Tarnished Beauty (25 page)

He exploded with a resounding, “Ha!” and tried to sound bitter, but his good humor overcame him. “You'd get three or four times the work done if it meant a chance to hear more of my story, and you know it.”

Jamilet smiled. There was no need to further validate what both of them knew.

Two steaming cups of coffee, one with plenty of cream and sugar, were waiting at the bedside once the morning chores had been completed. The trays and clothes had been moved into the corridor and still needed to be taken downstairs, but the room was spotless and the linens on the bed crisp. Jamilet opened the window and the midmorning sun stretched across the room like a soft golden arm, beckoning them to sit and meditate upon the warmth of its embrace.

Freshly shaven, and smelling of powder and soap, Señor Peregrino took both the coffee cups to his desk. Together they sat sipping, and watching the fine dust Jamilet had disturbed in her cleaning frenzy drift about like miniature stars between the light and shadow of the room.

“This time I remember where I left off,” Señor Peregrino announced with certain pride.

Jamilet peered at him through the steam rising from her cup. She too remembered, but said nothing.

“I had managed to annoy Jenny as much as she had annoyed me by refusing to tell her the reason Tomas and Rosa were masquerading as brother and sister. Yes,” he said. “I was quite pleased with myself until I realized that Jenny was capable of much more than annoyance.” Señor Peregrino lifted the steaming pot toward her. “More coffee?” he asked, as though they were sitting in a fine parlor or sidewalk café.

“Yes, please,” Jamilet said, and she held out her cup so that Señor Peregrino could refill it. Then she closed her eyes, listened to the trance-inducing melody of his voice, and felt that she was floating, much like the dust particles surrounding them. Perhaps it was the result of the two heaping teaspoons of sugar in her coffee and nothing else, but she doubted it.

 

Evening descended like a soft, dark shroud over León. In the small square where we stayed, candlelight wavered in every window and the space appeared as though haunted by shadows that moved with their own life. I'd spent most of the afternoon sitting at the same table and worrying about anything and everything imaginable. How was I to manage Jenny for the remainder of the journey? Was Tomas capable of losing his mind over Rosa? Every day that passed rendered him less and less like the man I'd known when we left our home a lifetime ago. And then there was my greatest worry—when would Andres make his move? For I had no doubt that he'd make it. He appeared to be a man of cunning who was not so foolish as to allow his passions to rule him indiscriminately. Instead they simmered in his soul, motivating and scheming a treacherous plan.

I had forewarned Tomas of Andres's presence and he was delighted that this would afford him the opportunity to play the role of endearing brother more convincingly than ever. As they crossed the square together arm in arm, the breath caught in my throat. She wore a simple dress and her dark hair was in a thick braid down her back, with no other adornment except the emerald of her eyes. Even the crickets were silenced, in awe.

Tomas interrupted his pompous entrance with a few nervous glances about the square as he looked for Andres. No doubt he'd told Rosa that Andres was near. There was a halted smile on her lips, but unlike Tomas, she dared not look about and invite a greeting that might lead to something else.

“Won't Jenny be joining us?” she asked when she saw me sitting alone at the table.

“I'm sure she'll be along shortly.”

“Good,” she said, smiling genuinely this time. “When Jenny is in our company, my heart feels lighter somehow.”

“She does have a unique way about her,” I said, pouring wine all the way around. Jenny joined us shortly thereafter. She looked decidedly pretty, her hair as shiny as bright copper and her eyes gleaming with perpetual delight. She prattled on about her desire for a warm bath and a soft bed, but was silenced by the expression of panic and horror that had suddenly registered on Rosa's face.

We heard his boots pounding on the wooden floor before we saw him. Tomas took firm and possessive control of Rosa's hand while Jenny's eyes glittered over the rim of her glass, like a child anticipating a fine game.

Andres bowed to us all, but his eyes were fixed on Rosa's face, which betrayed only the discomfort of being adored so brazenly.

