Homero leaned backwards, looked at Daisy, then at Viridiana. He seemed to think the whole thing through, nodding and frowning. “Then that’s it,” Homero said slowly. “It was an accident.”
It sounded almost as if he were asking a question. A question directed at Maximiliano and Navarro, but Maximiliano shrugged helplessly. He was used to signing and stamping documents, not questioning them. The doctor, however, did not look convinced.
“What I find interesting is the laceration,” Navarro said, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing his forehead with it, which was an elegant way to say, “I don’t believe this.”
“Really? He fell,” Homero replied, glancing at Daisy. He had apparently chosen what line he’d follow. When it came to policing, Homero didn’t do much of it and she guessed he was simply trying to keep it all manageable.
“Maybe,” Navarro said. “I’d recommend an autopsy, but I realize…”
He trailed off. It was obvious Navarro wasn’t absolutely sold on this story of a drunkard falling down the steps, but it was also obvious it was a fuzzy situation. It wasn’t that Navarro was a bad doctor, it’s just that he knew the way things go and that you needed to be able to say “let’s leave it like that” or you’d be asking for trouble.
“Now that would be a major hassle,” Homero said, shaking his head. “A hassle we don’t want. But if it’s needed, can’t oppose it. Doctor Navarro, it’s up to you. What should we do?”
“Viridiana, there’s nothing else you want to tell us?” Navarro asked.
Doctor Navarro stared at Viridiana. Why has he looking at her? What was he expecting to see? She stared back at him blankly. She thought of nothing. If he was searching for clues, he wouldn’t find them in her eyes.
“No,” she said.
“An autopsy would be a problem and I’m not sure it’s necessary,” Navarro said finally. “Accidents do happen.”
Homero nodded. Maximiliano smiled and laced his fingers together, leaning forward, making a few papers rustle. “They do,” Maximiliano agreed.
The doctor was still looking at her, but he shrugged and turned to the men. “In that case, this should be enough to issue the death certificate. My medical certificate states it’s an accidental death,” Navarro said, signing and tearing off the page from his notepad and giving it to Maximiliano.
“Damn hot day to have to type it up,” Maximiliano said, shaking his head. “Damn hot, and it would be nice to buy ourselves a few drinks before getting to work.”
Viridiana realized two things right then.
One, that nobody in that room cared about what had happened to Ambrose, not even a bit. She had been nervous for no reason. The doctor, the clerk and the cop were all trying to avoid paperwork and questions. They didn’t get paid enough to launch tedious inquiries and on top of that they probably thought if Viridiana wasn’t willing to levy accusations against the Americans, they weren’t willing to go there either. Which led to number two: they wanted a bribe. The old, “Hey, buddy, how about money for our sodas?”
Viridiana informed Daisy and Gregory of the turn of events.
“What are we supposed to do, write them a check right here?” Daisy asked, taking off her sunglasses.
“Cash,” Viridiana said. “They’ll want cash.”
Daisy looked inside her purse and took out several bills. She set them on the desk and stared at the clerk.
“Mrs. Allerton realizes that the issuing of documentation requires a fee, she wants to be able to bury her husband.”
“Why, of course,” Maxmiliano said. “It’s very hot, so we wouldn’t want to hold anything up. Why don’t you folks get the funeral arrangements going right away? I’ll fix this paperwork.”
That much made sense. The body was going to rot and would stink quickly. Maximiliano said they should pick a good suit for the deceased, go to Cipriano’s place and pay for a coffin, then stop by the church to see about a burial. Ambrose’s body was locked in Navarro’s receiving room, but Cipriano would go pick it up once the arrangements were in place.
Normally, they would have taken the body back to their home, where a wake would be held. The coffin would be set in a room, a crucifix hanging from the coffin, and friends would be allowed to pay the widow their respects. But the Americans had no friends. They simply wanted Ambrose to be dressed properly, in the navy suit Daisy picked for him, and buried. Cipriano, however, informed them that they would not be able to bury the body right that instant: the gravedigger lived in a nearby town and they’d have to fetch him.
Besides, a wake was the decent thing to do.
Cipriano rented out one of the rooms in his house to the poor fishermen and their families who could not hold a wake in their house because it was too small. This was deemed the solution to their problem. Cipriano asked if they would like to drape a purple sheet over the coffin, and whether flowers would be necessary. Daisy and Gregory agreed to this, but when they headed to the church to speak to the priest they were less tractable.
The priest salivated at the idea of a grand mass. He would be paid to say the name of the deceased and ask for special blessings for him. No doubt he thought he could price-gauge them for this, but Daisy balked.
“He was not Catholic. And I don’t want to sit in a church and listen to a mass,” Daisy said, once Viridiana explained what the process was like.
The priest looked peeved. He made a comment about how, in that case, burying a Protestant in their cemetery might not be the most palatable idea, but Viridiana soothed him.
“Mrs. Allerton wants to donate to the fund for the restoration of the Virgin’s altar,” Viridiana said, figuring that was the best course of action.
Again, out came the money and the priest informed them they could bury Ambrose the next afternoon.
