Ana Martin

by J. L. Jarvis

  Eduardo said, “Go on ahead, Ana. I’ll meet you at the house.”

  “But we were going to—”

  “I need to do something first.”

  Eduardo’s look was insistent. Reluctant to leave, she paused at the doorway, then turned and walked up to the house.

  Eduardo followed Carlos into the tack room and said, “Ranch life agrees with Ana, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so,” said Carlos on his way back to the stall.

  Eduardo put a hand on Carlos’s shoulder. “Let the boy finish here. Come, introduce me to this woman you told me about.”

  “This is not a good time.”

  He forced a grin and a casual tone. “Then just point her out for me.”

  Carlos looked away. “I need to check on the other horses.” He turned and walked away.

  Eduardo called out, “Well she must have a name.” His voice took on an edge. “What is her name?”

  Carlos stopped and slowly turned to face Eduardo. He studied his friend’s face. He made no more excuses.

  Eduardo spoke first. “You and I have been through a lot.”

  “We have.”

  “You are my friend, and I trust you.”

  “And I you,” said Carlos.

  “There are no lies between us.”

  Carlos met his pointed gaze and held it.

  Eduardo quietly asked, “Is it Ana?”

  “Yes.”

  Eduardo stared, absorbing the truth.

  Carlos was direct. “I wasn’t sure how you felt. I did not want to hurt you.”

  “You have not.” Eduardo stared at the dirt floor. “Are you sure that she loves you?” He glanced at up Carlos, almost wincing.

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve only just met. How can you be so sure?” He could not look at Carlos.

  Carlos did not answer.

  Eduardo tried not feel.

  The silence grew too awkward for Carlos. He said, “With Rosa, I knew her all my life. Our love was always there. I never knew that love could happen in an instant.”

  Eduardo knew, but said nothing. He thought of her words, the day they left Galveston. They had stood side-by-side at the seawall, watching the gulls gliding over the water. “The land is too hard. Lately, on days like this, when the sea looks so gentle,” she said, “I wish I could let it just wash over me.” By then, love had washed over him. He was drowning.

  Carlos said, “I know it makes no sense—that she would love me. But nothing makes sense for me, but to love Ana.”

  Ana. Her name, just the sound of it stabbed him.

  Carlos thought of Ana’s eyes and how they softened before their lips touched.

  Eduardo flinched as a ribbon of light shone through slats of the wood door and cast a harsh light in his eyes. He said, “You are my friend, but so is Ana. If you hurt her, I will hurt you.”

  Carlos was taken aback for an instant, but his voice remained quiet. “She deserves no less.”

  “And don Felipe? What does he think?” asked Eduardo.

  “He does not know.”

  Eduardo rolled his eyes. “And when will you tell him?”

  “Not yet. His wife sees me as one more speck of dirt that she owns. My people owned land once, until it was stolen. Now I am nothing. She saw us once and forbade even friendship.”

  Eduardo let out a deep breath.

  Carlos said, “I know. It is hopeless, but…” His voice trailed off as he considered whether to go on.

  “What?”

  “She wants my love. How can I not give it to her?”

  “Well, that’s very romantic, but…”

  “Help us, Eduardo.”

  “Me?” This was too much.

  “With your help—”

  “Carlos…”

  “Talk to your aunt. Help her to see that I can make Ana happy.”

  “How can I do that when I cannot see it myself?” asked Eduardo.

  Carlos glared at Eduardo. He spoke in a voice that was level and low. “I see. For all your fine talk of freeing the Mexican people from the yoke of bondage to capitalist thieves, when it comes down to it, you are one of them, another bourgeois intellectual playing with ideas. But you forget there are people attached to ideas.”

  Eduardo glared back at Carlos. “Life is so hard, and Ana—”

  “—is strong,” Carlos told him.

  Eduardo seethed, but his manner grew colder. “What kind of life can you give her?”

  Carlos’s eyes narrowed. “I can give her what she wants—something Martínez money will never buy her.”

  “So you think your love is enough?”

