by Johnny Miles
“What is it?” Alonso asked, stepping up behind his father.
“Another one's escaped,” Bernardo replied in disbelief, burying his face in his
hands.
“What?” Raúl exclaimed as he too climbed onto the porch. “Qué demonio…?
How is it another one escaped?”
The silence was overwhelming. Alonso watched the three men and could
almost see their thoughts. One here, one there—from different plantations—was
not unheard-of. But two runaways in two days? From the same plantation?
“Who was it?” Alonso asked, surprised to hear his own voice.
“Dante.” Perez spit and winced from the pain still flowing through his battered
mouth.
“What?” Alonso and his father exclaimed simultaneously.
“Why the hell would he leave? He has it better than any of the other slaves you
pamper on your plantation!” Raúl glared at Bernardo. “This is what you get for
treating them like people.”
Why, indeed, would Dante leave? Alonso wondered.
It suddenly dawned on him that Dante knew more about their family than any
other slave. Perhaps even more than anyone in the world. He knew when they got
up, what they ate, where they were going, and when they slept.
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He might even know with whom you've been sleeping! A tiny voice poked at
Alonso and made him shudder. He hoped Dante had not been awake last night
when Arbol showed up.
For all Dante knew about them, Alonso realized he knew nothing about Dante.
He was just there to serve.
“I don't understand. Where do they go when they run away?” Alonso asked out
loud. “It's not like they can go far.”
“There are people on the island who wish to abolish slavery. They work with
runaways and hide them until they can be shipped elsewhere,” Bernardo explained.
“Some join pirate ships,” Perez chimed in.
“Others are found dead,” Raúl added morbidly.
“Dead?” Alonso looked at Raúl.
“Don't look so surprised. Slaves are like children. They have no idea how to
take care of themselves in the wilderness. Granted, they're usually shot dead,” Raúl
mused. “Which is why it's imperative to act immediately. The longer we wait, the
longer they have to get away. And that's an investment you'll never get back.”
Alonso felt a certain amount of anger bubbling near the surface. How could
this man be so callous? So unconcerned with the lives of the slaves? Didn't he see
that if they were mistreated the potential for retaliation was there? What did his
father ever see in him?
“You're talking about people, don Velasco.” Alonso managed to contain himself.
“Not animals or property.” Raúl ignored Alonso and gave a snort. There was a dazed
look in his one uncovered eye. “They're going to murder us one day, you know. Mark
my words. This is just the start of what will happen. The beginning of a revolt. Too
many of them have disappeared over the last year.”
“God no!” Perez went white and crossed himself.
“Dante and Arbol would never—” Alonso started, but his father cut him off.
“Where would they get weapons? Who would dare arm slaves?”
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“With the way the seas have been lately? Anyone! I wouldn't put it past the
British. Or the French. But mostly pirates.” Raúl looked wild, even wilder than he
had last night.
“But there were no signs.” Perez began to wail. “There are always signs. And
there certainly were no pirates. None that I saw. Everything was calm today!”
“Perez's only responsibility is over the field gangs,” Bernardo reminded them
all. “He couldn't have foreseen Dante's disappearance any more than he could have
foreseen Arbol's. All the same, I'm afraid I can no longer afford to keep you on as
overseer, Perez. I'm sure you understand my concern. You can stay the night, but I
want you off the property first thing tomorrow morning.”
“What? But…but…” Perez stammered.
“One more runaway and you'll be off my property as well,” Raúl warned. As an
afterthought, he backhanded Perez. The man staggered back, silenced. Fresh blood
spewed from his lower lip.
Pirates, Alonso thought. Was that really to whom Arbol had run? Kind, gentle
Arbol? He had been evasive when asked where he was headed. But who else would
flout the laws of the island, of the Spanish, and harbor not one but two runaways?
Alonso licked his lips, surprised he wasn't more panicked. But then, he
suddenly felt very weary. The anger he had felt earlier had dissipated with the lull
of the rain, the sounds of their voices, and his own thoughts as they chased
themselves round in his brain. He placed his hands on either side of his neck. He
felt as if he were coming down with a fever.
“There must be something I can do,” Alonso said out loud, forcing himself to
stay focused and ignore the chill that crept up and down his spine.
“What can you or anyone do right now?” Bernardo replied.
“So you're just going to throw your hands up in the air and give up. Is that it?”
“What would you have me do, Raúl? If they have gone to pirates…”
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“You're a fool.” Raúl glared at Bernardo. “We've already wasted too much time.
Doing nothing sets the wrong example, and I've grown tired of your rhetoric. I plan
to recapture Arbol.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” Bernardo's voice rose sharply.
“Simple,” Raúl said as he pulled a wicked-looking knife from his boot. He
picked at his nails with it and slowly moved toward Alonso.
