by James Green
As she walked she began to prepare what she would say. But try as she might she could not get her full feelings into it. Her mind kept going back to something else, something more exciting even that confronting Maria and making up for all the vicious words the old hag had poured out on her. Try as she might to prepare her little speech her mind went back to the hotel. Eduardo had told her again how much he would like to paint a picture of her, that he would make her famous, like Goya’s Maja or like Manet’s Olympia. When she said she hadn’t heard of either of them he laughed and when she asked if he would buy her some fine clothes to wear in the painting he had laughed even more loudly. True beauty like hers, he said, didn’t depend on clothes, in fact he couldn’t and wouldn’t paint her with clothes on. To do her justice she would have to pose naked. The Maja and Olympia were nudes, great nudes, admired by everyone who saw them. Carmen had pretended to be embarrassed and shocked at the idea but in reality she was thrilled, to have her body put onto canvas and displayed so that the whole world could appreciate her beauty. It was something, exciting, wonderful, magnificent.
Full of thoughts of what was to come she found herself at the back door. With regret she forced her mind back to the purpose of her visit. That she would find Maria in the kitchen she had no doubt, she would no more eat at a friend’s house than try and fly to the moon. All that talk about cooking and eating had just been the cow’s way of driving her out for the day.
Maria was in the kitchen chopping onions. As Carmen had correctly suspected, her talk of eating somewhere else was just to make sure she had the house to herself today. She was sure that Father Enrique’s fast would last until lunchtime but his willpower might very well give out when it reached time for dinner so she was cooking a special meal, one of his favourites, just in case.
She had her back to the kitchen door so Carmen’s voice surprised her.
‘I thought you said no cooking today and that you would be going to a friend’s house to eat.’ Maria turned. Carmen was standing in the doorway. ‘Not that I believed you: I knew you were a liar from the first time we met.’
Maria could hardly believe her ears and stood open-mouthed as Carmen walked calmly into the kitchen. With an effort she composed herself.
‘What are you doing here, slut?’
‘Just collecting a few things that are mine. Don’t worry, I’m not a thief,’ she looked around, ‘not that there’s anything here that I would dirty my hands with if I was. You can tell Enrique when he comes that I’ve decided to leave.’
Carmen wanted to enjoy herself so she stood and waited. She wanted to make Maria ask her where she was going. But Maria had got over her shock and was in control again. She turned back to her onions.
‘If you’re going, go. God knows you’ve outstayed what little welcome there was for you.’
Carmen found herself talking to Maria’s back and her temper began to flare.
‘Ha, what welcome, cow? You hated me from the moment you saw me.’
Maria smiled to herself over the onions. As if she couldn’t better a jade like her when it came to words.
‘The welcome of charity, not that a cheap street whore like you would understand, but as you don’t know I’ll explain. A good Christian must give comfort even to the worst sinner when they are in need. Even a piece of trash like you is worth something,’ she paused, ‘in God’s eyes, at least.’
Carmen stepped forward, gripped Maria’s shoulder and pulled the housekeeper to face her.
‘Trash, eh? Then how is it that I am going to live in a fine house? How is it I have money?’ She pulled out the notes the American had given her, more even than the last time. ‘How is it that I have a friend, a famous artist who will paint me and make me famous.’
Maria let her go on. She was in control now and Carmen was doing no more than ranting.
‘Oh, money, we all know where that came from: under your skirts, and as for your friend, well, any man with money and something in his pants to stir you up could be a friend of yours.’
Carmen realised, a little late perhaps, that Maria was enjoying herself. She turned away, then turned back smiling and spoke calmly almost gently.
‘You know you really are a cow, stupid and without imagination. I knew it all along but not until now did I realise just how very stupid you could be. I’m sorry for you really. You’ll spend the rest of your wretched life in this hole of a town, and never even have a dream of anything better.’
‘And I suppose you think that by lying on your back and opening your legs to any man who has a few pesos you’ll get somewhere better?’
‘Oh I’ll go somewhere better; I’ll go to America with my husband and we’ll become rich.’
‘Yes, when these onions learn to dance.’
‘And it will be soon, very soon.’
Something in Carmen’s manner made Maria pause. How could she ever go to America when her husband was supposed to be with the general in the mountains? Maria’s brain began to run. She knew Carmen must have been up to something, maybe now was a chance to find out what it was.
‘You’ll never get to America and when your husband finds out what you’ve been up to he’ll probably cut your throat,’ she held up her knife, ‘and if he wants to I’ll lend him this: it’s good and sharp.’
‘My husband knows what I’ve been doing and he doesn’t mind.’
‘Oh, he enjoys being a cuckold, does he? Or maybe he’s not so much your husband as your pimp and takes a cut of what you make?’
‘He’s clever, so am I, and we’re going to be rich in America as soon as the general comes out of the mountains.’
And she stopped abruptly. She hadn’t meant to go so far. Maria went on, but cautiously.
