Where Fortune Lies

by James Short

  Tomàs had taken Penelope’s measure and stubborn was a nice word for her. He could understand her reticence on lifting the veil, but whatever she opposed, she did as bull-headedly as any human being he had ever encountered. Franklin was the second sore topic.

  “Is Franklin allowed to see your face?”

  “He is allowed whatever he wants.” Her voice acquired a hard edge as it always did in anticipation of a dispute.

  “Anything?”

  “He isn’t a coarse man.”

  “He’s a negro and your servant.” Did Franklin dominate the household as Jacinto had suggested? Tomàs then brought this up.

  To his surprise, Penelope answered, “Thank God, Franklin is the master here. Dear, I won’t say more because if you ask certain questions, then I will be obliged to pretend you didn’t ask them.”

  At this point, she would impart no further information, and he doubted a gun to her head would change that.

  Persuasion being futile, Tomàs decided to find out for himself. He had discovered a small room just below Penelope’s quarters which hadn’t been occupied for years. He contrived to pick the lock after a nocturnal visit and sneak in. While listening to Penelope humming as she did her chores, he dozed off, wondering whether the girl ever slept. Two hours later, Tomàs was awakened by a knock on Penelope’s door above him. The window of Penelope’s room and his window were both open so he could hear the conversation.

  “How are you today, dearest?” Franklin asked as he entered.

  “Tired.” She seemed to exaggerate the dragging tone in her reply.

  “That has been too common with you recently. I’ve brought you wood so you could heat up the water for your basin.”

  “Oh, I’ll see to that later.”

  “What’s the matter, bright Penny?”

  “I love you so, Franklin,” She said with sudden vehemence. Tomàs winced. She had never uttered those words to him—similar words, but not those words.

  “That I know, yet you don’t love me so much as to tell me why you’re always so fatigued.”

  “Must you know every single one of my secrets?” The intensity of her anger was also a revelation to Tomàs.

  Franklin laughed. “Yes, all two or three of them.”

  “I take back my love for you because you only love me as far as you own me.”

  “Do you really want to pursue this argument again?”

  “You own me! Admit it! You own me, lock, stock, and barrel, as people say.”

  “If you mean by that I direct your life, yes, for the time being, I am your master and guide.” There seemed to be a struggle but Tomàs wasn’t sure.

  “Oh, Franklin, you’re being cruel.”

  “Because you’re not being honest.”

  “I am. Let go of me.”

  “No, I won’t!”

  “Damn you! Let go of me!”

  Although Tomàs moved swiftly, it seemed to him like slow motion. Three leaps up the stairs. A sprint down the hall. His shoulder thrown into the door, breaking it open. Then he froze. He could see the trembling back of Penny, who stood buried in Franklin’s arms. The embrace was like that of lovers. She was sobbing.

  “What in the hell are you doing here?” Franklin yelled.

  “Tom,” Penelope said, not turning. Keeping her back to him, she grabbed hold of the bedclothes which she brought up to her face. Franklin let go, and she fell down on the bed crying. “Tom, go! Please go. Please. Please.”

  Tomàs hesitated. Franklin strode up to the door and slammed it in his face.

  Tomàs wandered out of the Boller mansion into broad daylight in a daze, not sure of what to do next. His only clear thought was that he wanted to give Penelope the same humiliation she gave him by being the lover of a Negro.

  Paradise Found

  April descended a staircase into a dark, claustrophobic basement. Gaspar’s miserliness extended even to the wattage of light bulbs. The dim halo on the ceiling penetrated the murkiness just enough to show the contours of file cabinets whose open drawers disgorged reams of paper, a pair of end tables with odd scavenged things like shoes of various sizes and pieces of metal that had once been parts of tools or machinery.

  There was a rustling in one corner, and April made out a box of rat poison next to a file cabinet. The furthest wall was bare except for wooden double doors twice as large as any normal door. Inserting a key into a keyhole, Gaspar opened the doors revealing a gray metal slab, its metal dial and handle glinting brightly despite the shadowy ambiance of the room.

