Pig's Foot: A Novel Part 10

'I'm not one for learning,' said Benicio. 'And let that be the last time you call me brother. And next time you see me, don't come too close or it'll be the worse for you.'

'Well get used to it, brother. Because that is what you will always be to me.'

This was the extent of their reunion; there were no hugs, no kisses. The two men stood in silence for a long time and Benicio a.s.sumed there was nothing left to say. He turned and went back to digging the ground. It seemed to Melecio that his brother's every word, uttered through gritted teeth, had nothing but contempt or indifference. Having exhausted all his subterfuges he headed home.

When he arrived back he gave his parents a modified version of his encounter with his brother. His parents said again that Benicio was irredeemable and advised him to leave his brother in peace.

'He's lonely,' said Melecio.

'Some people are happy that way,' said Betina.

And that was all he told his parents.

The full account of the conversation he related only to Gertrudis, who cried when Melecio reached the part where Benicio had said she was punis.h.i.+ng herself.

'Don't take it to heart, Benicio is confused,' said Melecio. 'But I've got a plan to bring him back to himself. Trust me.'

Cla.s.ses started the following day. The Jabaos were the first to arrive at the flame tree, besieging it with the stools and tables they had brought. By the time the Aquelarres, the Cabreras and the Santacruzes arrived there was barely room to sit so they asked Pablo and Niurka to get their family to budge up since otherwise everyone else would have to stand. Eustaquio the machetero was next to show up, and then Epifanio Vilo and his family. Melecio, Gertrudis, Betina and Jose were the last to appear.

Melecio set a blackboard against the trunk of the flame tree and then handed out pencils and sheets of blank paper. 'In today's cla.s.s, we will learn about vowels,' he explained, then wrote out the vowels on the slate and asked the villagers to repeat them aloud with him. He pointed to them in turn and they repeated the sounds Melecio made. So pa.s.sed two hours. At the end of the cla.s.s the teacher gave out homework and the patapuercanos did everything that Melecio asked of them. Melecio offered gifts as a reward for paying attention in cla.s.s or for completing homework.

The following week they continued with the whole alphabet. By the third week, the patapuercanos had learned to combine vowels and consonants. Mathematics worked in the same way. People learned to count, to add, subtract, multiply and divide. They learned for the first time that the earth was round and that it was divided into seven continents separated by seas and oceans inhabited by giant animals known as whales. They learned of the existence of something called philosophy and ancient, long-dead philosophers named Plato and Aristotle; they learned that there was something else called science which claimed man was descended from apes and had not been created by Chango, or Orula, or Olofi, or even by G.o.d; that there were tiny organisms called bacteria and that art was something complex but very beautiful. That centuries ago there had lived a musician named Mozart. They discovered what a violin was. In short, overnight the Festivals of Birth had become Festivals of Knowledge. Gone were the sack races, the tales, the childish games.

Silvio and Rachel Aquelarre were surprised when their daughter Anastasia won a compet.i.tion that entailed reading The Odyssey and answering questions set by Melecio. She beat Ignacio el Jabao, who did not mind losing because, according to him, Odysseus was a h.o.m.os.e.xual. Everyone was surprised, not so much by his suggestion but because for the first time in his life Ignacio did not use the word 'f.a.ggot'.

'I tell you, senores, Odysseus was a coprophagic h.o.m.os.e.xual. What other explanation can there be for him leaving Calypso to return to Ithaca after seven years in that fabulous grotto where he could have s.e.xual intercourse as often as he wished with two or even three women at a time? I sincerely doubt Penelope was prettier than Calypso, who was a demiG.o.d. Consequently I can see no other possible explanation for his behaviour. Odysseus turned f.a.gg . . . I mean Odysseus decided he was h.o.m.os.e.xual. This is why I stopped reading the d.a.m.n book, because every time I thought about it, I felt an ineffable heat surge through my spinal column all the way to my pituitary gland.'

Everyone was astonished by Ignacio's orotund manner of expressing himself. But Pablo and Niurka, who could not bear to lose anything, not even a spitting contest, were furious about the result of the compet.i.tion. However, their anger did not last long, since the poetry compet.i.tion was won by their older son Juan Carlos with his poem 'Girls': What exactly are girls?

A rainbow that feeds roses, A soft breeze that blows With a sweet scent of jasmine.

What are girls? Let me say They are whorls of bright coral, A leaf of swamp laurel And the perfume of youth.

And if pressed I would say They suffuse every season With love and with reasons That make life worthwhile.

And this poem is to say In my faltering way How girls make me feel And what makes me smile.

