The Fires of Paradise

by Brenda Joyce

  “Thank you for the coffee.”

  “De nada.”

  “Is it really so early? It’s so hot—I thought I woke up late.”

  “Carmen woke you after the padrone rode out—just after seven.”

  Lucy clenched her fist. She didn’t know who she was angrier at, Carmen for making sure Shoz was well and gone before waking her, or Shoz, for leaving without a goodbye. She remembered how Shoz had wanted to say goodbye last night and felt herself flushing. She had done the smart thing in refusing him, the only thing. Had he gone to Carmen? It shouldn’t upset her, but it did.

  Lucy was determined to have some answers as long as Carmen was gone. “Have you been here long?”

  “Many years.”

  Lucy set the cup down. “As long as Carmen?”

  Linda nodded. Lucy felt her heart sinking. “And Shoz? He, of course, has been here with you for many years?”

  “Of course. All this is his. He is the boss, the padrone.”

  “Why did he go? Where did he go?”

  The big woman shrugged. “I do not know where he goes. You ask a lot of questions about him, señorita.”

  Lucy shrugged to hide her interest. “He kidnapped me. And Carmen? Is she—always so—emotional?”

  “Carmen is Carmen.”

  How apt. Lucy finished the coffee, glancing out the window. No sign of her new tormentor. At least in Linda she had some sort of ally. Was Carmen also so “emotional” in bed? So volatile? Lucy imagined she was. She was probably exactly how Shoz liked a woman to be in bed. The thought was unbearable.

  “What are you doing?” Carmen cried from behind her.

  Lucy jumped and spilled the coffee. It was hot and it burned her hand, but she stepped back when she saw the other woman’s fury. “Stop wasting time! You are not here to drink coffee!”

  Lucy put the cup down, and wiped her hands on a rag. “Why do you hate me so?” she asked, looking at Carmen directly. “I’ve done nothing to you.” It was a lie—she had slept with her husband.

  Carmen snorted. “I do not hate you! You are nothing, nothing to me. And nothing to him!”

  Lucy lifted her chin high. “Thank God. I don’t want his interest. My beaux come from Society, from big brick mansions with acres of green lawns, from good families with breeding and background; they are not criminals hiding in some godforsaken place like this.”

  Carmen mimicked her. “My beaux! You think you’re better than us, do you?” She laughed, eyeing her contemptuously. “Where are your fifty servants now?”

  “He has given me his word—he is going to release me soon.”

  “And until he does, you stay away from him,” Carmen warned. “Unless you want to be his plaything, his whore. Is that what you want, puta?”

  Lucy knew what puta meant, and she flushed, because of what she and Shoz had done. “I told you, I have absolutely no interest in him.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Carmen said shrewdly. “All women look at him—but he is mine. I have been with him many years—and I will stay with him many more!”

  “I’m sure you will,” Lucy said, eager to end this conversation, which was making her uncomfortable.

  “Just remember this the next time he looks at you,” Carmen hissed. “For him, you are something new, a new toy, like he brings Roberto.”

  Lucy couldn’t find a response, because she was afraid that Carmen had spoken the truth.

  Carmen smiled cruelly. “If you sleep with him, it is as his whore. For a while he will enjoy you, then he will toss you away.” She turned on her heel. But in the doorway she paused, triumphant. “And then he will return to me. He always returns to me.”

  The morning was endless. It was so hot. Sweat covered Lucy’s body with a fine film, making her clothes stick wetly to her skin. Since last night, she had decided not to put her hair in a braid, afraid it would be too accessible to the willful Carmen. But now she could not stand its unrestrained mass on her back, and she coiled it on top of her head. She had rolled tortillas until her arms ached, chopped vegetables until she cut her thumb, and baked bread until she was red in the face from the heat of the oven. She was so hot and so tired, and she was no longer even hungry.

  Around noontime, Linda told her to place a plate of fresh tortillas and a bowl of beans on the table. Lucy obeyed without question. When she was instructed to bring a pitcher of lemonade to the table, a terrible inkling occurred. Linda then handed her two plates, napkins, and flatware, and Lucy froze in her tracks. “This is for Carmen?!”

