Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [164]
“But compensation for slaveholders is at the heart of our discussions. We can’t expect people whose entire fortune is tied up in such an investment …” He stopped midstep and pressed his fingers to his face. “Holy Mother of God, what am I saying? Whose words are these?”
Andrés put his arm around Miguel’s shoulder. “You understand, then. All our talking and debating continues to disregard the fact that they’re human beings. Even we think of them as property. As humanists, hermano, we’re failures.”
Miguel didn’t know much about his grandfather’s business. Even though he often mentioned that Miguel was his heir, the old man made no effort to train him in more than the manly arts of riding, swordsmanship, drinking, whoring, and gambling while his grandmother and godmother drilled him in the social graces of a señorcito de buena familia. Years after he came to live with his grandparents, Miguel still had little idea what Eugenio did to keep them firmly ensconced on the respectable side of colonial society. His meetings with Mr. Worthy took place in the lawyer’s office or behind the closed doors of the study. Not once was Miguel invited to the conferences within the amber-colored room that smelled of aged port, cigars, and men’s conversations. He knew that slaves were the workforce of Los Gemelos, but like other slave-owning abolitionists, the Argosos fell on the side of indemnity upon manumission, not an unusual position for even the most liberal families.
Eugenio and Leonor raised Miguel to think of slavery as a sin. They reminded him that, while Siña Ciriaca and Bombón were purchased from Luis Morales Font, they freed both women once they arrived in San Juan. Over the years, the Argosos helped Siña Ciriaca buy the freedom of her three other children and their spouses. But they hadn’t extended their moral stance to the far-off plantation that made their comfortable lives in the city possible.
Andrés’s words affected Miguel, but he couldn’t bring himself to challenge Abuelo. Respect for him, gratitude for the life he’d made possible, and love for both grandparents prevented him from doing anything to cause them to question his loyalty or affection. He wondered if it was a sign of weakness to avoid a discussion that would surely be interpreted by his grandparents as criticism. Miguel avoided confrontations of any kind, and did mostly as he was told, even when it meant he lay awake at night asking himself questions he might have best answered in daylight, with a frank exchange of opinion and a willingness to argue his point. His evenings at don Benito’s were mostly spent half-listening to others debate while his mind wandered.
Miguel recalled a childhood filled with love and every material and intellectual exigency of a wealthy señorcito from whom important things were expected. Who he was to become, however, was never clearly defined, and he often felt as if he were floating in a sea of expectations with no clear destination. When he thought about it, he was grateful for the happy, comfortable childhood his grandparents and Elena made possible. The only dark cloud over his rosy life was the fading memory of a wild and distant place with an insistent female voice.
Ana wrote frequently and assured Miguel that no matter what other preoccupations filled his days, she had only one fervent wish—to have him by her side. As he grew older, Ana’s letters came more often. The hand-cut pages were dense with baroque descriptions of the campo illustrated with amateurish drawings of people, flowers, fruits, buildings, and animals. Whenever