“Maybe…,” Jamilet said, “it’s because I listen to his story. I know I’m not supposed to engage in needless conversation, but…”
Nurse B. leaned over her desk, eyes round and mouth loose and gaping with expectation. “Tell me about this story.”
Jamilet tried to remember if Señor Peregrino had ever directed her to keep his story a secret, but she was almost certain that he hadn’t. “In his story, he’s a young man and he’s on a journey to a legendary place called Santiago. On the way there he meets a beautiful woman called Rosa. But I don’t think any woman can be as beautiful as he describes her to be. I think he must be pretending sometimes, and I told him so, and he got so mad at me for saying it that he almost stopped—”
“I’m not interested in your opinion about the story, Monica, just about the story itself.” The flesh around her mouth forced a quick smile. “Please continue.”
“He also had a friend, Tomas, who was in love with Rosa too…”
“So the young man, whose name is…?”
“Antonio,” Jamilet quickly answered.
“This Antonio. He was in love with Rosa as well, was he?”
Jamilet nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, but at first he didn’t know if it was love or obsession. And then there’s Jenny. He found her irritating most of the time.”
Nurse B. continued to stare at her employee as a strange glaze spread over her eyes. “Go on,” she muttered.
“As they walked on their way to Santiago, neither Tomas nor Antonio told Rosa how they felt about her until one day, Rosa told Antonio that she loved him, and they planned to get married when they arrived at the cathedral.” Jamilet decided to stop there, startled by the strange effect her disclosure was having on her employer.
Nurse B. had closed her eyes while Jamilet spoke, as though trying to shut out what she was hearing, and her hands were balled up into tightly clenched fists. When Jamilet had finished, Nurse B. cleared her throat and shuddered in an attempt to compose herself, but she seemed altered and weaker than before. When she spoke again, she was breathless. “You mustn’t indulge your patient by listening to these delusional stories about imaginary characters—they’ll only make him worse.”
“But he’s calmer after he tells me his story. That’s why he’s doing so well.” Once again, Jamilet stopped talking when she saw the hideous expression contorting Nurse B.’s face, after which the nurse erupted with a cynical chortle.
“A young girl barely eighteen years of age understands the pain of an old man who hasn’t set foot out of his room in years, and can’t even tolerate the sound of his own name? Since the day he came here, he’s refused the help of well-trained psychiatrists. Maybe if he wasn’t wasting so much time talking with you, he’d talk with someone who could really help him.”
Jamilet waited for a moment or two to find her voice. “I should probably go upstairs now,” she said, standing up and taking several steps back toward the door. “He gets upset if I’m late.”
“Yes, you do that. And you can inform your patient that because you’ve violated your instructions, I’ll be changing your assignment immediately. I have no doubt that your presence is disturbing him deeply.”
Jamilet didn’t waste any time waiting for the elevator. Instead, she rushed up the five flights of stairs without stopping. She was out of breath when she knocked on Señor Peregrino’s door and entered to find him still in bed, reading one of his letters. Approaching the bedside, she stood with her hands clasped in front of her as though in anxious prayer. “Señor, a terrible thing has happened,” she said.
He looked up from his reading, and noted her flushed face, and the absence of the breakfast tray. “Don’t tell me that once again they’ve overcooked my eggs? Well, I congratulate you for not wasting your time delivering them.”
“Señor. This has nothing to do with your eggs. This is much more serious. Nurse B. is going to change my assignment—today, maybe even in the next few minutes.”
His brow furrowed momentarily, and then he waved the thought away. “Nonsense.”
“She said so herself, Señor. Just now.”
He began to gather the folded letters that were spread out all over his bed. “Now why would she do such a ridiculous thing when you’ve been the only employee I’ve tolerated in years?”
Jamilet’s face grew hot. “She’s angry, Señor, and acting very strangely.”
Señor Peregrino was unconcerned. “Yes. She gets that way sometimes.”
At this, Jamilet lowered her head and began to wring her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I told her about your story, Señor. She wanted to know why you were doing better, and I told her about Rosa, and Tomas, and Jenny and about your walk to Santiago.” Jamilet glanced up to see that his somber expression hadn’t worsened, as she’d expected. “She became upset, and she told me not to encourage your…your…”
“Delusions?”
“Yes. And she told me I had violated my instructions, and that she was going to change my assignment immediately.”
Señor Peregrino leaned back, and Jamilet took note of the cheery glint in his eye. “You’re not angry with me?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Not in the least, but I think you should avoid telling her any more about my story if you can help it.”
“I don’t understand, Señor. Why did she get so upset?”
He shrugged, and continued organizing his letters. “Soon you will know the reason for her upset, and many more things besides. And you needn’t worry, Jamilet. Nurse B. wouldn’t dare change your assignment without consulting me first.” He said this with such authority that, for the moment, Jamilet didn’t doubt it was true, and she felt settled enough to go down to the kitchen to resume her duties.
