Vigil

by Cecilia Samartin

  She smoothed her skirt with the palms of her hands. “Believe me, Ana, I’ve had so much therapy that my brain probably looks like a block of Swiss cheese.”

  “Does Mr. Trellis know?”

  “He knows some of it,” she said with a perfunctory nod. “He knows that I had a rather wild adolescence and more psychotherapy than Patty Hearst and Sybil combined. But as far as he’s concerned, I’ve more or less overcome my addictions.”

  “Addictions?”

  If I was baffled before, I was now completely bewildered. “Ms. Lillian, if you just keep your mind focused on your husband and your precious children and put them before everything else, that should give you enough strength to move mountains.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” she said, her expression toughening, but she was unable to sustain her hard demeanor and before long her tears were flowing again. “Help me, Ana. Help me change so I can save my marriage and be a better wife and mother.”

  “I don’t know how I can, Ms. Lillian. I’ve never helped anybody with this kind of problem before.”

  “But I know you can help me, Ana. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you haven’t left us.”

  Looking into her pleading face, I couldn’t find the words to respond, but then I thought back on how it had been for me on that early morning when I walked up from the river with a bucket of fresh water for Mama. The bucket was so heavy I feared my fingers would break under the strain of the handle, so I stopped and set it down for a moment to rest. That’s when I saw Dolores’s husband behind their hut urinating against the same tree he used for machete target practice. His feet were set wide apart so he wouldn’t splatter his good shoes. He’d probably been out the night before. Everyone knew that Dolores’s husband liked going to the dance halls in town, but never with her.

  He didn’t see me at first, but then he turned and stared directly at me while his urine continued to flow in a heavy stream. I knew that it wasn’t polite to stare back, but I felt I should follow the same rule as I followed whenever I encountered a snake on the path: never take your eyes off it, because the moment you do, it’ll strike. So, without removing my eyes from his face, I took up my bucket and slowly backed away. I wanted to move faster than I did, but the heavy bucket made this impossible.

  He watched me intently all the while, and his flow of urine turned into a dribble and finally stopped. Then with his penis still in hand, he turned around to face me and he began to wave it around in mesmerizing circles, moving his fingers up and down the length of it until it was stiff as a peg for pots and pans to hang off. I stopped and stared at his rigid penis, amazed by the way he caressed it like a snake charmer, gently coaxing it, propping it up for me to admire. He began walking toward me, his mouth twitching into a filthy smile. I was desperate to run away, but my horror confused and paralyzed every part of me except for my eyes, which rapidly shifted back and forth between his face and his crotch as he continued to massage it more vigorously.

  As I stood there, his feet shuffled forward until he was so close that I could clearly see the shiny skin of his penis and the red swollen bulb at the tip. His lips were moist with spittle as they stretched across his face into a hideous grin. He smelled as though he hadn’t washed in days.

  When he was close enough to touch me, he reached out a trembling hand, grabbed the crown of my head, and began to push me down toward his crotch while mumbling, “Tastes just like candy,” over and over again. But his touch brought me back to my senses, and I released my bucket of water all over his shoes and ran back home to my hut without looking back.

  Once I caught my breath, I told Mama everything that had happened and the reason I didn’t have any water for her or even the bucket. As she listened her eyes narrowed, and she stared silently into the corner of the room. When she was finished thinking, she put on her good shoes and combed her long black hair back into a ponytail. Then she took one of the priest’s robes she’d just finished mending from her sewing cabinet, inspected it, and refolded it before placing it in her bag. “Wait here for me, Ana,” she said.

  “But I want to go with you, Mama.”

  “No. You must wait here for me,” she repeated so sternly that I knew there was no point in pressing her further. I watched from the window as she walked down the path toward the village church. About twenty minutes later, she reappeared with Father Lucas at her side, and they both turned toward Dolores’s hut. They were there for a long while, but I remained at the window waiting, watching, and worrying. I thought of Tía Juana, Carlitos, and my other cousins, who’d left the previous day for the fair in town. I would’ve gone with them, but Mama wanted me to stay home and help her work. Perhaps now she was sorry that she hadn’t let me go.

