Tarnished Beauty (30 page)

“Don't be a fool, Antonio. Don't you see that everything you've been dreaming of can be yours?”

“You know nothing of my dreams,” I answered.

“I know that you long for certain…comforts, and that you were meant to be more than a shepherd,” she said much too loudly.

“Quiet woman, you'll wake the others.”

She calmed down and lowered her voice to a whisper. “You know as well as I do that Tomas is desperately in love with Rosa, and that he is able to give her a life that you never could. They are meant to be together, Antonio, just as we are,” she said, on the verge of both laughter and tears. She attempted to encircle me in her arms again, but I stopped her. “Promise me that after we arrive in Santiago you'll come away with me,” she said breathlessly.

“I can't promise you any such thing. Now get back to your—”

She placed her finger over my lips. “Promise me or I'll scream out and tell the others how you fondled me during the storm, and how you persuaded me to come to your bed.”

Not knowing what else to do, and desperate to get her out of my bed, I promised her that, if nothing else, I'd think about her proposition and give her my answer at the end of our journey. Satisfied with that, she slithered away to her bed.

I was unable to sleep for the rest of the night, as I realized that confessing to Rosa was now out of the question. I couldn't risk the chance that Rosa would believe Jenny's story over mine, as I had no doubt that Jenny would prove to be a very convincing liar. The next morning I somehow managed to force down a bit of breakfast, and was relieved to see that Rosa appeared rested and that she ate heartily as she listened intently to Tomas's discourse on the accomplishments of the Templar Knights who had, since the Middle Ages, protected pilgrims on their journey to Santiago. He spoke with such authority that one would think he'd been a knight himself. But rather than getting annoyed, I was only grateful that Rosa and Tomas appeared to have no knowledge of what had taken place the night before.

At that moment, Jenny appeared looking rested and triumphant as she took her seat next to Rosa. I felt suddenly sick and pushed away what little was left of my breakfast.

“I'm beyond famished,” she announced, after which she stuffed her mouth with bread.

“Did you sleep well?” Rosa asked.

“Oh, very well, and I had the most amazing dream,” she said with a wink in my direction. “Have you ever experienced a dream so realistic that you can't be sure if it was only a dream?”

Rosa nodded with a smile, and Tomas set his coffee cup down, apparently intrigued.

“Well, let me tell you,” she continued, “that last night I had a dream that was surely planted by the devil himself.”

Before she could finish her sentence, I nudged the ceramic pot next to my elbow off the table and sent it to the tile floor below, where it shattered into a thousand pieces all about our feet. We sprang up, and together had the floor clean in an instant. Even Jenny helped and when we were finished stood by twirling the rag she'd used and smiling in a seductive manner.

“It's late,” I said. “I suggest we set off or we'll be forced to take our lunch here as well.”

All agreed and began their preparations to leave, but Jenny kept watching me, and spoke to me alone as I adjusted my pack. “What's the matter? Wouldn't you like to hear about my dream, Antonio?”

I ignored her and stayed close to Rosa for the remainder of our journey, unconcerned that our nearness should arouse suspicion.

 

Señor Peregrino refilled his coffee cup and offered to do the same for Jamilet, who shook her head, a solemn expression on her face.

“You usually take a second cup. Isn't it to your liking?” he asked.

“The coffee is fine, Señor.” Jamilet placed her empty cup on the desk. “It's just that I don't like the way your story's turning out, not at all.” She shot him a challenging look. “Does life always have to be so complicated?”

Señor Peregrino thought about this for a moment. “Perhaps not,” he said, nodding slowly. “But it wouldn't make for a very interesting story if it wasn't.” He leaned forward and filled her cup. “And it would make for an even less interesting life.”

S
ECRECY WAS BECOMING
as reassuring for Jamilet as a warm blanket on a chilly night, and she bundled herself up within its folds. Eddie didn't seem to mind. He understood that because of Carmen's strict nature, their meetings were limited to only those days when she and Louis went out, and luckily they'd been going out more than usual. And there was no doubt that secrecy added a touch of mystery to their already enigmatic relationship, although Jamilet suspected that Eddie thought of her as nothing more than a special friend who was helping him during a difficult time. They were occasional companions who spent time together in the park while Eddie talked and Jamilet listened, faithfully replying in accordance with what she knew would comfort him.

“Lots of boys cry, Eddie,” she'd say. “Boys are hard on the outside and soft on the inside, and girls are the other way around.” Or, “It's okay to be afraid. How else are you going to know when you're being courageous?” She didn't know where this wisdom came from or how she was able to conjure it up, but her longing to be what Eddie needed called forth thoughts from the pit of her unconscious, like a desperate miner.

But everything changed one afternoon when Eddie appeared at the park with a present. Jamilet reached into the plastic bag he gave her and pulled out a tank top. The light cotton fabric felt as soft as the finest silk in her hands. It had thin straps and was a hazy yellow color, like the sun drifting behind the clouds. Pearly had one in every color of the rainbow.