“It is a lovely evening,” Andres said, forcing his gaze to sweep over the rest of us.

“I agree,” Jenny replied, then she turned to me. “Don't you think it a fine night for a dance, Antonio? Tomas tells me that you're a very good dancer.”

“Perhaps,” I returned.

“So you're a dancer, are you?” Andres asked, momentarily distracted from his adoration of Rosa.

“I've been known to enjoy a dance from time to time.”

“I'm sure you've seen your brother's friend dance many times,” Andres said, directing his conversation to Rosa. “Can you suspend your sisterly bias long enough to tell me if he's any good?”

“He is spectacular,” Rosa said, meeting Andres's questioning gaze with unusual conviction of her own.

He was apparently delighted to hear as much, and brought his hand down to the table with a resounding thud. “Then we will dance,” he declared loudly, and then stood. “There are musicians about who'll oblige us, I'm sure.”

Jenny clapped her hands excitedly, but what came out of her mouth next almost stopped my heart. “Oh, this is wonderful, Rosa,” she said loudly, leaning forward and squeezing her arm. “But why does the gentleman refer to Tomas as your brother when he is no more your brother than mine? Is he referring to the fraternity implied by our pilgrimage? For if he is, then we're all one big happy family, are we not?”

The color drained from Rosa's face, so much so that it paled even next to Andres's white-gloved hand that he lifted to point at her and Tomas. “You are not brother and sister?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Jenny answered, bouncing in her chair with every word. “They're playing a silly game, although no one will tell me why.” Her face crinkled up in a smile that grew stiff and awkward as she waited for a response from someone, but there was only silence.

Finally Rosa spoke up. “We didn't intend to cause you offense, sir.”

“I have no doubt, my dear lady,” he said, “that you could convince a bird to stop flying and a fish not to swim if only for the knowledge that it would please you. I am not immune to your charms, but neither am I a bird or a fish.” That said, he stood and left the table without another word.

I had never before felt capable of striking a woman, but in that instant it took every ounce of self-control I possessed to keep from slapping Jenny soundly. Tomas sat impassively in his chair, as though stripped of his identity and worth as a human being. And Rosa, as always, was impossible to read. She watched Andres walk off as though she could read the future across the breadth of his shoulders, but what that future might be was not revealed in her expression.

Moments later, musicians began assembling in the square. Tables were cleared and the weary clamor of the pilgrims was transformed into the boisterous and cheerful noise of a celebration. Feet that had been pounding the path for miles, swollen with blisters and aching with pain, began tapping to the sounds of instruments warming up. Music such as this, from the highlands of Spain, had the power to cause the dust of the road to fall away from those of us who were called by it, and to fill us with a surge of fresh energy as brisk as the mountain air. Although I was angry with Jenny, I couldn't help but feel it too and my heart began to skip along with the spirit of the moment.

Tomas tapped my shoulder and pointed toward Andres, who stood in the very center of the square shuffling his feet to the strains of the music. He was an imposing figure of a man, and standing alone as he was he looked rather like a military statue that had come to life. A sudden sweep of melodious wind filled the square and Andres began to dance in earnest. I knew this jig. It was a difficult one and best performed by men who possessed both athleticism and grace. He was doing a fine job, although his execution was a bit stiff. Nevertheless, it was rare to encounter anyone who could dance in such a fashion and the crowd was clearly impressed. Men gathered round to watch and applaud and before long one or two other young men were also dancing, but not with Andres's strength, and control. Next to him they looked like shadowy figures created by the dust of his boots.

More wine flowed and many pilgrims indulged beyond what their budgets would normally allow. To my surprise, Tomas raised his arm and called for the girl to bring us another pitcher as well, and our glasses were filled in an instant. Tomas was quivering with elation and relief as he brought his glass to his lips. He was convinced that Andres had made light of our little game, and that we needn't worry about further trouble. After all, could an angry man dance with such abandon? Could his mind be twisting with murderous designs while his body relented to participate in such frivolity? I should have told Tomas to stop drinking and keep his wits about him, that the danger had not yet passed, but I only kept quiet and watched.