  Eventually I saw Mama and Father Lucas walking up the path with the bucket I’d dropped in his hand, although with the light and easy way it swung from his fingers, I knew that it was empty. When they entered the hut, Father Lucas asked me many questions about what had happened that morning and what I’d seen, while Mama stood back listening, her face not revealing the slightest emotion. He asked me the same questions for a second time. No doubt, Dolores’s husband had denied everything, and now Father Lucas didn’t know who to believe. I told him everything that had happened again and tearfully added, “And I dropped my bucket of water and ran away as fast as I could.”

  Father Lucas’s ears perked up. “What did you do?” he asked.

  “I ran away.”

  “No, before that.”

  “I…I dropped my bucket.”

  “Was it empty or full?”

  “It was full. That’s why I dropped it, because it was so heavy, I couldn’t run with it.”

  Father Lucas seemed more convinced of my story now. “Where did you drop it?”

  “On the ground and all over Dolores’s husband’s good shoes.”

  Father Lucas turned to Mama. “That explains why his shoes and socks were drying outside by the front door.”

  Father Lucas then recited several prayers over me, some of them in Latin, and the three of us prayed the rosary together. He instructed me to light a candle at the Virgin’s altar for nine days and then every Sunday from then on. “This will purify your soul and keep you as child in the eyes of God forever,” Father Lucas said with such certainty that I had no doubt it would.

  I refocused my eyes on Lillian’s face. “Will you help me, Ana?” she asked again. “Will you help me be a better wife and mother?” In response to my silence, she said, “Oh, I realize that Millie fills your head with lies about me, but in my heart I know you don’t listen to her and that you don’t judge me, not even now.”

  “I don’t for a moment approve of what you did, Ms. Lillian, and I feel very badly for helping you get away with it.”

  Lillian gazed desperately into my eyes. “But you did help me, and I believe you did it because you know that I’m a good person and that I’m capable of changing. God knows that Adam deserves a better wife than I’ve been to him.”

  “Yes, he does,” I replied softly.

  “I told you before that I didn’t love him, but I do. This crazy obsession may control my mind and my body, but it doesn’t control my heart.” She took my hand and said, “I know that with your help I can change.”

  “I’m not sure how I can help you, but for the sake of your marriage and your children, I’ll try my best.”

  Overcome with gratitude, Lillian pressed her forehead to my hand, and when I looked over at baby Jessie, she gave me another one of her beautiful toothless grins.

  Dear Sister Josepha,

  I’m writing you this letter with a heavy heart because, unfortunately, my plans have changed again. I was fully expecting to join you in a few weeks, but my obligations here make it impossible for me to leave now. I know that you need my help as you set up your school and as always, I remain deeply inspired by the idea of working with you. I also know that, as you suggested, it would do me good to get away and reevaluate my convicti
on about a religious life. And what better way to do that than working side by side with my dearest friend and mentor? Nevertheless, I fear that if I abandon the Trellis family now, harm will come to them and most especially to the children. Although I try, I don’t understand what provokes the destructive spirit that lurks within the walls of this beautiful and elegant home. Perhaps if you were here you would be able to help me understand how people who are blessed with so much can be so unhappy. And then perhaps I would better know how to help them.

  I often think about the pain and suffering of my country and I hope that one day soon the world will know the truth about what happened there and that the evil will stop. If there is hope for a nation to heal, there must be hope for a family as well. Until then, I pray that your offer to work with you at your new school will still be open to me once this situation has been resolved….

  Ms. Lillian and the children began attending church with me on Sundays while Adam and Benson played golf, and when the mass was finished, we always lit candles at the Virgin Mary’s altar. Afterward Lillian knelt and prayed for a very long while, and we often lingered until we were the only ones left in the church. When the children got fussy and their whining echoed throughout the cavernous building, I would tap her on the shoulder, only to find her eyes moist with tears.

