Chapter 5
Dusk
"What do you think. Gives you the right. To dishonor that girl?"
The words reverberated against the walls and the ceiling, remained suspended in the air, heavy as they were.
In a flash through his mind, Diego remembered the time Capitán Monasterio had accused him of being Zorro, or when they put him in jail for the same reason, later on. It was the same against-the-wall feeling, however increased a dozen times at least, because before, he'd been the only culprit and the only one to pay whatever crime there was; this time, someone else was involved, someone who would most likely take the worst part. Josefina… could he cover for her somehow?
It seemed his father was able to read his mind then, right through his eyes:
"And if you still possess an ounce of decency, do not attempt to deny it. Answer me! What gives you the right to-"
"Nothing." There was no other possible answer: "Nothing. I know it well."
It was as if he hadn't heard his son:
"Is it because she is a servant, that you think you can use her as you would use an object, a piece of furniture?"
"No! That has never been my intention-"
"Then what has your intention been?! And under this roof! In the house that used to be your mother's as well. Jesus Christ, I don't even want to phantom what she would say, were she still with us."
"Please don't bring my mother into this."
"I do bring her, Diego, because at her deathbed, I swore to her that I would raise a gentleman, someone who would respect others instead of taking advantage of them. Evidently, I have failed. Zorro or not."
"Father, I respect Josefina, I-"
"Bah! If you did, you would not have been sneaking into her room at night like-"
"Listen. Listen to me, I'm not trying to excuse myself. I know what I've done is wrong and reprehensible and-"
"What if you had gotten her pregnant? What would you have done, what would you do? The De la Vega blood is not one to be dispersed around in a child out of wedlock. Have you given a thought to any of this?"
"I have."
"Oh, you have? And what has your wise conclusion been?" Diego was about to speak, but he was interrupted: "No, spare me the details. Son, you listen to me. Why don't you get married? Magdalena is still in town, I am sure she would gladly accept."
Diego's soul sank a bit more; his father didn't even consider Josefina in the marriage conversation, like she didn't exist in that layer of the world. There was no resentment, though: everyone had the same ideas, rich or poor.
"Let's not have that discussion again."
"What will you do, then? Will you waste your life away fighting for a utopy? While you continue to utilize our maids?"
"Don't say that, please. That is not how it is."
"I do not want to find out, Diego: I don't want to learn that this is happening in this house ever again. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes, father."
"And that girl… you cannot just let anyone into your home these days."
"What does that mean?"
Diego followed him outside the room and down the stairs.
"Father? Let me be the one to talk to her, please, don't tell her anything."
No use. Don Alejandro was as determined as his father had been, and the father of his father and all of the ancestors of their lineage.
"You will not fire her, will you?" To the living room and down the corridor, to the back of the house. "Father? I'm the one to blame for all of this, don't-"
The knocks on the door woke Josefina up, who had already started to fall asleep. She jumped out of bed without thinking, reached for the robe and threw it on. Some images played out in her mind: a fire, a burglary, someone getting sick unexpectedly, maybe Cresencia or…
"Don Alejandro!" the words escaped her mouth without a voice; only a breath or a gasp or an exhalation.
Diego was there too.
"I will not fire you, simply because this is Diego's fault more than yours. But you better understand that this will not happen again under this roof. Is that understood?"
She didn't dare to look Diego's way. She didn't dare to move or think or do anything at all, only nod with wide open eyes:
"And one more thing, Josefina: have some respect for yourself."
Her arms and legs felt weak and shaky, like made out of the gelatine Jacinta prepared sometimes.
Don Alejandro was gone. Diego was telling her something but she didn't hear it, she just closed the door on his face, locked it and hoped to crawl into a hole and hide in there for eternity.
(...)
When she pulled the door closed behind her back, her hands were still shaking. It felt like they didn't even belong to her, like they'd been replaced by two leaves that could hardly hold on to the knob.
She headed down the corridor, her mind all scrambled with one cataclysmic thought after the other, or all of them at the same time, there was no order to what was happening, no silver lining. Maybe thinking wasn't even recommended, was it? Maybe focusing on the chores was the thing to do, putting all of her concentration into mechanical tasks.
Good. You just do that.
"Buenos días."
"Oh! Buenos días." Cresencia replied. Jacinta didn't. "Did you have a good night's sleep?"
