by Johnny Miles
displayed, without mercy, his most egregious flaws and mistakes, his inability to
handle some of the most difficult situations life had ever thrown in his direction.
His son's comment, and all that it implied, echoed in his mind: “This is about
what you have done. My affairs have harmed no one.” It was clear his son had not
understood his reasons for confessing his sins. It was clear the justification he was
seeking would not come from Alonso. Perhaps the boy was right. Perhaps he sought
forgiveness. After all, didn't everyone?
Was it so horrible for a father to seek forgiveness from his son? For all his
mistakes, all his decisions that would one day affect his flesh and blood?
Bernardo resented feeling the need to explain himself, but the things Raúl had
declared—they all sounded so dirty and sleazy, so vile and disgusting that he felt
compelled to do so. He needed Alonso to understand the reasons for his actions
when his children had been young. He hated turning the tables on Alonso, but it
was the only way to illustrate the message he hoped to convey.
“Alonso.” Bernardo's voice cracked. “All I'm trying to say is that…trysts like
yours are fine. Normal. Even healthy for a young man to have. It's when they turn
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into what this has become—when other's lives become so intricately involved—that
it's not healthy. When it comes right down to it, Alonso, men need to marry. We
need to have children. It's what society dictates of us.”
“Are you saying that you loved Raúl but married Mother because you had to?
Is that it?”
“It was arranged.” Bernardo tried to explain.
“You could have said no. If you didn't love her, you could have just walked
away, forged your own path, and made your way to whatever life you wanted.”
“Son.” Bernardo shook his head. “It's not that simple. Sometimes we don't get
to have a say in what we do. We have no choice in certain matters of our life. If
we're lucky, there are some things we can control, but in the end we're just floating
along, and there is nothing we can do.”
Bernardo reached out to Alonso, but his son flinched.
“Don't.” Alonso put up a hand and shook his head. He stood and turned his
back on Bernardo. “You have no idea how angry I am right now with you.
“I thought we came here to talk,” Alonso continued, his voice softening. “To
find a solution to this deplorable situation. And all you've done is tell me your dirty
secrets and make excuses for yourself by telling me life is complicated! Then you
turn the tables on me, and now I feel like I'm the one under scrutiny!”
Bernardo suddenly burst out laughing. He moved away from the desk and
poured another drink, unable to stop chuckling.
Ah, the conviction of the young! Bernardo mused. His father had warned him
that someday this would happen.
“What's so funny?” Alonso demanded. “This is no laughing matter!”
“Oh but it is!” Bernardo finally said between tears. He took a swig of the rum.
“It would just be funnier if it weren't happening here. To us.”
“I don't understand.”
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“You think everything is so simple, don't you? Standing there looking at me
like I disgust you. I was your age once. I thought I knew everything. I used to think
everything was yes or no. Black or white. But you know what? I learned. So will
you. You'll see as you get older and have children of your own that life,
unfortunately, isn't always so simple. You'll find that in life, nothing is ever as easy
as it sounds. You'll find that the answer you seek isn't always clear. And you'll
wonder: Am I doing the right thing? Am I saying what I should say? You'll make
mistakes, as I did. That's the harsh reality of life. Now, sit down.”
Alonso stood, transfixed.
“I said sit down!” Bernardo raised his voice and spoke sternly. Alonso sat as if
he were still a child. Bernardo looked at him somewhat sadly.
“I'm tired of fighting. I don't want to do this anymore.” Bernardo took another
swig of his drink before continuing. “I only wanted you to hear my side of the story
and not just the filthy accusations from Raúl's mouth. Perhaps I made a mistake in
thinking you were man enough to accept and understand the things I told you.”
Bernardo held a hand up when Alonso bristled. “Let me finish. I thought you would
have sympathy and understand my reasons. But I see I was wrong. So I'll try a
different approach.
“You've been learning the business of Casa Rodrigo for many years now. You
have a gift for people. So here it is.” Bernardo took a deep breath and plunged.
“I don't like this slavery issue any more than you do. I have not slept properly
since I signed the necessary documents detailing our—my—business negotiations.
But you know what kept me going? Knowing that I was still putting food on the
table for my family. Knowing that you, your brother, and your mother were being
clothed. That you and Fernando were getting an education. That's how I justified
my involvement in this dubious business.”
Bernardo paused and searched Alonso's face for a reaction. When he
encountered no resistance, he continued.
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“I do not regret it, Alonso. Even with all the unsavory things that have
happened, all the unpleasant things I asked you to listen to. Understand that under
the same circumstances, I would do exactly same thing over again. Because if I
hadn't, we would have been on the streets like so many peasants.”