As if from a great distance, Alonso felt himself grow weak-kneed as Raúl
moved quickly and pinned him against his own sinewy body. Alonso struggled, but
Raúl was unbelievably strong for one so thin.
Alonso's father leaped forward, then stopped as Raúl placed the tip of the knife
against Alonso's throat. Alonso's skin went clammy, and he swallowed repeatedly,
stunned into silence as he shivered.
“We set a trap and use your son as bait.”
Bernardo took another step forward.
The tip of the knife dug deeper into his throat. He whimpered. His father
stopped.
“Let him go,” Bernardo said quietly.
“I don't think so,” Raúl taunted.
“Father,” Alonso said hoarsely as Bernardo stepped toward them again. “I
don't feel well.” He looked up to see his father's nostrils flare. There was a rumbling
in Raúl's chest as he laughed low and deep.
“You don't think I know what's happening here? At Casa Rodrigo?” Raúl said
with a tone that was frightening and playful at the same time.
Raúl squeezed him harder. The tip of the knife pierced his flesh. A part of him
was scared for his own life, while another, the part that felt a fever coming on,
simply didn't care. Something warm trickled down his throat, and Alonso forced
himself to remain calm. He might be scared and might be coming down with fever,
but he was damned if he would allow Raúl to see his fear.
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“This isn't funny,” Bernardo said, his voice nea
rly a whisper. As Alonso
watched, he noticed his father's eyes never left Raúl. “Stop this madness.”
“Or what?” Raúl countered. “You think you can take me? You've tried. You've
stood up to me. But you've never been able to best me.”
“Please,” Alonso whispered harshly. He closed his eyes, surprised to hear
himself pleading.
“Let him go,” Bernardo said softly, calmly. “I'll do whatever you want.
Just…set him free.”
Raúl suddenly released him. Alonso gasped for air and nearly fell to the floor
of the porch. He would have fallen if his father had not reached out to keep him
from hitting the floor. Alonso clutched at his throat.
“Dear God! Alonso, you're burning with fever!” Bernardo exclaimed. Alonso
swallowed visibly.
“Perez.” Raúl turned his attention to the overseer. “Go and tell Arbol's dear
grandmother that if he doesn't return two days hence, his…friend…will be beaten
and left for dead.”
The overseer practically flew off the porch, nearly slipping in the mud.
“Raúl,” Bernardo started. “This is my son. My flesh and blood. You lay one
finger on him, and I swear to you, by God, I will kill you.”
“Don't be ridiculous. I already told you it's a trap. You think I'd hurt your
precious boy?”
“Out of all the horrible things you've ever done, this is the most despicable. I've
stood by you in the past. Defended you. To my wife, even! But this is heinous.”
“Nonsense. It's brilliant!”
“But Nana said she didn't know anything! She's probably still frightened
from—” Alonso started, then stopped at the look on Raúl's face. Alonso felt another
shudder and trembled.
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“If she truly doesn't know, she'll spread the word to someone who does. He'll
turn up.”
“What if he doesn't?” Bernardo asked weakly. But Raúl did not reply. He
patted Alonso on the face, eyed him lasciviously, and said, “He is hot. Better take
him upstairs and get him out of those wet clothes. Need any help?”
“You're despicable,” Bernardo said disgustedly.
“Flattery, my dear Bernardo.” Raúl turned away from Alonso and toward his
father. “Will get you…anything you want from me.”
Alonso watched, stunned, as Raúl grabbed the back of his father's head and
forced his mouth on his. But a moment later Raúl stepped back with a short
outburst, pressing his fingers to his lips. They came away covered in blood.
“I warned you about that,” Bernardo started. Alonso felt his father stiffen as if
expecting a blow, but Raúl only laughed and stepped off the porch. He mounted his
horse, turned the animal around, and cackled as he disappeared into the mist from
the driving rain.
Bernardo held him a moment longer, almost as if expecting Raúl to return.
“You know, Father?” Alonso muttered. “I wish he were dead.” And then he
faded.
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Chapter Seventeen
Bernardo watched Alonso with great worry. In the shifting shadows and dim
light of the lantern, he could just make out the shallow rise and fall of his son's
chest. Alonso slept, but he seemed restless. His forehead was slick with sweat, and
from time to time his lips moved as if he was trying to speak. Beneath the lids, his
eyes followed some fevered chimera.
What the devil is taking them so long? Bernardo scratched at his forehead,
exasperated. It had been a long time since either of his sons had fallen to illness.
And even then, it was his wife and the servant who took care of them.
Bernardo felt helpless. He had no idea what to do for his son. Out of
nervousness, Bernardo began to pace. A moment later, the door opened, and Nana
hobbled into the room with a small wooden chest in hand. Cook followed, holding up
a lantern as Nana placed the chest on the nightstand.