“Do you like it?” Eddie asked. “I bought it for you downtown.”

“You didn't have to give me a present.”

Eddie feigned upset. “I can if I want.” He traced a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. “Wear it for me next week, okay?”

Jamilet lifted the softness next to her cheek, and inhaled the smell of new. For the moment, she could enjoy this beautiful gesture, this gift from the heart. She'd play the delighted girlfriend, anticipating how lovely she'd look for him when she wore it. On this day, she'd smile and tempt him with her seductive femininity by draping the top over her torso, and arching her back slightly to emphasize the curve of her breasts. All of this she was able to accomplish before asking, “Why next week?”

“Because I want you to meet some of my friends,” he said.

Jamilet felt flush with emotion at the thought of being with Eddie in the real world, almost as though she were actually his girlfriend. But he wanted her to look the part. Long-sleeved Catholic schoolgirl shirts and navy skirts below her knees wouldn't do.

Jamilet asked, “What if Pearly finds out?”

“She's over me by now,” he said.

Jamilet contemplated Eddie's face, the even brown skin and bright eyes swimming with confidence and humor, the full lips forming a smile so charming it could knock you off your feet if you weren't ready for it. Every time he flashed one of his amazing smiles she had difficulty finding words and correctly stringing them together. She could adore him endlessly.

“You're a sweet little girl, aren't you?” he said, leaning in to kiss her.

“I don't think so,” Jamilet said.

He stopped, his lips close enough to brush hers when he asked, “You don't think what?”

“I don't think she's over you.”

 

Jamilet hovered outside herself. Her body felt foreign, as if her arms and legs were moving like tentacles, all in different directions. Every cell was a hologram reflecting the endless possibilities born of her imagination, and a strange courage possessed her, obliterating familiar fears from which she'd never been weaned, and circumventing all that she knew was real. Was it love that caused this? She'd always heard that love was the greatest power in the world. That it could move mountains, and when it was pure, overcome even death. In its lesser forms it was the magic that misted the eyes and changed the physical shape of things, blurring the hard edges of disfigurement, fading it to nearly nothing. When there was love, the mind would see only what the heart allowed it to see.

And love required honesty no matter the cost, or it would wither and die. A hopeful seed might poke its tender shoots aboveground, and exalt in having reached the surface, but once the sun found it, death would come quickly. If true love were to grow between them, Jamilet knew that she had to show Eddie the mark.

She slipped the T-shirt he gave her over her head and pulled it down over her torso. The evening was balmy. Only old ladies wore sweaters on nights like these, and even then they didn't actually wear them, but kept them neatly folded over one arm in case they got chilly. Jamilet's freshly washed navy blue sweater was laid out on her bed. While she had every intention of revealing the mark to Eddie on this day, she saw no reason why the revelation should be a vulgar and unnecessarily shocking one. Situations like these needed to be handled delicately, and explained with care so the mind could slowly digest what the eyes struggled to understand.

Jamilet hadn't seen the mark herself for several weeks. She'd suspended the nightly ritual once her meetings with Eddie became more frequent, simply forgetting—so light was her mood and complete her preoccupation with the steady progress of their relationship. She convinced herself that dreams could partner with other dreams and encourage each other like good friends. If the dream of capturing Eddie's love was coming true, then wasn't it just as possible that the mark would lose its power? Perhaps it was nothing important, like Tía Carmen said. Perhaps it was her mother's infectious worry that had deepened her misery over it all these years, when it was nothing more than a blemish, a shadow—an illusion.

Carmen and Louis had gone out for dinner again to a place where Carmen said they served water and beer in fancy glasses, so that you always looked elegant. After dinner, they planned to catch a movie, which meant that Jamilet and Eddie would have plenty of time. Their plan was to meet at the park, as they had been, and then proceed to Eddie's house where a gathering of friends would be waiting for them. Jamilet planned to show him the mark when they were alone in the park, and no matter what he said, she'd insist on wearing the sweater around his friends, as they weren't subject to the intoxicating effects of their love, and would see only the mark.

 

As Jamilet made her way through the trees she spotted Eddie sitting on their bench, tugging at a loose thread on the inner seam of his jeans. She stopped for a moment to admire him, the broad line of his shoulders, the gleam of his dark hair. When he saw her emerging from the shadows, he stood up slowly to get a good look at her as well. The faint light of dusk made everything look silver and grainy, like a black-and-white photograph taken in the rain. Jamilet felt the mark pulsating beneath her sweater, as if it knew that freedom was near, and that with freedom came the healing sensation of fresh air alive with witnesses, the birds, the squirrels, the trees, everything in the world, including Eddie, of course.