‘And why should the general come out of the mountains?’ Carmen looked at her but didn’t answer so Maria laughed and turned back to her onions. ‘So, all another story, all more make-believe. The general will come out of the mountains, drive the Americans into the sea, and your husband will be a hero, is that it?’ She turned back. ‘Except that if the general comes out of the mountains like you say and makes us free of the Americans, why would your husband go to America?’ She paused as if thinking, then laughed again. ‘Of course, he’s going to invade them, that’s it, with you at his side. I’ll give you this, slut, you’ve got the morals of the gutter but you can tell a good story.’
And again she laughed and turned to the onions and waited. Either Carmen would let it all come now or she would go.
‘It’s not a story: it will happen. The general will surrender and bring his men out of the mountains and it will all be because of me and my husband. We will have done it.’
Maria turned.
‘You have betrayed the general?’
‘Why not? What’s the general to me?’
‘You work for the Americans? The American who came here, you work for him?’
‘Yes, he gives me the money; it was his plan and it has worked. Soon my husband will tell me that the general is ready to meet with Dominador Gomez and when that happens it will be over. My husband and I will go to America and be rich.’
There, she had said it and she didn’t care. What could this cow do? The plan was as good as complete and while she waited she would live in her artist friend’s house and he would show her body to the world and make her famous.
Maria was standing looking at her, it was an odd look, not angry but puzzled, as if she didn’t know what to say or do. Carmen was pleased with herself. She had won, she had silenced the cow, she had …
Maria stepped forward and her knife slammed up to the hilt into Carmen’s stomach. Carmen looked down as the pain hit and tried to scream but the knife was out and slammed home again into her chest, into her heart.
She was dead before her body hit the floor.
Chapter Thirty-one
Father Enrique had suffered all day. Fasting was good for the soul. It was also, if not carried to extremes, good for the body, and, if that were not enou
gh, it was an excellent mental discipline, a way to show yourself that you were in control of your appetites, not they in control of you. He should, therefore, have felt a suitably humble pleasure in committing himself to something so beneficial to body, soul and mind. But he didn’t. He was a young man with a healthy appetite. He liked his food and knew enough about the culinary art to understand that in Maria he had a gifted cook even if her range of dishes was somewhat limited. He had done his daily morning round and solemnly refused the refreshments usually lavished on him. Those he visited were suitably impressed. It wasn’t Lent, that period of forty days leading up to Easter when the Catholic Church laid the duty of fasting on all the faithful, yet here was their pastor denying himself food or drink. To them it was yet another outward sign of his inner sanctity.
Father Enrique, once lunchtime had passed, which he had spent on his knees in front of the altar in church, slowly but steadily began to resent what he had done. By mid afternoon his resentment had turned to anger, anger with his own stupidity. He was a trained priest and, that being the case, knew that his fast was utterly worthless. It had no spiritual merit whatsoever. He had announced it only so as to have a reason to stay out of the house all day. He wasn’t doing it as a penance for past sins, he was doing it as a convenience to avoid Carmen. He had to tell her to leave and leave at once. Where she might go was her business. She had a child and a mother in law in her village and that was her proper place: her home. He would ask Maria to tell Carmen to go. Why he hadn’t come to this simple solution sooner was beyond him. As the afternoon drifted towards early evening he was convinced that the matter was best left in Maria’s hands and, that being the case, there was no reason why he couldn’t return to the house, tell Maria of his decision, and give up this nonsense of a fast.
He felt almost light hearted as he walked into the garden. He had come to the back of the house in the hope that he could speak to Maria in her kitchen and possibly avoid any meeting with Carmen. He walked to the kitchen door. It was open so he went in.
Maria was sitting at the kitchen table. On the floor was Carmen. On the table, beside some part-chopped onions, was a blood-stained knife. Carmen’s head had fallen to one side so that to Father Enrique, as he stood in the doorway, her sightless eyes seemed to be looking directly at him. He opened his mouth to say something but no words came. Maria sat motionless and stared at him. For a moment all was stillness and silence. Then Father Enrique found that he could at last speak.
‘My God. Maria, what have you done?’
For a second Maria seemed puzzled as to where the voice was coming from. She had her eyes open but they were as sightless as Carmen’s. She had sat unmoving ever since Carmen had fallen to the floor, her mind a mass of confusion. The priest was speaking to her. He had come home. She knew he would, he wanted his dinner.
She stood up.
‘Don’t worry, Father, I thought you might want a dinner so I prepared …’
She turned to the table, saw the onions, the knife, and the blood. She turned back, looked down at Carmen, and was herself again.
Father Enrique took a step forward and stopped. It was all too awful.
‘Maria, what happened?’
Maria walked past him and closed the door.
‘What does it look like? I killed the slut.’
‘But why? What happened?’
Maria came back past him to the table and picked up the knife. Father Enrique suddenly felt very afraid and very vulnerable. This woman standing so close to him with a knife in her hand had killed once for no apparent reason and might kill again. It was clear to Father Enrique that he was dealing with an unbalanced mind.
He slowly edged back to be nearer the door.
Maria saw him move.
