The Santero

by Kim Rodriguez

  “I left you alone. I’m sorry, but I was so sick,” said Rafa, again in a perfect American accent. “I didn’t make it, but you did. The lady saved you, and look at you now.”

  Piraña lost it then, the torrent of emotion too strong to contain. His shoulders shook as he grasped Rafa’s hand so tightly that I touched my fingertips to his elbow.

  “Careful,” I said, indicating he shouldn’t squeeze too hard. In response, he released Rafa’s hand and simply laid his over it. Another flash of dry lightning illuminated the circle of faces around us, some incredulous and others unquestioning.

  “I watch you,” continued Rafa in English. “No one looked after us, but I look after you.” That was all Piraña needed to completely lose his composure. His response came slowly, between full body convulsions, and to Piraña’s credit, he didn’t try to censor himself or conceal what he was feeling. It was as if we’d all come together with the understanding that anything could happen and that we might all see the darkest recesses of each other’s souls, but we would guard each other’s confidences as if they were our own. Now I understood why Rafa always insisted on keeping his distance from anyone he couldn’t trust. Anything could happen in a moment like this; any secrets, past, present, or future could be revealed in the presence of the group and someone with the wrong intentions could misuse such intimate knowledge against us. It all made sense: Rafa’s instant and virulent dislike of Achille, his aloof refusal to include anyone not known to one of the members, and his constant, obsessive watchful eye over me. Rafa was especially vulnerable, but so was every person who agreed to connect with the dead. The unconditional bond between us had to be absolute and unbreakable or it meant the end of us all.

  “Mari, Mari, why can’t you be here to share it with me now? I have everything we ever wanted, but you’re gone.” He let out a low moan and rocked back and forth in the chair, coming apart until Raymond appeared and grasped Piraña’s shoulders from behind.

  “I am here,” said Rafa. I was glad to see he’d barely moved a muscle, still comfortable and relaxed on my lap. “I’m always with you. But I came tonight with a warning about the trip.”

  I went back and forth between listening to Rafa’s words and watching his face and hands, mesmerized by the sound of his voice with its new, unfamiliar inflections. I lost track of time as Piraña left and was replaced in the chair by Sal, who presumably spoke to his grandfather, a man he addressed as abuelo. His interaction was markedly different, and it appeared to me that Sal was in fact much more jovial than usual, adopting an almost childlike body language and manner of speech. This time Rafa spoke in Spanish, but in an accent that sounded nothing like his own. In place of his usual, unpretentious Cuban accent, Rafa began to pronounce his y’s and double l’s like ‘sh’ and ‘zh,’ which I immediately recognized as the Rioplatense accent. I didn’t keep track, but it felt like Sal and his grandfather talked for a long time about mountains and Sal’s many other relatives.

  Only Piraña’s visit was brief. After Sal’s grandfather someone came for Sandro, an individual to whom he spoke at great length about all five of his daughters and his mother, and by the time Esteban and Alex approached I was in a fairly fatigued state, far more interested in my growing physical discomfort and presumably Rafa’s as well. Because it was such a relief to hear Rafa sound like himself while speaking to them, I almost fell asleep until I remembered that Rafa was not Rafa at the moment and it was my job to watch over him. Hours passed, and though I could see that the group had switched from champagne to coffee, the interest in Rafa’s work remained undiminished. I had no doubt that if he’d been able to go on for days, the group would have happily kept the vigil with him. By the early morning hours, Sandro had come and adjusted Rafa’s body several times, just a simple shift of his arms and legs which he’d explained would help him remain comfortable, and Anthony had long since stopped playing the piano, replaced by one of the musicians from the club, an enigmatic long-haired man who played the classical guitar with such passion it was as if he were taking his last breaths on earth. I was just about to get up and stretch my legs when he arrived.

  “Mom?”