  “Yes, that’s a bank vault,” Aquino confirmed her suspicion. “It is the only major expense Gaspar has incurred in his very long life. He had it installed secretly on the wettest night in the winter of 1943. Since then, our friend hasn’t spent more than twenty dollars a week on himself. He eats mostly rice and beans; he drinks water sometimes with a few drops of grape vinegar; he refuses to spend seventy-five cents for a bus—yet he is, by far, the wealthiest man in Solvidado. In his vault, he may also be the happiest.”

  Gaspar appeared to smile at this compliment. He blocked the dial of the vault from their view and whistled what seemed to be the old hymn “As We Gather by the River” as he twisted the dial back and forth dozens of times. Finally, with a triumphant smile and the air of a gentleman, Gaspar swung the heavy vault door open and said, “Please, come on in.”

  The lightbulb inside the metal cavity seemed to burn at a blinding 150 watts.

  “I would like you to go in first,” April said in a small voice.

  Several seconds ticked off while Gaspar held onto to his trembling smile and April fidgeted. Aquino walked into the vault, breaking the impasse. April tentatively followed, although not without a frightened glance over her shoulder.

  Metal shelving with color-coded bins took up the three sides of the safe. The yellow bins contained loose precious and semiprecious stones and jewelry sorted by type—rings, necklaces, pendants, and brooches. Green bins held coins—gold and silver—and on the floor, there was a small barrel with change. There were also banded stacks of bills grouped by denomination. April realized that the cash alone must have been in excess of several hundred thousand dollars.

  “Why don’t you rob your friend, and then you’d never have to work again, much less think about the treasure?” April asked Aquino.

  “Besides being a friend, Gaspar is my fence, a good fence, which is hard to find in a small town. Even if he weren’t, I’d leave him to his treasures. You assume I steal because it is a good way to make a lot of money. Although it is, there are other considerations…”

  April noticed that Gaspar hadn’t yet entered, and then almost simultaneously sensed movement out of the corner of her eye.

  “He’s closing the door!” She screamed.

  “No, Gaspar is just teasing us.”

  Panic then choked her as the door swung with imperturbable inevitability towards its destination. A bucket of pennies spilled as Aquino lunged forward. He put his hand on the metal slab but didn’t push back. The eight-inch-thick steel slab stopped a fraction of an inch before the locks engaged. Gaspar, humming his tune, opened it again.

  “What could he possibly gain by locking us in?” Aquino asked, quickly recovering his composure. “He couldn’t contemplate his treasure as long as we were alive, and when we died, we would smell up his holy of holies. He would have to dispose of our bodies, which for a man of his advanced years would be almost an insurmountable task. So let him have his fun.”

  “I want to get out of here.”

  “I thought you weren’t afraid to die?”

  “I’m afraid to die by starvation in the company of a very irritating man who would probably eat me when he got hungry enough.”

  Gaspar stepped into the vault, glanced suspiciously at its contents as if making sure they hadn’t pocketed anything, and then with a big smile shut the door. Aquino’s face momentarily registered shock.

  Gaspar eyed them both lasciviously. “I’m eighty-six yea
rs old. Not many years left for me, but I can steal time—your time. We will all die together. I have great wealth, and now I have in my possession beauty and genius. Those are my final acquisitions.”

  Aquino frowned, his expression turning dangerous, and then he relaxed. “Very good, Gaspar. You have made me doubt myself momentarily. Now, if you please, the door.”

  Gaspar hesitated as if he were making up his mind. “I told them I wanted the vault for a bomb shelter to protect me from the Japanese,” he said hoarsely. He pushed back on a metal handle which April hadn’t noticed. “As a man who has much information about many things, Aquino, would there be a way to make this my crypt?”

  As the gray outlines of the outer room became visible, April dove through the opening, not caring to listen to Aquino’s answer, and ran upstairs.