“How would it be if we sold the plantation and got out of this part of the
business? We must have enough money saved aside now that we don't have to
worry.”
“We have some money set aside, yes,” Bernardo sat and leaned back, grateful
to be moving toward a discussion on how to solve their problem. It was one of the
things he had hoped for and was glad to see it happening, even if forgiveness
seemed long in coming.
“But that money won't last long,” Bernardo continued. “And even if we were to
sell the plantation and all the slaves, we would have problems. First, we are our
number one client. The products we harvest here and ship to Spain, other parts of
the world, make up nearly thirty-five percent of Casa Rodrigo's revenue. So you see
the problem?” Bernardo leaned forward. He could tell by the look in Alonso's eyes
that it was quite clear.
Bernardo poured more rum into his glass and offered some to Alonso. The boy
shook his head.
“Even if that were not the case,” he continued, “if we sold the plantation, what
do you think would become of the slaves? We can't walk away from them. Could
you? We have no way of knowing how they would be treated.”
“Can't we free them?” Alonso suggested.
“That, I'm afraid, would be financial disaster. We would have to pay wages,
and we're in no position to do so.”
Father and son sat quietly in the waning light. The only sound in the room
was from the dwindling rain outside.
Bernardo knew his son was thinking as hard as he could, grabbing at straws,
as they sifted through ideas, then discarded them. Bernardo recognized the pattern
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and the way in which Alonso thought. He was, after all, his own flesh and blood. He
was grateful to see that they had moved past the bickering and judgmental
accusations.
“I don't see any other way around this, Alonso,” Bernardo said softly. “I'm
sorry.”
“I can't accept that,” Alonso replied with something like pleading in his voice.
“There has to be a way! You're just…giving up!”
“If we don't sell Arbol to Raúl, he will talk. And he will not stop at Adelina. I've
known Raúl a very long time. He will make sure every single one of our associates
knows what has happened between us. The bad thing, for me, and the business, of
course, is that he'll twist it all about so that he is the one made to look like the
victim and I the laughingstock.”
“But Arbol is innocent. Why should he pay for any of this?”
“Alonso. I don't want to do this any more than you do. It sickens me, but I see
no alternative. I have to protect what it has taken me decades to build, so that you
and Fernando have something to build upon. Pass on to your children.”
“But don't you see you'll have implicated me in your lies!”
“You were implicated from the moment your mother handed him to you that
horrible night. We all were.”
“Don't you think Raúl will find out Arbol truly belongs to him?”
“Not if we brand him.”
“Oh God.” Alonso sighed, closed his eyes, and rested his head in his palms.
“What Raúl doesn't know… Besides, selling Raúl something that's rightfully
his is ironic. Don't you think?”
“What about Raúl?” Alonso mumbled, obviously ignoring his father.
“What about him?” Bernardo asked, momentarily confused. Alonso locked eyes
with him. His piercing gaze seemed to sear right through him.
“Are you going to continue seeing him?”
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Bernardo closed his eyes and thought a moment. He swallowed nervously. A
certain tightness crept into his chest.
“I—that is, we—will always see Raúl.”
“Why?” Alonso suddenly blurted.
Bernardo did not reply.
“What did you ever see in him, anyway?” Alonso asked. “The man is foul and
hateful. He's absolutely despicable. He has no consideration for propriety and what
is decent. Not to mention the fact that the man has about as much discretion as a
common street whore!”
Bernardo pulled back as if he had just been slapped. There was no doubt in his
mind that his son was correct. But to be so vocal and adamant in his convictions.
Surprised at himself, Bernardo couldn't help but defend Raúl, for at the same time
he was defending himself. He thought back to the very first time he had seen Raúl.
“You should have seen him when we first met. He was handsome. Still is. But
he was dashing. A rogue. There was…something about him that pulled me
inexplicably. I was attracted to him instantly. I don't know why. We were so
different.”
Bernardo sighed and continued.
“He was playing cards with a brute of a man reputed to be a pirate. They got
into a fight. Apparently the pirate tried to cheat Raúl.”
“I'm surprised it wasn't the other way around,” Alonso said in a snide tone.
“He was everything I never was. Painfully honest. Strong. Fiery,” Bernardo
continued, ignoring his son's comment.
“You should have left him alone.”
“If I had left him alone, he might have been killed.”
“If you had let him die, none of this would have happened.”
And now. Here it was. The moment of truth. Would Alonso be able to handle
it?
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“If I had let Raúl die,” Bernardo said carefully, “I never would have met your
mother. Worse yet, I never would have been blessed with two beautiful sons whom I
love more than my own life.”
