Veiled

by Silvina Niccum

  I noticed that Max looked at him steadily with his piercing eyes. If I hadn’t known better I would say he was reading Ricardo’s mind or sending him a subliminal message. Ricardo could not endure the stare for too long and quickly looked away, trying to hide his lies from the Priest.

  I, however, could read their thoughts, and I felt like I was living in two worlds at the same time. In one world I could hear the conversations that were spoken, and in the other, I could hear the unspoken ones. This was not unusual for me, but tonight the unspoken conversations were especially interesting.

  Apparently the two girls had confessed to Max earlier today, and one of them had named Ricardo as the father of her unborn child. Max had been extremely civil with Ricardo, but now his mercy was wearing thin; and if Ricardo was intimidated by Max’s stare, I would have loved to have seen how he felt about Max’s thoughts!

  “You have more impending business in Madrid, than you have here?” Max asked with indifference, as he took a casual sip of his wine.

  Ricardo’s face turned pale. Don Marco knitted his eyebrows and looked questioningly at Max—who presently seemed to be more interested in the wine than the answer to his question.

  Don Marco looked from one face to the other. “As far as I know, Ricardo has managed to avoid almost all business with me,” Don Marco added dryly, and he too took a sip of wine.

  “Well,” Ricardo said in his most confident and jovial voice, “I did say I would help Ernesto stack the grain in the barn, but I’m sure the Padre here would be willing to pitch in and help with that. My bad leg has been acting up lately—a war injury, you know.” He winked at Celeste.

  A year had passed since the Quinceañera party, and no one in the DeLeon family was fooled by Ricardo’s ways, yet no one attempted to un-invite him, or point out his deficiencies.

  Upon hearing no reply from anyone in the dining room, Ricardo excused himself and left the room. Once he was gone, Max resumed a previous conversation about Don Marco’s workers and their welfare.

  Celeste sat, like her mother, quietly. But unlike her mother, she listened to the men’s conversation. She understood everything they talked about, got every joke, and knew the affairs of her father better than Ricardo ever did. If only Don Marco knew what kind of daughter he had, if only his own prejudices against women would allow him to see the reality of his own good fortune. But it was not meant to be that way for Celeste, and she dove into the only thing that was not denied to her—her studies and her hobbies. She had been experimenting with grafting roses and was anxious to see what the spring would bring in terms of color and smell.

  Life at the estancia without Ricardo was more enjoyable for just about everyone—with the exception perhaps of that girl he left behind, heartbroken. Without Ricardo around, the whole household fell into old habits and routines and submerged into their own particular lives. These months were a great relief for Celeste, who was not cut out to crochet all day long, and she was free again to do as she pleased.

  Today was a particularly hot summer day, so she went to the river bank to work on her sketches of the local birds and flowers, but soon she was too hot to finish. She looked around and a mischievous smile crossed her face. She undressed to her slip and got into the water. She swam a little against the soft current, then turned on her back and floated downstream a little ways.

  Not wanting to get too far from her spot, she would turn herself and swim upstream only to do the same, over and over again. Her long curly blond hair spread like the rays of the sun around her face. She kept her eyes opened and looked straight up at the sky. I floated above her and she looked peaceful, but her mind was troubled. She was thinking a great deal about her life, and what her future held in store. She seemed certain of two things. First, she would never marry Ricardo and second, she would not live in this home. She had no idea why she was so certain of these two things, but they were quite clear to her.

  I, of course, was the one who instilled those thoughts about not marrying Ricardo, and felt quite proud of myself for that influence. But the latter was not my doing. As much as she loved her roses and the comforts of this house and this life, she actually hated living here. She wanted to go to a different land, a place where she could be free and not be expected to be anyone but herself.

  She didn’t hate Spain, but she did dream of going to South America. She had heard stories of people who had been there and who said it was beautiful. Argentina for some reason stood out in her mind. She had studied as much as she could about the place and had deemed it her personal paradise. She cared nothing for the splendors of the rest of Europe. She wanted what she thought would be an untamed life and adventure.

  From where I floated, I could see Max coming up the lane, book in hand, reading as he made his way to his next appointment. He had a leather bag strapped across his chest and was eating a juicy pear that was increasingly becoming more of a hassle than he had first anticipated. The heat was apparently oppressing, but there was not much he could do about it—that is until he crossed the bridge and realized that there was a river right below him.

  The thought of taking a quick dip in it was very tempting, especially since he was all sticky from the pear juice. He could hardly show up at his next appointment sweaty and sticky to boot.

  In two long strides he was down the slope and at the river’s edge. He was about to take his robe off right there, but decided that it would be better not to leave evidence of his presence next to the bridge. So he walked up stream a little ways before finding a more secluded spot.

  I took frantic looks between the two. Neither one aware of the fact that they were just a few bushes away from each other and both wearing nothing but their under garments.

  I looked all around me anxiously for Leo, hoping to avert such an indecent encounter between the two, but he was nowhere to be found.

