Broken Promises

by Patricia Watters

  "I'm sure it will," Tess said, "as well as being in Navarre where things are familiar to him."

  "That too. But I want you to come with us."

  Tess shook her head. "Out of the question. Pio would not want me along. He's been testing me for two days, and I know it's because he thinks I'm a prospective mother for him. I came very close to assuring him that he had absolutely no worries along those lines."

  "Look, maybe I didn't explain things about me and Mirande very well the other night," Zak said, "If you come with us tomorrow it'll give me more time to try and set things straight." He looked at her soberly and said, "Give me this day."

  As Tess looked into his soulful eyes, she couldn't bring herself to say 'no, I won't go with you because you married the first woman you met after leaving me...' but said instead, "Okay then, but don't expect Pio to be overjoyed when he finds out I'll be coming."

  Zak smiled, a broad, incredibly appealing smile that had Tess's nerves humming, and her heart skipping, and her mind racing back to a time when that smile also meant he loved her. Then he placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, and said, "Thank you, honey. And don't worry about Pio. He'll be so caught up in the activities, neither of us will matter."

  Tess started to tell him not to jump to conclusions, just because she agreed to go with him, but he said he wanted to ‘set things straight,’ and she wanted to hear what he had to say. She also liked the sound of the word honey coming from his lips again.

  She glanced around and saw that the men were getting their things together and preparing to leave for the Memorial Day weekend and wouldn't be back until Tuesday, when Ezzie would also be back. She was apprehensive about leaving the camp unattended, knowing that someone was intent on shutting down the place.

  Seeing her worried look, Zak said, "We'll be back by tomorrow evening."

  Tess sighed. "I suppose I can leave this place for a day."

  Zak called Pio, and when he came over to see what Zak wanted, Zak said, "I have some surprises for both of you." He reached into the truck and brought out four boxes, and handed two to Pio and two to Tess. Pio raised the lid of one box, and his eyes grew round as he lifted a pair of new black boots from the box. "Go on," Zak said, "put them on."

  Pio flopped down on the ground, set the other box aside and yanked off his sneakers, then pulled on each boot. Wiggling both feet, he looked up at Zak with bright eyes.

  Zak motioned to the other box. "Go ahead," he said. "See what's in that one."

  Pio opened the box. When he saw a homespun shirt, a pair of baggy blue trousers, and a small beret, his smile spread into a broad grin. Zak looked down at him and said, "You'll make a fine young shepherd at the festival."

  Zak lifted the beret from the box. "Just remember, the shepherd and his beret should never part. Wear it like this--" he made a hump with the crown of the beret and plopped it on Pio's head "--and rain won't run down your nose--" he trailed a finger down Pio's nose. Pio giggled. "And in the vineyards, it's handy for holding grapes--" he whisked the beret from Pio's head, scooped up some pine cones and flopped it on his own head. The pine cones bulged. Pio and Tess laughed.

  Zak shook out the cones and settled the beret on his own head and tipped it back. "If a shepherd wears it like this, he's content. If worn low on the forehead like this--" he pulled the beret down and scowled "--he's angry." He tipped the hat to one side. "Like this, he's a rogue and women should beware--" he strutted around, his chest out, a rakish grin on his face. "But, if he wears it like this--" he flattened the beret and staggered around, the hat resting flat like a pancake on top of his head "--he's drunk!" Pio broke into childish laughter. Zak swooped the hat off his head and plopped it back on Pio's, then turned to Tess, and said, "Take a look in your boxes."

  Tess lifted the lid. Resting on top was a black vest with long black laces for closing the front. Beneath, she found a white blouse with billowing sleeves, and under that a black apron and a red and black skirt. She looked up at Zak, remembering how much she'd wanted just such an outfit when she was seventeen, and an excuse to wear it for him.

  He touched her face, and said, "I've waited a long time for this."

  Tess felt a flush. "And what do I wear on my feet? Flip flops or work boots," she teased.

  "Look in the other box."

  Tess opened the lid and found a pair of black dancing shoes with long black laces intended to crisscross up the legs. She looked at the clothes and smiled. For one day, she'd be Basque, and satisfy a curiosity that had haunted her for years. "When do I assume my new role?" she asked.