Pablo and Niurka rushed over and covered their son with kisses. The rest of the Jabaos leapt to their feet, excitedly celebrating this victory as though Juan Carlos had just won the Olympics.

'Well, well. Your poem is better than the ones that I recite,' said Melecio happily. He looked around him and saw how things had changed. There were children wearing white s.h.i.+rts, women sharing out food, men chatting so quietly they were barely audible, people laughing joyfully, a scene that he had pictured in his dreams and which, now it was real, was all the more moving. Everyone was discussing weighty matters, using words that until recently not one of them had ever heard, casting off the chains that had shackled them for years, the chains of ignorance. 'This is good,' thought Melecio. Still he sat perched on his stool, engrossed by his work, present in every article of clothing, every pair of shoes, every new word learned.

Never before had he so powerfully experienced the happy satisfaction that is the fruit of one's efforts; it was something akin to the love he felt for Maria and for his family. But very quickly he realised that something was amiss. Melecio scanned the happy faces of the Jabaos, the groups of people chatting, others practising their handwriting, and noticed that none of his family were present. He went home. Opening the door, he found Jose in one corner of the room, Betina in another and Gertrudis sitting on the floor. All of them were staring at the ground. He did not need to ask them what had happened. The answer was written in the stooped shoulders of Jose and Betina, in the misted, half-closed eyes of Gertrudis. In that moment he realised that he could never be satisfied by the fruit of his efforts, because in a broken family there could be no happiness. This is what Melecio thought, and Jose was the living confirmation of it. His father did not move, did not blink, as though he were inwardly appraising himself and realising that behind his stubbornness, his bitterness, his incomprehension, what weighed most heavily were his regrets. 'I have to solve this problem,' thought Melecio. By now everyone in the village knew how to read and write. It was time for him to deal with things at home. To set things right.

He went to see Benicio again.

'I didn't see you at any of the cla.s.ses,' he said.

'I told you, I'm not interested in your cla.s.ses. Education is for f.a.ggots.'

'That's not what Gertrudis thinks.'

'Who is Gertrudis?'

'She's the love of your life.'

'Gertrudis always was a fool.'

'I can't believe you don't miss your family.'

'Ester and El Mozambique are all the family I need. They don't throw me out, they accept me for who I am.'

'This is not who you are, brother. Don't shut yourself away.'

'If you call me brother again, I'll split your skull.'

Melecio swallowed hard. He went back to discussing the weather.

'If you've got nothing else to say, then f.u.c.k off, but don't come talking to me about the weather,' said Benicio.

'What did you do with the toy ram I gave you?' asked Melecio.

'I burned it.'

Benicio turned away and went back to digging. Melecio stared at him, stifling the urge to weep.

'You know something, broth-'

Benicio did not let him finish. He picked up a rock and hurled it and, had Melecio not ducked, it would have split his skull exactly as his brother had foretold. Once again, Melecio trudged home.

The following day, he gave the villagers a whole week's study matter and, leaving Anastasia Aquelarre in charge, excused himself saying he needed time to think. He did as he always did: he locked himself in his room, but this time he took spices, eggs, sugar, spoons and saucepans. When Gertrudis asked what he was doing, he asked her to give him a little time, that what he was doing was necessary and she would find out soon. And so Melecio resumed the role of chef, something he had not done since he was a boy. He spent two days cooking in secret. On the morning of the third day, Senora Santacruz knocked at the door and haltingly told Jose that Ester the midwife was locked in her house screaming like a madwoman, pounding on the walls and yelling that if anyone other than Jose came in she would drive a stake through their skull. From his bedroom, Melecio overheard what was said; still he did not come out.

'You stay here,' said Jose and went outside.

It was a chill morning, the sky was leaden and the wind bit hard. Jose hobbled past the houses of the Aquelarres and the Jabaos, ignoring the looks and the sibilant whispers from the dark interiors that smelled of kerosene and coal. As he reached the fence around Ester's shack, he could feel the roars, the howls of remorse sprouting from his body, displacing every organ inside his ribcage. Jose crept towards the door and glanced around. There was no sign of Benicio or El Mozambique.

'Can I help you with something?' asked Epifanio Vilo.

'Go fetch Juanita the wise-woman and tell her to come here straight away,' said Jose. 'Run.'

'It sounds to me like someone possessed. Jose, wouldn't it be better to send for a babalao or a santero?'

'No, Juanita will know what to do.'

When Juanita and Epifanio arrived back at Ester's house, they found the whole neighbourhood gathered, faces gaunt with fear. Jose was cradling Ester in his arms in one corner of the room; she was naked, sobbing and shaking with fear. The house was in ruins, the walls stained with excrement. Juanita quickly a.n.a.lysed the situation and with a wave she signalled to Jose to lay Ester on the bed. A moment later, Melecio arrived carrying the cake he had just made. He set it down on the table, the only piece of furniture that had remained intact, and rushed to help carry the stout body of Ester, who was writhing and wailing as though a piranha were devouring her insides.

