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She held on for a long time and then released me, looking a bit embarrassed. She mumbled a few word 'en español' that I didn't get and then began gathering her things. She gave me a brief, wan smile to let me know that she was okay and she headed for the trail back to the house.
I watched her go and then went for a brief swim in the ocean. It was not cold like the beaches of my past, but warm and tropical. I gathered my stuff and walked naked to the house, up the long trail, wondering how long it must take Maribella, with her leg.
My outdoor shower was waiting at the top of the trail. I took a quick rinse, wrapped a towel and headed for the main veranda. Maribella was standing there in her chef's outfit. Lunch was served. She was a bit business like, but nothing like the night before. She stood closer, touched my shoulder a couple of times, but remained a bit aloof. I ate her exquisite seafood lunch with fresh tortillas, and very spicy salsa, as she made herself scarce.
As I was finishing, she reappeared with my tablet in her hand. Gone was the chefs outfit, replaced with a simple wrap around her hip, her breasts beautifully exposed, along with virtually all of her legs, even the one that was bent and broken.
"Is okay?" she asked, indicating that she had gotten my tablet without asking first. I nodded that it was fine. She motioned the question as to whether she could sit and join me. I told her to please sit down. She looked a bit uncomfortable, but sat and smiled weakly.
Using the tablet to translate, we had a long conversation about her past, about our lovemaking on the beach and her opinions about herself, me, our differing places in the world and finally her thoughts about our sexual intercourse.
She reiterated her story to me about being born in Jalisco, her single mother, no father. She repeated how her grandfather had destroyed her leg. She talked about her time in Puerto Vallarta, the small restaurant that, thanks to her cooking, had become quite well known. This is the part of her life where men began to find her interesting. They didn't fall for her some much as wanted to take her, some forcibly.
Maribella was raised with the deep-seated belief that she was valueless. While her mother was alive she would farm Maribella out to other families to clean and sew and drag trash out and wood and supplies in. Older men began to note her shape; she developed fairly early. Several of the men in the houses where she worked had begun to pay attention to her developing breasts. Bras were completely unknown to her, as she could afford nothing, subsisting on scraps. Her breasts were constantly being abused by boys and men; even a few females would take liberties with her. She never thought to stop them. Who was she to complain? She existed in a system designed to use her in all ways, but without consent, gratitude or compliment.
Her escape was found in the ocean. Swimming was the one thing that she could do just for her and she was good at it. For whatever reason her leg worked just fine in the water. She could escape from all humans and just exist, without care or fear. She admitted that she wasn't fearful about the abuse she suffered. It was just the way things were. She was completely fatalistic about whatever might happen. If someone was too rough someday, (and several had been over the years), it would simply all be over. That thought that she would simply pass onto the next blissful life, a concept her priest had drilled into her from infancy.
She had lived with this almost daily routine for most of her young life. Until she met Blake Sherman. He was in the restaurant one night with a bunch of noisy foreigners having dinner. They were boisterous and loud, eating and drinking everything in sight. After dinner they were smoking cigars and remained at their table long after other patrons had given up waiting to be seated and left. Maribella could not understand why Enrique, the owner, would not kick them out. She asked. Enrique explained a bit about who this man was.
Blake Sherman was a billionaire businessman who had close ties to both the local and national government. He had his hands in everything. He owned property close by, and through his connections, all local authorities had turned a blind eye to the ongoing development of his house on the coast. Rumors flew about what he was building there, with labor brought in from around the country and around the world. Enrique had pulled her to the kitchen door and pointed to the party at his table.
"You see?" he had asked her. "Look who is with him." She looked, but recognized no one. Not that she would, she had no clue about the outside world. Enrique had been furious with her that she did not recognize this man. "Are you telling me that you don't know who Arnold Schwarzenegger is?" he hissed at her, yanking her arm roughly back into the kitchen. She had shaken her head, having no idea. He had cuffed her hard and told her to get back to the stove, calling her an imbecile and a retard. The insult had simply washed over her. Of course she was those things; she knew it and was not surprised or hurt.