Once that transaction was concluded it was time to go around the doctor’s house again, to pay him his fee, and let him know Cipriano was picking up the body, although there was no need for that because when they arrived Navarro told them the man had already come by.
“That was quick,” Viridiana said. The swiftness of it all seemed close to sacrilege.
“Why waste time?” the doctor said. “And the sooner they get the corpse in there, the sooner they can head out to the bar. It’s the weekend, after all.”
It was indeed. When Viridiana’s grandmother died they all huddled around her coffin for the wake, praying the rosary. Grandmother was not left alone during the night, but neither Daisy nor Gregory were going to sit next to the coffin. This worried her, and she wondered if she should pray for him that night, even if it was from the comfort of her room.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Viridiana whispered. She felt kind of bad now. Relieved, but bad, and she rubbed a hand against her eyes. They were feeling dangerously moist.
The doctor must have thought she was grieving because he gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Go see your mother. She’ll be wondering what happened.”
He was right. She needed to speak to her mother. If she didn’t, the woman would no doubt show up at their doorstep demanding to know what was going on. By now the whole town must be aware one of the Americans had died and they’d be gossiping about it.
“I have to take care of some things,” Viridiana told Gregory. They were waiting in the car, outside the post office while Daisy made a phone call to Ambrose’s lawyer in Mexico City. “My family, they’ll be wanting to speak to me.”
“About what happened?”
“Yes. They’ll be curious. Everyone will be curious about you. Small town, big hell,” she said, but she said the last part in Spanish and had to translate it into English. The literal translation did not make much sense, so she told Gregory it meant small town, big fuss.
“I guess,” Gregory said, frowning. “You think people will talk about us, then?”
“Yes,” she said.
“At least we don’t live in the town. Pretty hard to hear gossip up on that cliff.
Tell them what you must to calm them down.”
“I will, and I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Catch up, how? You don’t have your bicycle,” Gregory pointed out.
“I can get a ride or walk it if it comes to it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Hurry back, then, and be careful.”
Gregory squeezed her hand for one quick moment and she got out of the car.
Viridiana hurried to her mother’s shop. It was small, its modest collection of dresses, shirts and jeans were hardly the latest in fashion. There was a corner with makeup products. Lipstick, tweezers, blush. When she walked in, two teenage girls were looking at lipstick and her mother was watching the girls like a hawk.
Nobody stole from Marta.
She had to wait to speak to her, but once the girls exited, her mother motioned for Viridiana to head behind the counter. She obeyed.
“What’s happening?” Marta asked, immediately extending a hand to smooth back Viridiana’s hair. It always looked a little wild and her mother disliked this, trying to press it into place with lemon juice and hair spray. “I heard from your godfather that one of the gringos died.”
“Ambrose, he had a bad fall. They’re burying him tomorrow.”
“What a thing, I heard he was drunk. You didn’t say he drank.”
Viridiana didn’t want to lie, so she chose her words carefully. Her mother smelled untruths easily. “It was not my business and I didn’t drink with him, so how should I know what he did?”
“And the burial, here? I would have thought they’d take the body back to their country.”
“He liked it here.” That’s what Daisy had said. Also, that if Ambrose’s nephew wanted to have the corpse hauled to the American cemetery in Mexico City, he could arrange for that himself. Viridiana suspected Daisy didn’t much care where her deceased husband’s body ended up.
“When are you bringing your things back home? Is your last day tomorrow or the day after?”
“I’m still working for them.”
Marta stopped fussing with Viridiana’s hair and stared at her daughter.
“How?”
“I’ll be doing the same stuff I was already doing. Typing letters, translating stuff. They have to talk with lawyers and all that. They can’t up and leave today, especially when they don’t speak Spanish,” she said.
“But a man died in that house. You can’t stay there. It’s bad luck.”
Viridiana looked down at the floor and nudged aside one of many cardboard boxes hidden under the counter. “Grandmother died in ours.”
“Of old age,” her mother said.
“Death is not contagious.”
Her mother leaned down to open a box under the counter and took out a few blouses, placing them on the counter and folding them, her face tense.
“I could use some help around here, at home.”
“I have no interest in the shop.”
“You have no interest in anything except in flipping through dictionaries and smiling at tourists.”
“It’s work, Mother.”
“Ha! Work. Seven hours behind a counter is work, a couple of hours showing people the beach and pointing out the church or the lighthouse is not real work.”
Viridiana grabbed one of the blouses and began folding it but her mother shook her head and took the piece of clothing out of her hands, folding it herself.
“You always do it wrong,” she chided.
“Then why do you want me around?”
“Because of that. Because you have to learn the business.”
“We both know the business is not going to go to me,” Viridiana said.
Marta had a bunch of children from her second marriage. Her siblings would be the ones to reap the benefits of the shop. Viridiana was a mistake, the other kids were the do-over.
“Maybe you’ll have your own shop one day,” Marta said.
Viridiana leaned back against the counter, resting her elbows on it and chuckled. “I know the shop you imagine for me. The stationery store.”
“He has no brothers or sisters.”
