Chapter 4
Early morning
"Bless me, father, for I have sinned. It has been fourteen days since my last confession."
It always smelled like dust and humidity inside the confessional, like it was some kind of a wooden capsule that had been under lock and key for decades and was now just opening up only to judge her.
"Peace be with you." The voice from the other side wasn't Padre Felipe's. Must have been the new priest in town she had heard about. "Go ahead."
This moment always brought her back to her eight or nine year old self, preparing for the First Communion and feeling so very minuscule and abominable in front of the priest that would condemn her to hell. That time, she had begun crying and the Catechism teacher had to come and take her away until she calmed down. Because, after all, how could she confess such tremendous things like skipping mass, lying to her aunt and uncle and on top of that, not doing her chores on time?
Josefina pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the list she had been mentally preparing since Cresencia announced they would drop by the church before going to the market for groceries. It felt so repetitive; next time, she would probably say the same things... and wasn't she supposed to promise they wouldn't happen again? Wasn't it a sin itself knowing they would?
"Very well" the father said when she concluded: "Have you been chaste in thought and word?"
"... Sorry?"
"Have you had impure thoughts or actions? Have you been in amorous congress only within marriage and while open to procreating life?"
Father Felipe never asked these things.
"I'm not married."
"That does not answer the question, child. Remember, God is watching you."
"You mean… impure thoughts?"
"Or acts. I believe there are people waiting outside."
"Uh… no, none of that. I have not."
"If you say so. You may want to pray a rosary a day for the next month."
As he said the words of absolution, she was certain the priest had supernatural powers and had been able to read her mind. Her impure mind, that is, not to mention her body.
When he was done, she headed out to meet Cresencia, more than willing to get lost for a while into the stacks of tomatoes, bell peppers and oranges and the buoyant activity of the town's market on a Friday morning.
(...)
Diego spread out flat the piece of paper between them:
"See, so far I've only been able to make out two characters: Canton and… wealth or money. It could mean anything."
"And you don't think he belongs in jail, do you?"
"No, there has to be more to it. At least I still have a week to figure this out before that so-called Captain comes back for him."
Josefina stared at the symbols traced in black ink: each one of those little houses or trees represented a whole word or... idea? Like a painting, almost.
"Maybe he could draw." Diego looked at her: "Bernardo communicated with him through sign language, right?, and you got an idea of what he was trying to say. Well, maybe if he draws actual figures, you could know more details."
"That is a great idea… We could try that tomorrow, yes."
She saw the excitement of a new clue in his eyes, a new way to attempt to find an answer. And he was doing all of that just to help some Chinese boy whose existence he didn't even know of a couple days before.
"Gracias" he told her: "It is true that a lot of the times, two heads are better than one."
"I hope it helps."
A kiss followed, one that was warm and deep, as he put the sheet of paper away. She then stretched out, turned over a little, and soon, she was laying on her side with him embracing her from the back.
"So you speak French."
"I haven't practiced much lately, but I suppose I do. Some."
"Hm, some? Teach me something."
"Alright. We can say: Je m'appelle Diego."
"Je m…"
"Je m'appelle."
"Je m'appelle Josefina. Like that?"
"Perfect."
"What else?"
"Comment allez vous? Très bien, merci."
"Très bien, merci. Comment allez vous? Sounds nice."
"On your lips, it does."
She could feel his breath on the back of her hair, by her ear. His arms around her and her fingertips that traced them.
"I went to church today. I was confessing and the padre asked me if… I'd had impure thoughts or acts. I said no and I guess I lied... because I know what he meant. He meant this, didn't he?"
After some seconds, he replied:
"He meant something like this, yes."
"Do you think this is impure? Or sinful?"
"I don't think so."
"The Church says it is."
"I know. And I cannot say the Church is wrong. But I can say that this is good... right, genuine, wonderful. I could not say that it is impure because we are both here by free will and we are not hurting anyone and it doesn't feel that way. What I feel is entirely different, the opposite from impure. So I don't believe it can be."
"Do you really mean all of that?"
"Verily. What do you think? Do you think it's a sin?"
"I hope not. I don't know, Diego, I don't want to know, I'm just glad we're here."
"So am I." He held her more tightly and kissed the top of her head. And then he said something else: "It cannot be a sin. Because I love you."
She turned to face him right then; maybe she had imagined it.
Had she? She hadn't: his lips moved and the words that came out matched:
"I love you. I love you and I am glad to say it."
The kiss didn't keep the tears from coming along, the idea was still fuzzy inside her head.
He loves me...
"I love you, Diego. I love you so much…"
It didn't matter if it was over four in the morning. Nothing else mattered.
(...)
When he stepped out of her bedroom, there was already that almost imperceptible change in the color of the sky that precedes the break of day. That was a first: he always left early enough so no one would be awake, not even the vaqueros of the hacienda who usually started their work as early as five in the morning.
Not a problem: the house and the surroundings were still in total silence. It was interesting to think that when he wasn't sneaking in and out of the house as Zorro, he was doing the same, but to and from Josefina's room.
The secret passage was quiet as a tomb. It was when he entered his bedroom that his heart skipped a beat, or two or three.
"Father? What are you doing here at this hour? Do you feel well?"
Don Alejandro was sitting on the large armchair with an unreadable expression. Diego could always tell when he was upset, troubled or in a good mood, but this was different, he knew it right away: the old man was staring at him like he would stare at a total stranger.
"Father? Are you all right?" He feared for his health for a moment. However, Don Alejandro soon stood up and confronted his son; it was a single question, which he delivered as if formed by three different sentences, as if it had to be pronounced that way for it to be truly understood:
"What do you think. Gives you the right. To dishonor that girl?"
(...)
Note 1: I always love writing don Alejandro, especially when he's angry or when he and Diego are discussing something. I had really been looking forward to making it to this part!
Note 2: Of course, the part about the Chinese boy I took it from one of the last episodes of season 2.
Note 3: Thanks for reading!