  “Yes,” Carlos answered.

  “Will Ana think so when she is sweeping the dirt floor of her new home with hands cracked and callused from scrubbing clothes by the water, her back rounded from grinding corn into meal every day?”

  “She will love me, and I will love her. We are strong, and our love is stronger.”

  Exasperated, Eduardo looked away. Through the door he could see workers were laboring in fields. He shuddered to think of her there. “That is no life for Ana.”

  “I will take care of her. You know me. Why can’t I convince you?”

  “It is don Felipe whom you must convince.”

  “And I will.”

  “How? Carlos! My God, what ever made you think—or even hope—”

  “Ana did.”

  Eduardo looked over his spectacles at his friend and, seeing the earnest and helpless expression, shook his head and turned to leave.”

  “Will you help us, Eduardo? I ask you as a friend.”

  Eduardo closed his troubled eyes and exhaled. It was too much. His friend Carlos was too much in love to realize what wrenching pain he inflicted. But there was Ana to consider. If he refused and hurt Ana, his own pain would hurt as much, if not more, to see Ana’s sorrow. And so he said, “Yes.”

  It took Carlos a moment to absorb. “Yes?”

  “I’ll help you,” Eduardo said gravely.

  Carlos seized his friend’s shoulders. Eduardo winced. “Be a little less happy, my friend,” he said, shrugging free his shoulder.

  Carlos smiled, then in sudden earnest said, “You are a true compañero.”

  Ana was waiting on the veranda for Eduardo. By the time he reached her, he hoped to have hidden his melancholic yearning.

  “What is it?” Ana asked him.

  “I’m just tired, don’t worry. I’m fine. But you? You are in love.”

  Ana’s eyes opened wide.

  Eduardo looked intently. “Carlos told me.”

  Her eyes softened to concern.

  Eduardo said, “Don’t worry. No one will know.”

  “Except you.”

  “Me?” Eduardo hid his feelings poorly with a shrug.

  “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “And you haven’t.”

  “I can see it.”

  “I am your friend, and I am happy for you.”

  “I love you—deeply—as a dear friend.”

  “I know you do.” Eduardo gave a half nod and a lonely smile.

  Ana put her arms around his neck. Eduardo was the first to let go.

  “Eduardo! Welcome back,” said Graciela from the foot of the stairway. “Come join me. You too, Ana. I’m having tea sent out to the courtyard. While we wait for don Felipe you can tell me all about your week in town. Come along.”

  They met his aunt at the foot of the stairs and followed her to the courtyard, where they sat for an eternity, or so it seemed to Ana. The conversation was filled with idle chatter from Graciela. Ana’s mind wandered. All she could think of was Carlos, and how she might sneak away to see him. She could not ask for help from Eduardo. Carlos had already put him in the middle. She knew Eduardo would not have revealed his own feelings, but Ana knew. She would not hurt him further.

  Ana heard her name and found that Graciela was in the midst of taking credit for a transformation the likes of which had not bee
n seen since Pygmalion. Under her instruction, Ana might stand a chance of attracting a suitor.

  “A suitor?” Eduardo leaned forward.

  “Why, yes.” To Ana she tossed a dismissive, “Men,” and then turned to Eduardo. “It’s done all the time. Ana’s father really should have done more to prepare her. But men—what do they know?” Graciela began to laugh, but something captured her attention.

  Through the large archway strolled don Felipe, followed by Carlos. Their conversation, though out of earshot, was enthusiastic.

  “There he goes—talking horses,” said Graciela with a sigh. “I think he loves them more than me.”

  Ana’s gaze was fixed on Carlos until a sideways glance from Graciela brought her to her senses.

  “And of course you’ve met my niece, Ana,” said don Felipe, bringing Carlos to join them.

  Ana looked at him and felt color rise in her face. Carlos looked at her with a face so entirely void of emotion she might have wondered if he had feelings at all. As the others were drawn into conversation, he caught Ana’s eye and a warm look escaped. No one saw but Eduardo.