A short time later, Enrique had reentered the kitchen looking alarmed.
"They want you." He told her. She had given him a blank stare. He batted her head. "They want to 'meet the one who cooked such a great meal'." He told her with a sneer. He had tried to avoid it, but the celebrity himself had asked personally. "Don't you say a word! Just smile and then get back in here." He grabbed her arm so hard it hurt and dragged her out into the restaurant.
The entire room turned and fell quiet. All eyes had turned to her. She wanted to run, to vanish, to simply melt away. This was the first time in her life anyone, let alone a roomful of strangers had even acknowledged her existence. Enrique's grip tightened painfully as the entire table began to clap. Maribella was confused and terrified. 'What was this'? she thought. Blake waved them over. Enrique didn't move. Maribella felt like a block of ice.
Finally Enrique had relented and she was led around the table where this group of over a dozen men smiled and patted her shoulder, made pleasant sounding comments in languages she couldn't understand, and generally seemed happy that she was there. She grew more frightened. She was just as wooden, meeting Arnold as she was meeting anyone else; no clue who he was. She remembered thinking he was like a monster, due to his gigantic size. If he wanted to abuse her body, she thought briefly, surely she would die from it. He seemed so nice though, gripping his cigar in his wide toothy smile. Her hand disappeared into his as he shook it gently.
Finally she met Blake. His gaze was even more frightening. He seemed to see into her mind, know her thoughts. His gaze was penetrating. Maribella grew yet more frightened when his eyes quickly flashed across her, taking in the shape of her body. Was she to be abused by all these men at once? She felt like a prize tuna, on display at the fish mongers, where people would poke and prod and fight over the right to own it; to devour it.
His smiling face suddenly fell very serious. Her fear increased. He suddenly began to speak to her directly, in perfect Spanish. He wondered what was wrong. Maribella suddenly realized that she was shaking and that tears were streaming down her face, she was so terrified.
"Are you okay? Is she okay?" he had asked her, then Enrique, who still had her arm in a death grip.
Enrique had made a comment that she was just a stupid poor girl who knew nothing about anything. Blake had been insulted for her. He had demanded an apology. Enrique fought back insisting that she was a worthless street urchin, who only survived on his own kindness, because she was untouchable, an insignificant invalid.
"She can't even walk right." He had shrieked at last. The entire restaurant broke into pandemonium. Blake had jumped to his feet and shoved Enrique hard. With his grip still tight on her arm, Maribella was tossed around like a rag doll, ultimately falling hard to the floor. The kitchen staff poured out into the restaurant to try and quell the disturbance.
It wasn't a fight so much as sheer bedlam, most not knowing what was going on, voices raised in half a dozen different languages, some angry, others trying to calm the place. Maribella curled up and balled her eyes out. Moments later she felt herself lifted into the air. She looked into Arnold's smiling face, the cigar still clenched tightly, as he carried her effortlessly out of the place. People crashed into him as they moved, but with no effect at all. They may as well have bumped into a wall for all the impact it made.
He sat her carefully on the wall outside, patted her shoulder smiling, and went back inside. She wanted to run but was frozen. She could hear the sounds of furniture breaking, people wailing and dishes breaking. It sounded like the earthquake she had lived through as a young girl.
After a long period of relative silence, Angelo, the mute dishwasher came to get her. He took her hand and led her back inside. Angelo had always been very sweet to her; he was again now. Reentering the junk pile that had been a restaurant, she found the party of men seated again at the table, smiling and drinking tequila. Blake waved her over to sit in the empty chair between him and Arnold. She felt hollow and empty, the restaurant had been her only real home for years, and was now a ruin, part of the low roof was caving in, the kitchen was dark.
The men talked quietly, drinking and clinking. Arnold's big hand settled over hers for a moment. She didn't respond. He said something to Blake, who agreed nodding, and then turned to Maribella.
"Don't worry about a thing. You come with me." he had told her in perfect Spanish.