  “Sí, for her and el niño pequeño.”

  Lucy shook. She was dropping with exhaustion—and here she was setting the table for that other woman? For his wife? “I won’t do it.”

  Linda studied her mutinous expression, took all the items from her, and placed them on the dining table in the next room herself. In the kitchen, Lucy clung to the worktable. Her heart was thundering. She had to make a stand, didn’t she? She was not going to be a maid to that woman; it was intolerable.

  Some moments later, Carmen and Roberto entered, the little boy very quiet compared to the day before. Lucy wondered if it was the heat, or if he missed Shoz.

  Lucy and Linda sat in the kitchen while Carmen and Roberto ate in silence in the other room. Hunger gnawed at her. She had barely eaten in days, and had had nothing at all today. Anger began a slow simmer. Carmen called out for more lemonade.

  Lucy looked at Linda. Linda shrugged, stood, and waddled into the other room. Lucy sat very still, dreading a confrontation. But it was not to be avoided.

  “You don’t serve!” Carmen shrieked. “Where is that bitch? Where?” Something was slammed on the table.

  Lucy sat unmoving while Linda returned with the empty pitcher and handed it to her. Lucy didn’t get up. She knew she had to fight this woman, she had to, but she was afraid. What if Carmen did give her to the two men left behind to guard her? Lucy thought Carmen would enjoy letting them rape her, was probably waiting for the right opportunity, and even looking for an excuse to let them have her. God! She got up, filled the pitcher, and reluctantly brought it into the dining room.

  As she was leaving, she caught Roberto’s eye. He was regarding her curiously. The solemn expression on his face almost made her heart stop. That poor boy is lonely, she thought with a pang. She remembered how he had appeared yesterday, the sheer joy on his face when he’d seen that Shoz had returned.

  Back in the kitchen, Lucy found herself straining to hear Carmen—to hear a mother’s love for her son. But Carmen did not speak except to chastise Roberto for not eating his food—only then to tell him that if he wasn’t hungry, he could go. The little boy escaped the house at a dead run.

  When Carmen left, Lucy and Linda cleared the table. Then, in the kitchen, they sat down to their own meal. When they were finished, they washed all of the dishes and then Linda told her it was time for a short siesta. “Only one hour, señorita,” she warned. “Then we must start preparing the supper.”

  One hour sounded like heaven. Lucy stumbled into her room, shutting the door and dropping the bolt. Was this how she would pass her days? In the kitchen, slaving over meals for Carmen? With that terrible thought, she fell into a deep sleep.

  Lucy grew used to the heat.

  Several days passed. Lucy rose just after the sun, spent the entire day in the kitchen with Linda except for a siesta, served Carmen and Roberto lunch and dinner, and was finished with her duties shortly after sundown when the kitchen was clean and tidy. The past few nights she had been too exhausted to do anything other than sink into bed and fall instantly, deeply asleep.

  Tonight she wasn’t exhausted, although she was tired. She slipped outside to sit by the river, hoping to find the night cooler and less oppressive by the water’s edge. It wasn’t. There was no breeze, just the still, wet heat. But tonight she detected different sounds by listening intently. The faint whirring of an annoying mosquito, the whickering of a horse in the remuda, and farther away, maybe, just maybe, she h
eard a lone wolf howl. She counted the days.

  Three days had passed since Shoz had left. In one week he might be returning. Or in ten days.

  If he was not delayed.

  What did she care, anyway?

  She stroked a blade of grass and thought about the dream—the very disturbing dream—she’d been having when Carmen woke her up that morning. It had stayed with her all day. She and Shoz. Naked and entwined, making love deliciously, languidly. It had been very exciting and very real. The strangest, most disturbing part wasn’t that she had awakened unbearably aroused. It was that in the dream they had been laughing while they were making love, laughing.

  Shoz had only made love to her twice, if she counted that first abortive time when her new automobile had broken down and Joanna had found them. Both times he had been very intense and strained. She could not imagine him making love to her, or anyone, with such carefree abandon, with such light hearted playfulness. What did she care, anyway?