He. Manuel, Manuel, always Manuel. The more her family tried to shove him in her face, the more Viridiana recoiled. She wanted Gregory. Devilish sparkle in his eyes and the twist of the head as he smiled at her. Gregory looked like a matinee idol, but reconfigured for the modern age. Skin tanned to perfection and dirty blond hair that was growing lighter under the Baja Californian sun and the playful waves.
“I don’t want to talk about him, I came to say a quick hi and I’ll head back out,” Viridiana said airily, the way Daisy might do it.
“You better stop by tomorrow for mass and stay for supper.”
“There’s the funeral.”
“You can attend both things,” Marta said. “It’s not like the funeral will take all day.”
“Fine.”
“And you better stay for a while. Don’t think I don’t notice how you dash out after an hour.”
“It’s boring,” Viridiana said. “Playing dominoes every week with the same people.”
“You could open your mouth and have a conversation once in a while.”
“About what?”
“You’ll stay until nighttime tomorrow,” her mother said as she carefully folded another shirt.
“I shouldn’t ride my bicycle back in the dark.”
“Someone can drive you back.”
Someone.
Manuel and his pickup truck. Viridiana moved away from the counter and stood in front of a calendar where each day was carefully crossed out with a marker. As if Monday made any difference from Thursday in this place.
“I don’t have anything black, can I grab a shirt?” Viridiana asked, because she might as well get something out of the bargain.
“Of course.”
She grabbed a plastic bag and tossed in a simple black shirt with white cuffs and a pair of stockings, which she normally didn’t wear. Then she headed out of the shop, adjusting her hat. It would be a bit of a walk back to the house but the other option was asking someone in town for a ride. She would have enough of her family the next day and decided it was preferable to make her way on her own.
How prosaic this whole business of life and death was, she thought, as the plastic bag dangled from her wrist. One moment here and then gone.
Liar.
The word, it rattled in her head and it made her stop on the side of the dusty road, catching her breath because for a moment she thought someone had whispered the word in her ear, that it had not been her mind conjuring it.
And she thought of the devil but when she turned her head there was only the desert around her, quiet and still. She saw a snake stirring in the crepuscule, not far from her. It had eyes a black as onyx and a dark strip running down its back. Although it might thrash wildly if you tried to pick it up, it was not dangerous. Nevertheless, she recoiled in fear. Not of the snake, but of something else.
And that something followed her home, as keen as her shadow.
Chapter 11
The funeral was a quiet affair. Aside from the priest and the gravedigger, Viridiana was the only local. She wore the black shirt from her mother’s store, which looked cheap next to Daisy’s simple, elegant black ensemble. Gregory must not have had any mourning clothes because he had on a tan jacket and a white shirt. When the priest finished reciting his brief words he shook hands with Daisy and Gregory.
Viridiana went home after that. Her mother had made pastel de tres leches in a quiet bid to please her. But it didn’t improve Viridiana’s evening. She watched the men play dominoes and shared a few words with the people around her.
She did not feel like socializing. The funeral had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She hadn’t liked Ambrose, yet she kept worrying about the fact that no one was going to say a rosary for him. She knew it didn’t really matter, but that nagged at her
more than the fact that she had lied to the authorities.
She hadn’t lied out of malice. She didn’t want Daisy and Gregory to get in trouble. It was for them.
This is a bad situation but these are not bad people, she told herself.
Anyway, she couldn’t say anything now. It wasn’t like the truth was going to bring Ambrose back to life, was it?
Viridiana stayed longer than usual that evening, hoping to pacify her mother, and she let her ex-boyfriend take her back to the house, which had to count for something.
Manuel placed her bicycle in the back of his pickup truck and drove slowly. The radio played sugary-sweet ballads. She turned down the volume with a quick flick of her wrist. Their taste in music, like other matters, had always been at odds.
He parked outside the house and spoke before she could thank him for the ride and haul her bike off the truck.
“We’re gonna go to the movies next weekend,” he said. “All of us. Maybe you’d like to come.”
She had not been invited to any outings since their breakup. Not that she had attempted to socialize. She could have talked to Patricia or Trinidad, reconstructed her circle of friends or built a new one. It seemed too difficult. Too pointless. She wished only to get up late and read a bit from her books, and then watch black and white movies on the TV set. The arrival of Daisy and Gregory had changed her routine, got her interested in something after wanting nothing of this stinking town.
“I don’t know. Won’t they be irritated?” she asked.
“Because you’re there? Viridiana, they’re not mad at you.”
“That’s not true. They are. And so are you.”
She unlocked the door and got out. He got out too, and helped her with the bicycle, setting it down next to her and resting a hand on it.
“It can be the way it was before,” he said.
Viridiana stared at him. He thought “before” was a good thing. As if she was not desperately running away from “before”. She had felt sick talking about a wedding, physically nauseous. She couldn’t swallow a bite of food. A weight had been lifted off her shoulders when they’d broken up. And while it was true that afterwards she had found herself in a state of confusion and depression, she had no desire to return to the way it was “before”.
Untamed Shore Page 11