full name.

There in his big reading chair that he barely used anymore, wearing his only suit, uncle Pedro appeared to her even a tad younger:

"One question: Diego de la Vega proposed to you because you had a silk shawl on?"

Her own answer plus the look she probably had standing there barefoot seemed ridiculous to her: "No but-"

"No buts. He loves you, period. That was clear enough to me the afternoon I opened that door and found him there, and he asked for my permission to court you and asked for your hand, all at once, if you accepted. So quit on the foolishness and the silk shawl nonsense, because he cares about you no matter if princess or waitress." The old man's voice broke; her heart, a bit too: "Or as a bride, indeed…"

She knelt by his side and hugged him:

"I know, it's just that… it makes me really nervous to meet his father. Well I've seen him before I guess, but not like this. I want to give him a good impression."

"You'll give him a good impression, child. With this" he pointed at his temple with a nubby hand: "And with this" then, hand over his heart.

She felt even more ridiculous now, but at the same time, glad that he was around to help her see something so evident and clear.

"It's true…"

"Besides, of all of the dones and señores who dropped by the shop during all those years, don Alejandro was always one of the wisest. Can't deny he's got his temper-"

"Ow…"

"-but he'll like you, you'll see". He patted her on the head; an uncommon thing, he wasn't the mushy type: "Caridad would be really happy to see you like this."

"Thanks. Thanks for everything. Are you sure you can come?"

"Sure thing, I feel just like new today. Well. Go and finish getting ready, it's almost five thirty. Where's the ring?"

"There, in my bedroom. I should wear it, right?"

"You must have sawdust inside that skull."

"Tío! The thing is that it belonged to don Alejandro's wife, and his mother also, and I don't know if he'll like that all of a sudden a stranger is wearing it and-"

"You're no stranger, you're his son's fiancée. If don Diego gave you the darn ring, it's for you to wear it and because his father agreed. Not wearing it would be disdainful."

She gaped in horror:

"You're right… ahh uncle Pedro, what would I do without you?" she gave him a kiss on the bald head and hurried out of his room.

"No, muchachita: what would I have done without you?"

Once in her bedroom, she put the shoes on, then cut the cord that had been securing the ring the whole day, and placed the jewel in her finger. She was admiring it for the nth time when someone knocked on the door.

(…)