  Don Felipe said, “Carlos, sit down and join us.”

  Carlos smiled warmly. “I have work that cannot wait. If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Very well,” said don Felipe.

  Graciela smiled slyly. “What a shame. But if you must—”

  “Yes, doña, I must.”

  She softened the harsh hard light in her eyes as she turned to fawn over her husband. As quickly as she dared, Ana stole a glance toward the departing Carlos as he walked purposefully through the arched entry.

  Sunday morning was quiet. Graciela and Felipe did not attend mass in the hacienda chapel. They seldom did, except for holidays. Today was not one. Ana invited Eduardo to go with her, but he did not need God. God was for the guilty and weak; something the bourgeois had contrived to ease their collective conscience about the unfairness of life, and to help the poor feel content with their lot. He did not fault Ana for her weakness, but she could not ask him to grovel and confess when he himself had done nothing to promote the unjust state the world.

  And so, alone, Ana walked the short distance to the chapel. The sun was warm, but a cool breeze from the mountains brought a freedom to her heart that filled her with hope. What for, she did not know. Perhaps it was simply the hope a new day can bring to the spirit.

  She sat in the rear of the chapel and soaked in the calm she found there. People smiled as they filtered in. They all knew who she was. Ana lowered her head—not to pray, but to think without interruption. Mass began. Ana knelt, her eyes closed. Soon she heard a soft rustle of clothing as someone knelt beside her and brushed against her dress. A hand gently touched hers.

  Chapter 7

  With a start, Ana opened her eyes to find Carlos beside her, his finger held to his lips in a hush. Ana’s astonishment softened to a question soon answered by his gentle smile. Ana glanced about, worried that she might be caught. Yet she risked inching her fingers to meet his where they lay on the wooden pew. He took her hand and held it between them, pressing his leg against hers to conceal their clasped hands beneath the folds of her skirt. Her eyes closed, not in prayer.

  “Amen,” said the priest.

  “Amen,” said the voices around her.

  Ana opened her eyes half expecting everyone to have seen her looking far too happy. But the people all faced the priest as they always did during mass—all but Carlos.

  They did not look at each other after that, except once during prayer. “God forgive me, I love him too much not to let my mind wander,” Ana quickly prayed after that. Throughout mass, shoulders touched, gingerly pressing. His hand grazed hers. Fingers strayed and brushed fabric. During prayer their hands hung at their sides. Furtive fingers interlaced and held on until “Amen” forced them apart. Aware of each move, they drew closer by fractions of inches.

  A hundred or so people filed out of the chapel as Ana and Carlos lagged behind, jealously guarding their stolen proximity, all the while taking care not to look at each other when anyone could see them. When they reluctantly walked toward the door, the priest greeted Carlos. He was balding but youthful. His face lit into a smile when he saw Carlos, who towered above him. With Carlos, Padre Galvan behaved more like a brother than a priest.

  “It’s almost time for the charreada,” said Carlos. “Why don’t you leave this and come back?” He turned toward Ana. “You should see this man with a rope.”

  The priest smiled and shook his head. “That’s my past. This is my present.” He glanced toward Ana.

  Carlos frowned and said amiably, “You could have been a great charro.”

  The young padre smiled. “You could have been a great priest.”

  Carlos smiled.

  The priest then looked at Ana. Before he could speak, Carlos said, “Have you two not met? May I introduce Ana, the niece of don Felipe. Ana this is Padre Miguel Galvan.”

  “I have not had the pleasure, but I have heard of your loss. I am sorry.” His eyes were tender and calming.

  Ana thanked him. While they went through the motions of their introduction, Padre Galvan watched Ana and Carlos, shoulders touching, share glances. He was observant and quick, but he kept to himself the conclusions he drew. As others pressed for the padre’s attention, Carlos and Ana said their farewells and moved on.

  Ana found herself walking with Carlos. She knew she risked much to be seen walking with him. Still she did it. She began to feel bold and defiant. Her new love gave her courage to wish that Graciela would happen upon them. She dared her to ruin this moment. It was too late. Love was here, and she wanted to know everything about him, all at once.

