"Besame, besame mucho
Kiss me, kiss me so much
Como si fuera ésta noche
Like tonight is
La última vez
The last time
.
Besame, besame mucho
Kiss me, kiss me so much
Que tengo miedo a perderte
I'm afraid of losing you
Perderte después
Lose you later
.
Quiero tenerte muy cerca
I want you very close
Tenerte a mi lado
Have you by my side
Verte junto a mi
See you next to me
Piensa que tal vez mañana
Think that maybe tomorrow
Yo ya estaré lejos,
I'll be far away
Muy lejos de ti."
Far away from you.
- Consuelo Velazquez, "Besame Mucho"
(Cantina music)
you tu . be /raOZFyB8bSk
.
Months Before Blackwater
When one of their heist jobs took the gang very near the Nuevo Paraíso border, Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, Javier, and Charles strolled into a local cantina one night. Their steps slowed even further when the rich, warm sounds of maracas, smooth guitar, drums, and velvety voices met them inside.
"Javier can't step foot inside Nuevo Paraíso. So here we are," Dutch said.
"Remember, we need to stay sharp for tomorrow," Hosea said. "No funny business."
"You're right, Hosea," Dutch nodded. "Just a little rest and relaxation before the real fun starts. Besides. I don't think there's any real worry of that," he said, the timbre of his tone dipping as he looked over at Arthur. "Arthur doesn't seem much in the mood for funny business tonight."
Arthur let the still sizzling butt of his cigarette hang loosely from his mouth and lowered his head, the brim of his hat covering his eyes for a moment.
"Have a seat, all of you. Take a load off," Dutch said to the men, motioning to a few chairs at a table. "After all, we're in a place we've never been."
"You've never been," Javier quietly corrected him.
"Right."
As they sat, Dutch ordered drinks, and they noticed a young woman dancing lithely to the music in the center of the room. As she flitted about the floor in a tight gown with sleeves that showed off her dark olive shoulders and a silk scarf in her hands, her brown hair flew loosely behind her.
Javier's and Charles's eyes were glued.
"Just a little…rest and relaxation…" Dutch said hazily. "And if the opportunity for recreation presents itself…"
"She's a dancer, not a whore," Javier quipped. "Pero madre de dios, what I wouldn't give…" he mumbled. "Look at her," he nudged Charles, who didn't move other than nodding. "What a woman."
As Arthur reached into his pocket for another cigarette, he felt the coolness of silk run across the back of his neck and looked up to see the girl smiling at him, her amber eyes lingering on his a moment before she pulled the scarf away and returned to dancing.
"Hijo de puta," Javier bit out.
"Shit," Charles whispered.
"Jesus," Dutch mumbled.
"Please tell me you're not gonna let that go to waste, Arthur," Javier said, leaning forward in his seat to look over Dutch at him.
Arthur remained silent but kept his eyes on the girl as he placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it, taking a few puffs.
.
The next morning Arthur was buttoning his shirt as he stood at the mirror of the vanity in one of the rooms above the cantina. He glanced at the reflection of the girl as she lay sleeping in bed. He looked back at the reflection of his buttons.
Again, he regretted the night before, for what seemed the tenth time that morning. Nothing could bring back what he'd lost; that he knew well. No one could be a woman who had gone out of the world.
The reality of it—he was heavy with it.
His eyes went back to the girl's reflection as she awoke and rustled, slowly sitting up blinking in the morning sunlight.
And there she was: the image flashed before him of young Eliza's reflection as she sat up in bed and pulled her bodice closed that very first morning, when he'd left her—only the first time—over a decade ago.
He hadn't said a single word to her before walking out. He truly had used her and discarded her. He'd never known, really known, how treasured she should've been.
He shut his eyes tight as his chest flooded with pain. But that didn't keep the images from coming in, rushing at him. Each memory as important as the last.
Her vibrant laugh.
Her deep, pale green eyes looking back at him as she floated carefree and light in the dark water of the pond. The stars shining bright in her eyes as she gazed up at them.
The feeling of her arm draped across his chest, quiet and content as they lied there together with nothing between them. Stroking her silken hair back from her ear, from her neck. The smooth skin of her shoulder in the still, pale moonlight. Feeling her breathe beside him. The kisses she gave him, so freely. Looking up at him with adoring, tear-stained eyes.
Those same eyes looking back at him with a soft smile from the next pillow.
The sunlight glinting across her face as she walked through the field of flowers with her outstretched hand gently grazing the tops of them. Her contented smile as she looked down, her lashes kissing her own cheeks and her wisps of blonde hair flying about face.
