Casa Rodrigo

by Johnny Miles

  “What happens now?” Bernardo asked. He gently let his son's head fall back

  onto his pillow with one hand while holding an almost empty cup in the other.

  “We wait. There is nothing else we can do.”

  “But it will help him, yes?” Bernardo asked hopefully. “My son will get better.”

  Nana nodded.

  “How long will it take?”

  “That, don Bernardo, I do not know.” Nana looked solemnly at her master,

  glanced at Alonso, then back at Bernardo. “We must wait. There's nothing more we

  can do for him now.”

  Bernardo looked at his son a moment longer, then down into the cup he held.

  He walked to the cluttered nightstand covered with Nana's medicine chest, the open

  bottle of rum, and the remnants of chopped roots used for the poultice. He poured

  some of the rum into the glass and offered it to Nana.

  She looked at it a moment. Hesitated. She looked up at don Bernardo.

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  “For a job well done. And to his health,” Bernardo said with a smile. Nana

  smiled back and took the glass.

  “Thank you,” she said and swallowed the liquid in one shot.

  “I will leave the chest here so I don't have to carry it back and forth,” Nana

  said as she handed the glass to Bernardo. “I think it's time now for you to go to bed.”

  “I'd rather say here,” he replied as he poured another shot of rum into the

  glass and downed it just as neatly as Nana had done. “I want to keep watch over

  him.”

  “Señor, I must insist. You need to rest. What good would it do your son if you

  got sick as well? No. I think it's best you go to sleep.”

  They shared a moment of silence, the air thick, as if much needed to be said.

  Only neither said a word. Finally, Bernardo moved. Slowly. He shuffled to Alonso's

  bed, placed a hand gently on his son's chest, then leaned forward and kissed him on

  the forehead.

  “My God, Nana. If anything happened to him…” Bernardo blurted with a gasp.

  “Nothing is going to happen to him, don Bernardo. Not for a very long while.

  He has much to do in this world.” Nana met Bernardo's gaze steadily, then hobbled

  behind him as they walked out of Alonso's room and into the hallway.

  “Thank you, Nana,” Bernardo said, a hand on the woman's shoulder.

  And Nana tensed suddenly. A tiny sound escaped her throat, and something

  prickled in her mind. For a brief moment, it was as if she were somewhere else. A

  presence, a thought. There was an uncomfortable sensation that made her feel as if

  she could no longer breathe. The image of don Bernardo's face, twisted with anger,

  swam before her. There was a sound. A gunshot? Then the image of Velasco falling

  slowly.

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  And it was all over. She shook her head and swallowed back an unexpected

  chill, aware that the heaviness in her master's heart was not just concern for his

  son.

  Bernardo stopped and looked at Nana as she hung her head and looked away.

  He had never witnessed her go into a trance before, and he found it unsettling.

  “Nana? What's wrong?” Bernardo asked, his voice loud in the night, perhaps

  louder than it needed to be. And then he realized. He had been thinking of Raúl just

  before he touched her. He had been thinking of the countless opportunities life had

  given Bernardo, the opportunities he had wasted to rid the world and himself of the

  one person he was both repulsed and aroused by.

  “I—Nothing. I must go, don Bernardo.” Nana shuffled off, then stopped several

  feet away. She turned, a tear in her eye. “If it's any consolation, señor…no one will

  miss him.” She looked at him a moment longer, then disappeared down the stairs.

  Bernardo was left stunned. Could she really pick up on those thoughts? The

  feelings? But it was obvious that she had. He was confused and wondered how those

  things were possible, but soon decided it didn't matter. After all the humiliation, the

  insults, the threats to his son and his slaves, Bernardo realized that his life—along

  with the lives of his loved ones—would be far easier, far less complicated without

  Raúl Ignacio Velasco.

  If only he had possessed the courage to do away with him before. He thought

  back to the night that Arbol's mother had been killed. It would have been so easy to

  shoot Raúl then, when he got off his horse or as he inspected the African woman.

  Perhaps not the gentlemanly way, but Raúl was no gentleman.

  But how to get close to him again? Bernardo wondered, then shuddered. There

  was only way he could think of, only one way that would not cause Raúl to suspect.

  Once upon a time, though disgusted by the thought, Bernardo would still have been

  aroused. Now, however, after everything that had happened between them, there

  seemed to be no desire left. There was only disgust and hatred.

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  Bernardo prayed that he would be able to do what needed to be done.

  * * *

  Arbol awakened with a jolt. He had fallen asleep and was momentarily

  disoriented.

  That was when he heard the voice. Don Bernardo. He heard his voice clearly,

  loudly. “Nana? What's wrong?” There was a moment of silence, but Arbol did not

  wait to see what would happen next.

  Through the windows, Arbol could see the sky getting lighter. The room was

  coming into focus—a bedroom, his master's clothes.

  Dear God! No, please! Arbol thought frantically but felt trapped.

