“As you wish.”
He strolled away with his head raised high and a straight back. I couldn’t fathom how a man this young could only live off his hobbies and social events and nothing else. I was a woman, and yet, I missed my daily routine at the chocolate store. I wasn’t convinced either that he loved adventure as much as he said. If he did, he would’ve gotten tired of being idle here for so many years already. What was obvious to me was that he wouldn’t give up this comfort so easily. He seemed to be too satisfied with his current living arrangement.
What if he hired Franco, but didn’t tell Angélica about it?
It could be a mistake to assume that they were a team.
I stood up and headed for the kitchen. Rosita was standing by the stove, eating a hard-boiled egg. She nearly choked when she saw me.
“Don Cristóbal, do you need anything?”
“No, cari?o, don’t you worry about me. I just wanted a piece of fruit.”
I grabbed the first thing I could find, a banana, while searching for Mayra outside the window. She must be talking to Julia.
I stepped out and walked toward the servants’ quarters.
Sure enough, Julia and Mayra were immersed in conversation. Mayra covered her eyes with her hands while Julia stood in front of her, arms folded over her chest.
I hid behind the foliage. I couldn’t hear a word they were saying, just the way Julia’s voice rose once in a while in an accusatory tone. Her finger pointing at Mayra as she scolded her. One of my legs got numb from my unnatural position and I had to gently shake it to get the circulation moving again. Finally, Julia turned around and went back into the house.
This was my chance.
After Julia entered the kitchen through the back door, I approached Mayra, who was leaning against a rock.
She wiped her tears as soon as she saw me and stood up straight. Up close, I could see that her clothes were discolored and shabby as if she’d washed them too many times. Her skirt was wrinkled and the lace of her sleeves and collar looked stained.
“Don Cristóbal!”
“Mayra, are you all right?”
She nodded, her eyes puffy.
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Guayaquil?”
She renewed her sobbing, hiccups included. I didn’t know what the proper course of action would be. Patting her back? Talking in a soothing voice? As a man, I couldn’t take the same liberties as I normally would. Touching her would be highly inappropriate. I ended up handing her the banana.
“Here, have something to eat. You look pale.”
Surprisingly, she grabbed the fruit. “Thank you. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
She peeled the banana and took a bite. I sat on the rock and invited her to do the same. As she ate, her crying stopped. I removed Cristóbal’s handkerchief from my back pocket and handed it to her.
“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I can help you.”
She took the handkerchief and blew her nose with it.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m so stupid.”
“What happened, Mayra?” I tried my kindest tone.
“Don Tomás fired me. And it’s all my fault.” She started crying all over again.
I dared to place my hand on her back. “Calm down, now. I can’t understand you when you cry. Can you tell me why he fired you?”
“Because . . .” She covered her eyes with the handkerchief. “Because I’m expecting a child.”
I glanced at her stomach. I’d noticed a small bulge, but I thought it was because often times women of lower strata didn’t wear corsets. I recalled the loose dress she’d been wearing the day I met her. Perhaps she’d been trying to cover her growing stomach then. Her tearful visit to the curandera made sense now.
“I’m going to burn in hell,” she said.
“No, you’re not. Women have been having babies out of wedlock since the beginning of time.”
“Yes, but not with holy men!”
Holy men? She covered her mouth with her hand.
“Mayra, what are you talking about? Who is the father of your child?”
She dropped the banana peel on the ground as if she’d lost all her strength.
“Look, I just want to help you.” Hesitantly, I reached out for her arm. “But you have to tell me the whole truth. Who is the father of your child?”
She mumbled a name, but I couldn’t understand her or maybe I couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“Who?”
“Father Alberto.”
My brother? I glanced at her stomach. She was having my brother’s son?
My nephew.
“Does he know?”
I knew the answer before she said it. Of course he knew. That was why he’d looked so disjointed yesterday in Vinces.
“Yes.”
“How long has this . . . this relationship been going on?”
She lowered her chin. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“Of course not.”
“It started when I lived in Vinces, over a year ago, before I went to work for Don Tomás.”
I was stunned. My brother, The Priest, had been involved in an illicit affair with the lawyer’s maid for so long? I couldn’t say I was too surprised, though. I’d always thought it was unnatural to ask young men to be celibate for the rest of their lives, but Alberto had seemed so contented with his vocation, so motivated by intellectual pursuits rather than carnal ones. But apparently, I’d misjudged him. Or had he fallen in love with this girl?
“We knew it was wrong.” She squeezed Cristóbal’s handkerchief. “We thought that once I moved to Guayaquil, we could end it. We didn’t see each other for weeks, but one day Alberto showed up at Don Tomás’s house. He said he couldn’t help it. He missed me too much. After that, he came to see me once a month.”
“What does he say about this . . . situation?” I asked.