Her heavenly lilting voice, signaling everything would be okay, as she sang Isaac to sleep on her lap. And her soft grin as she looked up and noticed he was watching them.
How trusting, how delicate. How very endangered her heart had been in his hands.
And not far away, there was Isaac in her arms. His lips squished unnaturally as he dozed off.
Again, the memories yanked him backwards. Just a couple months old, sleeping in his crib. He could hear Eliza's whisper as they leaned over the side: "Look," with a smile and a whisper, she'd pointed out the quick, frenzied motion his lips and chin were making in his sleep, "he's dreaming about eating."
The pure ecstasy of giving a ten-month-old a bath before bedtime. He remembered thinking there might actually be nothing sweeter in the world than a wet baby, his soft rolls still warm and slippery from his bath, his beautiful lashes splayed out in clumps that radiated from his dewdrop doe eyes, somehow filled with both wonder and rest at the same time.
Those curious eyes as he pet the tiny chirping chick.
His joyous, carefree cackle as his mother tickled him on the river banks.
The pudgy little arms and fingers he'd lifted up to him, asking him to carry him.
His awe-inspired gasp as he lifted the pup he'd gotten him out of its box.
His blue-green eyes as he stood beside him at the creek with fishing pole in hand, looking up at him with an all-too-wise smirk.
The bulbous tears filling those same eyes as he hugged him goodbye for what neither of them had known would be the last time.
His son. His own. His.
"Me vas a dejar como todos los demás, ¿verdad?" [You're going to leave me like all the others, right?] he heard the girl say and looked up to see her forlorn expression in the mirror as she held the sheet up over her chest.
"¿Por qué ninguno de ustedes puede aprender a valorar a una mujer?" [Why can't a single one of you learn to value a woman?] he heard as he lifted his suspenders and slipped them over his shoulders.
"Lo habría sabido mejor si no hubiera sido por tus ojos," [I would have known better if it hadn't been for your eyes.] she mumbled quietly, watching him as he turned and finally came to sit on the edge of the bed and look at her with hat in hand.
"You don't want me," he said. "Trust me." When he saw her amber-brown eyes begin filling with tears, he swallowed and lifted a hand, brushing a finger to her cheek. "I really am sorry." He looked down and pressed his hat on his head, standing before another bout of memories overtook him.
He started towards the door and stopped, the dresser top catching his eye. In the matter of moments, he wrestled back and forth several times with the thought of leaving money, whether it would hurt her or help her.
Finally going into his satchel, he tried to quickly calculate how much he could spare. It wasn't long before he inwardly cursed himself—it was all what he could spare.
He took the wad of bills out and placed it on the counter, immediately following it with an upturn of his satchel to dump it of coins. As they bounced and sprang across the counter, he jolted to corral them, sliding them into a neat pile as he looked back at her.
"It ain't for…what happened. It's just 'cause I wanna help…y-you understand?"
Her eyes weren't registering a word.
"No…" he sighed, "you don't."
He watched her look down at the cash, cover her mouth, and turn her face in mortification.
He swallowed painfully and quickly stepped through the door.
As he took the stairwell steps by two and struck a match with his thumbnail, he could hear the distant swell of music. And as he cupped his hand and lit his cigarette, taking big, quick steps across the floor and through the cantina, the band continued to play in its silky, sultry tones as if his heartache didn't exist. Or as if it were known to the world.
"Sevilla tuvo que ser,
It had to be Seville,
con su lunita plateada,
with its silvery moon,
testigo de nuestro amor,
the witness of our love,
bajo la noche callada.
under the quiet night.
.
Y nos quisimos tú y yo,
And we loved each other so,
con un amor sin pecado,
with a pure, sinless love,
pero el destino ha querido
but destiny has decided
que vivamos separados.
to keep you and me apart.
Ya todo aquello pasó,
All that has already passed,
todo quedó en el olvido,
all of it has been forgotten,
nuestras promesas de amores
our promises of love
en el aire se han perdido.
have vanished in the air.
.
Están clavadas dos cruces
Two crosses are stuck
en el monte del olvido,
in the mountain of oblivion
por dos amores que han muerto
for two loves that have died
sin haberse comprendido."
without having understood.
- Carmelo Larrea, "Dos Cruces"
(Cantina music)
you tu . be /BTTrPOUz84c
.
A heads up that the next chapter will be intensely difficult and painful. (Not that I haven't with a lot of this, but) I cried when I wrote it. 💔
Love to all,
Rosie 💙