Casa Rodrigo

by Johnny Miles

  a pistol to Dante's head.

  Alonso looked up at Raúl and gulped.

  * * *

  Pressed against the wall, Bernardo crept from the front of the house to the

  side. He stopped when he saw Tobias.

  “What are you doing?” Bernardo whispered harshly as the boy drew near. “You

  were supposed to distract him!”

  “He wants me to fetch a pail of water,” Tobias explained.

  “Go and fetch it, then, or he'll become suspicious. Hurry!”

  Bernardo watched the boy run away, then continued to creep alongside the

  house until he reached the back. Bernardo stopped, peered around, and sucked air

  through clenched teeth at the unexpected sight before him:

  Alonso falling to the ground with Arbol on top of him while Dante scurried

  across the tree limb. And from the corner of his eye, Raúl sneaking toward the same

  tree.

  With a deep breath, Bernardo pulled the hammer back on the gun, when he

  heard a sloshing behind him. He turned to see Tobias approaching, struggling with

  the heavy pail.

  Bernardo held his arm out. The boy stopped and put the pail down on the

  ground. Bernardo put a finger to his lips and peered around the corner of the house

  again. He turned back to the boy.

  “Stay here!” Bernardo whispered and stepped into the open.

  * * *

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  A groan caught his ear. Quietly, hurriedly, Raúl raced out of the armory. He

  glanced about and quickly drank in the sight before him. The runaway, cut down.

  Alonso, struggling beneath him. Above them, scurrying along the limb, the de

  Rodrigo butler.

  Raúl made a face and dashed into the shadows, racing toward the tree on sure

  feet. He ducked behind it as Dante dropped the knife with a barely audible thud,

  then jumped down after it.

  Raúl leaped out from behind the tree, surprising Dante. He gave out a small

  cry as Raúl wrapped an arm tightly around his neck.

  With a thrilled yet calm fury, Raúl slowly approached Bernardo's son. He gave

  Alonso a wide berth in case he had a weapon of his own. He had grown tired of the

  games and longed to put an end to them. It would be so easy to pull the trigger and

  kill the miserable bastard flailing just behind him. How much pleasure it would

  give him to aim the gun at Bernardo's brat and pull the trigger. Oh, to see the blood

  splatter before him.

  Of course, I'd then have to kill Bernardo, Raúl thought. He pictured him

  upstairs still tied to the bed. He had been so wonderful last night. So spectacularly

  whorish and aroused by the humiliation. Pity. No sport in shooting a man in the

  back.

  Raúl pushed the thought of Bernardo from his mind and brought his focus

  back to Alonso and Dante. He wouldn't have enough time to do both. What to do?

  Which one to kill?

  Raúl decided to play with them a moment.

  “You must really love that prieto,” Raúl spat. “So what is it? Which do you

  enjoy most? His cock or his ass?”

  “You wouldn't understand.”

  “Wouldn't I?” Raúl arched an eyebrow.

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  “I love him,” Alonso said simply. “And that's something you could never

  understand.”

  Raúl felt his face contort as if it had a mind of its own. There was a growing

  distaste in his mouth, and he spit toward Alonso.

  “Love.” Raúl let the word roll off his tongue with something like hate. “You

  must be joking. You can't love another man. Especially a slave. What sort of

  relationship do you think you can have together? What kind of a future? Besides,

  you give a man your heart, and you know what happens? Sooner or later he leaves

  you. He marries some…whore…and fathers children, leaving you to sneak around

  and think of ways to win him back.”

  “Is that what happened to you?” Alonso said snidely, but Raúl did not answer.

  “You disgust me.”

  “I can live with that.” Raúl chuckled malevolently. He released Dante suddenly

  and shoved him hard toward Alonso.

  “Kneel!” Raúl shouted.

  Dante rolled, stood, and started to run.

  “Stop or I'll shoot your miserable ass!”

  Dante stopped.

  “That's a good slave. Now turn around and walk to your master. That's it. Nice

  and slow. Kneel beside him!” Raúl cocked his pistol. “Give me the weapon.”

  Reluctantly, Dante pulled the pistol from the waist of his pants and threw it at

  Raúl's feet.

  “And now, it's time to say good-bye to one of you. Ah! What the hell have you

  got there?” Raúl cried upon noticing Alonso's slow-moving hand. He was reaching

  for something. Raúl was sure of it.

  “No games or I'll shoot you,” Raúl threatened as he aimed his pistol at Alonso's

  head. He stepped up to Alonso and held out his free hand. With a look of defeat,

  Alonso pulled out the pistol and handed it to Raúl.

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  Without looking, Raúl flung it behind him with one hand, then aimed his pistol

  at Dante's head.

  * * *

  Bernardo crept silently from behind the safety of the house, toward the fire,

  his gaze never wavering from Raúl's back. He held his arm out, steadied by his

  other hand. The muscles in his shoulders still screamed.

  Please, God! Let me not give out. Guide my gun so I may rid my family of this

  man. It was a coward's way to kill a man, and he knew it. But that didn't matter.