  "When we get to Navarre. Pio and I will come for you around eight in the morning so we can get an early start." Zak placed his hand behind Pio's neck and led him to the truck. But when Pio looked back at Tess, the smile of moments before had faded, replaced by a glare.

  And Tess wondered then if Pio believed she was trying to be the Basque woman his father was expected to marry, because even at Pio's tender age, Tess was certain that in the Jean-Pierre de Neuville household, children would learn early on that Basque married Basque. Period.

  ***

  Zak eased the truck to a halt in the middle of the road to Navarre, then waited while a herd of long-haired sheep and a couple of sheepdogs crossed the highway and dashed up the embankment to the accompaniment of tinkling bells. A man wearing a beret and baggy pants, and brandishing a walking stick, followed behind them.

  Zak leaned around Tess and said to Pio, who was sitting by the window, "Tell Tess in Basque what the man's holding."

  Pio glared at Tess, then spat the word "Makhilaks."

  "Oh," Tess said. She gave Pio a polite smile.

  Pio pressed his mouth into a slash and smiled back. There was no smile in his eyes.

  Tess couldn't decide if Pio's anger was because Zak insisted he sit by the window so he could look out, or because she was along. She suspected it was a little of both.

  When they started up again, Tess stared at the road ahead, and before long, she could see the town of Navarre emerging in the distance. Low clouds had settled over the valley, obscuring some of the buildings in the town. Zak touched her knee lightly, then said, while pointing ahead, "If you look closely you can see the steeple of the church built by the original families who founded Navarre. My great-grandfather was among them."

  "Is the church still in use?" Tess asked.

  "Sure. Most everyone in Navarre attends."

  The road descended, and for a couple of miles they drove through heavy fog, then shortly before entering Navarre, the fog lifted like a veil, revealing a town gleaming with moisture. They passed a sign reading WELCOME TO NAVARRE: POPULATION 2630, and within minutes they drove in front of the wooden church they'd seen from the mountain. Already the town was a hum of activity. In front of a bakery, Zak pulled to the curb and tapped his horn. A woman standing in the doorway, and dressed in a long skirt, black apron and a head scarf, looked up. Recognizing Zak, her face broke into a smile. She walked over and peered through the window and started speaking to Zak in Basque. As Zak talked, he gestured and smiled and spoke with obvious enthusiasm. Then the woman nodded to Tess, said something to Pio that made him smile, and backed away, waving.

  "Who was that?" Tess asked, as they drove off.

  "A neighbor," Zak replied.

  Tess gave him a quizzical glance. "Doesn't she speak English?"

  "She doesn't need to," Zak said. "She has no intention of leaving Navarre, and most of the older people here still speak Basque. To them it's important that the language be preserved, and I agree. It's unrelated to any other language, and I hope Pio passes it on to his children."

  A few blocks further, Zak turned onto a tree-lined street of modest homes and parked in front of a white frame house. "We'll change here," he said. As they waited at the front door, Tess looked up and saw a sign with the words Mata Baita neatly painted on a polished board. Zak saw her studying it, and said, "Navarreans name their houses instead of numbering them. It means M
arie lives here." Then he gave her a half smile, and said, "It's only logical. Marie does live there."

  The door opened, and a woman with long auburn hair fashioned into a braid down her back, and wearing traditional festival dress, smiled and said, "Ah Zak, we're glad you're here." She reached down to stroke Pio's dark hair.

  Zak introduced Tess, and after Marie extended a warm welcome, she ushered them into the living room, where the sound of rock music reverberated through the wall. Marie banged on the closed door. "Monique!" she called.

  A muffled response came from inside the room. "I know, I know." The music died.

  Zak walked up to the closed door and called out, "Monique, you have a visitor."

  The door swept open and a willowy young woman of about sixteen appeared. "Zak!" she squealed, before recomposing herself and leaning casually against the door frame. Her dark hair was cropped close around her face, except for a pinkish-red shock that fell over one eye. She wore a gold stud in the flare of her nostril and her lips held a cool smile. Zak eyed her cutoff shirt, snug jeans, and white boots. "Aren't you going to the festival?" he asked.

