Ana Martin

by J. L. Jarvis

  “So they used Ana’s father.”

  “He seemed happy to help.”

  “So don Felipe ordered his own brother killed.”

  “He would never do that. We were just moving weapons. I reported to someone else who did all the buying and bartering. He ordered it.” Eduardo took a drink and caught Carlos’s eye. “Don’t look like that. You’ve killed men before.”

  “Not Ana’s father.”

  “We didn’t know her then.”

  “We do now, don’t we?”

  Eduardo tried to explain. “He could have hurt the cause badly.”

  Carlos said nothing.

  Eduardo said, “Our people and our country were at stake. Sometimes innocent people get caught. And he was a traitor. Later I found out how much he needed the money. He was just a poor desperate fool who was offered a chance to make easy money. I feel sorry for him. But he was no innocent. We all used each other.”

  Carlos cast a sickened glare.

  “Your part was just chance. Don Felipe sent you to sell horses and help with the cargo. You were one of us, so I knew that, no matter what happened, I could trust you.”

  “I thought I could trust you.”

  “I just saved your life. How much trust do you need?”

  Carlos would not reply.

  “Look, Carlos, what you did—it just happened—not how we planned it, but we got what we wanted. Our channel for trading arms stayed open. No one got caught. And we got credit for doing a favor that just got you out of prison. It worked out quite well in the end.”

  “Be sure to tell that to Ana. I’m sure that will be a great comfort to her.”

  “Do you think I enjoyed watching Ana go through that?”

  “I think you enjoyed being leaned on.”

  Eduardo stood and reached over the table. He grabbed Carlos by the shirt. Carlos just sat there, staring. Eduardo glared with a reddening face, but let go and sat down. Very softly, Eduardo said, “I fell in love.”

  Carlos sent an icy stare over the table. “I’m surprised you didn’t let me die. If you cause enough grief, she might love you yet.”

  Eduardo eyed him, then went to the bar. When he returned, he set down two drinks and spoke calmly. “The point is: What you did on that ship bought your life back today. Without that, you wouldn’t be alive now to hate me.”

  Carlos sank back into his chair and took a long drink. “And I wouldn’t be alive to see the pain I have caused. So, you see? There is a just God.”

  “Look, you’ve been through a lot. You’ve been drinking. You’re not thinking clearly. Let’s just find Ana and put all this behind you.”

  Carlos shook his head and stared at his empty glass. “I’ve hurt her enough. Just tell her I’m alive so she can hate me instead of grieving for me.”

  “You want me to go break her heart?”

  “It’s the least you can do.”

  “I won’t do that to her.”

  “You will if you love her.”

  Eduardo stared out at the street. The sun shone on people passing.

  Carlos said, “Set her free. Help her forget me.”

  Eduardo’s brow was lined, but he argued no more. “What about you?”

  “I’ll survive. Everyone I love dies, but I always survive.” Carlos slid his chair back from the table and stood.

  Eduardo said, “Where will you go?”

  “Anywhere. Just away.”

  Eduardo followed him out. “Look, maybe you’re right. Here, buy a train ticket. There is work in the North with the railroads. When you get away from all this, things will look clearer.”

  “I can’t take your money.”

  “You have to. That way, if I ever need help, you will owe me. Just take it. It’s not enough to argue over.”

  Carlos stood poised, frozen by thought, then reluctantly took it and shoved it into his pocket.

  Eduardo lifted his chin toward the door. “I’ll walk you there.”

  He put Carlos on the northbound train and then made his way through the crowd to the depot. He sat on a bench and pulled out Ana’s letter. Once more he read.

  “My dear Eduardo, by now you must know that we have lost our Carlos. I am taking the train headed north, to go home…”

  The crowd thinned as the passengers boarded and farewell wishers left. But Eduardo lingered beneath a large shade tree and watched the train belch blasts of black smoke as it settled into its rhythm.

  Chapter 20

  Ana pulled herself from the warmth of Carlos’s arms and took in every feature.

  “Yes, I’m real,” he said gently.

  Once more she sank into his arms and hid her face in his chest. She breathed in. His scent convinced her.

  The loud music seemed distant. A man sang an open-throated ballad about a lover’s longing.

  “Let me see you.” He touched her chin and tilted her face up.

  The sorrow of losing him still showed in her face. “How did he do it?”

  Carlos nodded. “Eduardo? He got your message. You saved me.” He breathed in deeply and slowly exhaled. With a glance toward the train he asked, “Where were you going?”

  “The North. It was all in the letter I left at the boarding house. Eduardo didn’t tell you?”

  “No, he didn’t.” A puzzled look disappeared. “You left him a letter,” he said, more to himself.

  “Yes. He must have read it, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that he did.” He took Ana’s hand and led her away from the dancing. They walked until the people and the music were distant.

  Carlos said, “I promised myself I would leave you alone.”

  “Why?”

  “To spare you.”

  “To spare me? To spend every moment wishing they’d buried me with you? What would that spare me?”

  “The sorrow and danger of being with me. I thought, once you knew I was alive, you could hate me and get on with your life.”