  As the weeks and months passed, Lillian’s time spent in prayer lessened somewhat, but her general demeanor was greatly improved. She was fresher, lighter, and lovelier than ever. Her social life blossomed again, and she scheduled lunch meetings and shopping excursions with her girlfriends several times a week, assuring me all the while that keeping busy was good for her.

  Soon after Lillian’s revelation, I had lent her the rosary Sister Josepha had given me when I first entered the convent. I instructed her to pray the rosary every morning and every evening until she felt peace in her heart. Then she was to do so only once a day. About three months later, I found the rosary in an envelope under my door with a note that read, “I have found my peace. Thank you, Ana.”

  I took the rosary out of the envelope and kissed the crucifix before placing it back in my drawer. I was overall pleased with the changes I’d seen in Lillian. She seemed less prone to bouts of anger and not so controlled by passions pulling her in so many directions. I could swear that she was dressing more modestly and that she wasn’t as obsessed with her appearance or so easily manipulated by flattery. She was kinder toward Millie, and she seemed to enjoy spending more time with her children. She made an effort to play with them in the afternoon after they woke up from their naps, and more than once she’d come in to help me with them during bath time. When Jessie flapped her arms about, drenching Lillian’s new silk blouse, she was only moderately perturbed, whereas she would’ve been livid before. I could only guess that her marriage had also improved because I hadn’t witnessed any more arguments, but I didn’t feel comfortable asking about this directly. As it was, I was more than content to know that the remedy Father Lucas had prescribed for me all those years ago seemed to be working for Ms. Lillian as well.

  Nine

  BY THE TIME JESSIE was three years old, she preferred selecting the roses herself as well as picking the wildflowers that grew near the perimeter of the garden wall. We enjoyed making mini bouquets of tiny purple and yellow flowers that we carefully tied with ribbon before presenting them to Jessie’s growing collection of dolls. We could spend most of Saturday afternoon occupied in this way while Teddy flew his motorized airplanes over our heads, often coming far too close for comfort.

  Teddy had developed a keen interest in airplanes. He proudly announced as often as he could that one day he planned to become a pilot so he could fly the big jumbo jets across the sky and all over the world. No matter what he was doing, if he should hear the rumble of a jet engine overhead he’d stop to look up and wouldn’t turn away until the aircraft was completely out of sight.

  “Nana, tell him to stop,” Jessie cried when Teddy’s plane grazed the top of her head for the third or fourth time.

  I turned to Teddy, who was standing at the far end of the garden with his remote control in his hand and a devilish grin on his face. It was difficult not to smile in return, but if he was going to take me seriously, I had to be stern. I picked up the plane that landed nearby and promptly deactivated the motor.

  “Okay, Nana, I’ll stop,” he said, his big eyes still glittering with mischief. “I’ll go show my plane to Uncle Darwin instead.”

  “Uncle Darwin? Is he here?” I asked.

  “I saw him talking to Mommy by the pool,” Teddy said. “I’ll fly my plane over the pool. He’ll like that.”

  “And I’m going to give Mommy these flowies,” Jessie happily declared.

  “I’m sure they’ll both be delighted, but first we must have lunch.”

  Teddy scowled and hunched his shoulders forward in protest as we walked back to the house. “I hate lunch, Nana,” he said.

  “Even when lunch is peanut butter and jelly?”

  “I hate peanut butter and jelly the most,” Teddy grumbled.

  “I love peanut butter and jelly the most,” Jessie said, slipping her hand into mine.

  Upon Teddy’s insistence, we walked by the pool on our way to the kitchen, but his uncle and mother were nowhere in sight. He ate lunch with his toy plane beside him on the table and once he’d finished he took it up again and began to search for his uncle in earnest. I left Jessie at the table to load the dryer as she rearranged her bouquet. I was away for no more than a minute or two, but when I returned she was gone. I called for her, but it was Teddy who came running back looking distraught. “I can’t find Uncle Darwin anywhere,” he said, “and I want to show him my plane.”