That was all he said before she was led to a car and driven away, paralyzed with fear for her life. She had sometimes seen men put into a car and then heard they had been killed. She was convinced that it was all going to be over shortly. The next life was coming soon. She was beyond fear. Ready for whatever came next. She wondered if it would hurt too bad. Tears fell silently as she sat in the back seat of a huge car. She remembered being absently fascinated by her very first trip in a car. They drove a long time it seemed, before pulling off the road. They were on a long dirt road that was heading for the beach. 'In the jungle.' She thought. 'My end will come in the jungle. That's okay, I like the jungle.' She thought.
They turned a corner and she vaguely noticed a huge construction site, lit by tall floodlights on towers. Her thoughts of pending death were momentarily set aside by a fascination with whatever was being built way out here. The car pulled to a stop and everyone got out. She waited until the door was opened and a hand helped her to stand. They were in front of a beautiful building half finished, with elegant details that reminded her a bit of Father Gabriel's big church. She had never seen anything like it. Her fear was now coupled with confusion.
Blake approached her smiling. He took her hand. In his deep rumbling voice he told her,
"Come live here. Cook your delicious food for me and my friends,... here." She wasn't sure that she heard him correctly. She turned to look into his eyes. They smiled at her. "You will like it here, I promise." She had no clue what he really meant, but allowed herself to be led into the main part of the house. It was like something from a dream. It was dark inside until Blake hit a switch and lights dimmed up, illuminating an enormous room, with furniture that looked priceless to her.
They walked out onto the veranda, moving slowly so as not to rush her crippled ambling. He still held her hand. She didn't know she could remove it if she wanted. Several men were following behind chatting quietly. The moon was huge and yellow hanging out above the ocean below. The entire jungle was lit by its glow. She had a brief flash that once she reached the next life she hoped it would be like this.
They strolled off to the left and he showed her the kitchen, under construction. She recognized that it was a kitchen, but the size and range of appliances made Enirique's pride and joy, look ridiculous. It was immense. It could easily house 12 people, all working at once. Blake simply watched her reaction with bemusement.
"Do you think you could make your delicious food in here?" he asked her. She blinked at him. 'What did he mean?' she wondered. "Would this work for you?" she nodded absently. He laughed. "Come. See your cottage."
Maribella knew the word 'Cottage' but thought his translation was incorrect. She almost laughed at his mistake, 'your cottage.'
"This is where you will live." Blake told her as they stepped into a bungalow and he flicked on the light. It was as elegant as the other part of the house, only smaller. Smaller was technically correct, yet you could still fit all of Enrique's restaurant in it. 'This is where you will live.' Echoed in her mind. She stood looking in, as if into a picture in a magazine. She frowned at Blake's word's.
"Como?" she finally asked him, utterly confused. It was the first word she had uttered all evening. He simply smiled.
"This is where you will live." He repeated. "If you cook in this house for me, you will live in this cottage." She glanced to his friends who were standing a distance away but listening, and smiling.
"Live?" she asked. "Here?" gesturing to the room. Blake nodded, smiling at her utter confusion with this new situation. He led her to the bed and sat her on it.
"We will talk more tomorrow. Sleep now." He patted her shoulder and turned and left, shutting the light off as he went. Maribella had sat up for hours not moving, listening intently, as the men chatted and laughed from the other part of the house. At around 3 AM all had fallen quiet and she laid down, but didn't sleep. 'What the hell...' she thought, over and over.
From that night until now she had lived in this room, never once returning to the city, cooking for Blake and his friends. He never laid a hand on her. He would hug her and kiss the top of her head whenever he arrived or departed, and sometimes on special occasions, but that was it. Some of his friends had seduced her, but never with force, never without her actual consent. She was treated from that first night like part of the family. It was only a family of friends, as Blake had never married, but his ever changing list of girlfriends, their friends, his friends, came and went with a kind of regularity that made life interesting.
Maribella would sometimes be alone in the house for a week at a time, rarely more, but she had come to enjoy the quiet. Her responsibilities had grown with time to include handling all of the kitchen ordering and finances. She had come to love the house and cared for it without being asked or told. She had even come to enjoy the sexual pleasures that many of the guests had shared with her. But she had never lost her sense of complete lack of self worth. She existed daily only by the grace of God and Blake.