  What mattered was that Raúl be stopped.

  Only he needed to be closer. He didn't want Raúl maimed. He wanted Raúl

  dead. And the only way to be sure of that was to fire at close range.

  The fire crackled and spit alarmingly as Bernardo drew closer. Just a few more

  feet.

  Raúl suddenly wheeled. Bernardo didn't wait for him to respond. He pulled the

  trigger, and a blast rang in his ears. A split second later there was an echo.

  Bernardo felt something hard hit him in the chest, almost directly over his heart.

  He looked down at himself and saw the hole, his scorched shirt.

  Bernardo shook his head in shock.

  “No,” Bernardo muttered. “No.” He looked up at Raúl.

  Goddamnit! A flesh wound. Just a damn flesh wound. Dear God in heaven,

  how can you be so cruel? Bernardo's legs grew weak. He sank to his knees and

  thought he heard his son, thought he heard Dante, both calling out to him as if from

  a far distance.

  Strangely, Fernando popped into his mind. Then Adelina.

  He didn't understand. What was happening to him? Darkness encroached on

  his vision, a wave of black slowly fading in and clouding his mind.

  Bernardo looked up in time to see Raúl coming toward him. Bernard opened

  his mouth to speak, but he was sure no words came out.

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  Dear God. Forgive me. Please forgive my trespasses.

  Alonso flashed through his mind. Dante. Arbol. Nana. And then he fell

  forward.

  Alonso flashed through his mind once more, but this time Bernardo could have

  sworn he felt the elder of his twins very near. It was as if he could feel his son's

  heart race, his love, his sorrow. A vast well of emotion
s filled him, surprisingly, and

  brought him a certain peace.

  Forgive me, Son. I love you. I only wanted to protect you.

  * * *

  Alonso watched in shocked horror as his father fell to his knees.

  “Father!” Alonso cried. Beside him, Alonso heard Dante cry out as well, then

  choke back a sob.

  “Go to him!” Arbol whispered. Alonso looked down with tears in his eyes. He

  released Arbol and let him drop gently. Eyeing the pistol Raúl had taken from him

  earlier, Alonso dived for it, picked it up, and pulled the trigger. The gun fired.

  But Raúl spun around.

  This isn't fair! It's just not fair! Alonso lunged at Raúl, but the man managed

  to grasp at the back of his shirt.

  Alonso was lifted up and realized too late that his momentum only helped Raúl

  fling him away as if he were nothing more than a sack of rice or flour. He slammed

  against something hard, then fell. He opened his eyes and saw his father just inches

  away. His mouth was moving.

  “Oh, Father!” Alonso whispered. “What have we done? It's all gone terribly

  wrong!” He reached out, touched his father's hand, and thought he saw him smile.

  * * *

  Dante was shocked. His pulse pounded, and tears blurred his vision. How

  could this be? This wasn't supposed to turn out this way. Nana had had a vision.

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  She had said they would all survive. That Raúl would die. How could she have been

  wrong?

  Dante trembled with anger, with the repression of so many years, with fear for

  his fellow slaves in the fields and in the house. And it was for them that Dante rose.

  And ran.

  “Maldito!” Dante thought. Only he didn't really think it. He realized he'd

  actually opened his mouth when he had meant to keep it shut. Sad to see his

  mistakes the moment he made them and be powerless to stop them.

  Their bodies collided.

  Dante thought he'd brought Raúl down with him. But he had only managed to

  tear at his shirt. He hit the ground several feet away and rolled away in time to

  avoid Raúl's boot bearing down toward his head.

  Then he heard Raúl let out an odd sound.

  Dante dared to look up and saw Raúl drop to his knees. A small boy, one of the

  slaves, scrambled away from Dante and he realized the boy must have tackled Raúl

  from behind, taking him by surprise.

  As he watched, the boy stood. He held something in his hand. Something long

  and black. Dante saw him swing at Raúl and watched as the man keeled over to his

  right with a frightful howl.

  There was a burst of flames, and Dante realized that there was a God.

  Shocked at his own glee, Dante heard the bloodcurdling scream and was

  stunned to see Raúl stand, his hair and his body in flames. In his shock, Raúl

  staggered about. Fell. Stood. Staggered. Then fell again, shrieking in agony.

  Dante managed to stand and saw the boy suddenly turn and run, his face

  contorted with fear.

  The boy screamed as he ran past. Dante then turned to see a smaller burst of

  fire erupt from just beneath Raúl's body. The flames seemed to chase themselves as

  they raced in an odd pattern.

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  Gunpowder. Dante was momentarily paralyzed as the fire raced away from

  Raúl's body. It reached the small brick building at the back of Raúl's house.

  Dante's eyes widened with fear as a fireball erupted and lit the night sky. A

  moment later, the wind was forced out of his lungs, and he was knocked flat to the

  ground as if by an invisible hand.

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  Chapter Twenty-two

  The darkening room was quiet except for his father's shallow breathing.

