Conquistadora (16 page)

If a slave reported on others preparing to escape or to take arms, he or she received a reward and freedom. Leaders were seized and killed, and the others were punished by whippings or by having their limbs crippled or severed. The new elites and veterans from the revolutions on Hispaniola and in South America were determined to keep Puerto Rico Spanish. Rigorous suppression and censorship regulated the written word and even spoken language. Advocating independence for Puerto Rico, even in conversation, was cause for exile.

By the time the Argosos arrived on the island in 1844, there were only two Spanish colonies left in what had been a vast empire. Every other former colony was independent and had abolished slavery. The exceptions were Cuba—and Puerto Rico.

Flora nursed doña Benigna through four pregnancies and helped to raise the surviving three children into adulthood. By then their
town, Ponce, on the Caribbean side of Puerto Rico, had expanded into a city right to the steps of don Felipe’s house. Don Felipe and doña Benigna were now rich, their children were grown and settled, and as their hair grayed, their conversations turned to nostalgia and Spain. They sold their home, and the morning they left, their human chattel were marched to town. Severo bought Flora, now forty years old, at the auction in the plaza.

Within days of their arrival at Hacienda los Gemelos, Flora was certain that don Ramón and don Inocente would pester the women. She was old now, so she was grateful that they’d have no interest in her. But she noticed how they looked at the women and girls with hunger in their eyes, even though
la patrona
was young and fervent. The floor of the
casona
’s upstairs was one layer of planks, and the undersides were the ceiling where Marta and Flora slept downstairs. Almost every night Flora heard the
pah-thump, pah-thump, pah-thump
of a man pushing himself into a woman, and the groan at the end. Flora’s hearing was as acute as her vision. Even though don Ramón and don Inocente sounded and looked alike, she caught the higher timbre of one and the lower pitch of the other. She’d noticed how one was loose of limb and the other held himself tighter. She’d seen don Inocente coming out of the marital bedroom, and she’d caught a look here, a look there, in his exchanges with his brother. At first, Flora wasn’t sure whether
la señora
knew the difference between them, and whether the two brothers were playing a trick on her. But after a few days she was certain that doña Ana was complicit.

Flora watched don Ramón, don Inocente, and doña Ana, and she watched don Severo watching the other three and she learned. She’d worried at the beginning when she first met them that there were too many
patrones
. But within weeks she was sure that there was really one boss, and that the other three were working for her.

Ana worked harder than ever, but four months after their arrival at Hacienda los Gemelos, she still had no complaints and few requests for Papá Dios when she said her evening prayers. She was grateful for the day that was ending, and for what she accomplished in her busy waking hours. Her lonely childhood and passionate adolescence seemed like a long-ago dream, the hours in her grandfather’s farm and library like preparation for the rest of her life. She welcomed and was challenged by the privations of her days, the compromises of a life bereft of the luxury she once took for granted. But the more adversity she faced, the more certain she was that Hacienda los Gemelos was her destiny. Doña Leonor’s warnings, her mother’s terrors of what might lie across the sea, her own misgivings when she first set foot in the house too close to the
ingenio
, seemed as alien now as don Hernán’s journals were at first reading.

Days after Easter Sunday, Ana was in the kitchen storeroom with Marta inventorying the foodstuffs.

“Señora.”
Flora ran in.
“¡Visita!”

“I’m not expecting anyone,” Ana said, peering around the door toward the
batey
. Jacobo was leading two huge, well-fed horses to the stables.

“I help you,
señora
,” Flora said as she untied Ana’s apron. “I wipe face.” She flicked a spot of flour from Ana’s cheek and folded a few wayward strands into her hair. She patted and brushed the dust from Ana’s skirts.

