Authors: A K Alexander
She stopped by the corner market to get a soda and ask the grocer if he’d seen Alex anywhere. When he told her he hadn’t, her sense of desperation deepened.
He'll come home today. He's a good boy. He's hurting right now, that's all
, she kept telling herself, trying to take comfort from these thoughts. She looked down at a picture of him she'd taken from her wallet from his twelfth birthday party, and he was smiling, holding up the football she’d bought for him. He was so happy then.
He's such a special boy. I have to get him away from selling drugs
.
She was jolted out of these thoughts by the shrill screeching of brakes. The next few moments were nothing but a blur. Loud popping noises of gunfire sprayed the street, as a reckless blue Chevy halted in front of the market place. Marta stood in disbelief witnessing the atrocity. She saw a young boy hit the ground, the bullets tearing through him. Running to help, she heard one last shot. A teenager lurched out of the way of the bullet. The victim it captured was Marta. Time slipped into slow motion. She felt no real pain as she reached for her chest, the warmth of seeping blood covering her hands. The people, the street noises, her life spiraled into a motionless blur, as she sensed her life draining from her. Her son’s face, his sweet sounding voice—his essence surrounded her. She needed him to know that she loved him. She could not leave him. Not like this! He needed her. Damn God for this. Damn Him! And although she cursed God knowing that she would never again hold her son in her arms, an incandescent peace draped over her—a warmth so brilliant that her desire to allow it to take over her entire body soon outweighed her need to remain on Earth and be Alejandro’s mother.
****
Alex had heard the screeching tires, the gunshots and had been watching from an empty warehouse window at his mother all morning searching for him, still sulking and angry with her. He’d almost come down twice, but his anger hadn’t subsided enough to talk to her. With those first round of gunshots he dashed out of the building to protect her, but he was too late.
Now she lay dying in his arms. Tears streamed down his face. “No, Mama. No,” he sobbed.
She reached up with the palm of her hand and stroked his face, “I’m sorry, so sorry. She gasped for air. “I love you, Mijo,” she struggled to say. Her body shuttered and then without any fight left went limp against her son.
“No! Mama! No! No!” Alex screamed as the only secure world he had ever known left him. He cradled her body, rocking her back and forth as she’d done with him for so many years. His entire being frantically willed her body to return to life, but she didn’t move. His loving mother was gone.
*****
The day that Marta was buried was a typical Southern California day—warm and hazy. The funeral was attended only by Elisa, her family and a few of Marta’s friends. Hector stood next to Alex, who hadn't uttered more than two words since his mother's death.
He couldn't believe she was gone. She was the only person in his life who truly loved and accepted him. She was loving, kind, and always understanding. She did everything for him. Listening to the priest, he heard him talk about what a good lady and mother she'd been. Images danced in Alex’s mind of his mom playing with him when he was a small boy, kissing him and holding him when he felt hurt or sick. She’d stood by him no matter what, even when he wanted to change schools because the white kids had teased him so bad. He was so afraid of letting her down, but she’d soothe him and tell him whatever he needed to hear to make him happy.
And then the last night that he saw her alive, when she told him about his father, he’d been so angry and unforgiving. “Mama, please know I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Forgive me, please forgive me,” Alex whispered, tears rolling down his face onto his black suit sleeves. He didn't bother to wipe them away.
In despair Alex cried out as her coffin was lowered into the grave. "No, Mama! No, don't go. No!" He stepped forward and put his hands on the coffin, shaking his head, his body trembling. Several people tried to ease his pain by talking to him, asking him to let her go that she was now in a better place. The pain remained hot and paralyzing. The priest laid a hand on Alex and allowed him grieve over his mother until he’d exhausted himself. Then more loving hands quietly lifted him and walked him away from his mother’s grave.
He didn't know what he would do now or where he would go. There was only one thing he knew for certain. He would find the man who had turned his mother into a wage slave and get his revenge. His mother would still be alive if the man who called himself his father had lived up to his end of the bargain, and provided for them so they wouldn’t have had to live in the dregs of hell, where insane, angry people shot and killed on the slightest whim.
Alex would see to it that his father took responsibility. That man would pay for what had happened to his mother. This man, who had so cruelly deserted her, would pay for what he'd done. Alex would find him and see to it.
Angered by his wife’s nagging and his own urgent need to get away, Javier offered to escort Miguel to San Rios. He thought he would also fly down from San Rios to Colombia and speak to Antonio about the idea of getting involved in the cocaine business. And he wanted to see whether Antonio had visited Bella while he was in Paris. He knew they’d recently arrived home and was anxious to hear all about their trip, especially any news regarding his daughter.
The pain of hearing about Bella’s horse trials from Miguel still disturbed Javier. He’d drunk himself into a stupor afterwards. But Miguel and Pedro convinced him that drinking over his problems with Bella would do nothing to change things.
Miguel took the bottle away from him. “Go to her, Papa. Make peace. She loves you. God doesn’t want either of you to be in such misery.”
“You’re right,” Javier replied, slurring his words and glancing at Pedro and Miguel through glazed eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. But first,” he sighed, “I’m going to take you,” he pointed at Miguel, “to the convent in San Rios.”
“You don’t have to do that, Papa.”
“Shhh, now. Of course I do.” He held up his hand in protest, and then leaned back in the chair. He closed his eyes and murmured something about Carlotta having destroyed his relationship with his daughter. Miguel was certain he’d heard his stepfather say, “That fat, dumb bitch.” The sad thing was that Miguel could understand Javier’s feelings, and couldn’t really blame him for them.