  “My life? I died with you.”

  “And then I saw you.”

  With wonder, as though they might be torn apart any moment, they kissed. And the great worth of small gestures: a caress or the sound of a breath drawn through teeth, the right pressure well-placed, strength withheld, softness lavished—all the substance of memories that haunt in dark, lonely times was theirs. From the first breath of relief grew a need to be closer. Parts of their souls had been scattered, their minds and spirits dismembered. Now, brought back together, they had to be one to ensure they could never be parted.

  He took her against a large boulder. She cried out when its flinty surface ground into her back. Carlos pulled her toward him. Their clothes hung from shoulders and elbows and drifted through warm air to the ground. He spread her shawl over the garments and they slid down upon it. Inside and around one another they wrapped limbs, urgent, insistent. His touch halted her breath as she whispered his name.

  The craving, like moisture on skin, lifted and was gone in the dry desert sky. The black night all salted with stars spread its peace over them, and her breath fell in rhythm with his as they lay tangled together.

  Together they sat on the train on the following morning. It lurched. Carlos thrust a protective hand in front of Ana just as she reached for the seat before her. The train steadied and Ana recovered, to relax in his arms, one draped about her shoulders, the other across her waist.

  “Where are we going?” Carlos asked her.

  “I’m not sure. I was thinking of home.” She averted her eyes without finishing the thought.

  Carlos watched the flat land passing by. Old sensations, like creased sepia photographs too worn to look true, still troubled him, but new emotions overshadowed the memories.

  “If I could give you your home back—”

  Ana touched his arm, and it stopped him. She wanted to speak, but would not until she could do so without letting go of the tears pooled in her eyes.

  “Ana.”

  She stared through the window
.

  Chapter 21

  Texas: 1913

  Ana walked down the side street of a small town outside of San Antonio, Texas. Here the Mexicans lived and kept to themselves, except during work hours. Like so many others, she and Carlos came north from the fighting. He worked for the railroad and made enough money for rent on a small, run down shack for himself and for Ana.

  She smiled at her neighbor, who was hanging up wash and scolding her children. Ana mounted the front steps. With arms full from the market, she fidgeted to open the door.

  She called out to Carlos. He was at the wash basin in jeans and undershirt, splashing water on his face.

  “We got a letter from Eduardo,” she said as she set down her market basket and searched through it.

  “Oh?” Carlos dried his face with a towel and grabbed the shirt he left hanging over the chair.

  She opened the letter and skimmed through it quickly. “Carlos? Did you hear me?” Ana turned.

  “A letter from Eduardo.”

  He turned around. For the first time, Ana saw his face.

  “Yes.” Her voice trailed off as she stared and lowered the letter. “Come here,” she said as she walked over to him.

  “It’s nothing.” He turned from her.

  She stepped closer and put her hand on his chin. “Please?”

  Carlos winced and turned back to face her. Her eyes widened, but she spoke matter-of-factly. “Sit down.”

  “What is that?”

  “Just some salve.”

  “It looks moldy.”

  “That’s because it is mold—from corn.”

  He eyed her with suspicion.

  “I cut myself fixing dinner last week. Mrs. Obregon gave me this. It will help.”

  “Ana, it’s nothing.”

  Ana smiled and led him to a chair. “Now put your head back.” He did not argue further, but was not patient, either. Ana put some salve on the cut on his brow, but there was little she could do for the bruises. He endured having Ana examine his hands, front and back. They exchanged knowing looks, then she tightened her lips and put salve on the cuts.

  When his hands grew more pliant, she said, “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “The boss told me to do something. He had a book—Spanish phrases, only when he said them, I didn’t understand him. It didn’t sound like any Spanish I’d ever heard.”

  “So he did this to you?”

  “No. It was one of the other gringos—a worker, and a few of his friends. He said something and they laughed.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. It was English. But I knew enough not to take it.”

  “So you had to hit him.”

  “Them.”

  Ana closed her eyes and exhaled.

  “Look,” said Carlos. “Do you expect me to act like some dog and go around with my tail between my legs?”

  “No, but—”

  “Because I won’t, and you know it. I don’t look for fights, but I won’t run from them, either.”

  “I know.”

  “Then don’t look at me that way.”

  There was nothing for Ana to do but feel sorry.

  “And don’t look that way, either.” Resentment burned in his eyes. “I’m a man. I won’t let them kick me like some stray dog.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “Good!”

  “Good,” Ana echoed.

  He strode over to the bed and plopped down, leaning against the wall, rubbing the stiffness out of his hands. She was studying him.

  “What?” he asked her, annoyed.

  “I’m trying to remember what made me fall in love.” She shot him a fiery look. “It wasn’t your temper,” she said, as she went to fix dinner.

  His anger left quickly, but Ana’s did not. When she would not even look at him, he walked over to her. Still she moved about him as if he were not even there. He stood blocking her way. She tried to move, but he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned close so his lips barely touched hers. She turned her head sideways.

  He grinned and, with a throaty whisper, spoke into her ear, “Let me help you remember.”

  Her face was like stone.