  Would he be able to open the door and slip out unnoticed? Did he have time to

  open the window and jump down? Would he even make it without breaking his legs?

  Arbol's mind was scrambled as he tried to figure out what to do next. Trying not to

  panic.

  In the hallway, he heard footsteps. They grew louder.

  Arbol suddenly realized there was a large gap beneath don Bernardo's bed. A

  gap large enough even for him to crawl into. Arbol scurried across the floor as

  silently as he could, wrapping his lips around his teeth to keep from letting out the

  cry of fear he felt welling up in his throat.

  The door opened just as he disappeared beneath his master's bed. Arbol held

  his breath, then noticed that the chamber pot had been disturbed. It spun around

  slightly. He stuck a finger out to stop it, praying don Bernardo had not noticed,

  hoping that his thumping heart and throbbing blood wouldn't give him away.

  From underneath the bed, Arbol watched don Bernardo pace back and forth

  before the man finally stopped and yawned loudly. His master sat in a chair and

  took off his boots, then stood to undress. His clothes fell to the floor one garment at

  a time.

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  A moment later, don Bernardo crawled into bed. The wood frame of the four-

  poster creaked as his master's weight shifted above him. Arbol winced as he tried

  unsuccessfully to shrink away from the bottom of the mattress. It hovered just

  inches from him.

  Soon don Bernardo was snoring lightly.

  Arbol crawled out from under the bed with some difficulty, stood, then quietly

  stepped across the room. He slipped out into the hallway and sighed with relief as

  he pulled
the door shut behind him.

  Downstairs, he heard noises from the kitchen. Arbol thought a moment. He

  needed to leave. The ship should be docked by now. He should have been on it,

  stealing away just before dawn. But he couldn't leave now. Someone might see him

  in the daylight, recognize him. Plus, he didn't want to leave without seeing Alonso.

  I'll leave tonight.

  Arbol made his way across the hallway and stepped into Alonso's room.

  In the silence of the gray light, Alonso looked at peace, though he muttered.

  Arbol leaned over and stole a soft, tender kiss from the young man's burning lips.

  He sat in the chair by the bed and placed a hand on Alonso's chest.

  The sun was beginning to set by the time Bernardo got out of bed and looked

  out the window. The sky looked like it was on fire. Bernardo turned and dressed

  quickly, wishing he had enough time to bathe. He felt dirty and grimy, but he knew

  he would feel even worse once he was done with Raúl.

  No, Bernardo thought. Velasco. Yes. Velasco. Addressing Raúl by his last name

  helped give Bernardo some distance from the man he'd known.

  Once in the hallway, Bernardo made his way to his son's room and opened the

  door. He stepped inside, walked up to the side of the bed, and looked down at

  Alonso. The boy almost seemed to be smiling.

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  Bernardo reached out and placed the back of his hand on Alonso's forehead,

  the way Nana had done last night. The boy was warm, but not nearly as he hot as

  he'd been. Hopeful relief surged through Bernardo.

  Alonso came awake suddenly with panic on his face. He looked about the room

  as if he were searching for something and tried to get out of bed.

  “What is it? What's wrong?” Bernardo asked, alarmed. He placed a firm hand

  at Alonso's shoulder, trying to keep him from exerting himself. Gradually, Alonso

  relaxed and allowed himself to be pushed back into position.

  “I…I thought…” Alonso glanced around nervously.

  “You thought what?” Bernardo asked.

  “Never mind.”

  Bernardo sighed, his hands on his hips. For the briefest of moments, he

  thought to tell Alonso everything. But it would be wrong. Bernardo decided to keep

  his decision to himself. Talking about it would only make matters worse. He might

  even lose his courage.

  But what if you don't come back? A voice inside spoke urgently.

  “I'm sorry I woke you,” Bernardo apologized and sat in the chair beside the

  bed. Alonso shrugged and looked at him, his eyes still cloudy and unfocused.

  “How do you feel?” Bernardo asked, wondering how to tell his son that he

  might not return. That there were legal matters he should tend to—just in case.

  Bernardo felt frightened all of a sudden. Reality was settling in. He had to say what

  he needed to say—and quickly. But how did a father warn his son about the

  possibility of his impending death?

  “Uh…better. Thank you, Father,” Alonso replied.

  “Alonso,” Bernardo started, licked his lips, and pressed on. “I'm leaving for a

  short while. But I'll be back. I'm just not sure how long it will take.” With luck, not

  long. Would he have to go as far as bedding Velasco?

  “Where are you going?”

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  Bernardo gulped.

  “To Velasco. I'm going to…” No! I can't tell him that! Bernardo thought a

  moment, found the words, and continued. “I'm going to talk some reason into him.

  See if I can…persuade him…to give up on this maniacal search. It's like he's fixated

  on this point and won't give it up because I… Well… You know.”

  Neither of them spoke.

  “If…if something should happen…” Bernardo continued, “There are some

  things you need to know.” Bernardo stopped, half expecting Alonso to say

  something. But when he looked at his son's face, searched his eyes, he realized

  Alonso already knew.

