by Johnny Miles
his pants, Arbol knew what would happen. With a whimper, he reached for the hook
in his pants. But he was too slow for Raúl.
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The man reached to yank them down himself. Alonso leaped, grabbed Raúl by
the wrist and spun the older man around.
“Leave…him…alone,” Alonso said threateningly. “Arbol is not for sale. He is
mine.”
Ashamed, Arbol quickly clutched at his pants and pulled them up. A sound
escaped his throat, and he took a step back as Raúl jerked his hand away from
Alonso's grip.
“Arbol”—don Bernardo stepped forward—“take the rest of your clothes and go
home. Now.”
Arbol was only too glad to do as his master commanded. He picked up his
tuniclike shirt with nervous fingers and didn't bother to put it on. He walked away,
slowly at first.
“I want him,” Arbol heard Raúl say. “Sell him to me, and I'll forget about last
night.”
Arbol picked up his pace, afraid to hear any more. He broke into a trot
suddenly and raced home. To the shack he shared with Nana.
Bernardo stared Raúl down. He kicked himself mentally, wondering how it
was that something so simple as branding could have escaped him. And for so long.
But it had. And now things were about to get worse.
Bad enough his authority as a father had been undermined before his very
eyes, that he'd been so stunned he was all but paralyzed and unable to react to
Raúl, to make him stop. Now his peccadillos had been all but revealed. The safety
and distance that had once protected his family from the truth about his
arrangement with Raúl was gone and their affair reared its ugly head. Bernardo
realized at that moment he never should have brought his son with him. And for the
first time in his life, he wondered if perhaps he shouldn't have listened to his wife so
many years ago and found some other way.
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“You had no right to do that, Raúl. No right at all.”
“No. I suppose not. He is your property after all.”
“This is low. Even for you,” Alonso mumbled, clenching and unclenching his
fists. Raúl turned toward Alonso.
“You think you know me, boy?” Raúl laughed. “You don't. Your father is the
only one who comes close. You, on the other hand, have no idea what I'm capable
of.”
“Why did you do this, Raúl?” Bernardo asked, forcing himself to remain calm.
“If you have issue with me, then talk to me. Leave my son and my slaves out of it.
They've done nothing to you.”
Raúl slowly faced him, ugly with anger. His good eye was red and glassy.
“I'm getting even for what you did to me last night,” Raúl replied softly and
walked up to Bernardo until their noses were inches apart.
“I suppose now we're even, then.” Bernardo cleared his throat.
“You think so?” Raúl said with a glint in his eye. Bernardo struggled to keep
from stepping back like he wanted.
“You think it's that simple, Bernardo?” Raúl continued. “To just…end
something and walk away because you no longer want to be a part of it? What if I
don't want it to end?”
“Raúl.” Bernardo chuckled nervously. “You can't be serious. That was…part of
the bargain we agreed to so many years ago. That's all.” But even as he said it, as
he looked at Raúl's face, Bernardo realized it had meant a lot more to Raúl.
Suddenly, Raúl reached out. Bernardo flinched and tried to break free from
Raúl's grasp, but the man held the back of his neck tightly. His lips pressed against
Bernardo's own. They felt like fire. Bernardo continued to struggle. Finally, heart
pounding, Bernardo managed to break away from Raúl. He brushed at his lips with
the back of his hand.
“You and I are over when I say,” Raúl whispered almost threateningly.
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“If you ever do that again, I'll kill you,” Bernardo said angrily, his chest rising
and falling.
“It's the only way you'll be rid of me.” Raúl chuckled. “But I know you. It's an
idle threat. You could never kill me. You lack the courage.”
Bernardo looked back and forth between his son and the man who had once
aroused him. Now he only felt shame for ever having been with Raúl, for ever
having thought he would be able to handle him, for giving in to the sins of the flesh,
the temptation that had chiseled away at his soul.
“I see you have a lot on your mind.” Raúl grinned maliciously. “So I'm going to
leave you now. But come to me in a few weeks. With Arbol. I'll pay you handsomely
for him. Then you can die with your secrets. I give you my word, no one will ever
know or hear anything about…us…from my own lips.” Raúl stopped and glanced at
Alonso.
“Of course, I can't speak for this one here.” Raúl cocked his head toward
Alonso.
Bernardo swallowed, his brow covered in sweat as he shook and trembled from
the tangle of emotions coursing through him. Anger. Fear. Loathing. He lowered his
head in shame as Alonso approached.