  After giving a one-word answer to Gaspar that was neither “yes” nor “no”, Aquino followed. He caught up with April and laid a hand on her shoulder when she stopped a few feet before the front door. April wasn’t sure she wanted to risk going out into the night alone. She felt again the childhood fear of monsters lurking in the dark. She started to cry, managed to stifle the sobs but not the tears. Meanwhile, Gaspar had also had climbed the stairs.

  “Young lady, I’m afraid I’m not a good man, however, I’ve kept out of people’s way throughout my life. I’ve only allowed myself the vice of possessing things, not flesh and souls. I’m not a good man, but I could have been a terrible one.”

  “You just scare me,” April exclaimed.

  “I scare myself, or used to.” Gaspar shuffled over to the table, sat down and began to examine the necklace and the brooch, showing his long teeth in a vicious grin. He laid them down. “I’ve decided I don’t want anything, not anymore. I had a thought the other day that maybe I have too much. Maybe I do. Just tonight, I gave away something. Gave away something! I did that.” He lifted his eyes to Aquino, and said in a hissing grasping voice, “The next time you come, don’t dare bring merchandise I can’t buy.”

  Aquino gazed steadily at the old man, and when the pique had passed, he asked, “Gaspar, did your father ever talk about Penelope?”

  This change of topic threw Gaspar off. “Penelope? You mean Penelope Boller? You must mean her. Why would you be interested in her?”

  “Gaspar, you always blink and mash your lips into a strange shape when you try to calculate the value of an item. You know a secret about Miss Boller, but you aren't sure how much it’s worth.”

  “Yes, my father did tell me a secret about her. He discovered it when he buried her. Nobody else knows this secret. Nobody. Make an offer.”

  “Half the Deering treasure. That’s my offer. Five hundred double eagles, if your secret has any value.”

  “What would Miss Boller have to do with the treasure?” Gaspar asked.

  “She hid it.”

  The old man laughed, a terrible rasping sound. “What if my secret doesn’t help you?”

  “I’ll still pay you half.”

  “Fool! What you don’t realize…”

  A sharp rap on the door startled April. Gaspar stopped speaking. Aquino froze. The knock repeated, obviously made by a large hand capable of a big sound. April’s instinct was to escape, and she trusted Aquino to find a way. He did seem at first to be searching for an exit, then he relaxed, and his face took on a puzzled expression like that of a dog sniffing a curious smell.

  “It might be police,” April whispered desperately.

  “No, worse, at least, for you it’s worse,” Aquino replied and strode up to the door and let the visitor in.

  “Philip!” April was on the verge of uttering an accusation, but she couldn’t figure out exactly what he was guilty of. He couldn’t have been following her—that much was clear. Perhaps his guilt went no further than his appearing inconveniently. Yet, this encounter was too far flung to be considered a mere coincidence. “Philip, what are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”

  He walked in rather unsteadily, screwed-up eyes, gaping mouth betraying a mixture of stupefaction, anger, and relief. “I had no idea you would be here, April. I’ve come to give this man his gold eagle back.” He placed the coin on the table. “I don’t want to look for the treasure anymore.”

  “Gaspar gave you a gold eagle?” Aquino interrupted. “Are you feeling well, Gaspar?”

  Gaspar sank down into the chair, looking every single one of his eighty-six years. “This gentleman has private business with me.”

  “Aquino, how can Philip have any business with a man whom I am sure he has never met before tonight?”

  “You will have to ask him, but as you already know, there is only one sort of business people have with Gaspar.”

  Philip interrupted. “April dear, I’m not stalking you, although I’m very glad to find you.”

  “No bickering, please,” Aquino placed himself between the newlyweds. “Gaspar was just about to tell us why Penelope didn’t hide the treasure.”

  “Oh, I can tell you that. You see…” Philip looked around and realized Jacinto had disappeared. Maybe, Jacinto came with the coin. He sighed and relayed the best he could the story about Tomàs, adding what Jacinto had just related to him.