We stared into each other's eyes for a long time. By the time she had finished her long tale, made longer by the constant translation, it was 3:00. We had moved to my room and were laying on my bed. I was near to dozing a bit but utterly fascinated by her tale. I was laying naked on my stomach and her tiny wrap was bunched around her waist, covering nothing. She was on her elbows, her perfect, round bottom completely exposed. I stroked my hand over it, feeling its tautness the warmth.
She moved to get up saying that the guests would be arriving soon. I stopped her and pulled her towards me for a kiss. She lurched back, away. She shook her head, looking as if I had missed the entirety of her dissertation about her lack of value. I asked her for a kiss, but she politely declined and got out of my bed and shuffled away. I was left to ponder what was in her mind, her own self image. Perhaps she just wasn't in to me that way.
I showered and dressed and then went to the main hall to await the rest of our crowd. I began to get anxious about seeing Amy. I had dressed up a bit, my linen pants, my good shirt. Mom was going to be so shocked to see me here. I was hoping I would dampen her plans for romance by being in the way. Amy and I could definitely make ourselves scarce. I flashed on a quick fantasy about making love to her on the beach as well.
I read from my tablet while I waited. They were late. At around 4:45 I heard the car approaching. 'Finally!' I thought to myself. A taxi rounded the corner and pulled up to the door. I got up and joined Maribella, who was already standing at the top of the stairs. Mom got out. I smiled at her surprise at seeing me. She looked shocked, but not really surprised. I then realized that she was alone.
Maribella and I both glanced back up at the empty driveway. No other cars and not a sound. Mom stood and stared for a moment. I lurched forward and ran down the steps to meet her.
"Surprise!" I said taking her into my arms. She embraced me, but with some hesitation. "Where is everybody?" I asked her, letting her go. She stood confused. I looked back up the driveway.
The driver came around to the trunk and opened it, pulling out Mom's solo suitcase. He then returned to the driver's door and retrieved an envelope. It was the same guy that drove me yesterday.
"Hola señor." He said to me smiling, then handed the envelope to Maribella, speaking quickly in Spanish and then jumping back into his car and pulling out. Confusion reigned as I grabbed Mom's bag and introduced her to Maribella.
"This is to be read inside." She told us, noting the envelope. We both led Mom through the house to the veranda. We sat as she opened it. Noting the English she handed it to me.
'Dear Andrea Jean', it began. I recognized Dad's writing. He almost never called Mom anything other than Andi. I began again, this time out loud.
"Dear Andrea Jean," I read out to the three of us. Maribella made no move to leave. "First let me say how sorry I am about all of this. I feel like a shit, indeed I am a shit for handling things in this way. I simply cannot go on doing this anymore. I love you and Kevin very much, but feel that I haven't really been a part of your lives for a long time." Mom and I exchanged a glance.
"I have cancelled the trip for everyone but you two. I feel strongly that you and Kevin will be solid supports for each other through this. You always have been, for each other. I would say that I'm leaving, but the truth is, I am already gone. I am ashamed to admit that I have another life elsewhere. I have a wife and young daughter in Trouville, in France..." My voice drifted off at this revelation.
I looked at Mom whose hand had come to her mouth in shock. She just looked at the letter as if it might burst into flames any second. Her look told me that she didn't believe that this could be real. After a very long moment of consideration, she looked up at me, eyes wide. She jumped up from the table and began to pace circles.
Knowing Mom as I did, I figured she was formulating a plan. Jump back on the plane, find out where the fuck Trouville even was, go there and drag her husband home. She stopped pacing to look at me.
"A young daughter?!" asked incredulously. "What the fuck?!!" She blurted, "Sorry sweetie,... " she told me, then, "But,... WHAT THE FUCK?!!" she screamed. "This has got to be a joke, right?" she then pleaded. She then moved to grab her purse and pulled out her phone. She punched Dad's number. I watched her listening for a moment. "Disconnected." She breathed not believing it. She tried it again. "His fucking phone is disconnected."
