“Stop. There is nothing you or anybody else can do. These diseases are well known to wipe out entire regions. Don’t you think that if there was a cure, I would’ve done something about it? I would’ve traveled to every corner of the world to find a solution, but there’s nothing. Every landowner knows this and lives in terror of these diseases. I’m telling you. This is the end of the cacao bonanza for this entire country.”
I slapped his chest with my hands, tears trickling. “You brought this on! Out of jealousy! Because you wanted the plantation for yourself! This is all your fault.”
He let me hit him, and then, when I was exhausted, when the tears were so abundant that I could no longer see the sadness in his eyes, I took a step back.
“I need to get out of here,” I said, turning around.
He called my name, but I left the house before he could say anything else. I left knowing that he was right, that I’d lost everything before I ever had it.
CHAPTER 44
I didn’t want to believe Martin. I walked around the plantation for hours. I talked to every worker I could find and demanded that he show me the disease up close. My former informant, Don Pepe, pulled out a cacao pod and showed me the white, moldy spots spreading all over the fruit. I looked around me: leaves were withering, pods were filling with fungus, the entire region was rotting, like my family.
No, I couldn’t accept this. My father didn’t abandon us, he didn’t work for twenty-five years, so fungi would wipe it all away. On my way to my neighbor’s house, I encountered dozens of workers walking toward Vinces along the dirt road, their heads lowered, their feet dragging. They carried with them all of their belongings.
Don Fernando del Río confirmed that everything Martin had said was true. He also seemed anxious, but in a different way than Martin. Instead of drinking, he was pacing his living room like a madman. He was still wearing his night robe and he would twitch and talk to himself. Any minute now, he would lose his mind and would have to be admitted to an asylum. I tried to calm him, asked him to sit down, to have a valeriana tea for his nerves, but he barely listened, he kept repeating something about the witches’-broom, and calling it a curse, he went as far as blaming Soledad, the town’s curandera, who at Angélica’s request must have done something to the plants.
Yes, that was his explanation for things. Those women were witches and they’d cursed the entire region. When there was nothing else I could do or say to calm him, I left his house and went home.
The hacienda felt lonelier than ever. Prior to leaving the house, my sisters had apparently fired Rosita, the cook. But little did I care now about food or housekeeping. I collapsed on the sofa, watching the bottle of aguardiente on the coffee table and Martin’s empty glass. I hugged my knees and gently rocked back and forth until the night closed in.
CHAPTER 45
This was, perhaps, the hardest visit of my life. I stood in front of the sky-blue door for a few minutes. It was impossible not to compare the grandeur of the hacienda with the humble house that now stood in front of me; a house where, according to the rumors in town, my sisters were now living.
I rang the doorbell. A part of me understood that they might not open the door. After all, the last time they’d seen me—that horrible day at the hacienda where I’d disposed of my disguise—I’d left on less than amicable terms, one might even call them downright hostile.
The movement of the door startled me. So did the face in front of me.
I’d expected to see Catalina, even Angélica, but in front of me stood Alberto. It took me a moment to recognize him. He had shed off his cassock and was wearing gray trousers, a buttoned-up shirt, and suspenders. He looked so young.
I didn’t know what to expect from him. An insult? A sarcastic remark about the doomed plantation we’d fought over?
Instead, he nodded.
“Hello, Puri.”
He opened the door wider for me to come in. I hesitated before entering, but at least my long black gown was good for hiding the tremor in my legs.
The living room was a cozy combination of Angélica’s impeccable taste and Catalina’s discreet simplicity. There was a long, maroon sofa in front of three windows framed in oak wood. They were furnished with soft beige drapery, and there were plants scattered throughout the room. I noticed, without intending to, that there were no portraits of my father in sight.
Catalina stood upon seeing me and set her embroidery by her side.
There was something different about her, too. She no longer wore black. Instead, she’d picked a pink gingham dress with a belt that crossed over and buttoned in the front.
I greeted her first. She offered a coy smile. The silence between us prolonged for a few, unbearable seconds.
“Would you like something to drink?” Alberto said. “A fruit tea?”
“Yes, please.” I wasn’t thirsty, but I needed something to do with my hands, something to distract us from the tense silence.
And Angélica and Laurent weren’t even here yet.
“Any preference?” he asked.
“Whatever you have will be fine.”
“I’ll go get Rosita,” he said.
So they’d taken the cook with them. Well, I couldn’t say that I was surprised.
“Have a seat,” Catalina said.
I sat on the edge of a rocking chair that looked familiar—it might have been in Catalina’s room before. The old me would have known exactly what to say, how to engage Catalina in conversation and defuse our mutual discomfort. But after living like Cristóbal for a couple of weeks, I’d learned to appreciate silence. In some ways, I’d become more contemplative and introspective.
“You look so nice,” Catalina said. “So different.”
“And you look beautiful in pink,” I said.
“Thank you.”
I sat with my ankles crossed and my hands clasped in my lap. Someone was at the door. Catalina stood, nervously.
“I’m home!” Angélica said from the foyer.
Catalina stared at me, uncertain. I remained in my seat, though I could feel my pulse speeding up.
“I found the loveliest fabric at Le Parisien,” she said, entering the room, wearing a lovely mint frock. She nearly dropped the parcel in her hands when she saw me.
“Buenas tardes, Angélica,” I said.
She stood up straight and raised her chin.