  Tomàs awoke to a gentle rocking and the cry of a gull. He soon perceived that he was in a small boat and, with clearing vision and clearing head, saw that the black servant of the Bollers steered the tiller. He tried to grapple with the meaning of his circumstance. Was the black devil going to drop him over the side so he would drown? His hands weren’t tied, so that couldn’t possibly be the servant’s intention. He also noticed that the servant was at handling the boat as skillful as the Chinese or Portuguese fishermen who made their living off these waters.

  “What am I doing here?’ Tomàs couldn’t read the eyes that regarded him steadily.

  “Having an outing on the water, sir.”

  “Did I give permission?”

  “No, sir. When I fetched you from Madame Cherise’s establishment, you were not in a state to give permission.” Tomàs noticed that the servant had expertly tacked the boat and they were now headed towards the shore.

  “So you’ve taken me all the way out here to explain to me about you and Penny. Whatever you say can’t take away what my eyes have seen.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “Why would you care?” Tomàs shook his head in a futile effort to get rid of his headache.

  “I care because I love her. However, the impression you have that we are lovers is a mistaken one, sir.”

  Tomàs remembered the compromising embrace, or was it? What sort of relationship was possible between this servant and Penny? “How terrible is her face?”

  “How much does that matter to you?”

  “I won’t lie. I can’t know how much it matters until I see it. I can say this much: if I can’t endure the sight of her, then my heart will be broken.”

  Franklin grimaced. “So will hers.”

  “I don’t believe I could bear it. If that is the case, I see only one solution.”

  “What is that?”

  “Blind myself. I’m not sure I have the courage, but she can’t be forced to wear the veil her whole life. You understand we must be pleased in each other’s presence.”

  Franklin bowed his head as if he were praying or in pain, then raised it and said, “Come with me. You will judge for yourself. What you will see and hear must be held in confidence, and the only pain I will allow you to cause her will be that of your honesty.”

  Tomàs felt a surge of anger. “Are you threatening me, blackie?”

  “Dem de rules, Massah. Dem de rules. Yes, I’ve been a slave, however when you step into the Boller mansion, you’re entering my house, and you are my guest. Do not forget that.”

  Tomàs could not shake the impression that this servant was claiming he actually owned the place.

  It seemed odd to Tomàs to pass through the front door in the light of the morning. The grand entryway looked emptier
and dustier in the day. Although nothing was really dirty inside the house, none of the surfaces—wood, brass, marble—shone and gleamed as in the houses of the very wealthy.

  “I have an agreement with Mrs. Boller,” Franklin explained. “If I act the role of a servant, she will allow me to see to Penny’s needs. A real servant would quickly figure out our true relationship. Because of our agreement, after the disaster of Zacarina, we just have had Yelda as help.”

  “Am I to meet Penny’s mother?” Tomàs asked.

  “No, earlier today I increased her dose of laudanum. If she knew you were here, she’d be on the landing showing you the business end of her old shotgun.”

  “Is she crazy?”

  Not answering, Franklin led him up the staircase to the third floor. They stopped at the door adjacent the door Tomàs had always used to enter into Penny’s room. Franklin knocked. Tomàs, who wasn’t prone to sweating even in the tightest situations, discovered his palms were sopping wet. He wiped them on his pants. There was a swish of a skirt, and a young lady opened the door and held out her hand to Tomàs.

  “Please, dear friend, come in.”

  Tomàs took her hands and numbly staggered as she smiled and led him to the table.

  “Sit down,” she said.

  Tomàs stared, not quite sure this was the same invisible girl he had spent so many nights wondering and agonizing about. He had been prepared for any eventuality but this. She was pretty. Light gold hair and honey-toned skin. Eyes, which seemed to avoid him, the soft blue of hazy afternoons. Wide mouth with lips set together in a determined expression. Nose with a slightly irregular bump on the way to an upturn at its tip, suggesting to his mind her sense of humor. Her forehead was broad. She was dressed simply in a skirt and blouse that allowed him a better idea of her figure. She stood with her legs slightly apart and tilted an ear towards him. She was shapely, rather more sturdy than lithe. The only blemish he could discern was a slightly darker coloration below her right ear.

  “I didn’t know…” He couldn’t find the words.