Finally! But Bernardo said something else instead. “Gracias, Nana. Thank you
for coming.”
Nana held a hand up to Bernardo, and for a moment he was taken aback. Then
he realized that she wasn't being rude or obstinate. She seemed to be listening—no,
not quite listening—perhaps feeling the room. Her face looked grim as she rolled
her head a few times, then muttered things that sounded to Bernardo like
incantations.
He watched her shuffle up one side of the bed, then the other, her arms slowly
moving back and forth as if she were stirring the air. The back of her hand went to
Alonso's wet forehead, then to the sides of his neck.
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Unsure of what was happening, Bernardo felt a certain discomfort as he
continued to watch Nana work. Nonetheless, he kept quiet and left her alone.
He watched Nana shuffle back to the nightstand and open the chest. Inside it
were things that looked like dried leaves, twigs, and shaved bark. A few rocks of
different sizes, shapes, and colors. There was also an assortment of roots and other
things with which Bernardo was unfamiliar.
Since he'd first met Nana, Bernardo had known she was different. Some of the
slaves swore she could see inside them. He had to admit there were times when he
felt unusual around Nana but was never certain why. Still, there was no doubt she
possessed an ability he could neither see nor understand.
“I need boiled water.” Nana turned to Bernardo and spoke quietly. “I will also
need rum and a glass.”
“You heard her.” Bernardo turned to Cook. “Once you've started the water
boiling, go to my study. You'll find a bottle of rum still on my desk. Go. Quickly!”
Cook hurried from the room, leaving the lamp.
“Will you… Can you…?” Bernardo asked when he had turned back to Nana.
But she had already laid out a handful of oblong leaves. She then pulled out
something from the chest that looked like a large, fat stick made of smaller twigs.
She lit one end of it with the lantern, and it began to smoke. It released a pungent
scent that was not unpleasant.
“May I ask…?”
“To clean the room of bad energy,” Nana said without letting him finish.
“And the leaves?”
“For the fever tea your son must drink.” She spoke in a tone that made
Bernardo feel as if his questions were unwelcome. He bit his tongue and sat in a
chair while Nana went to work.
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Arbol made his way quietly through the kitchen. A fire was lit, and a pot hung
suspended, unattended. From somewhere within the house, Arbol could hear a man
and woman talking excitedly in hushed tones—Cook and his wife from the sound of
it.
Arbol stopped a moment to get his bearings, remembering from Dante's
conversations that Alonso's room was at the back of the house, just to the left of the
servants' stairs.
He had been stunned when one of the boys from Casa Rodrigo had come to
alert him in the basement of el Puerco Sucio, where he had been hiding. But would
don Bernardo be cruel enough to let don Raúl beat his own son? Arbol didn't think
so. Still, he couldn't take that chance. He had t
o see for himself. Had to make sure.
As Arbol climbed the stairs, he tried to convince himself nothing was wrong.
That he wasn't walking into a trap. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to turn
around and leave. He was risking so much. The ship that would take him away
from the island would dock tomorrow morning and leave the following day. If he lost
this opportunity, he would endanger his life. And if he were caught…
Leave! Go back! a voice in his head sounded the warnings.
And yet Arbol felt compelled to move forward.
He placed a foot on the first step and winced as it creaked under his weight.
The voices he'd heard earlier stopped. In the silence, Arbol could feel the blood
pulsing through his head, his heart tripping loudly. He heard a door creak, and
taking a deep breath, Arbol rapidly crept up the stairs, lest he be discovered.
Arbol stood just outside Alonso's room a moment, listening. Here, too, he
thought he heard soft voices, footsteps. He placed his hand on the knob, his ear to
the door, and tried to listen, but the voices were hushed. Then he realized someone
was coming up the stairs.
Arbol took a step back, his heart pounding. There was an urgent pressure
inside his body, and he felt as though he might relieve himself from fear. But he
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held it. He licked his lips, which had gone quite dry, and stepped away from
Alonso's door just as it opened.
Stifling a gasp, Arbol hurriedly ran diagonally across the hallway, opened the
door, and stepped into a darkened room. He closed the door as quietly as possible
and leaned against it, trying to listen. Only his heart was pounding so loudly, he
couldn't hear.
Leaning against the door, Arbol sank to the floor. His heart felt heavy with
sorrow, and his eyes began to sting.
I will not cry, Arbol thought. But even as he did so, tears welled in his eyes
and fell down his cheeks. He choked back a sob, rested his forehead on folded arms,
and silently wept.
Nana stood, rubbed her hands clean of the poultice she had just rubbed on
Alonso's chest, then closed her wooden chest.