  She told herself that she didn’t. It was just a foolish dream. How he made love was not her business, it was Carmen’s.

  When would he return? It was amazing how one could change one’s feelings so completely. When they had arrived in the valley and she had discovered Carmen’s existence, Lucy had hoped never to set eyes on him again. Now she prayed that he would return as soon as possible. Her heart seemed to skip at the thought. He would fix her awful situation and put that horrid Carmen in her place.

  A kind of status quo seemed to have been attained, with Lucy doing her duties and Carmen smugly satisfied. The woman enjoyed forcing her into servitude, and it was hateful. The past few days Lucy had been too tired even to think anymore, but tonight she felt a lot of resentment, and a lot of anger.

  How could Shoz stand her?

  There was only one answer, one terrible answer; he found her so gorgeous that he could not see what she really was. He wouldn’t be the first man to be blindly in love.

  Lucy got to her feet. The pleasure she had found in the evening was shattered by reality. She made her way back to the house and slipped quietly inside.

  And came face-to-face with Carmen.

  Carmen stood in the living room in a yellow dress with a gold shawl over her shoulders and a red scarf tied around her curly black hair. The two women stared at each other. “Where have you been?” Carmen demanded.

  “I was sitting by the river—if that’s all right with you,” Lucy retorted.

  “Alone?”

  “Alone? Of course alone? Who would I be with—the coyotes?”

  “Maybe you were with Pedro.”

  Lucy actually recoiled. “Pedro!”

  Carmen seemed satisfied and stalked past her and out of the house.

  Lucy turned to watch her, wondering where she was going, but the night swallowed her up. How strange, she mused, then decided that the other woman, like herself, was seeking some coolness in the evening. She wouldn’t find it.

  She paused when she passed Roberto’s door, noticing that it was ajar, and that a light came from within. Wasn’t it late for a little boy to be up? Gently she pushed the door open. “Roberto?”

  He was lying in bed but not sleeping. He looked so sad and forlorn that it tore at Lucy. “Are you all right?”

  He sat up. His eyes were very big and black. “Sí, señorita.”

  “Can’t you sleep?”

  He shook his head, his sober gaze glued to her.

  “Why not? It’s not still too hot for you, is it?”

  Again he shook his head. “I don’t like being alone at night,” he finally blurted out. “Papa is gone, I saw your door open, that you were gone, and Mama went out …”

  Lucy felt a real urge to strangle Carmen. Surely that woman knew her son was afraid of being left alone at night! “Well,” she said cheerfully, “I’m here now, and I’m going to bed. I’ll be right next door.”

  His smile was small, but glad. “Sí, señorita.”

  She moved forward to turn out the lamp.

  “No! Papa lets me keep it on!”

  Lucy hesitated, then smiled. “I didn’t know.” She looked at him, wanting to offer him something, some comfort, because he seemed so lost and lonely. Lucy touched his head, her fingers lingering there among the silky softness for a moment. “Do you want me to bring you some warm milk? It will help you sleep.”

  This smile was shy. “Sí, señorita.”

  Lucy returned his smile with one of her own and went to heat some milk. When she brought it to him, she sat at his side while he sipped it, telling him that she had five younger brothers, the youngest almost his age.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “I wish I had a brother—or a sister.”

  Lucy tensed but smiled anyway. “I’m sure you will. Now—” she took the empty glass from him “—go to sleep. I’m right next door, if you need me, come and get me. It’s all right. I don’t mind being woken up.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Mama would smack me if lever walked into her room,” he declared. “She told me I must never, ever go in at night.”

  Lucy was appalled. She understood, though—Carmen didn’t want her lovemaking interrupted, that witch! “I am not like your mother,” she said calmly. “Call me if you need me.” At the door, she paused. “Good night, Roberto.”

  “Buenas noches, señorita.”

  29

  “Linda, how do you make cookies?”

  Linda looked at her quizzically. It was the morning of another hot, humid day, the sun blazing in its intensity outside. “Cookies, señorita?”

  “Yes, for Roberto.”

  Linda beamed. “I will show you, señorita. It is easy.”