  “You once thought of becoming a priest?”

  “Others thought of it for me.”

  “What happened?”

  Carlos shrugged. “Nothing happened. A man can believe in God without being a priest.”

  “Yes, of course. I only wondered since—”

  “I wondered, too. If everyone thought it was such a good idea, perhaps I was missing something. But I never felt like it was God’s will for me.”

  “God must have other plans for you.”

  “Perhaps one day he will tell me,” Carlos said with a smile. “And what about Ana Martínez?”

  “I didn’t want to be a priest, either,” said Ana. She watched the lines fan from his eyes as his face as he laughed. Laughter faded. He touched her hand and withdrew it as they walked away from the grand house. Ana reveled in the rough warm palm against hers. She moved closer and slipped her hand back into his. They did not fill each moment with talk. It was as though they heard each other thinking and could wait for the other to finish. Voices sounded from around the corner. They unlaced their fingers.

  Ana hesitated, then spoke up. “How can you ever really know what God wants you to do?”

  “I thought I knew once, but men changed it. See that irrigation ditch over there? That’s how easily men alter the course God has planned.”

  “If my father hadn’t died, I might not have met you.”

  His brow furrowed, but it lasted an instant.

  Ana said, “If this isn’t God’s plan, then it must be his mercy.”

  She looked into his coal brown eyes, full of love he made no effort to hide. It was the moment before a kiss, but there would be no kiss here. Carlos looked past her, toward the men of the White Guard making their rounds, and the house was in sight. Ana stole a touch, let her fingers brush his. Carlos grasped and held onto her hand for a moment, then turned and walked swiftly away. The guards passed as she walked into the house.

  During dinner that evening, don Felipe and Graciela were involved making plans for the upcoming charreada. Eduardo’s hand gently touched hers. She looked up. Eduardo slipped into her hand a small folded paper. Ana unfolded the note and stole a quick glance. She silently read, “You were seen today. We need to talk.” She folded the paper and hid it inside her cuff. She moved the food abou
t her plate and lowered her eyes. When she could, she looked up at Eduardo’s expressionless face.

  After dinner, she approached him on the on their way to the parlor.

  “Not now,” he whispered, barely looking at her.

  Quiet, interminable conversation pervaded. Graciela was completely consumed with her planning. This charreada would be the best ever. From miles around people were coming to watch the rodeo events. Don Felipe prided himself on having the best charros in the Laguna, the best feature of which was Carlos. His riding was unmatched. Don Felipe trusted Carlos to choose the finest horses and to train the other riders.

  “If there is a better charro, I have not seen him,” said don Felipe.

  At some point, hope was born within Ana. Despite Graciela, she began to believe that her uncle thought so highly of Carlos that he might let them marry. Perhaps not now, but in time he might be convinced.

  The conversation turned to other matters and Graciela was consumed with the preparations. As she and don Felipe disagreed on some small matter, Eduardo leaned forward.

  “Ana? You look pale.”

  “I feel fine.”

  “What you need is a walk. If you’ll excuse us,” he said to the others. “Ana?” He offered his arm.

  As they left, don Felipe was already regretting having just suggested to Graciela that Ana ride in the arena as the charro queen, a role which had formerly fallen to Graciela. He was still apologizing to his wife when Eduardo closed the door and turned abruptly to Ana.

  “Have you gone mad?”

  “Why?”

  A maid passed through the hall. Eduardo led Ana on down the hallway.

  “Holding hands in broad daylight—when Graciela has forbidden you to be together?”

  “She saw us?” Ana held her hand up to her mouth.

  “No. I did.”

  “Oh. Thank God!”

  “Well I would, but I’ve not made his acquaintance. But you’ll need one of his miracles if this gets back to your aunt.”

  “She’s not really my aunt—not by blood. Graciela can go hang.”

  “First of all, she is my aunt.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “And second, if anyone’s neck winds up in a noose it will be your lover, Carlos’s.”