'My G.o.d, what's wrong with Ester? What happened?' said Silvia Santacruz, standing in the doorway shaking her head. Without a word, Juanita checked Ester's pupils, took her pulse and began to prepare a herbal remedy.

'This will make her sleep,' she said.

Jose opened Ester's mouth to make her drink the dark, foul-smelling brew. The midwife's body convulsed, but a moment later her eyes misted over and she fell back on the bed.

'She's sleeping now,' said Juanita, examining the deep scars crisscrossing Ester's fat body. 'Whoever did this thing is a beast,' she muttered, shaking her head.

'What made those scars?' asked Jose.

Juanita did not look up. Still shaking her head, she pulled a sheet up to cover Ester's body.

'They are whip marks. This woman has spent her life las.h.i.+ng herself for failing to keep her promises, or someone else has been torturing her.'

Ester slept for several hours. At about two in the afternoon, she woke up and could remember nothing except that she had heard Benicio say he was going down to the river and she talked about a dream she had had the night before. Having considered the matter for a few moments, she changed her mind: what she thought had been a dream was not a dream at all, she said, she deserved to die.

'What are these marks?' asked Jose.

'It's a long story.'

'We have all the time in the world,' said Jose. 'This is Pata de Puerco, the one place in creation where time stands still.'

The neighbours settled themselves and Ester began to tell the tale of Oscar's mother and the Santisteban sugar plantation.

'Yes, Ester, but we already know all that.'

'Do you want me to tell you what happened?'

'No,' said Jose. 'We want you to tell us everything.'

'Everything?'

'Everything.'

The midwife asked if someone could fetch her some water. She drank it. She settled herself back against a cus.h.i.+on, tilted her head to one side as a dog might. She took a deep breath that seemed to suck all of the air out of the shack. Finally, she said, 'All right, Jose. All right. I'll tell you everything.'

Ester's Confession.

'I was a girl, barely sixteen, when I met Mangaleno El Mozambique as you call him. My parents had died. Both of them had been killed in the war. I had no one in the whole world, all I had were my hope and my innocence. In the hills of Mayari where I lived, solitude is something that weighs heavily, time crawls. I could not bear the thought of living the life my parents had, a life of grief and pain. Of course, back then I did not know that pain is inherited, that parents hand it on to their children like a suit of clothes that no longer fits. So I did everything I could to block out the pain I had inherited and kept my head above water. From an early age, I learned to take care of a house. I was preparing for the day when the man of my life would appear. I spent a lot of time practising kissing banana trees. I would make a little hole in the trunk and slip my tongue inside; I didn't care that the sap from the trees used to leave my lips and my tongue red raw, like the skin of a dog with mange. I was careful not to let my hands become calloused so that my caresses would be soft as cotton. I did all this and much more waiting for the day when my man would knock at the door and take me away from that G.o.dforsaken place.

'And then one day a man did knock at the door. Hatred was ingrained in his very pores and his body struck fear in me. He asked for a gla.s.s of water. He asked if I lived alone. Alone, I said. He smiled and thanked me and went on his way. The next day, he came back and asked for a gla.s.s of water. This time he talked to me about horses. He told me they were useful beasts. Those were his words. I found it curious, him talking about horses that way, but I said nothing. Then he said I had a beautiful body and asked if anyone had ever told me that before. I told him no.

'"Well it's true, you have a beautiful body."

'Then he thanked me and went on his way. So it carried on for a long time. He would always arrive early with a sprig of flowers and he would flatter my body. There came a time, having spent days listening to his compliments, when I began to miss him. Out of caresses tenderness is born, as they say in these parts, and I learned that this is true. I began to miss his company, his manner filled with mystery and silence. One morning I woke up and I felt something in me was lacking. It was then I knew I had fallen in love, that I wanted to do with Mangaleno what I had been practising on the banana trees. But Mangaleno never laid a finger on me. Still he came and asked for water, flattered my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, my complexion, even my hair which is the ugliest thing I got from my parents.

'The waiting seemed to go on for ever. Every night, I dreamed about what my first time would be like. I dreamed of Mangaleno laying me on a bed, gently caressing my body and then tenderly making love to me. I wept with pleasure at the thought of what was to come. But when it finally happened I wept with anger and with pain. One afternoon, Mangaleno knocked on the door. When I opened it, he punched me twice leaving me dazed. He picked me up and slammed me against the wall. No caresses, no tenderness. He made me bleed. He made me weep. Then he tossed me on the ground and left.

