Moondogs - Alexander Yates [87]
Monique’s cheeks filled with hot blood. What an incredible pain in the ass this woman was. Why couldn’t she have just listened? Why spout reflexive, meaningless yeses? The maid’s quarters were tiny, the bed narrow as an ironing board, and still she’d insisted on staying when Monique had asked her—told her!—not to. Now the only choices left were bad ones. Monique could threaten her and spend the next year worrying she’d spill, or fire her and feel guilty for maybe much longer than that.
Out in the den Reynato stirred. He got up and wrapped the blanket around his waist. His eyebrows, his mustache, even the silver hair ringing his nipples was wild and matted. He forced a smile and said, “Magandang umaga.”
Amartina spun on him. “I don’t care who you are,” she said in sudden Tagalog, “you don’t open your mouth to me.” She got in his face, garbage pail raised as though she meant to use it as a weapon. She called him filth. She called him cheat. She called him parasite and devil. Reynato took the pail from her and set it down on the floor, but other than that he averted his eyes and accepted the assault.
“No. No. No,” Monique said, her whole body burning under the horrible awkwardness of it—she used to speak that way to the cat, before it died. “You don’t talk to anyone like that when you’re in my house.” She grabbed Amartina’s knobby elbow but Amartina pulled away, spinning on her heels, slapping Monique clean across the face. For a moment they could have been each other’s reflections—shocked and still.
“That’s enough,” Reynato said, in English.
Amartina blinked first, charging into her quarters off the kitchen. She emerged seconds later with an already packed bag, more bloated than usual for a weekend at home. “Shame on you,” she said without looking back at them. “I cannot work here anymore.” She fumbled with the deadbolt. She went out into the landing and rang for the elevator. A sound like a bicycle bell announced its slow approach. “I won’t be back on Monday,” she called, the steel gone from her voice. She sounded stressed, and distracted, and only slightly less determined.
MONIQUE SAT ON THE COUCH, staring dumbly at Joseph’s overturned speakers, catching her breath even though she hadn’t lost it. Reynato dropped his blanket and joined her. He began to have trouble restraining his giggles.
“This is funny to you?”
“Certainly not.” He pursed his lips and made a show of stopping. One of the escaped pets—or maybe both of them—twittered in the hall. Reynato smoothed out his mustache and looked about the wrecked apartment like an appraising buyer. “She’s right about one thing, though. You really made a mess.”
Monique let out a laugh-grunt and put her head in his lap. He ran his small fingers through her hair.
“Anything like this ever happen before?” he asked.
“You mean did I ever screw up this badly before? Did I ever get caught cheating? Did I ever ruin my marriage?”
His fingers stopped and started again. He worked his thumbs behind her ears, soothingly. “This is a featherweight screwup. Totally fixable. What I meant was: Did you ever make weird shit happen before?” He pointed an accusing finger at the overturned speakers.
“Ha. You’re blaming me for that?”
“Should I?” Reynato glanced about the room again. “I think your maid does. Caviteños can be superstitious. I’m pretty superstitious myself.” He quit stroking her hair and placed his hand on her chest, as though to keep her from sitting up. “Could be she thinks the Duwendes saw us last night, and got pissed. You know what Duwendes are?”
Monique nodded. The cleaning woman in Subic had told her all about those sometimes troublesome, sometimes lucky little goblins. An especially mean one supposedly lived in the eaves above their single-family house. The cleaning