  It was Rafa, speaking in an American accent again. Of course I knew Rafa intended to bring William thorough to speak to me, but I’d intentionally refused to think about it at all,

  as the disappointment would be too great if he didn’t come, and the emotion would be too much if he did. Rafa and I were alike in many ways, but in this regard, he was far more evolved. He knew that the only way to heal was to let the pain have its way until it broke you down to nothing, and only then could you come out on the other side. Rafa knew I’d been hiding from it for far too long and this night was his gift to me, an opportunity to fulfill his wish to free me from the malignant roots the memories had grown in the deepest parts of my soul, affecting everything I said and did. They had to become something else, and if I ran from this now, all of his effort would be in vain.

  I gazed down at my Rafa, whose steady breathing and relaxed expression had turned tense and strained. Sandro noticed it too and handed me a handkerchief to mop his brow, and as I placed my palm on his moist forehead, I considered whether or not I wanted to answer. I wasn’t sure, but I knew I had to, because I have to stop for death or he will stop for me.

  Emily Dickinson, the lonely spinster who wrote only about death and the animals in front of her pretty Amherst house was of course rattling off in my brain now, her words seared into my consciousness no matter how much I’d tried to ignore her and her equally maddening literary counterpart, the insufferable Robert Frost. I’d detested my Dickinson and Frost class with an unparalleled level of virulence, its goddamned pink textbook the only one I’d ever thrown out. Yet the death poets I’d always loathed had left their mark somewhere in my soul, and now, now of all times, they came to rear their ugly heads. Oh, how I’d hated that fucking poetry as a young woman. Her slants of light, her birds on a walk, her buzzing flies could all go to hell. Yet, here she was to torture me again with images of happy school children blissfully unaware of death, the setting sun, and the swelling ground. The words came to me against my will, washing over me like a tsunami tearing across a tiny little island in the middle of the sea.

  Because I could not stop for Death –

  He kindly stopped for me –

  The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

  And Immortality.

  We slowly drove – He knew no haste

  And I had put away

  My labor and my leisure too,

  For His Civility –

  We passed the School, where Children strove

  At Recess – in the Ring –

  We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –

  We passed the Setting Sun –

  Or rather – He passed us –

  The Dews drew quivering and chill –

  For only Gossamer, my Gown –

  My Tippet – only Tulle –

  We paused before a House that seemed

  A Swelling of the Ground –

  The Roof was scarcely visible –

  The Cornice – in the Ground –

  Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet

  Feels shorter than the Day

  I first surmised the Horses’ Heads

  Were toward Eternity –

  “Hey,” prodded Sandro, bringing me back to reality. “It has to be for you. There’s no one left.” He gestured toward the group and the barely visible hint of light peeking up over the horizon.

  “William?” I asked, feeling myself go lightheaded. This wasn’t happening. My son’s voice wasn’t coming out of Rafa’s mouth, in front of all these people, so many years later. I felt myself getting angry. What in the fuck kind of joke . . .

  “Mom, you stopped reading. I didn’t.” Mom. Rafa’s lips. Rafa’s voice. But it was William.

  “I—.” I felt the breath rush out of my lungs, the voices and images around me start to fade.

  “
Rafa said to put your head between your knees,” said Sandro from somewhere beside me. “Come on, it’s okay,” he said, gently applying pressure between my shoulders. “Down.” In a few moments I started to feel better. Of course Rafa would have thought of everything. He’d anticipated my needs and made sure there was someone close by to care for me. For the first time in hours his head began to loll from side to side and almost slipped off my thighs, but I held him steady, alarmed at the amount of perspiration that had begun to bead along his temples and around his neck. “This is going to have to be over soon,” said Sandro, observing Rafa’s increasing distress. “He knows he’s got to come out, but something is keeping him there. He probably wants to give you time to finish. You should hurry.”

  “William, I’m sorry I left you. I shouldn’t have gone on that trip. You were so little—and I didn’t even make it before you—” My insides started to twist and churn as I wailed, everything in my belly within inches of coming up. I’d never felt anything like it, a sensation so vile that it was as if my body wanted to turn itself inside out.