'He appeared at three o'clock the next morning to apologise. He brought me a sprig of flowers. He told me he had had a bad day and had needed to vent his rage on someone. I could not utter a word. My face was swollen where he had beaten me. He asked me if I liked meat. He had a cart with him piled high with sacks filled with metal tools, and several dogs that looked savage. I had forgotten what meat tasted like, it had been so long since I had eaten it. So we walked down to the river, taking the opposite direction from El Cobre, then he took a little path over a hill dotted with royal palms and came to a weir. We hid the cart among some shrubs and waited. The night was black as a wolf's maw. There were no stars, no moon, no crickets chirruping, nothing but the dew and the muggy air of dawn.

'Fifteen minutes later, a traveller arrived. The weir was right next to the road that runs between Baracoa and Santiago. Usually, travellers on their way to Santiago would stop and drink a little water before continuing their journey.

'"Champion, Lion, you know what you have to do," Mangaleno whispered to his dogs. There were more than eight of them, all with vicious faces and sharp teeth. He let them off their leash. The dogs crept up silently so as not to frighten the horse and when they were within fifteen feet of the man, they bounded towards him. The man had no time to draw his machete. All he could do was leap into the water and swim as far away as possible from the vicious beasts threatening to eat him alive. Meanwhile, Mangaleno unsheathed his sharply pointed machete.

'"Stay here and leave me to work," he said to me and then crept carefully over to the horse. He grabbed the reins, stroked its mane three times and then slit its throat from ear to ear with the machete. The horse kicked and whinny in pain. It tried to run, but Mangaleno had a tight grip on the reins and went on sawing at the animal's jugular until finally the poor beast, resigned to its fate, collapsed on the bank by the reservoir which by now was a thick pool of blood flecked here and there with gobbets of flesh. I stood, staring at what was happening, my hand clapped over my mouth, cringing in disgust as Mangaleno hacked away, squirming as the poor horse whinnied in pain. All this Mangaleno did with an indifference that did not smack of pride but of a feeling of superiority.

'But worst of all, I had fallen in love with him and he knew it. You all know that when it comes to the whims of love there is nothing to be done and so I learned to endure in the hope that he might one day change and become a good man. I knew that life had not been kind to him and that, like me, he carried with him the pain he had inherited, though more, perhaps much more than me. Every afternoon he would come to eat the food I prepared for him. We sat at the table and ate in silence. He did not like to talk. He had spent so many years in silence. On the rare occasions when he spoke to me it was to ask for water or food, but never again did he tell me I had a beautiful body.

'One morning, I threw up. I felt nauseous and depressed. But in spite of everything, I was happy for though I had no experience of such things, I knew that I was pregnant. That afternoon I waited for Mangaleno, as usual, to give him the news. When he arrived, I told him. That was the first time he whipped me. He grabbed an old whip he always carried and flayed my back red raw. He had me writhing on the floor in pain. I screamed and screamed, but pity was something alien to Mangaleno. He went on whipping until he was unable and I was unconscious. That same night the baby came. It was the most terrible day of my life. I huddled alone in a corner, cradling that b.l.o.o.d.y bundle, rocking it as though it had eyes, as though it had a mouth, as though it had life. It was the most terrible day of my life but there would be more, many more. More beatings, more miscarriages, more misery and pain.

'Then he told me I had to come with him to a place called Pata de Puerco where his brother lived, the man he most despised in all the world. He told me he had a score to settle with him. He did not ask me, did not give me time to think, to make up my mind. He tossed my clothes into a cart and dragged me like a dog on a leash until we arrived here. Back then, no one lived in the village. Jose and Oscar had just started building their shacks. The solitude was such that for a while I felt as though I were living in a jungle full of natives wearing loincloths. Full of wild beasts the like of which I had never seen. A place too beautiful to be believed, but after a while I saw other people come with their carts and their carriages, then more and more until Pata de Puerco was no longer a jungle peopled by natives but the thriving village it is today.

'Mangaleno's plan was simple. He wanted to fas.h.i.+on a sackcloth of dust and ashes for his brother Oscar, meaning he wanted to cause him suffering that would stay with him for ever. These, then were Mangaleno's talents: he caused unending pain, just as he had done to me. One afternoon I asked what his brother had done to deserve such suffering. He first told me that his brother had taken from him the only love he had ever known, his mother's love; then he split my lip and whipped me again. In that moment I understood that, though slavery might have ended, it had not ended for me. The worst thing was that I could find no way to break free of him. I was still in love, I tried to justify his actions. I told myself he was to be pitied, that he had never had anyone, hoping against hope that one day I might see in his face something of the good in him. But there was no good in him. Yet still I was in love, as though someone had put a curse upon my heart, and I don't know why, but that somehow made it worse.