Ramón was in the yard with a man and a woman, both a head taller than Ramón and at least twice as wide. The man was shaped
like an egg on stilts. A tiny head sprouted from his oval-shaped body, from which protruded short, chubby arms and incongruously long, skinny legs. As if to aid in maintaining his balance, his feet were enormous. He didn’t walk so much as waddle; his feet turned diagonally from his body while his huge belly propelled him forward. The woman was equally round and ungainly, her voluminous skirts sweeping the ground.

Ramón introduced them as their closest neighbors, Luis Manuel Morales Font and his wife Faustina Moreau de Morales. They owned Finca San Bernabé, where they grew vegetables and fruits destined for town markets and supplied neighboring plantations with the staples of the slave diet: cassava, breadfruit, plantains,
batatas
, and cornmeal.

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” Faustina said, her voice a gurgle, as if she couldn’t contain her laughter. “Forgive us that we didn’t come sooner, but we know how busy it is during the
zafra
.…”

“Thank you. It was considerate of you to wait until things slowed a bit.”

Ana led their guests to the
casona
’s living room. She was mortified at their undisguised appraisal, taking in every detail of the scanty furnishings, the simple benches and lone table. Faustina noted the rough walls and floor, the lizard-green walls, the absence of the slightest attempt at decoration.

“As you can see,” Ana said, “we live humbly.” She was annoyed at herself for apologizing.

“Please, don’t fret,” Faustina said. “We’re all pioneers in this wilderness and must adjust to circumstances.”

“When we first came,” Luis added, “we lived in a palm-frond and dirt-floor
bohío
, like the cottages of the
jíbaros
.”

“You’ve been here about ten years, is that so?” Ramón asked.

“Longer,” Faustina said. “Almost thirteen—”

“You’ve accomplished much in that time.” Ramón turned to Ana. “Their farm is a model of efficiency and beauty—”

“You’re kind,” Luis said. “But it’s taken years.”

“Don Luis knew my uncle,” Ramón said, “and told him about this land—”

“I would’ve bought it myself,” Luis said, “but we weren’t in a position—”

Faustina cleared her throat. Just then, Flora brought lemonade, followed by Marta carrying a tray of crackers, cheese, and sliced papaya. Both women had smoothed their aprons and tucked their blouses into their skirts. Flora wore a new, bright yellow head wrap tied into a jaunty bow. Ana was grateful to Flora, who was often one step ahead of her and didn’t require as much direction as the others. She’d even placed a festive bouquet of hibiscus blossoms in the center of the tray.

Faustina looked askance at the polished coconut shell cups for drinking, at the bamboo and woven palm frond trays, at the heavy clay pitcher. Ana’s response was to handle them with the delicacy and grace of fine porcelain and crystal.

They chatted as they sipped their drinks, half of Ana’s mind on her mental list of chores. Did she lock the pantry and liquor closet before she went outside? It was midmorning. That meant that the guests would stay for
el almuerzo
and a short siesta. They’d have to rest in hammocks in Inocente’s room, then a snack before they rode home. There went her day.

“We’ll leave you ladies to get acquainted,” Ramón broke into her reverie. “I want to show don Luis around the
ingenio
. We’ll be back for lunch.”

The men left, and Faustina seemed delighted to be alone with Ana.

“We have some interesting families hereabouts,” she said, “but it’s hard to get to know them. The distances aren’t great, but the roads, as you’ve surely noticed, are terrible or nonexistent.”

“I don’t know. I’ve not left the hacienda since we arrived.”

“Yes, the
zafra
is all-consuming for sugar planters. We farmers are on a more leisurely rhythm. Do you mind, dear, if I work as we chat?” Faustina pulled a bag from a pocket and began working finely chained crochet as she talked.

Ana found her mending basket. “You knew don Rodrigo?”

“A fine man, and we’ll always be grateful to him, may he rest in peace, and be a friend to his family.”

“Thank you.”

“Our parents fled to Puerto Rico from Santo Domingo, nearly destitute, after Haiti invaded our country in 1822.” She looked up to see if Ana had any idea what she was talking about. Ana nodded, but Faustina had to tell her stories in a strict order, regardless of whether her interlocutor knew the details or not.

