Verdict in the Desert

by Patricia Santos Marcantonio

  Martin slapped the glass out of Michael’s hand. Michael’s mouth opened with surprise. His father had never raised his voice or shown such physical anger. He was the king of contained vitriol.

  Michael recovered quickly. “I’ve never seen you so emotional. How does it feel?”

  “You leave me no alternative.”

  Michael took another glass out of the credenza. “What are you going to do? Banish me from the country club? I can do what I want.”

  “This involvement demonstrates a clear lack of judgment and a disregard for any of today’s moral standards.”

  “Christ. You should be choking on the word ‘moral’ after what you pulled with my mother.”

  Martin disregarded Michael’s comments and talked as if dictating the terms of a contract. “Unless you stop this affair, consider your employment terminated at this firm. I want you out of this office tonight. You will also be cut off from any of the family money, investments or inheritance.” He paused. “Let’s see how many drinks you can buy working from a store-front office.”

  “You’d do that to me?”

  “I’m doing it for your own good.”

  Not wanting his father to see his hands tremble, Michael shoved them in his pockets.

  “What, no more jokes, son? I want to be proud of you again for one goddamn moment. You had your fun, now it’s over.”

  Michael slumped into the chair. “Why do you hate her?”

  Martin blinked at the question. “I don’t hate her. She’s just inconsequential. Now, do you start packing, or are you staying with the firm?”

  Dropping the glass, Michael closed his eyes. He couldn’t move his fingers. He couldn’t move from the chair. He couldn’t move from his life. He was yellow as the moon over town. When he opened his eyes, his father had started puffing on a cigar.

  “The doctor said I shouldn’t have these, but we can’t ignore the joys of life.” Martin knew a victory when he saw one. “You’ve made the right choice, Michael.”

  Michael looked at his father. “Do you realize this is the longest conservation we’ve had in a long time? Don’t you think that’s sad?”

  Martin left.

  “I think that’s sad,” Michael said.

  For an hour afterward, Michael did not glance at the notes for his closing.

  “Jus vitae necisque,” he said to himself. The power over life and death. The power of his father over his life. Michael couldn’t think of the appropriate Latin legal term to describe himself, but several English ones came to mind, and none of them involved the word “bravery.”

  Packing notes in his briefcase, Michael left for the courthouse like a man on the way to a gallows of his own construction. When he got there, he entered the side door nearest the jail, where Toni still visited María. He would wait and talk with her. Maybe she’d pass on to him the determination to tell his old man to go to hell. But when he saw Toni coming from the jail, he ducked behind a marble column. She was putting on a thin coat when a large deputy walked over to her and started to help.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” said the big man.

  Michael recognized Nick Conrad as a tackle who had been in high school two years behind him.

  Nick grinned at Toni. “Where you going, señorita?”

  Toni recognized the grin. “Home.”

  The deputy stepped closer to her. “How about going for a drink? There’s a real nice place down the street. I get off in a half hour. You can meet me there. We can talk about the law.”

  “No, thank you.” Toni tried to step around him.

  The deputy held out an arm to stop her. “You’re so pretty and so polite. Very polite to white guys.” His voice lowered to sludge.

  Michael clung to the column. If he didn’t, he would fall off the earth.

  “Get out of my way,” Toni ordered the deputy.

  “What’s the matter? Not like us poor working men? I’ll prove to you I’m better than any old lawyer. Much better.” The deputy hiked up his pants. Toni pushed past while he laughed snippily. “See you around, señorita.”

  The deputy’s heavy footsteps faded in the other direction. Michael waited for the silence before he struck his head against the column until the ever so cool marble became streaked with blood.

  36

  THE PLACE EXHALED LYE AND BLEACH. Bags of soiled clothing suspended in bags from the ceiling looked like organs of a giant creature. Clean clothing on hangers traveled along conveyors running along the wall, while large tubular washers churned and sputtered. Sweat gleamed on the faces of the Mexican women at the Borden Laundry Company. Feeding clothes into machines, they chatted in Spanish about children and husbands. Everyone knew everyone else’s business because the workers had to shout to be heard above the thrumming machinery.