  To no avail I tried to get Celeste to hurry out of the water, but she seemed intent on enjoying the water as long as possible, dunking her head in and staying under for as long as her lungs would allow.

  Max was now a few feet away from her and still, neither was aware of the other’s presence. I covered my face in frustration, but spread my fingers so I wouldn’t miss anything either. Then I heard a hearty laugh from behind me.

  “You are a devil, Leo!” I punched him in the arm. He laughed even louder.

  “Shh, we’ll miss all the fun!” he teased back. I turned to look at the inevitable blunder between a girl and her young, handsome priest.

  Max was looking up at the treetops as he made his way effortlessly upstream on his back, and only happened to turn on his stomach when Celeste dove under the water.

  Then in one instant, and inches away from each other, Celeste’s head popped up for air as a startled Max looked straight in front of him. They stared at each other for a moment in complete silence. She didn’t scream—though I shrieked—and he was paralyzed in place in spite of the current.

  Leo burst out laughing even louder this time and I punched him on the shoulder once more.

  “S-Sorry,” they both said at once. Then they fumbled their way into explanations as to why they were there.

  “I better go dry off,” said Celeste hastily, her face flushed crimson. She turned toward the shore, and as she began to get out she suddenly realized that her wet slip did not provide much cover, so she immediately dunked herself back in the water. Her face was now so flushed that her ears burned and a red streak ran all the way down her neck.

  She couldn’t face Max, so she kept her face toward the shore.

  Max was still frozen in place, eyes bulging out. Leo laughed again and I shoved him clear across the river.

  “Ahh, right…” Max cleared his throat, and turned his head as well, but in the opposite direction. “I’ll go back that way…where I came from.” He turned to leave then hesitated for a minute. “I’ll see you later.”

  Celeste bit her lip. “Yeah…I’ll make sure to be dressed next time,” she said letting
out an involuntary giggle.

  Max heard her, but offered no reply. He looked clammy and still in shock, as he made his way downstream.

  “You knew about this, and didn’t come when I called you. You are a perfect little devil,” I reproached Leo.

  “Oh, it’s just a little bit of fun. No harm done!” he said dismissively.

  “None that we know of. What if someone saw them?”

  “Impossible, we would have sensed them,” he insisted.

  “I didn’t feel you coming.”

  “Yeah, you were too busy peeking,” Leo teased, as he came back to my side.

  “So this is how you get people together, you cheat!” I pushed him again,

  “It’s not cheating,” he assured. “We know what’s good for them better than they do,” he said, rubbing the spot as if he could feel the pain.

  “But we can’t interfere!”

  “Reality check, Tess, you already have. In fact you have been interfering from day one. Remember those bedtime stories you fed her from the crib?”

  “But your way is bolder than mine,” I said meekly.

  “That’s because it’s crunch time, and these two have to fall in love and get married, or I’ll never be born,” he said, showing for the first time how deeply he felt about this.

  I stared at him in disbelief.

  “How can you know?” I asked.

  “I just had my pre-ordination chat with the High Council.” His voice had an odd edge to it. And if I wasn’t mistaken, his aura betrayed a little bitterness.

  “A what?”

  “You know. The meeting where your life’s mission and all that get settled.” He looked at me hoping to find some sort of understanding in my face. “Before your life begins?”

  “Oh…that. They can tell you who your parents will be?” I asked, perplexed.

  “No. But I guessed.”

  “Oh. So…why are you upset?”

  He looked taken back, as if he was impressed at my ability to discern his mood.

  Then his face softened. “It’s not that I am mad or anything. It’s just that…I think…I don’t know… I’m nervous, I guess.”

  “About what?”

  He folded his arms and looked down. His thoughts were all in a jumble. He was trying to pinpoint the source of his uneasiness, but could find no particular one.

  “I don’t know. Something is bothering me, but I can’t figure out what.”

  “Yeah, I can tell. Don’t worry, it’ll come to you later. If not, you might want to request another audience with the High Council.”

  He looked steadily at me, deep in thought.

  “You are right. It’ll come to me,” he said and brightened a bit.

  “You should go find Irene. She’ll help you.” I thought I would voice this idea, since I saw that he wanted to talk to her desperately.

  “Thanks, I think I will.” He looked at me for a moment, and then gave me a quick hug before leaving. He was up past the treetops when he stopped and yelled, “Make sure they run into each other a lot!”

  I chuckled and wished I had something spiritually solid to throw at him.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 28

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have not sinned.”

  Max recognized the voice behind the panel at once and was very glad the partition covered his scarlet face.

  “How long since your last confession?” he said, trying hard to disguise the lump in his throat. “Wait! What did you just say?” Why did this girl always throw him off kilter?

  “Well…you know it was just last week. But the truth is…I haven’t sinned at all, so why lie? Confessing would be like lying, wouldn’t it?”

  Max thought about this for a moment and suppressed a chuckle.

  “I guess it would. So, why don’t you tell your mother that you have nothing to confess?”

  “Because, she says no one is perfect and we all sin all the time, so we have to confess.”

  “Except for you, apparently, who hasn’t sinned all week.”