By the time she returned with his breakfast tray, Señor Peregrino had already showered and changed. He immediately set about the preparation of two coffees and invited Jamilet to sit with him. He cleared his throat and began speaking with renewed urgency, although Jamilet suspected that the strain with which he spoke had little to do with their earlier conversation, and everything to do with what she was about to hear.
Very shortly, we were to reach the culmination of our pilgrimage. The woman I adored had declared her love for me and her desire to spend the rest of her life by my side. Ours was a soulful love, pure and replete with the sacred knowledge of God’s will that we be together. In my eyes she was perfect, in body and spirit, and a splendid future awaited us. All should have been well with the world, but it was not.
Ever since our accidental encounter while waiting out the storm, Jenny was always nearby and took every opportunity to flatter me. Every time I looked up, she was there, and it was clear that whatever attraction she’d felt for me before had grown into an obsession. I could read it well in her eyes, and was afraid of what this feeling might provoke in her. In some ways, I was more concerned about Jenny than I had ever been about Andres. I thought about telling Rosa what had happened, and how I’d mistaken Jenny’s hand for hers, but I didn’t want to risk the possibility that she would misunderstand, and consider me some kind of scoundrel. Although I was young and inexperienced in these matters, I understood that once the fire of jealousy had been lit within a woman’s heart, there was no extinguishing it. And, while Jenny could never compare to Rosa in beauty and spirit, there was no denying that she had certain agreeable qualities. My hope was that as the days passed, the event would fade into obscurity where it belonged.
But, Rosa took notice of Jenny’s behavior toward me and of my resulting anxiety. She spoke to me about it while we rested near a small river, her eyes a darker green than the cool shadows surrounding us. “Do you doubt now that Jenny is fond of you?” she asked.
I wrenched myself out of my agonized reverie in order to ascertain the location of our companions. Tomas was filling his water gourd at the river, while Jenny was busy gathering berries in a nearby thicket. It was safe to speak openly. “I’m sure that it’s nothing more than a silly ob
session, but it’s all the more reason to tell her and Tomas the truth about us. I think we should tell them now.”
“Oh no, my love,” she said, her eyes desperate with fear. “We mustn’t tell them, not yet.”
“But I want everyone to know how much I love you,” I said. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”
Upon hearing this, Rosa’s anxiety eased and she smiled sweetly. “There isn’t much longer to wait, my love. We’ll be in Santiago in a matter of days if the weather allows. Please, I beg you to be patient.”
At sundown, we arrived at Ponferrada, a bustling market town that flourished at the intersection of two large rivers. The local priest, annoyed with having been disturbed during his supper, directed us to our lodging. It was a large room with a generous hearth, adjacent to the church, that was kept ready for pilgrims. We were grateful to have it to ourselves, as well as for the abundance of firewood stacked by the door. We purchased ham from the butcher and finished the day with a meal of bread and ham and more than a few glasses of the local wine. Tomas was unusually jovial that evening and made it a point to fill our wineglasses when they were only half empty, although I noticed that he barely finished his first glass. No matter, I welcomed the temporary escape from my anxiety and looked forward to a restful night’s sleep.
After dinner we laid our blankets out on the floor. Tomas kept his rosary beads laced through his fingers as he prayed. Rosa and Jenny spread their blankets out on the far side of the room, nearest the fire, and Tomas faced Rosa, as always, like a flower turned to the sun for nourishment and warmth. I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to release me from my turmoil, if only for a few hours. Perhaps the next day I’d have the opportunity to speak with Rosa, and I prayed for the courage to tell her about what had happened between Jenny and me during the storm. I convinced myself that there was a good chance she’d understand it was all a mistake. Perhaps we’d have a good laugh about it. And it was with this comforting thought that I fell soundly asleep.
How she found her way to me in the middle of the night without waking the others, I do not know, for I was still dreaming when I felt her arms encircle me under the blankets.
“It’s me, Antonio,” she whispered, “it’s your Jenny.” And it was then that I awoke and focused my eyes upon her face. There was no mistaking her seductive smile, and the eager sparkle in her yellow-gray eyes.
Once I had recovered from my shock, I somehow found the strength to free my hand from her grasp. “Go back to your bed,” I whispered, feeling like an animal caught in a trap.
“The way you caressed my hand during the storm,” she whispered, every word hissing through me. “Now I know that you love me too.” She took my hand again, but I wrenched it away from her.
“I don’t love you,” I responded, desperately worried that we’d wake the others.
Her face contorted with disappointment, and I almost felt sorry for her. And it was in that instant that I became painfully aware of her nearness and her feminine allure wrapping itself around me, taking my breath away. I shuddered in an effort to control myself. This was exactly how she wanted me to respond—to give in to my lustful yearnings once and for all so she could claim me as her own, but I would not allow it. “Go back to your bed, Jenny,” I said, gritting my teeth.
“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.”
25
SECRECY 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 noth
ing 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?”
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