  "Oh sure," she replied, shifting her gum to the other side of her mouth.

  "Then you'd better get ready. They're lining up to start the snake."

  "I am ready," she said.

  "Come on, Monique. I know you better than that," Zak said. "You've always worn traditional dress."

  "You gotta be kidding," Monique said. "I'd rather die first." She returned to the bedroom, shutting the door. The rock music clicked on again, this time softer.

  Zak eyed Marie, who shrugged, and said, "Times are changing, Zak. We can't live their lives for them."

  Marie sent Zak and Pio to the master bedroom to change, and directed Tess to Monique's room. While Tess slipped into the festival clothes, Monique sat cross-legged on the bed, watching. "Are you Basque?" she asked.

  "No," Tess replied, tucking the blouse into the skirt.

  "Then why are you dressing up?"

  Tess slipped the vest over her blouse. "Because I want to."

  "You're kidding. Whatever for?"

  "Maybe just to get a taste of your world."

  "It's really pretty boring," Monique said. "There's nothing to do around here."

  Tess laughed. "All teenagers think that wherever they are is the most boring place on the face of the earth. I know I did," she said, gathering her hair to the back of her head to braid.

  Monique pursed her lips. "You weren't stuck in a place like Navarre."

  "You're right," Tess said, making her way down the braid. "I was stuck in a logging camp."

  "You gotta be kidding."

  "No. In fact, Navarre was the kind of place I dreamed of going."

  Dreamed of going with Zak, she wanted to say. She'd dreamed it since she was fourteen and first met Zak, and the dream continued until, three years later, when she was certain it would become a reality...

  After completing the long braid that hung down her back, Tess sat on the side of the bed and laced up the dancing shoes, then thanked Monique for the use of her room and left. When she stepped into the living room, she found Zak and Pio alone. Zak wore the garb of a shepherd--a wide beret, homespun white shirt with a multi-colored sash, and baggy blue pants stuffed into high black boots. And Pio stood beside him, a miniature of his father.

  "Will I do?" Tess asked.

  Zak grinned and jiggled Pio's shoulder. "What do you think?"

  Pio glared at Tess, and spat the words in Basque, "Mama was prettier." Backing toward the door, he turned, ran from the house and climbed into the truck.

  "What was that all about?" Tess asked.

  "He just misses his mother," Zak replied. "It's his first festival without her."

  "And he obviously resented seeing me dressed the way his mother would have been," Tess said, and tried not to sound bitter.

  "It will take time, but he'll adjust," Zak said. Before Tess could clarify if Zak meant that Pio would adjust to her being part of a Basque family in the form of his father's wife, or adjust to his mother's death, Zak said, "Marie already left. She'll be working one of the concession booths and wants us to come by, and I said we would." He scanned her closely then, and said, "Incidentally, you look beautiful... the way I always imagined you'd look."

  "At least maybe I'll blend in with the crowd," Tess said, and hoped it would be so.

  "Honey, you'll never blend in with any crowd," Zak said, "and that's meant to be a compliment."

  Tess couldn't help smiling, and from the heat rushing up her face, she knew she was also blushing. Zak was the only man who ever made that happen. He was the only man who made a lot of things happen.

  Zak peered down at her and said, "The look on your face right now... it reminds me of the way you looked after you won the pole climbing contest when you were fourteen."

  "You couldn't possibly remember back then," Tess said. "What kind of look was it?"

  "You were blushing then too." Zak winked at her, then opened the front door for them to leave. When they stepped outside, clouds had started to gather, threatening to block the sun, and by the time they found a place to park, the town was cloaked in gray. It was an unseasonally cold, blustery day, but in spite of the impending weather, people began forming into long chains for the snake dance. although Tess wore a sweater over her costume, Pio flatly refused to wear a jacket, so Zak let him have his way. Tess made a mental note to talk to Zak about being more assertive with Pio, but that would come another time.

  "Look there," Pio said, pointing to the papier-mâché effigies of bulls being carried by shepherds dressed much as he. At once, the crowd began to join hands.

  Zak reached for Pio. "Hold on tight," he said, while grabbing his hand and sandwiching the boy between him and Tess.

