Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [103]
Dr. Vieira asked Bombón to shave Ramón so that he could treat the scrapes and cuts on his cheeks and jaw. Leonor was grateful for this, because she could now see her son clean-shaven, as she’d always known him. His features were etched with deep creases around his eyes and from his nose to his lips. His forehead had drooped over his eyebrows. Two of his front teeth had been chipped long before his fall from the horse, judging from their yellowed edges.
“Mamá.” Leonor was unsure if she’d really heard the word, or if the sound was another variant of the croaks that from time to time escaped her son’s lips. “Mamá, take him with you,” Ramón said with such vehemence that Leonor was afraid the effort was too much for him.
“Who, mi amor? Take who?”
His eyes opened, and just as quickly, closed. “Miguel.” He fell silent again.
She pressed a cool cloth to his face. He was feverish, and since she’d taken over the watch, before dawn, his lips moved in an interminable garble punctuated by the moans that had kept everyone in the house unable to sleep through the night. In this case, however, his voice was clear. She was certain what she’d heard. Ramón wished her to take Miguel away from Los Gemelos, from Ana.
After that lucid moment, Ramón’s fever rose and he became delirious, carrying on a conversation with Inocente, mostly unintelligible to her except for a few phrases. “Mira, Inocente,” Ramón said, as if he’d discovered something extraordinarily beautiful that his brother must see. “No te vayas, Ino,” he called, as if his brother had strayed too far. “No fui yo,” he contended another time, as if Inocente had accused Ramón of doing something that made him angry. In the hour since telling her she should take Miguel away, he’d not recognized or spoken directly to her.
Just as the sky lightened, the door creaked and a maid entered carrying a tray with a steaming pot and a dainty china cup and saucer.
“Disculpe, señora. I took the liberty. I thought you might like something to drink. It’s chocolate.”
“That’s kind of you,” Leonor said.
The maid set the tray on the bedside table, but her eyes fixed on Ramón, taking in every aspect of his appearance. “Pobrecito señor,” she said. “He was a good man.”
“Is a good man.”
“Sí, señora, is a good man,” she amended, flattening her upper lip over her protruding teeth as if to control a smile.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Marta, señora, at your service. I was the cook at Los Gemelos before I came here.”
Leonor took a good look at her. She was big boned, brown, and flat nosed, with teeth too big for her mouth. She had broad shoulders, large breasts, a round belly, and masculine hands.
Ramón moaned and both women turned to him. “Inocente,” he called in a frightened, childish voice that tore through her. “Inocente, no me dejes.”
“Aquí estoy, hijo. Mamá is with you, son.” She took his hand, and with her other hand caressed his forehead and pushed strands of sweaty hair from his temples. Marta stood on the other side of the bed, avid, as if willing Ramón to recognize her. Her expression was strangely gleeful, the look of someone who delights in bearing witness, preferably if it puts her superiors in a bad light, so that she can later relate every detail, exaggerated for maximum effect.
Leonor frowned and Marta looked for something to do. “That’s all,” Leonor said tersely. “You can go.” Marta stood a moment, and a look of disdain crossed her features. She pressed her hands over her belly, and Leonor saw that she was not fat but pregnant. Holding her belly, Marta curtsied deeply, mockingly, before leaving the room.
“Mamá,” Ramón called again. “Inocente is going.”
His eyes darted from side to side, up and down, as if following the erratic movements of a hummingbird. His body tensed as his breathing grew shallow. With strength she didn’t know he had, Ramón half lifted off the bed and let out one piercing scream, then fell back gasping for air.
Eugenio ran into the room, followed by Luis, Faustina, Ciriaca,