  “I don’t remember anything about the hospital,” he said. “It wouldn’t have mattered. I was already gone.”

  “It does matter!” I shrieked. I knew everyone was watching, but I didn’t care.

  “All you did was cry,” he said. “But you’re better now. I like your new family.”

  “You’re my family,” I sobbed. “Always. We were supposed to be together forever.”

  “For a long time, yes,” said William. “But nothing is forever. We’ll get to know each other again.”

  “How?” I asked, the tears in my eyes distorting everything around me. I put my hands on Rafa’s chest, aware that his heart was racing, and the perspiration had seeped through his dress shirt. I opened a few more buttons and loosened his tie. “Sandro?”

  “He has to come out of it on his own,” whispered Sandro. “We can’t wake him.”

  “Remember the time I slapped a teacher?” Rafa’s lips erupted into a wicked grin, his face more flushed than ever. And when I pushed the cake over at the birthday party? Or when I flushed your diamond bracelet down the toilet?”

  “Of course,” I said, raising my hand to my mouth. “Oh my god.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be bad,” he said faintly.

  “I know,” I whispered. “I never thought you were. I was just so worried about you. They kept saying you wouldn’t have a normal life.” I leaned in, vaguely aware that some people were starting to scramble behind me. “William, is Rafa alright? He needs to come back now.”

  “He’s in a little house in Cuba playing cards, but it’s not a good place. His mother isn’t nice like you.”

  “I know, William.” The tears came again, rendering me almost unable to speak.” I loved you so much. I’ll always love you.”

  “I’ll be back when—” Rafa let out a low moan, then opened and closed his pale lips.

  “When what?” I asked, my eyes trained on Sandro, now barking orders into a phone, and Carlos and Oscar, who were now speaking so fast I could barely make out the words, shouting something about how stupid they’d been not to bring another doctor with them.

  “Soon. Bye, Mom.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Back on the Blue Moon I awoke to find myself surrounded by my closest friends and relatives, circled around me as the sun peeked up through the horizon. There was a collective sigh of relief as I opened my eyes and sat up, seeing the lights of Miami not far in the distance. My Amada put her hand on my chest and sobbed into my shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Sal and Sandro were at my feet, both pale as a ghost. It was then that I noticed that someone had loosened my tie and unbuttoned my soaking wet shirt. I was wet all over, in fact, my face covered in perspiration.

  “We thought you were dying,” said Amada. “They just called for a helicopter.”

  “No,” I said, troubled that they were so worried. “Cancel it. I’m alright now. I stayed too long this time, but I won’t do it again.”

  “You were fine until the end,” said Amada, looking out beyond the crowd of people around us. “Someone get me the cold washcloth I asked for!” she snapped.

  A waiter appeared out of nowhere with a damp cloth on a tray, which Amada used to dab at my face and my neck.

  “It wasn’t a heart attack,” I said to everyone. “Did you get to talk to your families?”

  That’s when I noticed the anguished faces in the crowd, some still reeling from the emotional experiences they’d had with their own relatives. Almost every woman had smudged their mascara from crying and the men were just as solemn. No one answered except for Alex, who pushed his way to the front followed by his father.

  “My grandmother came. I talked to her through you. Everyone got to talk to someone.” Feeling better, I stood up on shaky legs. “Rafa, do you remember what she said?”

  “No, nothing,” I said. Then I remembered the old woman. “But I saw her. She had bright red lipstick on.”

  “Yes!” cried Esteban. “My mother always had a full face of makeup on. She used to tell my sisters to at least put on some lipstick before leaving the house. They still laugh about it.”

  “She liked my tattoo,” said Alex, still clearly in shock. “I got to tell her how much I missed her.”

  I was thrilled that Alex and Esteban were happy, but Amada had finally calmed down and all I could think about was whether her meeting with William had been a happy one. I couldn’t bear to think of her in even more pain, and I was about to pull her to the side when Esteban put a hand on my shoulder.

  “My mother had some very interesting things to say in front of all these people,” he said.