  “I haven’t broken any of the commandments…that I know of. Besides, the real reason why she confesses every week is so people get used to seeing her coming in here and confessing every week. If the time ever comes when she really has to confess, then she doesn’t have to worry about the town’s people gossiping about her.”

  A smile crossed Max’s amused face. “So, am I to believe that your mother makes up sins on the weeks that she is pretending to confess?”

  “Of course!”

  “And you?”

  “Sure, all the time except for today. Today I came clean.”

  “So today you are confessing about lying to your priest for who knows how long. Lying is a sin, so you do have something to repent about after all.”

  “Oh good! Let’s start over. My sin is lying about sinning…or not sinning.”

  “OK, OK, out you go!”

  Celeste giggled. “So, am I forgiven?”

  “Only God forgives, but I hold no grudge.”

  “Good! See you at dinner,” Celeste said brightly.

  Max closed his eyes, even though he couldn’t see her, his eyelids were swimming with images of her smiling face. Yes, he thought bitterly, she will be the end of me. This thought, however, didn’t distress him as much as it should have.

  Time passed much as it always did on Earth—too quickly—and months had now passed since the events of that day at the river. Max had buried and dealt with the feelings that that day had given him. But Sundays were always a source of both joy and aggravation to him. He looked forward to Sundays a little too much, and not for the right reasons.

  Celeste still confessed every Sunday and was her usual spunky self. She used confession time more as a time to confide in Max, rather than confess. She told him of her unease about Ricardo and her dreams of living in South America, a dream that coincidentally they shared. She also talked a great deal about her rose grafts and the progress they were making.

  Max listened patiently, oscillating between thinking that confession time was for the purpose of confessing sins only, and loving every moment he heard her voice and could talk freely with her. When he had dinner at the DeLeon household, Max talked with her father about the town and business. Celeste kept quiet during this time, observing the manners that she had been brought up to have.

  Max would often smile at the thought of how little her parents knew the real Celeste. His mind would stray as he saw her sitting there so demurely eating her meal in silence, thinking about how she was absorbing every bit of information. Max also knew that it would be a waste of time to try to convince Don Marco of the jewel he had for a daughter. The old man was too entrenched in old customs to listen, so he kept all this knowledge to himself. And to rein in his unruly thoughts about Celeste, Max took up the task of learning Ancient Egyptian. The hieroglyphics seemed to be the best antidote against any thoughts of her.

  Seventeen year old Celeste however, was not as deliberate as Max was. For one, she didn’t have the commitment that Max had to the Church, though she understood it perfectly. In her mind his vows to the church were a mere inconvenience that only made their situation more exiting. In fact, Celeste didn’t work hard at all to get her mind off of Max, she simply succumbed to fantasy any time her mind wished to.

  One particular summer afternoon, she ventured another dip in the river. This time she took precautions though. She brought a towel and left it by the river bank, and only took a short swim. Once dressed, and cool enough to sketch, she set to work, but was soon frustrated by her lack of talent. Try as she might to draw those beautiful creatures that surrounded her, she could not. They always turned out disproportionate and odd looking, so instead she was looking around for easier targets.

  “A simple flower, a leaf, or a blade of grass. I have to start with the basics, and then move up,” she said to herself.

  When I saw Max—Egyptian book in hand—walking up the lane, I rolled my eyes. Not again! I thought.
At least she’s dressed this time.

  He had to walk this way every week to visit a family that was often in need, so whenever he had to come by the river, he armed himself with something really enthralling, so as to avoid all temptation. But it was not meant to be this time. Engrossed as he was by the hieroglyphics, he didn’t see the large root and tripped. He tried to catch himself before reaching the ground, but all he managed was to throw the book up into the air and land on his face.

  As he lay on the dirt, he lifted his head, and in so doing saw her through the clearing. She was dressed this time, thank goodness for that, but looked lovelier than ever as she studied a little wild flower in her hand.

  To any other man, this would’ve been a great opportunity to go up to her and have a friendly chat, while enjoying her beauty up-close. But to Max this was a terrible sight to see, something that would disturb his dreams for days, making him miserable and... Bitter, he thought. I’m becoming bitter, just like Frollo, in the ‘Hunchback of Notre Dame’. What was that word that was engraved in the stone wall at Notre Dame? ‘ANATKH’. FATE.

  Is it my fate to love her? Or is it my fate to become a bitter wretched man? Max was interrupted mid thought by Celeste’s shriek. Without further hesitation, he sprang to his feet and zigzagged his way through the trees toward her.

  When he got there he saw a man bent over her, trying to tuck a strand of hair back behind her ear. Celeste was frozen in place, eyes wide, and her body tense.

  “I don’t think this young lady cares for your company.” Max’s voice was cool and collected, though he felt far from that.

  “Oh, Padre, I was just admiring the local scenery. I didn’t mean anything by it,” the man responded, but it was far from the truth. He was hiding a knife in the small of his back, and had every intention of taking that girl back to his place at knife point if necessary. Max, a simple priest with no means of defending himself, would become a tragic casualty of the event.