‘Don’t worry, Father, I’m not mad. I killed the bitch because she was a traitor. She was working for the Americans with her husband to betray the general. She deserved to die so I killed her.’ She held up the knife. ‘With this.’ Then she picked up her apron and wiped the blade, but the blood had dried. She put if back on the table. ‘I’ll clean it later.’ She walked over to where she kept her cooking utensils, found another knife, came back to the table and began to chop the onions again. ‘Don’t worry, Father, I thought you might have changed you mind by dinnertime so I’ll have a meal for you before too long, one of your favourites. Sweet lamb with nuts and rice.’
Now it was Father Enrique’s turn to feel as if he was dreaming. Maria was in her kitchen chopping onions while beside her on the floor lay the dead body of Carmen whom she had murdered, and he was there, really there, watching what was happening. He was part of this horror. He looked down. The front of the red dress was still red, but at her breast the red was much darker and some of this dark red had spread from the dress to the stone floor. For a moment he felt dizzy and was worried that he might faint. Maria turned and looked at him.
‘You don’t look well, Father. It must be the fast; going without food can do that. Why not go to your room and sit down? Have a glass of wine. Your dinner will be ready in no more than an hour.’
She scooped up the onions and took them to the stove. She was busy, he could see, she was preparing his meal. He made an effort.
‘Maria, I must go to the police. You killed Carmen. I must go to the police.’
Maria turned and looked at him. He hadn’t seen this look before.
‘Father, she was a traitor. My husband died fighting for this country’s freedom and I live for it, for its freedom. General Sakay is our last hope and that,’ she gestured with the knife she was holding at Carmen’s body, ‘that bag of shit was going to betray him. I will make your dinner, but if you once more mention the police I will kill you. You can be with her wherever she is now which, if there is a God, is hell. I suggest that you go to your room and take a glass of wine. I will call you when your meal is ready.’ Father Enrique didn’t move so Maria turned once again. ‘Well?’
He looked at the knife.
‘Maria, what shall we do? What should I do?’ He was a little boy again. Things happened that he didn’t understand. Now he was frightened again. He had been a bad boy, he knew that, he had done sinful things, but now he wanted to be good again. He needed to be told what to do. He stood and waited. Maria walked towards him.
‘You don’t look well, Father.’ She placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘Go to your room. Sit down and rest. I will make dinner and when it is ready I will call you. Go to your room and be quiet.’
‘Yes. I will go to my room and be quiet.’
‘Good boy.’
Chapter Thirty-two
Father Enrique had gone to his room and poured himself a generous glass of wine as he had been told. While he sat drinking the wine it dawned on him that he was behaving like a child. He was a grown man, a parish priest, and he had walked into his own home to find that an horrendous murder had been committed. And what had he done? Gone to his room because he was told to.
It was weakness again, weakness pure and simple. He would have to go to the police. What else could he do? But as he sat and sipped his wine and reason slowly returned he began to reflect on what else surrounded the terrible event, and when he let his mind run over recent happenings his certainty of action began to waver. It had all begun with Carmen. Somehow, out of nowhere, she had come into his life and taken over. Then there was that awful visit to the village and the kidnapping of the policemen. Thank God no one had died. But then he remembered that someone had died, later: the paho seller and her son. San Juan was a peaceful town, sleepy even, untouched by the troubles caused by freedom fighters in the mountains. At least it had been since he had known it. Could the death of that poor woman and her son be somehow connected to Carmen? Maria’s words came back to him, ‘She was a traitor. General Sakay is our last hope and that bag of shit was going to betray him.’ Was Carmen a traitor? How could she be? Her husband was in General Sakay’s army and had brought about the release of some of his men. But Maria
seemed so sure, so certain, and what other reason could she possibly have for brutally killing Carmen? He put the glass to one side and stood up. He must talk to Maria, get things clear in his own mind then he could decide what to do.
And he had gone downstairs to find Maria calmly laying the table as if nothing at all had happened. She left him standing and disappeared into the kitchen only to return a moment later with his meal. He had been about to speak to her but looked at the meal and the sight of the food made him realise that he was indeed very hungry. But he must speak to Maria. Unreal though it might seem there was a dead body in the kitchen. How could he sit and eat? But there seemed to be nothing else to do, so he sat and ate and when his plate was clean Maria came in to clear away.
Now he had to speak.
‘Maria.’
‘Yes, Father?’
‘Put down that plate, we must talk.’
Maria put the plate back on the table.
‘Yes, we must.’ Father Enrique was about to begin but never got the chance. Maria sat down and began at once.
‘The body needs to go somewhere. I can’t do it by myself so you will have to help me. I’ve thought about it and the best place is the church.’
‘Maria, stop.’ She stopped. ‘Maria you have killed someone in cold blood. That is murder.’
‘No, justice.’
‘Explain to me how it is justice.’
‘She was a traitor.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She told me. She came here in her fancy new clothes and said she was leaving, going to move in with a new friend.’
‘What new friend?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I wanted her gone. If she was going to hop out of your bed and into some other man’s that was good news: it saved me the trouble of kicking her out so I told her to go and sell herself to whoever she liked. But she didn’t go, she stayed and tried to taunt me. Stupid bitch, as if anything she could say or do could touch me. But there you see, Father, I was wrong. When she told me of her and her husband’s plan to go to America …’