  Alonso approached the bed and looked down at the sleeping man. His face was

  peaceful, and he had regained some color.

  Hard to believe it's been four weeks since that horrible night, Alonso thought.

  “How was he today, Nana?” Alonso asked.

  “Much, much better. He drank his broth, and the poultice is coming away

  clearer.” Nana hobbled toward him.

  Alonso was grateful his father agreed to remain here. The travel by ship back

  to Spain would be grueling. Besides, someone needed to stay behind and run the

  plantation, keep watch over the slaves now that Perez had disappeared. He had

  offered to stay with his father and assist him, but his father had been adamant

  Alonso return home. If he had missed the galleon, he would have to wait almost

  another year now that summer was approaching.

  He was also glad his father had agreed to plant less sugarcane and start a crop

  of tobacco. He was disappointed Bernardo refused to make rum. Still, progress had

  to start somewhere. Tobacco was a start.

  “Your father is a very stubborn man,” Nana said. Alonso snorted with

  amusement and looked down at her. He could feel her gaze boring into him, as if she

  could read his mind. It made him feel uncomfortable.

  “Nana…I…” Alonso started. She shook her head and put her fingers to his lips.

  She looked for a moment as if she would say something but changed her mind. Her

  eyes turned watery and she looked away. Slowly, she made her way across the

  room.

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  197

  “Nana?” Alonso called as she reached the door. She stopped and turned. “How

  do you even know what I was going to say?”

  Nana smiled. “I felt it. That's enough.”

  Confused, Alonso watched Nana hobble out and close the door behind her.

  Alonso turned, looked down at his father once more and sat at the side of the bed.

  He took Bernardo's hand in his and held it as he sat quietly in the growing

  darkness.

  It was nearly pitch-black outside when Alonso finally rose. He laid his father's

  hand across his chest, leaned over, then kissed his forehead.

  * * *

  Arbol lit his lantern. It had been another long day of learning numbers from

  Alonso. Long and exhausting, but satisfying. Alonso had said that when don

  Bernardo was on his feet again, Alonso would suggest that Bernardo teach Arbol to

  read. He needed to know. Especially now. With Perez gone—no one seemed to know

  where—Raúl dead, and the changes that would soon be implemented, there was no

  one to take care of the plantation except for don Bernardo.

  With Arbol by his side as his apprentice.

  Arbol glanced about the small room in the servants' section of Casa Rodrigo. It

  was a palace compared to his old quarters. An actual wooden floor beneath his bare

  feet, not dirt. There were real windows that opened and closed, not some opening in

  the wall to let in all the bugs, frogs, and lizards when it rained.

  And a real bed! No more sleeping on a hard dirt floor.

  A knock made Arbol turn. The door opened, and Alonso walked in with a smile

  on his face and a platter in his hands.

  “Wh-what is that?” Arbol asked curiously, somehow knowing but afraid to

  hope, for fear it might be something else. But then, hadn't his luck begun to change

  already? Why not hope? Why not dream?

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  “Do you remember that afternoon,” Alonso started, “so many years ago, w
hen I

  sat beside you and you started to cry because you would never have a birthday

  party?”

  “Yes?” Arbol nodded and felt his heart swell, unable to believe that Alonso had

  remembered. Already tears formed in his eyes, and he forced them away.

  “Well, I promised you someday you would have one. I know it's not a real

  party. There's no one here to help you celebrate but me…”

  Arbol didn't let Alonso finish. He flung himself at the man before him, the

  warm and beautiful Spaniard he had fallen in love with. One arm went about

  Alonso's neck, the other around his shoulder. He squeezed Alonso so tightly, he

  wished their hearts and souls could merge.

  “Arbol?” Alonso wheezed. “Your arm!”

  “Ah! Perdón.” Arbol pulled back, embarrassed.

  Alonso placed the cake on the small nightstand beside Arbol's bed.

  “Cook didn't quite know how to make a birthday cake. I don't know how it's

  going to taste. But I wanted you to have a birthday. Finally.”

  “I don't care how it tastes!” Arbol replied joyfully.

  “There's something else.” Alonso smiled. “Look under the bed.”

  Arbol eyed Alonso curiously, then dropped to his knees. There, nearly halfway

  in, was a bundle wrapped with coarse paper and string. He reached for it and pulled

  it out from under his new bed.

  Arbol held the package uncertainly. “What is it?”

  “Open it,” Alonso replied.

  Never having received a present before, Arbol ripped at the package with

  shaky fingers.

  “Alonso…” Arbol's voice barely a whisper. He gently touched the fabric of the

  shirt—folded neatly on top of a pair of pants—almost as if he were afraid to ruin it.

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  199

  “I…I don't know what…to say.” The tears he had struggled to keep at bay now

  flowed freely.

  “A simple thank-you will suffice,” Alonso said in jest. Arbol looked at Alonso,

  saw the grin on his face, the look in his eyes, and knew that this would be the man

  he would love for all eternity. This was the man he would die for.