As Jamilet approached, she tripped on the root of a tree and Eddie cracked a joke about whether she'd started partying early with her aunt. Normally she would have chuckled along with him, but she couldn't even smile, so intent was her focus on sticking to her plan. She'd rehearsed the words at least fifty times in the mirror, tilting her head this way and that, deciding how to hold her hands, and at what point to remove the sweater. It was as carefully choreographed as it was scripted, and she couldn't allow him to distract her as he always did.

“You wore it,” he said, obviously pleased. “But what's the deal with the sweater? It's eighty degrees out.” Eddie himself was wearing the male version of Jamilet's tank top, clean and white against his muscled chest.

Jamilet took in the sight of him and instantly forgot her lines. She should have been speaking by now, and describing the foolish fears of the backward villagers who thought her to be of the devil. She'd have to start at the beginning because, while she knew everything about Eddie's childhood, he knew almost nothing about hers. She estimated that it would take, without questions or sidetracking, almost half an hour before the unveiling. By then the twilight would have darkened to a shadowy gray, which was exactly what she wanted, the most forgiving light possible. Gradually, he would be allowed to see more and more of it, his love for her flowing into the stark holes of despair a little at a time, until the full revelation was complete.

He stepped up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, but it soon became apparent that his intent was not a greeting or a kiss, but to remove her sweater. Jamilet slapped his hand away without thinking, but it wasn't a playful gesture, and its sting wasn't lost on Eddie. He looked surprised, but not as surprised as Jamilet, for she was sure that she'd never moved so fast in her life. She took a step back, and tried to remember, but she couldn't conjure up the words with him looking at her with those wounded eyes. Oh yes, she was to begin by telling him about the day the children threw stones at her. He would be moved and saddened to hear about this. His protective tendencies would become activated and ready to defend her from the evil that could provoke such horrible behavior toward his love. She'd ask him if he'd ever seen a birthmark before and that would lead her to tell him of her appointment with Dr. Martinez, and the true reason she'd come to the north.

“What's wrong with you?” Eddie asked. “I just want to see how you look without the sweater.”

“Not yet,” Jamilet stammered. “I want to explain something first.”

“You look really cute,” he said, his smile widening. “Even better than I thought you would.” He stepped in closer. “I bet you have nice legs too, but we'll take it one step at a time.”

“It's kind of hard to explain,” Jamilet stammered, and then felt her thoughts evaporate in the heat.

“Explain what?” He stroked her cheek, and hunched down to peer into her face. “Why are your eyes watering?”

Jamilet averted her gaze, and felt her knees grow weak and wobbly. She clutched the sweater close around her with both hands, as the reality of what she was about to do hit her all at once. Was she crazy? What kind of insanity could make her believe that Eddie would respond to the mark differently than anyone else had? It was hideous beyond belief, and there was no love in the world that could overcome it. Her own mother hadn't been able to face it. Trying to do battle with it had surely killed her.

She glanced at Eddie. He didn't seem to know whether to smile or frown, and a nervous twitch tugged at his left eyebrow as he vacillated between the two. “I think I should go home,” Jamilet muttered.

“Why?”

“I just think I should…”

“Is it your aunt?”

Jamilet shook her head. “I don't know…I…I should go.” She turned and began walking back toward the trees at a brisk pace. She was within a few feet of them when she heard him running to catch up with her. He stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder, and they stood together on a sunny patch of grass while she clutched her sweater closer.

Eddie took hold of her shoulders and shook her gently. “Talk to me, dammit. Don't just walk away.”

“You won't understand,” Jamilet said softly.

“How do you know if you don't give me a chance?”

“Because nobody except Tía Carmen understands. She's the only one who isn't afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

It was as though another voice responded, and she heard its echo from far away; the words resonated like a chant.
The reason,
it said. “The reason I always wear long sleeves. The reason I'm not like other girls.”

Eddie stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Okay…what's the reason?”

She was close to the edge, one foot hovering over the void between who she was and who she might be. She stood there poised for several seconds. All at once, she felt her body losing its form, and every part of her being melting into nothingness as she considered stepping across, but hope for a better life was unable to reconstruct her, and she wavered. Her legs grew heavy and the heaviness traveled up to her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. Eddie was saying something, asking her questions filled with concern, but he was still on the other side, and she was no longer listening intently. No longer was she trying to fit her brain and her soul into his so that he might wallow in her adoration. No doubt he was missing this feeling, and wondering what was wrong.

Without another word, she spun on her heel and started running straight toward the trees, her feet pounding the ground with unbelievable speed, her sweater trailing behind her like a cape in the wind, and her hair flapping in front of her face so that, at one point, she was nearly blinded. She didn't think about Eddie, she could only run as far away from the edge as she could, running as she should have before the rocks hit her so many years ago. But before she could make it to the street, Eddie was on top of her, and they were rolling over each other in the grass, and he was speaking angrily to her, telling her not to run away like a crazy dog. He pinned her down by the wrists, and straddled her. He was panting and flushed, and his perfectly white shirt had become marred across the front with dirt.