  Lucy smiled back. “But I don’t think we should let Carmen know,” She glanced over her shoulder, but the woman was not eavesdropping from the doorway. “I have a feeling she would not like my baking cookies for her son.”

  “It will be our secret,” Linda said.

  Carmen was still sleeping, so the two women whipped up a batch of sugar-coated cookies, using expensive white flour. She was sleeping uncharacteristically late, for she had been up every morning before Lucy in order to wake her up pounding rudely on the door. Lucy had not slept soundly last night. She had thought about the lonely little boy for a long time—and his hard, self-contained father. In the endless hours of the night, when thoughts, like magical dragons, metamorphosed and grew and took on unreal proportions, she had been struck by a terrible insight. Any man who showed such affection to a small, quiet boy was not a complete and hopeless bastard. There was a deep, hidden well of sensitivity, compassion, and even love within Shoz. It was the most awful, frightening thought she had ever had.

  Just because he loves Roberto doesn’t mean he will ever love you, had been one of her last lucid thoughts before drifting off. Besides, he loves Carmen, doesn’t he?

  Lucy had woken up after midnight when Carmen came in none too quietly, her heels clicking, cursing when she knocked into a table. She had wondered briefly at the hour and then turned over to toss restlessly again. The night passed in a strange collage of dreams with one key player—Shoz.

  After lunch had been served and the table cleared and Lucy was free for a siesta, she baked the cookies, with growing anticipation. She put them in a small basket and went looking for Roberto. She found him fishing at the river, quite some distance from the house. The pole he held was made of shiny blue aluminum, most definitely store-bought. His eyes brightened when he saw her.

  “What a beautiful pole,” Lucy said gaily. “Wherever did you get that?”

  “Papa bought it for me in Texas,” Roberto said proudly. “Last year—for my birthday.”

  This disturbed her. She was reminded of all her mental rampaging last night—of her crazy conclusion that Shoz was not such a tough bastard. She smoothed out her skirts and sat down. “Want to share some cookies?”

  “Cookies!” It was the magic word. />
  As Roberto scrambled over, all shyness forgotten, Lucy smiled. She didn’t mind missing her siesta at all. It was worth it, just to see such pleasure on his solemn young face.

  The days crept slowly by, much like the flat, sluggish river. Lucy discovered calluses on the pads of her fingers. A few days later she noticed that her ivory skin was the palest, softest gold. There were riotous blond highlights in her hair. She eyed herself critically, and decided she looked quite exotic. As exotic as Carmen?

  Would Shoz like the changes in her appearance?

  She shoved such inane, inappropriate considerations away. She still spent most of her time in the kitchen with Linda. Many days now she had forgone her allotted siesta to sit by the river—or swim. She only dared the latter in her clothes, which dried quickly enough, and when she was certain her two guards were otherwise involved. They spent most of their time playing cards and drinking aguardiente, with a seemingly limitless tolerance.

  One afternoon Lucy made a shocking discovery, one that drastically affected her relationship with Carmen. Not tired enough to nap, she strolled along the river and stumbled upon Carmen and Pedro, as naked as newborn babies. There was nothing innocent about what they were doing, however, and Lucy beat a hasty retreat. They were too involved to notice her.

  Did Shoz know? Her pulse was pounding. Did Shoz know his wife was an adulteress? Lucy was sure he did not. Something like excitement filled her, and she paused, leaning against the side of the house, her body taut and tense. Shoz was not the type of man to let his wife cuckold him. Absolutely not. He didn’t know. What should she do?

  Lucy knew it was wrong, un-Christian, to be glad that Carmen was such a snake. But she was glad. Of course, she could never snitch, no matter how much she despised her, no matter how much the woman pushed her. Still, one day Shoz would find out. She imagined his fury. It would be terrifying.

  Because Carmen and Pedro were occupied, Lucy decided to take a swim. She had just entered the water when she heard a noise on the bank. She whirled, ducking underneath. Even though she wore a blouse and her petticoat, she knew they revealed much more than was allowable. She was surprised to see Roberto, hesitating by a tree.