'It was he who hacked the leg off the mare you bought with Oscar, Jose. He also cut the leg off Evaristo's mare that time he followed you to El Cobre. And still he was not satisfied. One afternoon he turned up here smiling and told me he had raped Malena, that he had finally settled his score with his brother Oscar. That day we celebrated, feasting on horsemeat, drinking rice wine. He ended up delirious with joy, and I delirious with jealousy of Malena. How could I not? The jealousy grew in me when I discovered that Malena was carrying in her belly something that belonged, of old, to me. That child should have been mine. After my years of suffering, I deserved it. That's why when Mangaleno asked me to poison her, I did not hesitate; I said yes.

'The day she went into labour, I sent Oscar to get water from the well. While he was gone, I had Malena drink the potion of ca.s.sava poison I had prepared. She looked at me with those big eyes as though she sensed what it was I had just done. Oscar did not notice anything amiss. Everything was normal by the time he got back. But a few minutes later, Malena was dead and Oscar fell on his knees. He threw me out of the house telling me that he would take care of everything. Fifteen minutes later the floor of the shack was a sea of blood and Oscar and Malena lay dead just as his brother Mangaleno had planned.

'Even then, it was not enough. His hatred was like a sickness that would not stop until it had consumed everything. He had avenged himself, but it was not enough. The Festivals of Birth brought joy and happiness to everyone but to an embittered man that was unbearable. Mangaleno came up with another plan. G.o.d knows I fought with every fibre of my being when he asked me to poison Evaristo. A thousand times I refused, but the beatings were too much and I had no choice but to send the kite-maker to heaven. That's why I must die, why I deserve to die. I realised that, having spent so long with him, I too have become an animal; it is as though Mangaleno has pa.s.sed his evil to me. A person is known by the company he keeps; no proverb was ever truer. My only hope is that, having heard all this, you will have the decency to kill me, so that once and for all I may be rid of these sins that will not let me sleep. I cannot bear to hear Malena's voice again telling me avenging past wrongs brings only present suffering. I cannot bear to hear her voice again. I cannot go on with the lying, the beatings; let Satan take me now so that I may finally be free.'

When Ester finished her confession, no one moved to kill her. Betina was weeping, but she did not move, nor did Jose. The neighbours stared at her but not in anger, more with surprise and pity. Juanita the wise-woman held her hand as the midwife sobbed.

'Kill me, kill me, Jose,' Ester begged.

'No one here will lay a finger on you,' said Jose and turned to look at the crowd. 'Everyone stay here.'

'No. Don't go, Jose. Stay,' said Juanita the wise-woman, taking his arm. 'Stay. I know what I'm asking of you.'

Jose would not listen. 'Melecio, make sure that Ester has everything she needs,' he said and, drawing his machete, he set off for the house of El Mozambique. Everyone ignored his order. Hardly had Jose stepped through the door than the whole neighbourhood followed him like a herd of mustang.

The Long-awaited Confrontation.

As Jose arrived at the baleful shack of timber and palm fronds, he looked around and noticed that the dogs were chained up. And Benicio did not seem to be around, which made him think El Mozambique was expecting him. With the agility of a sixteen-year-old boy, he vaulted the fence, and gave the door a kick that took it off its hinges.

'That's what I like to see. Someone with b.a.l.l.s coming to take me on,' said El Mozambique, getting up from his chair to face him down. Jose did not let him finish, but leaped at him swinging his machete. The giant stopped him in his tracks, grabbed the arm holding the machete with one hand and with the other dealt a vicious blow to the Mandinga. Jose staggered back and crashed against the wall.

'Kill him, Jose! Kill that son of a b.i.t.c.h!' shouted Epifanio Vilo and his family, the fifteen Jabaos and the Santacruzes, in chorus.

El Mozambique lumbered towards Jose to finish him off, but the Mandinga kicked him in the belly making the giant double over briefly. Jose made the most of this to pick up the machete he had dropped. He swung viciously, attempting to cut off his rival's head, but El Mozambique ducked and slammed him against the table which immediately collapsed, sending the Mandinga cras.h.i.+ng to the floor and driving into his back a long iron nail from one of countless santeria cauldrons lying around. Jose started to bleed. 'Come on, Jose, don't toy with me,' roared El Mozambique. 'Get up and stop being such a p.u.s.s.y.' This silenced the cheering of those on the far side of the fence.

At that moment, Melecio arrived.