Bernardo closed his eyes, feeling as if his entire world were suddenly crashing
in around him. He could feel Raúl and Alonso staring at him. He could feel his son's
anguish, imagine how Adelina would react if she were to ever find out. The very
thing Adelina would never condone. The very thing he had hoped to avoid.
“Father?”
Bernardo felt his son's hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes, and the
ground seemed to sway beneath his feet. Bernardo's legs quivered. His head reeled,
and he grew dizzy as a wave of nausea nearly overcame him. For a moment, he
thought he might pass out. But he refused to do so as long as Raúl stood before him.
Bernardo dug deeper within and somehow found what he needed to hold on a
moment longer.
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“Come see me,” Raúl said. “I'll even be generous. One month. Then I expect
you at my doorstep with the necessary paperwork to make this an official sale.”
Raúl turned sharply and walked away.
When he had disappeared from view, Bernardo staggered. He could hear
Alonso as if from a great distance, concern and panic in his voice.
Bernardo managed to get to the rock where Alonso's clothes had previously
lain. It was still wet. There, Bernardo sat with his eyes closed a moment. When he
had regained his composure, Bernardo opened his eyes. He looked up at his son who
was pacing back and forth.
“Alonso,” Bernardo said quietly, “I think it's time you and I talk. I
have…many…many things to tell you. Let's go up to the house.”
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Chapter Ten
It was late. A single lantern lit the room and cast shadows that flickered and
danced around the hot, damp room. The thick walls that kept the blistering sun cool
during the day seemed to emit heat at night. Meanwhile, the shared silence only
grew heavier still.
Across from him, on the other side of the desk, sat his father, his face obscured
mostly by shadow. Alonso could just barely make out the silhouette. O
utside, the
soothing rhythm of a steady rain made him feel surprisingly calm, considering the
things his father had confessed over the last few hours. But his heart felt heavy.
He'd learned the truth about how Arbol had come to them and why it was
important to keep it from Raúl, lest he accuse them of stealing. There was the
matter of their dwindling funds as they tried to live by Adelina's idealistic beliefs.
And then there was his father's affair with his mother's sworn mortal enemy and
the attraction even his father could not understand. And as if that were not enough,
there was also the possibility that his father might stay on the island instead of
returning to Spain. Although, after what had happened with Raúl, Alonso didn't
think—at least, he hoped—his father would be foolish enough to stay.
Alonso kept coming back to Arbol.
Sweet, handsome, loving Arbol, who, being the most innocent in the game of
master and slave, would wind up paying most dearly because of another's business
negotiations and indiscretions.
“Is that…everything?” Alonso asked after a while. There was a barely
perceptible sound from his father.
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“Good.” Alonso sighed with relief. “Because I don't know that I can deal with
much more.” There were so many things he wanted to say, but there were too many
thoughts chasing each other around in his mind.
He lifted the glass in his hand up to the light and swirled the amber liquid.
Fascinated by the impurities still floating in it, like remnants of a bad dream.
How could everything have gone so wrong in just a matter of days? They'd
barely just arrived. Alonso wished he could just go to sleep and forget the day had
ever happened, pretend it had all been a nightmare.
Except for the time he had spent with Arbol. That had been special. It had
been wonderful, in fact. And it had felt…good. One of the sweetest, most innocent,
most tender moments Alonso ever remembered having with another human being.
But why was something that made him feel so elated also so heavily punctuated by
events that dragged his heart through the mud?
“Well?” Bernardo asked after a long silence.
“Well, what?” Alonso replied. He shot back the two fingers of rum left in his
glass. A burning sensation made him wince, but he poured himself another drink.
“Aren't you…going to say anything?”
Alonso gave an uncomfortable laugh and stood. He paced awhile before turning
back to the shadow of his father.
“What would you like me to say?” Alonso asked with something like
resignation in his voice. “What's done is done. If you're expecting forgiveness, don't
look at me. I'm not a priest.”
There was another silence before Bernardo spoke up again.
“I want to know…how you feel.”
Alonso laughed loudly and began pacing again.
“I feel…confused. Angry. Upset,” Alonso said with a sigh. Outside, the rain
was slowing. “What does it really matter how I feel anyhow? Will it make you feel
any better to know how disappointed I am?”
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“No…but—”
“I looked up to you,” Alonso interrupted, his anger mounting as the initial
shock passed. It was one thing to hear blasphemies about his father from another
person of dubious background. But to hear them from his father's lips was far
worse. It was as if the man Alonso had known all his life as the one to turn to when
he had problems, the one to look up to as he grew from childhood into adulthood,
had exposed all his weaknesses and revealed himself to be someone other than who
Alonso had thought. Alonso was both saddened and almost disgusted that his father
had been so…human.