  “I hope it didn’t cause you any embarrassment,” I said, still watching Amada out of the corner of my eye. She’s pregnant with my daughter.

  “No, to the contrary. She said I’m going to become president one day, and you’re going to be by my side.”

  “President of what?” I asked, incredulous. The boat was almost at the dock now, the rising sun casting a warm glow over the group, none of whom had moved a muscle since I’d awakened. All eyes on Esteban, no one bothered to move toward the gangway entrance to the ship in spite of the long journey. They’d all heard it loud and clear.

  “We don’t know,” said Alex. “Maybe you’re going into business together.”

  “The three of us need to talk, Rafa,” said Esteban. We shook hands, agreeing to meet before the wedding. He obviously had something in mind and I owed it to him to hear him out, though I couldn’t imagine changing anything in my life right now. It was perfect.

  As the ship approached the dock, I took Amada’s hand and led her to the exit, allowing all of our friends to disembark first. Amada assured me that my color was back, so I buttoned up my shirt and managed to say goodbye to everyone individually, all of whom expressed effusive thanks. Sal was grateful for the visit from his grandfather, a cowboy or gaucho who had once owned thousands of acres of land in Argentina, and Sandro told me the short man had been his stepfather, a wonderful man who married his mother and took care of all of her children until he died. He’d come back to congratulate Sandro on his beautiful family and asked him to let his mother know that he hadn’t suffered in the accident that took his life. Every one of the Santuario members let me know who came for them and what they said, and despite the fact I was still a little unsteady on my feet, I was happy the night had been a success. The last person to disembark was Piraña, who told me his half-sister had come through to warn him to be careful on a forthcoming trip to Antwerp, where he might become very sick.

  “I have to go on the trip, Rafa,” he said, holding his worried partner’s hand. “I can’t cancel. An investor put up a lot of money to show my art.”

  “Come see me before you leave,” I said. “Bring a small gift for Babalú-Ayé and everything will be fine.”

  “Thank you so much, Rafa,” said Piraña. “And speaking of
gifts, I had the painting delivered to your house last night. Wait until you see it. It’s so—”

  “Erotic,” interrupted Raymond. “I hope you don’t mind, but I snuck in and peeked when he wasn’t around. I think it’s his best work ever. Would you consider showing it?”

  “No!” said Amada. “We love you Piraña, but I could never put it on display.”

  “Of course not,” he said, giving Raymond a playful look. “He thinks everything is my best work. The three of us—well, the four of us—are the only ones who will ever see it, and that’s exactly as it should be. By the way, I tore up the check. It’s my wedding present.”

  “We couldn’t,” I said. “We agreed on a price of $20,000. That’s too much.”

  “It really isn’t,” said Piraña. “If you keep me healthy in Antwerp, my agent says my paintings will go for eight figures or more. I insist.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said, shaking both of their hands. “Thank you.”

  With the last guest off the ship, Amada and I walked down the gangway to meet Lars and George who were waiting for us as always. Desperate to find out what William had told her, I stopped in the middle of the bridge and made her look at me. She still hadn’t said much, and I was worried that she hadn’t taken his visit well.

  “Mamita, what did he say?”

  “William was the last one.” Her brows furrowed, a certain sign she was about to start crying again. “He told me he loved me, and that he didn’t remember anything about being in the hospital, so I should stop feeling guilty about not getting there before he passed. He said he was happy I’d found you.” She buried her face in my chest, her shoulders shaking with emotion. I knew she was crying again, and this time I let her. It was time to let it out once and for all.

  “Was there anything else?” I kissed her head and stroked her hair, wondering if he’d told her.

  “No,” she said. “I got upset, and then you started gasping for air, so he left quickly. Rafa, I was so scared I might lose you, too—”

  “Shh, mamita,” I said, resting my cheek on the top of her head. I couldn’t comfort her the way I wanted out here like this. “Let’s go home and see our painting,” I said. “And then I have something to tell you.”