Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [16]
Ramón tried it, naked and manacled, his eyes covered while a woman barked orders and whipped him. It wasn’t as pleasurable as he’d hoped.
The brothers were handsome and sought after in society, but they preferred ladies of dubious reputation. One of their favorites was doña Cándida, Marquesa de Lirios, whose much older husband had died from apoplexy upon discovering her in flagrante with his favorite torero. The Marquesa de Lirios suggested a ménage à trois with Ramón and Inocente. For six months the Marquesa de Lirios guided their fingers, tongues, and penises in fantastic explorations of every orifice, male and female, with such abandon that Ramón and Inocente were never the same.
Four months after the Marquesa de Lirios suddenly and inexplicably entered a convent, Ramón and Inocente met Ana. The competitive spark in her eyes told them that this was no ordinary girl. They were drawn to Ana because she treated them as separate people, looked beyond their identical clothes and accessories to find out who was Ramón, who Inocente. They were also grateful that she didn’t give away their deceptions and seemed, in fact, to enjoy being part of their game outwitting others. As they spent more time with her, the twins believed that they’d found a kindred spirit. She wasn’t appalled when Ramón said they’d marry the same woman. They’d shared everything with each other; why not share a wife?
Days before the wedding, Jesusa invited Ana into her boudoir and, nearly paralyzed by ahs, ahems, trembling lips, and crimson blushes, told Ana how babies were made.
“Lie on your back as still as you can, and let him do what he has to do,” she instructed. “While it’s happening, pray two Our Fathers and as many Hail Marys as necessary until it’s over.”
Ana waited, but no more details were forthcoming. Ana, however, had had free rein in Abuelo Cubillas’s library. Hidden in a compartment behind the satirical poems of the Conde de Villamediana, she’d found manuals that left no doubt about how babies were made. The illustrations and, moreover, her lovemaking with Elena, disputed Jesusa’s instructions wonderfully.
For a minute, Ana considered adding to Jesusa’s embarrassment by asking for details, but rejected the idea. It was rare for Jesusa to impart motherly advice.
“How do I know when I’m pregnant?”
Jesusa seemed grateful to talk about something less prurient. “Well,” she said, “with your problem of irregular periods, the only way to know for sure is to look for changes in your body.”
“Like my belly growing?”
“Yes, but there will be signs long before that. You might be nauseous in the morning and crave certain foods. With you, I wanted lemons, couldn’t get enough of them, and the midwife said it was because you were so sweet. With my first three pregnancies, I had no cravings.” She dropped her gaze, yielding to grief, deserting Ana.
“You’ve always told me the opposite; that I have a sour disposition. Maybe you had too many lemons.”
Her words weighed between them as three ghosts floated in the air: the sons Jesusa wanted and lost, the ones who wouldn’t talk back or challenge her.
“You’d better finish packing,” Jesusa dismissed her.
Ana was both relieved and depressed as she climbed the stairs to the room where she’d left Elena folding linen. It had been her nursery once, but it was now lined with crates, chests, and boxes.
“I still can’t believe we’re going,” Elena said as she counted napkins, towels, blankets, tablecloths, then noted the amounts on Ana’s household book. “You look so serious. Did you get into an argument with your mother?”
“Not an argument.” Ana knelt before the linens and began to separate them into stacks. “We annoy each other.”
“You’ll miss her when you’re across the ocean, and your father, and your home.”
“I won’t miss them as much as you or they think. I’d miss more if I didn’t go.”
“Ana!”
“Why are you so shocked? You know we’ve never been close.”
“They’re your parents.”
“They’re shallow. All they care about