“I cannot believe that a man with your education…a man of your standing and
background…could so effectively…and single-handedly…destroy so many people's
lives in one fell swoop. And all because you chose to sleep with that abomination of
a human!”
“Alonso,” Bernardo pleaded quietly. “Por favor. Aren't you being just a little
harsh?”
“A little harsh? This is nothing compared to what you'd get if Mother ever
found out! What do you think she would do if it had been she to whom you
confessed? How do you think she'd react?”
Bernardo lowered his head.
“I thought so,” Alonso said smugly.
“In all fairness, I really didn't have a choice, Son,” Bernardo said defensively.
“There were many factors that—”
“The only factor,” Alonso interrupted, “that Mother would care about is that
you slept with Raúl. Not once, mind you, but repeatedly throughout the course of
fourteen years. Or however long you've known each other. You've always told me to
do nothing I wouldn't be proud of. To set an example. Is this the sort of example you
were referring to?”
His father remained silent. Alonso sighed after a moment. He stepped back to
the chair he had occupied earlier and sat again.
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“Did you…did you at least…or do you…love him?” Alonso asked as he leaned
in, unsure he wanted to know.
“It's complicated, Son.”
“Father, please!” Alonso's tone was that of an adult speaking to a child. “It's
not so complicated! It's very simple. You either loved him, love him still, or you
don't.”
“I-I thought I did. Once,” Bernardo replied eventually.
“And was that before you married Mother or after?”
“Alonso. Understand that any feelings I may have had for Raúl had nothing to
do with the feelings I had for your mother. They were totally different from each
other! Besides”—Bernardo sighed—“it's what we do.”
“What do you mean by that… 'It's what we do'?”
Bernardo stood and walked around his desk. He leaned on the edge, several
feet away from Alonso.
“Sometimes, men can…amuse each other… And it's something that's just
pleasurable. Nothing more. No emotions. It's simply physical. Especially when
you're young. I had…close friends when I was your age. But then it's time to grow
up and realize that we have obligations to fulfill. Duties we need to carry out.
Children to sire, business to which we must attend.”
Alonso quickly looked up at his father. He sensed his father was trying to say
more than the basic meaning of the words.
“What are you trying to say?” Alonso's skin crawled.
“Just…that I think you might be…a bit judgmental of me at the moment when
we're really not so different.”
“Judgmental? Me? What are you talking about? You're the one who wanted to
know how I felt! You're the one who asked what I thought about…all this! And you
and I are no more alike than you and Raúl are alike.”
“What about…Tocino?”
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“Tocino?” Alonso laughed nervously. “The ship's cook? He's got nothing to do
with what we're discussing here.”
“You can't tell me there was nothing between you.”
Alonso swallowed, momentarily stunned and unable to speak. He felt h
imself
flush. He stood and turned from his father, hoping that in the darkness the man
could not see his face. “You don't know anything about Tocino. Or me for that
matter.”
“You know, I may have some years on you, but I was your age once. You don't
think I had my flings? I had some…very close friends. Long before I ever met your
mother.”
But Alonso's only response was to roll his eyes and fold his arms across his
chest in exasperation.
“What about Arbol?” Bernardo asked quietly. That was a question Alonso had
not expected. He spun around and narrowed his eyes.
“What about him?”
“Are you in love with him?”
“In love? With Arbol? Me? What are you talking about? He's just a—my—uh,
friend. That's all.” But his heart began to pound loudly, and Alonso was left
wondering. What was Arbol exactly to him? How did he feel about Arbol? And why,
after so many years, did he feel such an instant connection to him? As if in all the
world, this was the only man, the only person, who could ever accept him, complete
with flaws and imperfections. No questions asked, no excuses, no conditions. A man
with whom he could never hope or dream to be—let alone a man with whom he
might have a future.
Alonso was silent a moment. He could feel his father's gaze. He cleared his
throat, pushed all thought of Arbol aside as best he could, and squared his
shoulders.
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“That's not a fair question.” Alonso sat and stared out the window behind the
desk.
“Isn't it?”
“No. This is about what you have done. Not me. My affairs have harmed no
one.”
“Neither did mine. At first. And I never thought anyone would get hurt. Just
as you probably do right now.”
Bernardo's heart felt heavy. So heavy, in fact, it was a wonder he was able to
continue speaking. He imagined how he must look through his son's eyes. Sad?
Pathetic? Weak?
How horrible to be confronted with truths about one's own father. Truths that