  Carlos put his hand through her hair and loosely held it and turned her to face him. He brushed his lips against hers. Still she would not respond. He put his soft mouth on her lips. Her head tilted back, but her lips would not part. Soft as air, Carlos kissed her and kissed her again.

  Then he leaned away with a hint of a frown as he looked in her eyes. “Oh, mi amor, you need so much reminding.”

  He kissed her too gently. She had to kiss back. By the time he was done, she’d remembered. She waited for what she thought was the right moment to say, “I could teach you some English.”

  “Ana, don’t.”

  “It would help you.”

  “What? To be a good greaser? ‘Yes, Meester. No, Meester. Fuck you, Meester!’” He pounded his fist on the wall.

  “So you are learning English.” Their eyes met.

  He could not hide the wry grin that was forming.

  She said, “Life was supposed to be better here than on the hacienda.”

  “It is in some ways.”

  “But not all.”

  “No, not all. Here they have another name for haciendas. They call them corporations.”

  “Do you want to go home?”

  “Home? This is home now.”

  “Only if you’re happy.”

  Carlos smiled. They both knew he was not. “Look, Ana. You’re safe. And it’s not bad for me.”

  Ana looked doubtful.

  “And it will get better,” said Carlos.

  “When?” she asked sympathetically.

  “I make good money—five times what I made back home. We will save and get some land of our own.”

  “At what price?”

  Carlos took her hands in his. “At a good price, if it buys a good home for my wife, and our children.” His hands slid from her waist to her flat stomach.

  How she wanted a baby. Ana knew how Carlos missed his son—not that a baby would bring Jaime back, but if they could have a son… Ana lowered her eyes.

  “Ana?”

  She could not speak, but his voice had that tone, low and sandy and soothing. He held her. She put her arms about his neck and buried her fingers in his coarse black hair.

  He leaned into the curve of her neck and whispered her name. “I have all that I need right here.”

  “But I want—”

  “I want you. That’s all.”

  Ana nodded and stared through the window at the pecan tree in the yard. Large and stately, it looked as though it had been there forever.

  Carlos said, “When Jaime was born—may he rest in peace—part of me found new life. That part died with him.”

  Ana put the palm of her hand on his chest.

  “But you were there, even after I’d done too much and lost too much to go on.”

  Ana’s eyes filled with tears. “I always imagined a house full of children.”

  “Children are a blessing. But if we never have children, I will die happy here in your arms.”

  As much anger as his dark eyes had held only minutes before, all she saw now was warmth.

  He said, “Our life will be good.”

  And with his smile her sorrow dissolved.

  “Even so, the blessing of children does not come without effort,” he said slyly. He kissed her and slid his hands to the top of her blouse to undo each button, but his knuckles were too stiff from fighting and the buttons were tiny.

  “I do need more practice,” he said as he fumbled to undo Ana’s shirtwaist.

  She helped with the last of her buttons, then nimbly unfastened his trousers.

  Carlos stood in the doorway and looked back one more time. Morning shone about Ana. For her he could endure one more day, and another. She looked up from washing the dishes. Startled by his lingering gaze, she smiled and went back t
o her dishes. Without looking up, she said, “You can go now. I’ll be here when you get back.” She cast a glance and caught him staring with a look that made her grin and look away, rolling her eyes.

  With a steady gaze, he walked toward her and circled her waist. He murmured into her ear, “I can’t wait that long,” as he pressed himself against her.

  “You will have to.” Ana set down the dish she was washing.

  He turned her around and pulled her hips against him. Ana shook her head slowly. “You need a day of hard work.”

  “Oh?” He leaned his face closer until her breathing grew shallow, and planted a kiss so deep she felt weak. “And what do you need?”

  Ana inhaled.

  Carlos said, “When I get home, you can tell me.” He grinned and walked out, with two dishwater hand prints on his shoulders.

  As Carlos came around the corner, sudden shouting caught his attention. It came from the livery stable. He was not late quite yet, but had no time to spare. Still, he could not resist walking the long way around to get a look. In the middle of the corral was a cowboy being taken on a rough ride by a spirited stallion. A crowd gathered to watch. Carlos grinned at the sight. He could not help but wince as the rider was flopped about like a rag doll. This would not take long. And it didn’t. The next minute the cowboy lay stunned, on the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Carlos smiled, but then noticed the stallion. It had turned and was now heading back toward the fallen rider. Someone jumped the fence at the opposite side, but Carlos was closer. He bounded over the top, waved his hat in his hand and drew the stallion’s attention. It was now running toward Carlos. By this time, some other cowboys had pulled the stunned rider out of the corral.

  The horse circled around. Carlos stayed in the corral, calmly watching the horse. He asked for some rope, to no one in particular, just to anyone who might hear and know Spanish. The horse ran about, rearing up if anyone came near. Someone held out a coil of rope. Carlos coiled and knotted the rope. Minutes passed before the horse slowed down and came to a restless stop at the opposite end of the corral. Carlos slowly approached, rope in hand. But he did not throw it. He approached steadily, murmuring softly. The onlookers watched in near silence.