  Toni respected their simple gratitude for jobs and food on the table. They were content enough with keeping clean homes and having children who loved God. She folded the sheets emerging from the rollers of the ironing machine. Her partner, Rosie Rojas, an older woman with large arms and a tiny face, chatted like the motors running the washers. Within a few days of working there, Toni knew much more than she wanted to know about the Rojas family, including how Rosie’s son had earned a prison term for slicing up a neighbor who slept with his wife. She and Rosie simultaneously grabbed one end of the cloth as it rolled out of the pressing machine, folded it down the middle, met their hands and folded it again. They repeated the maneuver in perfect teamwork, creating stacks of sheets ready to tie with white string. All the while, Rosie gabbed.

  “But my boy, you know, he meant no harm, Antonia.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t, Rosie.”

  “In Mexico, he would have been a good boy, but in this country there’s too much freedom. The young people go crazy here. Oh, not you. You’re a good girl.”

  Toni was about to change the subject when she saw Carmen wave at the back door. She glanced at the clock.

  “Rosie, I’d like to take my break now, if that’s okay with you. My sister is out there.”

  “Sure. My feet are killing me, anyway.”

  Toni headed for the back door.

  Carmen held out a paper bag and swung it enticingly. “Dad sent potato and chorizo burritos.”

  The sisters sat close together on the back steps. Toni had grabbed a clean rug and placed it down, figuring she would wash it again later. The warmth of the room heated their backs.

  Toni gently nudged her sister. “It’s late. You and the baby need rest.”

  Carmen patted her bulging stomach. “I feel good. Besides, Dad was tired, so I told him I’d bring you some food.”

  For a while, they sat and watched the steam rush out the big vents on the side of the building.

  “The trial is almost over, Toni. What happens then?”

  “I don’t know, I really don’t.”

  Carmen raised her head. “Hey, the baby kicked. Feel.” She placed Toni’s hand over the spot on her round belly. After another kick, Toni smiled and withdrew her hand.

  “What does it feel like?” Toni asked.

  “Like your insides are moving on their own, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s nice, like the baby is ready to come out and meet me. This may sound funny, Toni, but I feel like a real woman, being pregnant.” Carmen’s eyes were glassy with tears.

  “It’s not funny at all. It’s beautiful.”

  “If it’s a girl, I’m going to name the baby after Mamá.”

  “She would have loved that.”

  “I want you to baptize the baby.”

  “I hoped you’d ask.”

  “Comadre Toni.”

  “Comadre Carmen. I like the sound of that.” Toni huddled closer to her sister. “The nights are getting cooler. Maybe I’m getting old, like Mrs. Hernández. Pretty soon my bones will dry up like flour. My blood will be thick as lard, and I’ll start having heart attacks.”

  “Not you. You’re too ornery. Besides, I want the kid to
be like his aunt and go to college.”

  Toni laughed. “What do you want the baby to be?”

  “Happy.”

  Toni hugged her sister. “I’ll split these with you.”

  They dug into the bag.

  After her shift, Toni sat in her little house. Carmen was right. She was dumb as a doorknob. She went outside. Clouds covered the stars, making the darkness complete. Growing up, she believed her life was blessed because of the people she loved. They had each other, never had to go without food and lived in a nice home. But her mother had died, and the blessings became illusory. They could be taken away so easily.

  There was Michael, whom she counted as a blessing. There were also the obstacles for both of them, which placed their relationship in a night without the moon.

  The porch light went on across the yard. “Antonia,” her father called. “Teléfono, m’ijita.”

  “Coming.”

