The Spanish Daughter(51)

The room had become stuffy and hot and I didn’t know if it was the climate or my father’s confession. All I knew was that I had to get out.

I stepped out of the study, crossed the patio, and left the hacienda through the kitchen door. It was such a relief to be outside, away from that confined space. My shirt was drenched in sweat and my arms covered with mosquito bites. I couldn’t stop scratching. I undid my tie, thinking about my father. Were all men like him? I didn’t think Cristóbal had ever been unfaithful to me. Had he? At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if some random child would show up claiming he was Cristóbal’s long-lost son.

Oddly, the thought didn’t horrify me. In fact, it might be good if he did have a child, being that I could never give him one. There would be something left of him in this world, something other than his old typewriter.

The moon looked sublime and it was so bright, it partially illuminated my path. I hiked for a long time, and the more I walked, the hotter I became. I could already hear the gurgle of the creek. I anticipated the cool water engulfing my feet and that vision gave me the strength to keep going.

When I arrived, I sat on one of the rocks, undid my shoelaces, and removed my shoes and socks. Under my bare feet, the heat appeared to be rising from the ground, like a coal stove. How could it be so hot at night? So hot and so humid? I submerged my feet in the water and my body temperature finally lowered down a few degrees.

Crickets chirped around me and an owl hooted. I was so uncomfortable with my back covered in sweat. I removed my tie and jacket.

In all this time, I hadn’t been outside my room without a jacket. What a relief! I longed for the cool water against my skin. Without giving it much thought, I shrugged off my vest and removed my trousers, too. Looking around, I unbuttoned my shirt. Who would be here at this time of the night anyway? It seemed safe enough and I desperately needed a fresh bath.

Before long, I’d removed all my clothes, my spectacles, and my beard and entered the water. It was the most pleasant sensation I’d had in weeks. Without the corset pressing against my chest, I was free. I wished I could stay here all night, swimming, relaxing, not having to think about who was hiding what and whom I could and couldn’t trust in this town.

It was exhausting.

Worse yet, the guilt of my deception grew exponentially as I got to know these people more intimately. Only one of them had most likely paid Franco to kill me, and yet, I was deceiving all of them. That, and the constant fear of getting caught, added to my distress, to my long nights of restlessness.

I must have spent an hour there, imagining what could’ve been had my father done things differently. By the time I got out of the water, my fingers had turned into prunes. I gathered all my clothes and got dressed. Obviously, my goatee wouldn’t attach itself to my wet chin, so I would have to run the risk of going home without facial hair. If needed, I could always say I’d shaved it off. But I really hoped it wouldn’t come to that; I was exposed without the beard.

The house was as still and dark as I’d left it and all the bedroom doors were shut. I quietly entered my room and locked the door. Nobody seemed to have noticed my absence.

*

In the morning, I joined the family for breakfast. I hadn’t seen Laurent since Bingo Night. I tried not to stare while he cut his cantaloupe, but I was drawn to him. He wasn’t feminine; just sophisticated. The details from the other night were fuzzy and I couldn’t recall what I’d heard in that room and what I’d imagined.

He wasn’t too attentive to Angélica, but there was a kinship between them. She always anticipated his desires—she would hand him the tray of bread without asking and added more juice to his glass. Laurent finished her sentences without lifting his gaze from the weekly news and patiently corrected her pronunciation when she said “croissants” or “confiture” as if this were his daily duty.

Although Angélica seemed less tense around me now, she wasn’t as relaxed as she’d been with her guests on Bingo Night. Catalina, on the other hand, had warmed up to me and wanted to make sure I was satisfied with the meal and had slept well.

I assured her I had a splendid night. After the swim, I’d rested like I hadn’t in weeks.

“Don Cristóbal,” Angélica said, addressing me for the first time since I sat down. “Have you received any news about María Purificación’s death certificate yet?” She absently fed Ramona breadcrumbs, which the bird didn’t seem to appreciate as much as the cacao beans. “It’s been a week already.”

“No, I’m sorry to say.” I wiped my mouth. “I hope I’m not inconveniencing you. I’d be happy to make arrangements elsewhere.”

Even if I was making progress with my investigation, I didn’t want to be in a place where they didn’t want me. My pride wouldn’t let me.

Catalina placed her hand on mine. “Of course you’re not an inconvenience, Don Cristóbal. Angélica and I are pleased to have you here. It’s the least we can do for our sister.”

Catalina caressed my hand with her thumb—for too long, it seemed—and then smiled. How different my two sisters were. I couldn’t imagine Catalina, with that sweet demeanor and kindness, plotting against me. Even if Franco was her “best friend,” according to the notebook now hidden under my mattress. Then again, my mother used to say that we had to fear more those who came shrouded in sheep’s skin.