*****
Javier peered into Miguel’s room, seeing him hug his mother good bye. She was on her way to visit the newest spa in the Caribbean. She turned around, smiling her artificial smile at Javier. He smiled back at her with the knowledge that it had been arranged for Carlotta to suffer a massive heart attack while sitting inside a heated sauna that horrifyingly enough would become too hot for anybody to withstand.
“Are you ready?” Javier asked Miguel.
“In a minute, I have a few more things to pack.”
“All right. Pedro and I will start putting our things in the car.”
“Have a nice trip, dear,” Carlotta said as she kissed her son on the cheek. “And don’t let your father drink too much, worrying about his spoiled Isabella.”
“All right, Mama.” Miguel shook his head as she turned around to leave the room and shrugged his shoulders.
Javier no doubt didn’t blame Miguel for his mother’s shortcomings. The boy would certainly be saddened by the loss of his mother, but in the long run he would be far better off without her.
“Drive carefully,” she told Javier as she passed by him.
“Of course,” he replied. He walked over to the edge of Miguel’s bed to zip up his duffle bag. “Have a wonderful trip yourself.”
*****
Susana sat in the dark. She’d finished cleaning up after supper and the cool air had the tendency to relax her troubled spirit. The church and courtyard were beautiful. The church was built of stone, and the courtyard had a water fountain where birds drank their fill and perched on the sides to warm themselves during the day. Trellis lined this side of the church where ivy grew and honeysuckle flowers sprouted from large clay planters. The honeysuckle was orange and yellow and she loved watching the hummingbirds buzz into the long tube of the flower for its nectar. Comfort was where she was now. Secure comfort—and although her painful past weaved in and out of her memories regularly, she was able to let much of it go while listening to the water fountain and gazing out onto the desert type mountains as the sun’s last rays cast a silvery glow onto them.
She spotted headlights approaching along the winding road down the mountain. Yes, changes were coming as much change as there could possibly be in this little convent nestled against the foothills of San Rios.
She knew that since Father Frances had passed away and Father Juan had replaced him, they had been looking for an intern to take Father Juan’s place, as he was being requested by a larger church in Mexico City. She figured that the visitors pulling into the convent must be bringing the new intern. Rumor had it that he came from a wealthy family. She could make out three men taking bags out of the trunk. Father Juan and Mother Superior walked into the courtyard to greet them.
“No, thank you. We’ll go into town and stay at the hotel,” Susanna heard one of the men say. Something about his voice sounded familiar. The three men hugged one another and said their goodbyes.
Susanna watched the Mercedes pull away. After that, she decided to retire to her quarters. She took the long way on the cobblestone pathway, hoping to run into Father Juan, Mother, and the new priest.
Walking down the hall, she passed right by the three. “Ah, Susanna. We’d like you to meet Father Miguel Diaz. He’ll be interning with us.”
The young man smiled at her. He had such dimples that could not only melt the hearts of grandmothers, but grandfathers as well. Susanna knew the congregation would approve. His eyes were full of passion, the kind she had rarely seen—not reserved for women, but for something more holy. It was a shame, though. She blushed at this thought and felt guilty. Those kinds of feelings hadn’t stirred inside her in years.
Susanna lay in her bed that night feeling restless. Her peaceful world had gone through a sudden change, by a glance from a handsome young stranger. She reminded herself of what had happened the last time she’d allowed lust to overpower her. God would certainly condemn her for such unclean thoughts about the unsuspecting young priest.
She closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep. In the distance, she heard again the voice of the man she’d heard earlier, the man who had dropped off Father Miguel. Her sleep was haunted by that voice until she opened her eyes to the early light.
The fact that the coffee crops weren’t pulling in what they should during the past months disturbed Antonio. They had plummeted to a new low over the last few weeks, while he and the girls were vacationing in Europe. The States were going through a serious inflation, causing his profits to decrease, and all his mental wrestling had not presented a solution to the problem.
Antonio hoped Javier had some ideas. He and Pedro were due to arrive at any moment. Antonio arose from his desk chair and paced the hardwood floors. Not only did the decline in profits irk him, but handling the delicate issue of Isabella with Javier was also gnawing at him. Javier had made it quite clear from the time she was a baby, that issues concerning Bella were no one’s business but his own. Antonio had respected that through the years, even when Carlotta insisted on sending Bella away. Antonio disagreed with that decision, and knew the effect it would have on his goddaughter.
As he pondered this new situation, he heard a slight knock on the study door. “Come in, come in!” Pedro and Javier were ushered into his study by the butler. “I’m so glad to see you both.” The three men shook hands and then embraced. “Did you see Miguel off to the convent?”
“My son—the priest is settled,” Javier replied.
“Good. Can I get either of you a drink?” They both declined. “All right, then. Let’s get business out of the way. I have tickets to the opera tonight, but first, I thought we could go out for a nice dinner.”
“Excellent,” Javier replied.
“Is that safe? I’ve heard the streets around here have become quite violent these days,” Pedro said.
“My dear boy, do you really think anyone is going to attempt to kill any of us? Are you kidding? I
am
this city. The people around here need me. They worship me. However, they will not for long, if I don’t start generating a larger cash flow. It appears that, with inflation in the United States, the price of our coffee and other goods is becoming so expensive that it has been necessary to lay off workers. We need to find a way to make more money. Any suggestions?”
“I
do
have an idea,” Javier said hesitantly.
“Go on.”
“Cocaine.”
“I don’t think so, Javier. I’m beginning to get tired of our illegal trade. It’s not so cheap to pay off immigration and the police any longer. Besides, I understand the
federales
are coming down harder than usual at the checkpoints. Emilio called this morning to tell me that a large shipment of marijuana had been confiscated. Needless to say, I wasn’t happy to hear it.”