  Francisco left the room as soon as Toni said, “Michael” into the phone. He had heard the name before, when he caught other men at the mill talking in the cafeteria. They always shut up when he entered. He stirred at Toni’s loud voice but didn’t leave his bedroom, where he sat on the bed with his hands clasped together. Carmen and Víctor had gone out. A fortunate thing, because her sister would have grabbed the phone from Toni and started cursing at the man on the other end.

  Toni’s hand was tight on the telephone. “What did you say?”

  On the line, Michael repeated the words, which carried a hollow and faraway echo. Toni huffed into the phone. She tasted blood in her mouth. Her eyes stung, but she was too mad to cry. “You didn’t have the guts to tell me to my face, did you?”

  Michael sighed into the phone, the air brushing into her ear with betrayal.

  She listened as Michael stammered with the words. For a man who lived by knowing what to say, he was hardly able to speak.

  “What about María?” she asked.

  Michael had apparently forgotten about his client. He mentioned something about another translator.

  “I can’t desert her. You don’t need anyone else. María counts on me and trusts me. I can’t let her down,” Toni said.

  Michael breathed out as if he had no more air in his body. Music played in the background. He was at a bar, which made her angrier. He had no explanation, and she wasn’t going to ask for one. Michael only called it “over.” Toni willed herself to think, to find a reason. Discarding the obvious ones, including his marriage, she tried to find answers in what he told her in the darkness, in bed. It was all shit, and she was stupid.

  My God.

  “Wait, wait. No more,” Toni interrupted his stammering. “I won’t make any trouble for you. Tell your father he’s got nothing to worry about.”

  She hung up, still holding the receiver.

  Standing outside his room, Francisco coughed quietly. Toni threw down the phone, rushed to him and sobbed, putting her hands over her face.

  “Don’t cry, hijita.” He patted her back. “No man is worth it.”

  “Hey, you done in there?” A man with a red Adam’s apple tapped on the glass of the booth. “I gotta use the phone.”

  Michael opened the door, and the man rushed by him into the booth. Michael went to his table in the corner. Tommy had left him a glass of whiskey. He hadn’t tasted it yet. His arms and legs were numb. Like the night his mother died. Like the day he quit the prosecutor’s office. Since those times, he had lived with aimlessness. Nothing had given him purpose until Toni. Now, he had let her go.

  Michael picked the drink up and threw the glass against the nearest wall. Spilling several bills on the table, he walked out of the place.

  Unfettered, Tommy brought over his broom as Michael left the bar. “That is one fucked-up lawyer.” The bartender whistled through his teeth.

  37

  ACROSS THE STREET FROM THE LAUNDRY, Herb Bell watched the rest of the shift leave but didn’t see the girl. A couple of things kept him from visiting her house with the warning he carried from old man Shaw. Her damn little dog would probably bark its head off. Plus her old dad might have a shotgun. So he’d deliver his message at the job she deserved—cleaning up after white people.

  Greaser whore. He wanted to call her that, but she might recognize his voice from the courthouse. Then again, what did he care if she knew his identity? What could she do to him? He was a deputy, for fuck’s sake.

  He grinned because the girl had parked well away from the lights of the laundry. The dark hid his face. He had also changed into jeans and a dark shirt. No one would see him coming.

  The mill blasted twice. Midnight. She walked to her car like she was bucking a windstorm. Michael Shaw must have already told her to get lost. Still, old man Shaw wanted insurance the girl didn’t bother his son again or stir up problems for the family with any false accusations. The old man had appreciated Bell’s suggestion.

  The deputy ducked into the back seat of her car. The girl got in, but she didn’t start up the motor. She just sat there. Bell leaned forward behind the driver’s seat and placed his right hand over her mouth, yanking her head backward. She fought against him, attempting to reach the horn. But he grabbed her left arm and pulled back even harder on her head. She was helpless.

  “No, you don’t. Now, stay away from Michael Shaw, bitch. Or you and your family will be knee-high in shit.” He had intensified and deepened his voice to disguise it.