  “There are legal documents in a locked drawer in my desk. The key is in the

  false bottom of a chest on the mantle.”

  Alonso said nothing. He lowered his gaze to his hands with what looked like

  uncertainty.

  Bernardo stood and headed for the door. He stopped just before opening it and

  turned to look at his son once more before heading out of the house, toward Velasco

  and what was certain to be an unwelcome situation, no matter the outcome.

  “I love you, my son. More than my life.”

  In the hallway, Bernardo stopped long enough to take a deep breath and

  sighed. Gathering his thoughts, his feelings, then pushing them aside, Bernardo

  hurried down the stairs.

  Cook looked up from what he was doing. Beside him, his daughter Anita was

  chopping vegetables.

  “Where's Cosita?”

  “Cleaning, señor,” Cook replied.

  “Anita? Would you be so kind as to take my son his tea?”

  “The water should be boiling by now,” Cook said to Anita.

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  Bernardo waited for Anita to throw the leaves into the mug, then pour the

  boiling water inside with a ladle. When she was out of earshot, Bernardo turned to

  Cook.

  “Stop what you're doing and follow me.”

  Bernardo turned his back and walked away. He led, without doubting he was

  followed, until he got to the end of the corridor. When he got to the last door,

  Bernardo stopped and pulled a small key from the pocket of his waistcoat.

  Cook looked at him questioningly. Bernardo slipped the key into the lock,

  turned it, and opened the door.

  Dante sat in the middle of his own bed, a large, toothy grin splitting his face.

  * * *

  Alonso waited until his father's footsteps receded, then leaned over the side of

  the bed.

  “Arbol?”

  A moment later the tall, muscled slave, his black skin glistening, crawled from

  under the bed and stood beside Alonso's bed.

  “You frightened me!”

  “Forgive me,” Arbol said and kissed Alonso on the lips.

  “You shouldn't be here. It's a trap!” Alonso said. As if he'd spoken prophecy, at

  that instant, the door to his room opened. He froze, expecting the worst, and relaxed

  when he saw it was Anita with a large steaming mug.

  “Don't just stand there! Close the door!” Alonso said harshly.

  The girl did as he asked and took a step toward them, then stopped.

  “I—Señor, your father sent me up with your tea,” she explained and made her

  way toward Alonso, her frightened eyes on Arbol as if he were dangerous.

  Alonso took the cup from the girl's trembling hands.

  “Anita?” Alonso tried to get her attention. But the girl seemed fascinated with

  Arbol. “Anita!”

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  “Señor?” Anita looked at Alonso, glanced back at Arbol.

  “At me! Look at me!” Alonso snatched one of the girl's hands and forced her to

  look at him. “There is no one here but you and me. Do you understand?” The girl

  whimpered. Alonso pressed her hand tighter. “I said…do you…understand?”

  Anita nodded, her lower lip quivering.

  “You may go now. Leave us alone. And make no mention of this to anyone.”

  “
But…señor…” Anita protested. “Nana said you need to drink your tea while

  it's hot.”

  Alonso took a sip to appease the girl and grimaced.

  “Nana must have left some of the poultice here.” Arbol addressed Anita.

  The girl pointed to the chest on the nightstand.

  “How do you know about that?” Alonso asked.

  “I've seen my Nana do this many times.” Arbol grinned as he walked across the

  room to the other side while Anita jumped back as if afraid of being touched.

  “You mustn't let them catch you!” Anita's voice was small and soft, almost

  shaky.

  “I won't. Now run and fetch me some hot water. I'll bathe the master.”

  Shortly after Alonso drank the last of the cloudy, hot liquid, his eyes began to

  droop. Arbol took the cup from him. “You should be well by morning,” he said. “And

  by tomorrow night, it'll be like the fever was never there at all.”

  But Alonso had already drifted off to sleep.

  Arbol picked up the chair he had been sitting on and propped it against the

  door so no one could come in.

  Standing over Alonso, Arbol then pulled back the sheets and stripped him of

  his clothes. He needed to hurry before the water cooled.

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  Dipping the rag into the same substance, Arbol dabbed at Alonso's forehead.

  He repeatedly dipped, squeezed, and ran the rag over Alonso's face, his neck, his

  chest. He lifted the strong, hairy arms and rubbed at them tenderly.

  As he moved lower, Arbol couldn't help but be aroused by Alonso's

  helplessness. He stirred as he slowly went over Alonso's genitals, lovingly caressing

  the shaft, pulling back the foreskin, and washing the head, then the heavy balls.

  When he was done, Arbol flipped Alonso over and washed his back, his ass, the

  inviting crack that promised a delight he longed to experience, the backs of his legs.

  As the last of the light died out and the sun settled into place for another

  night, Arbol rolled Alonso back over and dressed him in a clean, loose-fitting, knee-

  length shirt. He then covered him with clean sheets and crawled into bed beside