Josefina had worked by her side and followed her orders long enough to know the inflexions of her voice well. And to know that she had eyes and ears everywhere.
"Sí."
"Really? Or were you too busy?"
This is not happening. Focus.
"No."
"Hmmmm."
She started to dekernel the ears of corn for the day's soup.
There was a wooden clock on the kitchen's wall. It was painted in different colors and it had little figures and a bird that came out of a small window and went ckoo ckoo every sharp hour. Like it did right then. Besides that, knives cutting and peeling, and kernels dropping into a pot, there were no other sounds for a while.
"Do you know what I find truly sad, Jacinta?"
"What is that?"
"Two faced people."
"Two faced people?"
"You know, people who pretend to be all goody good, go to church and all, but behind everyone's backs, they're… something else."
"Uh huh. Hypocrites."
"And the worst kind."
Josefina heard them with a buzz beeping in her left ear. Again, she felt the urge to cry and run away. But she didn't:
"Do you have something to say to me, Cresencia?"
"In fact, I do, yes."
She regretted her own question when the older maid stomped in her direction:
"I would have never thought you could be so dumb, child! Women like us, like you: what can you expect from life except marrying a vaquero, a farmer or a herdsman, if you're lucky? But who's going to want you if you're an... easy girl, a tramp? And with the patrón! Aren't you ashamed of yourself? You're not coming to mass with me ever again unless I believe you're truly repentant, you're the kind of person who gives all of us a bad name and also: what were you thinking? The señor is a good man, I can give faith of that, but he's going to just throw you away, can't you see that?"
All of that seemed pretty logical. Most likely, she would have thought it herself, about someone else in a similar situation. Then why did it feel so different from the inside?
"Is that all?"
"No. Go clean the back patio."
When Josefina was gone, Jacinta finally spoke: "I still can't believe it."
"I know" Cresencia went back to work with the chicken: "And since she has no relatives around here, somebody had to say something to her. People can't be as unprofessional as to get involved with the patrón and behaving like a harlot and-"
"Who are you talking about, Cresencia?"
Jacinta almost drops the pot and all of its content at the sight that appeared at the kitchen's doorway.
"No one, don Diego, we were just... talking nonsense."
He nodded several times: "I would like to make something clear here: I will not be tolerating gossip or rumor spreading about anyone's personal lives. Is that understood?"
"Sí, don Diego."
"Sí, don Diego" Cresencia echoed. Then continued: "The problem is that… sometimes people's personal lives get… out there in the open."
"And would that make it any of your business?"
She knew she had gone too far already:
"No, señor."
"Good. We will have two guests for dinner tonight, by the way" he informed them and left.
(...)
The day was neverending; the night, too long to come. At every step, Josefina would wonder who she would bump into next: Don Alejandro's stern look, Cresencia's disapproving one, Jacinta calling her a hypocrite, who knew who else knew at this point, and… Diego. What was she supposed to say to him, what was she supposed to do?
Her eyes itched from crying and lack of sleep, the sheets felt like sandpaper. In the middle of this darkness and this despair, it seemed that Cresencia was completely right, that she had been nothing but a dumb idiot: easy, reproachable, sinful and impure, that was it, she was right, she was right after all.
But I love him...
So what, Josefina? So what?
Tears were about to burst into her chest once again when she heard the slightest of noises. She jumped out of bed and picked up the envelope that had been slid under the door. The paper inside read:
Josefina:
I cannot put into words how terribly sorry I am. I know it is too much to ask, but can we talk? Tomorrow noon at the library.
Diego.
About half an hour later she could fall asleep at last, with the letter tucked between the pillow and her right cheek.
(...)
Note 1: ok, all of this was pretty intense to write. I did think one thing: should don Alejandro scold Josefina too, or not? I decided to make him do it, because he's her boss after all, and also he was pretty angry.
Note 2: nowadays we know that when two people get involved, it's the responsibility of the both of them, right? But back then, and considering social classes and whatnot, it would have been different.
Note 3: I don't know if gelatine existed at that time. Let's imagine it did. Cuckoo clocks did! I checked.
Note 4: What do you think of this chapter? Omg, I know maybe it's a bit too much. Too… weird. Idk. Thanks for reading!