  Her thrashing continued. He had power over this woman, like he had power over Michael Shaw. He could do anything he wanted to her and grew hard at the opportunity. Bell slid his left hand under the girl’s blouse and bra to her right breast. He squeezed hard. His rough fingers pulled at her nipple with malevolency and lust. She inhaled and stopped squirming. He eased his grip with what he believed was her invitation. But the girl opened her mouth wide and bit hard into the palm of his hand. Bell cursed, drew back his hand and then slugged her on her right cheek.

  She pulled free, bolted out the door and ran. By the time Bell climbed out of her car, the girl had disappeared back in the laundry. Bell ran to his truck, parked on the next street over. His hand throbbed and bled.

  “Fucking bitch!” Still, the fact the powerful Martin Shaw owed him for his services did lessen the sting.

  38

  FOR THE PAST MONTH, María had rubbed tiny circles on the middle of her chest. She had begun to feel a piercing in the exact place where she had plunged the knife into Ben. Nighttime was when the unseen gash throbbed. Other times, it just burned. In the early morning hours, she would often wake from the pain and check herself in the metal mirror on the wall of her cell. She truly expected to see the eye of a knife wound looking back at her. An open cut, raw and red as new meat. Although she couldn’t see the wound, she knew it was there under her skin, tainting her soul with guilt. Her friend Bonita had come to see her and asked if the priest had heard her confession yet. But María hadn’t invited him to the jail. No matter what the church taught, she feared God would not forgive her.

  That Saturday, Toni visited. Mr. Shaw had arranged for them to meet in one of the interview rooms, while other inmates had to talk with their families through metal mesh in the jail visiting area.

  As soon as María was brought into the room, Toni said, “Come here, please. I want a look at you.”

  But María was the one who took Toni’s face in her hands. Bruises marked the left side. The skin under Toni’s right eye had darkened. “Madre mía. Who did that to you?”

  “No one. A bag of laundry fell, and I didn’t duck in time.”

  “Little girl, I know the signs. Tell me what happened.”

  Toni lit a cigarette. The smoke weaved a white airy border back and forth as she paced the room, keeping her head down.

  “I didn’t see his face. He was in the back seat of my car.” She shivered. “He touched me … I bit his hand. That’s when he punched me, and I ran away.” Toni didn’t mention the rest. The threat to stay away from the Shaw family.
María had enough to worry about.

  The night Toni was attacked, she had called her sister to come get her from the laundry. Toni had also lied to Carmen and her father about her injuries. If she told them what really took place, she was positive they would have gone after Michael, who had nothing to do with the assault. She was sure of that. Thankfully, her sister and father believed her story and didn’t think anything of it when she started to sleep on the couch. She told them it was too hot in her little house.

  “You didn’t call the police?” María said.

  “They’d only think I asked for it. I’m okay, really.” Toni stubbed out the cigarette and sat down by María. “Let’s talk about how you’re doing.”

  María studied her. “Antonia, what else is wrong?”

  “Nothing. The laundry is a lot harder than I imagined.”

  “You’re lying again.”

  “María, please.”

  “It’s about you and Mr. Shaw.”

  Toni opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it.

  “You don’t have to hide with me, Antonia.”

  “Michael will still help you. It’s his job. Maybe we should find someone else to translate for you. I don’t want anything to hurt your chances in court. It might be best if I went away.”

  María kissed her cheek. “You are my friend. I want you with me.”

  “You’re my friend, too.”

  “You love him.”

  Toni took María’s hands. They were cool and small. “I can handle this. I’ve had disappointments before.”

  Both of them couldn’t help but smile.

  “We know disappointment very well. It’s like a relative standing on your doorstep,” María said.

  “Only this time, I hoped it would be different.”

  “Men are such mysterious creatures, Antonia. They can bring so much pleasure and suffering. Remember that old Bible story about how God took a rib from man while he was sleeping and He made a woman? I believe men remember the misery woman caused when God took the rib. And men want revenge. I realize now men pay us back with love.”