When Andres had finished, many glasses were raised to him, but he bowed to our table alone, his eyes fixed upon Rosa, who nodded politely. He looked bereft as he stood there oblivious of the adulation bombarding him from all the wrong places. Then he turned his attention to me and held out his arm.

“He wants you to join him,” Jenny said.

“I am in no mood to dance tonight,” I returned blandly. “I'm rather tired.”

“Tired from what? We didn't walk today. Some of those young men who were dancing just arrived and had barely a chance to sit down and—” But Jenny became silent when she heard Andres addressing the crowd and pointing in my direction, and gasped with delight when she caught the content of his speech.

“I have it on good authority,” he said, “that in our midst is a wonderful dancer. Perhaps we can persuade him to share his talents with us.” The crowd murmured its approval and looked about to see who this mysterious dancer might be.

“I'm sorry, Antonio,” Rosa said, her face a portrait of regret. “I shouldn't have told him what a wonderful dancer you are. Perhaps I was wrong, and you are not so wonderful after all.”

I hesitated to acknowledge Andres's request, but the crowd too was calling me out and challenging me. I stood and removed my coat, smoothing out my shirt as best I could, hoping the other pilgrims gathered would forgive the dirt on my shoes, and my wrinkled clothing. Standing in the center of the square, I painted a very different picture from Andres in his immaculate uniform and polished boots. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes and waited. The sounds of the square were silenced, and I heard only echoes from the mountains and a chorus of wind singing with a pure and lovely voice. The infectious rhythm of the tambourine prompted me to move the tip of my toe and find the ghostly pattern beneath the melody, the heart of my dance. The music soared and the musicians joined me as we searched for the union of body and spirit that is music and dance. We moved together, and I felt the music coursing through my legs, my arms, yet my control served as my abandon, and it was the precision and timing that inspired every move. I cried out with joy, and heard others calling out with me and clapping to the beat of my dance. When I chanced to open my eyes, I saw the wonder on their faces that they saw in mine, and we were all at once in love with the moment and the life that we knew. So long as the dance was alive, and the music played, and our voices rose above the stillness of the night, it felt as though we had conquered even death.

The roar of applause and cheering broke the trance, and I stood breathless in the center of the square before walking back through the crowd amid great praise. When I arrived at my table, the mood was not so jubilant. Although Jenny was nearly faint with wonder and took every opportunity to show her appreciation by taking my arm and even pressing my leg when I sat down, Rosa was clearly upset, and after a hasty compliment excused herself from the table with tears in her eyes.

Jenny explained to us as we watched Rosa weave her way through the crowd toward the women's dormitory, “She wasn't feeling well and wanted to get a good night's sleep before setting off tomorrow.” Then she proceeded to pour herself another glass of wine. “But I'm enjoying myself immensely. I could stay up for hours. Perhaps I won't sleep at all,” she concluded with a devilish smile. Then her face softened, and she addressed someone standing behind me. “Ah, Señor Andres,” she said, “allow me to congratulate you on your dancing skill. For a moment I thought the very ground would shatter beneath you.”

Andres was not alone. Standing next to him was a junior officer who held a small leather case. After Andres accepted Jenny's compliment with a dismissive nod, he focused his attention on me. “The lovely Rosa was correct. I must admit that your skill surpasses even mine.” He nodded to his companion, who placed the leather case he held on the table between Tomas and me. “Whichever of you is more man than dog will open this case and understand what is implied by its contents,” he said.

Tomas's shoulders jerked as though he'd been speared in the heart, and his eyes accosted me with a furious fear that appeared to have left him paralyzed. I had reached for the case with every intention of opening it when Tomas slapped my hand away and opened it himself with such bluster and force that it nearly fell to the floor. Andres and the younger man sniggered when they saw Tomas's eyes water, and his mouth drop open at the sight of a long-barreled pistol nestled in black velvet.