  “Are you sure he’s still here?”

  Teddy pointed out the window toward the front of the house. “Isn’t that his red sporty car?” he asked.

  It was indeed Darwin’s car. “Have you seen Jessie?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Teddy answered, absorbed again by his plane and the movable wing flaps.

  I began my search for Jessie on the ground floor, but all was silent except for the soft rhythmic rumble of Millie’s snores. Sometimes Jessie amused herself by looking in on Millie while she slept. I was hoping to find her there, but Millie was alone. The second floor was also empty. With my heart in my throat, I climbed the rear flight of stairs toward the third floor, and when I neared the landing, I spotted Jessie standing in the corridor with her bouquet of flowers hanging limply from her hand. I called to her softly, and when she came to me her expression was strangely pensive and faraway. As we descended the stairs, I suggested that we make mud pies, one of her favorite activities. She readily agreed, but as we mixed the mud and constructed our pies she seemed less enthralled than usual, as if understanding for the first time that the brown gooey concoction we so carefully decorated with rocks and flowers was not really pie.

  Darwin left as surreptitiously as he’d arrived, and Teddy was disappointed when he looked outside and discovered that his uncle’s car was gone. Later that same evening as we sat around the dinner table Jessie was quiet, her attention focused entirely on her drawing, while Teddy talked nonstop to his father about his remote control plane. All at once, Jessie jumped off her chair and ran around the table to show her mother what she’d drawn. “I drew a picture of you, Mommy,” she said, quite pleased with herself.

  Lillian looked at the picture and blanched. “My goodness,” she muttered.

  “May Daddy see it?” Mr. Trellis asked. Before Lillian could say anything, Jessie happily plucked the picture from her mother’s hands and ran to show her father.

  Mr. Trellis stared at it for a moment or two and glanced warily at his wife. “This is quite interesting,” he said.

  “Do you like it, Daddy?” Jessie asked.

  “You’re quite the artist,” he said tersely.

  Jessie took the picture from her father and showed it to me next. When I saw it I blushed, and then I suddenly remember
ed how relieved I’d been that Jerome’s secret painting of Lillian had never materialized. I had interpreted this as a sign of Lillian’s heartfelt commitment to living a moral life. I was preparing to return the picture to Mr. Trellis, but didn’t realize that Teddy had already left his chair and was looking over my shoulder. “Jessie,” he said harshly, “you shouldn’t draw Mommy naked. It’s wrong. Isn’t it, Daddy?”

  Mr. Trellis seemed at a loss for words. “Many artists paint their subjects in the nude,” he replied, coloring a bit as his disapproval seeped through the calm demeanor he was trying so hard to maintain.

  Teddy shook his head adamantly. “I don’t care. Mommy shouldn’t be showing her boobies.”

  Jessie’s bottom lip began to quiver. She ran over to me, snatched the drawing away, and ran out of the room. We heard her footsteps pattering upstairs to her room, and I knew she would immediately store the picture in her treasure box, where she kept her favorite drawings, stones, leaves, ribbons, and other odds and ends she considered uncommonly beautiful and worthy of collecting.

  Teddy was preparing to run after his sister and right the situation with a few shoves as he tended to do when he was upset with her, but I stopped him at the door and led him back to the table. “You stay here and finish your dinner, Teddy.”

  “I don’t want to, Nana,” Teddy said, glowering at me. “Jessie is a stupid and bratty kid.” He’d been coming home from school with these expressions of late.

  “You go on, Ana,” Mr. Trellis said sternly. “We’ll deal with Teddy.”

  Just as I expected, Jessie was in her room on the floor with her treasure box open next to her. The drawing of her mother was at her feet, and although she was still sniffling and grim, she was for the moment preoccupied with some of the treasures that she hadn’t visited for a while.

  I sat down next to her and asked, “Are you going to put this picture of your mommy in the treasure box too?” I asked.