Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [147]
With the other household slaves dead, and the survivors at some distance from the casona, Ana had less human contact. Flora was dead, Inés was dead, La Lavandera was dead, Pilar the cook was dead. Old Samuel, who was in charge of the pastures, the cattle used for hauling, and the cows raised for milk and cheesemaking, was dead. His two grandsons, Sandro and Chuíto, were also dead. Tomás, who was a smith, and Benicio, who cleaned and repaired the barns, corrals, and work buildings, were dead. Dina and her husband, Juancho, who worked with her in the gardens, orchards, coops, and dovecotes, were dead. Siña Damita’s husband, Lucho, who raised and fattened the pigs, butchered them, smoked the hams, and made sausages from their blood and intestines, was dead. Their daughter-in-law, Coral, was dead, as was her daughter Sarita. Other than her granddaughter Carmencita, the disease wiped out Siña Damita’s entire family.
The batey, once so full of life and activity, was nearly deserted most of the day. But still meals were prepared, linens were washed, cows were milked and fed. The gardens thrived, fruit was picked, pigs were slaughtered, sausages were made, eggs were collected, hams were smoked. The work Ana had overseen went on without her while she waited in the casona for the plague to end, accompanied only by a seven-year-old child.
One evening, Severo brought news.
“The governor has closed the gates to the capital. Sanjuaneros are ordered to stay indoors, and they’re under curfew.”
“There’s cholera in San Juan, too?”
“In every town of the island. When I looked in on Luis, Faustina had just returned from Mayagüez. She saw an entire barrio burned to the ground. It appears that the cholera is worse in the poor barrios, so, on the advice of local doctors, the municipal council set them on fire. The Guares cabildo is doing the same thing.”
Pockets under his eyes and the tense edges of his mouth made him look much older than thirty-six.
“If the city is closed and the poor barrios are burned,” Ana asked, “where is the cabildo putting the people?”
“Neither the governor nor the councils have provided for that. All they care about is how to control the epidemic. People are sleeping in the open, under trees, in the church. Entire families are wandering along the roads.”
“Dios nos salve.” Ana crossed herself and was instantly aware that it had been a long time since she had appealed so directly to God.
“We must move up the hill, Ana. The house is not finished, but it’s unsafe for us to live so close to the cholera.”
“But we have isolated the sick.”
“Flora got sick. She died, Ana. We’re all at risk. It’s been three weeks, and they keep dying. I’ll not endanger your life or mine.”
He’d never spoken harshly to her, never used less than the most courteous tones, addressing her as usted even in the intimacy of their bed. But his voice, which rumbled as if he were containing its power for her benefit, now carried the authority of an order and tolerated no challenge. She began to protest, but the warning in his eyes made her stop as if he’d physically restrained her. She again opened her mouth to speak, but once more his eyes said what his lips didn’t and she was silenced. He nodded, accepting her surrender, and in one quick, catlike move, drew her to him, held her tight, and kissed her eyes. “I treasure you too much to let anything happen to you,” he said into her ear. “So long as I breathe I’ll take care of you.” He left her alone to ponder whether, in her entire life, she’d ever expected, or wanted, a man to care for her.
The next morning, Severo went through every room of the new house, opening and shutting windows and doors. Each was empty except for the one that was to be his and