  The snake took form, winding through the streets toward the town square, zigzagging through switchbacks of people, a kaleidoscope of faces and forms whirling by, first in one direction, then the other, the string of people twisting and winding like a serpent, then uncoiling in the town square where papier-mâché bulls exploded in a crescent of brilliant fireworks. Then the snake broke apart and everyone funneled towards the concession stands.

  They found Marie standing behind a counter heaped with paper plates, napkins and plastic forks. Her piperade omelet bubbled on a griddle, and the aroma of bacon, tomatoes and spices rose with the steam curling from the eggs as they cooked. Pio looked expectantly at Marie, who lifted a wedge of omelet from the griddle, slipped it onto a plate, and said, "Here you are, Pio," while handing it to him. After Zak and Tess had finished their piperade, and were ready to go, Marie said to Zak, "Why don't you leave Pio with me so you can take Tess to the Palombiere."

  Tess looked at her, curious.

  "Place of Doves," Marie translated.

  "The pub," Zak clarified. He glanced at Pio, who was looking up expectedly, and said, "If you're sure he won't be too much trouble."

  "No trouble," Marie said. "He's my little helper." She rumpled Pio's hair, and Pio's smile broadened. "So it's settled. And I'll drop him off at your parents house later. Now go on."

  At the Palombiere, a group of men stood huddled at the entrance under a wooden sign that displayed a white dove. As Zak and Tess approached, heads turned toward Zak. "Hey, Zak... de Neuville... Yo, Zak," voices called out, greeting Zak, who nodded to his friends as he nudged Tess through the door into the quaint old pub. They wove past scarred wooden tables and slid onto a long bench. Zak turned to acknowledge someone who clapped him on the shoulder, then waved to another who called to him across the room.

  "You're a popular figure around here," Tess said, feeling like an outsider.

  "I grew up in Navarre," Zak replied, "and so did most everyone here."

  Tess sensed a deep camaraderie among the people. She also felt a vast cultural separation from them, even more so because she was dressed as one of them, yet she didn't understand their language, or identify with the kind of traditions that
dictated who married whom, which seemed out of another century. She also felt eyes on her, like she were being assessed...

  The low quiver of a drum accompanied by the faint sound of a flute, brought conversations to a halt. Zak leaned toward her, and said, "They're building up to the Zamalzain, the dance of good against evil. It's a difficult dance. In order to do it right, the dancer has to start learning it when he's very young." He nudged her and pointed. "Look over there."

  Across the room, a dancer dressed in rags and wearing a grotesque mask staggered onto the floor as if drunk. Moving with exaggerated motions, he shuffled his feet to the rising sounds of the flute and the insistent rhythm of the drum. Then someone set a glass of wine in front of the dancer and stepped back.

  "He represents evil," Zak said. "When he dances, watch the wine glass. If it spills, evil's defeated and good wins out. Now the crowd will pick someone to represent good."

  As Zak spoke, someone called out," Come on, de Neuville." He looked around and waved a negative hand. Someone tugged on his arm, and the crowd began to clap and shout in unison, "De Neuville, de Neuville, de Neuville." Several men dragged Zak from the bench, then one of them set a wine glass on the floor in front of him.

  Zak nodded in resignation, then turned toward the masked dancer. His legs moving in time to the music of the flute, his upper body rigid, Zak faced the dancer across the filled wine glasses. He brushed the rim of the glass with his foot before executing a series of intricate steps around it, then backed away. The masked dancer approached his own glass, his feet moving above and around it, then backed off. Zak again approached, this time executing steps so fast and close and intricate that his glass wobbled, yet remained standing.

  As Tess watched, she realized how deeply Zak was ingrained with Basque culture. She saw it in the proud way he held his head as he performed the complex steps, and she sensed it in his regard for the traditions, and his resolve to hold onto their unique language, and his strong alliance to family...

  Voices rose as the dance worked up to the climax. Then Zak suddenly leaped into the air, alighting on the rim of his glass, and as quickly, soared away. The glass rocked precariously, but didn't spill. The dancer of evil took his turn, landing firmly on the rim of his glass, but when he leaped away, the glass rocked and tumbled onto its side, spilling the wine.