“How is that possible?”
Bernardo looked into his son's eyes. The dying flame from the lantern was
reflected as two pinpoints in Alonso's piercing blue eyes.
“It was Raúl who introduced me to your mother.”
“Come now.” Alonso snorted. “Surely you're not saying that Mother had
anything to do with this man.”
Bernardo poured more rum into his glass. He put the bottle down, picked up
the glass, and threw his head back. The rum burned his throat as he swallowed,
then spoke.
“Have you never noticed that those beautiful eyes of yours—the eyes you share
with your brother, your mother—are identical to Raúl's?” Bernardo watched Alonso
intently. He saw recognition begin to dawn on his son's face.
“That's right, Alonso. Raúl is your uncle. He's Adelina's half-brother.”
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Chapter Eleven
Arbol was enchained. Try as he might, he couldn't break free. He wore a belled
collar around his neck in case he managed to get loose and run off into the
mountains. He would be far easier to find.
Before him, Raúl sneered as he put something thick and round in his mouth.
Sugarcane. Arbol could taste the sticky, sweet juice pouring from where Raúl jabbed
it into his teeth.
Arbol continued to struggle as Raúl stepped away, knowing that whatever was
about to happen would not be a good thing. That's when he became aware of the
enormous fire. It seemed to grow larger as Raúl approached again, knelt down, and
poked at the embers.
With panic clutching at his throat, Arbol noticed the block of wood in Raúl's
hand. At the end was a fiery golden ring with letters in it. They glowed from having
been in the fire.
Arbol started to protest in earnest, struggling to break free. He prayed to the
God the priests said he should pray to. He prayed to the different gods Nana
believed in. But none answered, if they had ever been there at all. He thought of
Alonso, hoping he would come and save him.
But the only one who came was Raúl, moving closer, in a maddeningly slow
way. Arbol screamed in agony as the man, his new owner, pressed the fiery-hot
metal against his shoulder and seared his flesh.
Arbol sat bolt upright, momentarily disoriented. He glanced frantically about
the room. Gradually, he realized he was still in the shack he shared with Nana. He
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tried telling himself it had been a very bad dream. Nothing but his fears getting the
best of him.
But the dream had been so real. He could still feel the heat from the fire, feel
his flesh crawl as Raúl came closer with the branding iron.
In his heart, Arbol knew it was no dream, but a vision of what was to come.
It saddened him that Alonso had not come to save him. Arbol wondered what
that meant. Would the young man who made him feel safe and protected eventually
let him down? He didn't know if he could live with that, didn't know if he wanted to.
But he knew the possibility existed. Alonso was a Spaniard, the master, and Arbol a
slave. What could he possibly hope for?
&
nbsp; A whimper escaped Arbol's throat as he lay back down, his entire body slick
with sweat. He closed his eyes, but each time he did, all he could see was Raúl
coming at him with that glowing-hot iron.
Arbol tossed and turned on the dirt floor, uncomfortable and unable to close
his eyes. It was no use; sleep now eluded him.
The hope he had allowed himself to feel when he had laid eyes on Alonso again
after so many years now lay gasping like a dying fish out of water. The joyous
feeling that made his heart swell when they spent the afternoon together now felt
like some heavy animal sitting on his chest.
Best not to feel. Best not to give my heart to him. And yet just as he knew Raúl
would soon be his new master, Arbol knew it was too late to take his heart back.
The worst thing was that he didn't even know how or when he had given it to
Alonso.
Arbol rolled onto his back gingerly, expecting to feel the pain he felt in the
dream. A lone tear trickled down the side of his face. There was only one thing to
do, but he was frightened by the urgency he felt.
If only Nana were awake. She always knew the right thing to say, the right
thing to do to make him feel better. But she was snoring quietly on the other side of
the room.
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Arbol got up from the dusty floor and stepped outside, his restlessness making
him jittery. He looked up at the night sky. The clouds had dispersed, exposing the
sliver of a moon, and the rain had stopped. A wet, earthy scent hung in the air as
Arbol stepped off the tiny, creaky porch and onto the dirt path.
His feet started moving without telling him where or why they were going. It
was as if they had a mind of their own. But it was all right with Arbol. He had to
leave anyway. He couldn't stay where he was. Couldn't just sit and let them come
for him. Might as well leave now. It was best not to tell anyone, not to involve them.
He thought of Alonso and the afternoon they had shared. How wonderful to
have felt the inexplicable things he had. Even if for a short while. But it was best
not to think of that either.
A runaway, Arbol thought. I'm a runaway now. God? If you're out there,