“When the occupying Haitian government freed our slaves, they also seized our farms and plantations, to nationalize them. Our parents were lucky to escape with enough to start over. Luis and I met in Mayagüez, where most of our family now lives.” She set her work down and looked over the canopy of trees, and farther, to the hills north of Hacienda los Gemelos. “Like you,” she continued, “we came here with a bit of money and much energy. Of course, at the beginning one never has enough.” She sought confirmation from Ana, who was engrossed in her mending. “Don Rodrigo extended credit as we built San Bernabé, and understood when we needed a bit more time,” she continued. “He asked Luis to keep an eye for land around here.” She turned her work without looking at it. “He was fond of his nephews and hoped they’d live here someday.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes, certainly. Luis visited him in that grand new house he built.…” She sighed. “Life is capricious. Such a young man when he died, not even fifty years old …”

“It was a great blow to his family,” Ana said.

“May he rest in peace,” Faustina repeated, making the cross.

“Don Luis knew him well, then,” Ana said.

“Yes,” Faustina resumed her story. “He looked out for opportunities in the area. The fifteen
cuerdas
we’re on now was the first purchase. The previous owner built the
casona
, the
trapiche
, and the chimneys. He had six sons.”

“All of them in this house?”

“Well, they weren’t like you and me,” Faustina said. “He lived with one of his slaves but didn’t free her. Or for that matter, his own sons.” She turned her work. “Things are different here in the
campo
.”

Ana wondered what Faustina would say about her arrangement with Ramón and Inocente.

“Unfortunately,” Faustina continued, “they were all partial to drink. The joke around here was that they drank more of their rum than made it to market.” She laughed. “When the woman died, he lost his reason. He drank more and couldn’t manage the work. He gambled. When he needed money, he sold his slaves and, eventually, his sons. He scattered them all over the island to the best buyer.” She locked eyes with Ana for a moment, then dropped them. “Appalling …”

“Impossible to imagine.” Ana hadn’t heard the story of the beginnings of the hacienda. “But when we came here there were slaves.…”

“Don Rodrigo wanted to keep it going, but he couldn’t leave his business, so he hired Luis to manage it. We sold him some of our slaves and installed one of our foremen as
mayordomo
. Luis did as much as he could, but it was hard to manage this place and ours. We thought the property would be sold after don Rodrigo’s death, but we were happy that his nephews were coming.…”

As Faustina talked, Ana’s temper grew, but she controlled her breathing and loosened the grip on the fabric she was mending. Ana figured that their old, maimed slaves were sold to the absent don Rodrigo by don Luis, who kept the younger, healthy ones for his own farm. She couldn’t prove it, but she believed it as if Faustina had said it aloud.

“We’re so glad that Ramón came with a wife. Families do better here than single men.…”

“Is that so?” Ana asked, to keep Faustina talking.

“Men need women to keep them civilized. A white man without a wife has too many temptations.” She arched her eyebrows until they nearly reached her hairline.

Ana had seen several light-skinned, light-eyed babies on the hacienda. When she mentioned it to the brothers, they joked that Severo was increasing their stock. She thought that was impossible because enough time hadn’t elapsed. It now occurred to her that their father might be don Luis. She had a hard time conjuring the enormous man ravishing the women she knew on the hacienda. Her anger rose.

“Men alone succumb to drink,” Faustina said quickly, embarrassed by her own innuendo. “They play cards and spend days at the cockfights. Most of the property around here was transferred not through the usual channels, but because owners signed them over to creditors, much of it due to gambling losses.”

“Is that how don Rodrigo added to the original fifteen
cuerdas
to its current size?”

Faustina was flustered, as if Ana’s direct question had broken one of the rules of conversation. “Well, no … yes … I don’t know.… My goodness, what a question!”