Copyright 1991 Aya Katz
FROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND
Things got really out of hand, of late. Strangely out of hand, as though someone were out to break down all the fortress walls and leave us naked to laughter. Humility is the catchword. Or more accurately, humiliation. And though I've had moments of doubt, agitation and self pity, not to speak of a close call with death, the oddest thing is that my dignity is more or less intact. It was mostly aimed at Nabal. The ground has been knocked out from under his feet, and if I blush, it's for him, not for me. Yet, it's funny, too. Why is it we laugh when someone slips on a banana peel? Slapstick has always struck me as more tragic than comic.
Pilar just came and took my tray. Breakfast in bed is nice, especially now that I'm feeling well enough to enjoy it. And every day, Anadora comes in and combs my hair and tells me stories. Her touch is gentle, and her voice is soft; she's just like the mother I never had. Well, the mother I did have used to pull my hair out by the roots, trying to discipline it into shape. I finally got a postcard from her the other day, from a resort in Kiev. I've had my mail forwarded here from the dorm. She wanted to know why I haven't written. So I sent her a note: "Everything's fine with me. I'm learning all sorts of things I never knew before. Love, Verity." After all, what is the point. It's too late now, anyway. I may as well stick it out.
I don't think I'll ever be able to explain any of this to my parents. They wouldn't feel the least bit of sympathy for me. They'd just say it's all my fault. That I brought it on myself. "Things happen to people," Pipa says, "because they deserve them." She said it gloating. But that wasn't about me. That was for Nabal.
She came for a visit last week. Ostensibly, to be with her parents. But she spent a lot more time with me. Nabal avoided her like the plague. Wouldn't sit down to meals even, if she was around. It didn't phase her. She kept congratulating me on my new position, all the while putting Nabal down. What a sucker he is, and how clever I am to have landed him.
She kept showing up in my room, insisting that I walk around with her, hang out in the atrium. And goading Nabal all the while.
"Has he given you anything?" she asked me, standing by the fig tree, newly in bud. Anadora fusses over that tree quite a bit. Pipa twisted off a little branch and played with the buds.
"I don't think you should have done that," I said. "Anadora will be very upset."
"What is she going to do, put a hex on me?" Pipa stuck out her tongue, which even for her was an unusually childish gesture. "Don't forget, I grew up here. There isn't a rule I couldn't break. And neither that bruja nor Nabal nor anybody at all could keep me from tearing down the whole place, if that's what I chose."
I laughed. "Then I suppose it's due to your magnanimity that Carmel still stands today."
"Damn right it is," she said. "Mine and everybody else's. Don't you ever forget it."
She went over to the locquat tree to have a go at it. I followed. "Pipa, maybe we should go inside."
"Did I tell you about the time I snuck up on Nabal in the shower?"
I shook my head. I really didn't want to hear it.
She laughed. "He took his belt to me. Said I was invading his privacy. Was going to beat me to pulp. But he didn't. 'Cause I mentioned I could call the Sheriff. He stopped right there. See, he's afraid of the police. Total coward." She rolled her eyes. "But then, when I turned seventeen, Papa asked me to leave. I did, for his sake. You know, from respect."
I nodded, as though I knew what she was talking about. Her inflection somehow demanded that I agree with her.
She turned more cheerful. "So, did he give you anything?"
"No." I wasn't sure what she meant, but somehow I felt she wasn't referring to his payment of my probation fees. Or the Texaco card. Or the IUD.
She was disappointed. "Not anything at all?"
I shook my head.
"He gave Abby an opal after their first time."
"Well, that's nice."
"And a topaz after the second time, though I thought it was sort of cheap looking. You know, tacky."
I was beginning to feel distinctly uneasy, seeing that if I didn't stop her she would enumerate the entire contents of Abby's jewelry box, and what she had done to earn each piece.
I cleared my throat. "Well, I know she had a lot of fine jewelry."
She smiled at me in commiseration. "Hey, you're no Abby, but I think you would at least have rated cubic zirconium."
I laughed. "Well, thanks for the thought." I tried to steer her back into the house, but she stood still again.
"After all," she said, "it can't be any fun for you. He isn't very good in the sack."
I felt this sharp constriction in my breathing passages and I'm sure my expression must have frozen for a moment. The idea that he had had her was more than I could stomach. Abby was different. I can take Abby. But that I'm just another tart, like Pipa ...
What was most embarrassing was that I couldn't wipe the look off my face fast enough.
She seemed pleased with herself. "But, still, you've done well. They are a rich family, though not powerful. Even if he is a selfish pig."
That's when I sort of lost it. "I'd rather be his slut," I said, "than ..." here I had to pause for an appropriate comparison, "than rule the world." I can't believe I said something so melodramatic. I don't even know what it means. Pipa and I both stood there staring at each other for a moment, probably each of us trying to figure what I had just said. It was really lame.
At that moment, Anadora chose to come barging into the garden, calling for Nabal. And she found him, too. He had been standing on the other side of the locquat tree, by the garden wall, the whole time.
"Well, there you are," she said. "I need your help in choosing an unspotted calf for the sacrifice. And wouldn't you know they're all spotted, every one of them."
He came out from the shadows. "I think it's a function of natural selection," he said. "On this ranch, the unspotted don't live long enough to reproduce."
But he was looking at me. I couldn't read the expression. I had to look away.
Pipa squinted at him. "Were you standing there the whole time?" she asked, always blunt and to the point.
"Long enough to hear Miss Lackland abdicate her position as world dominatrix on my behalf," he said. He spared me barely a second of his derision.
"As for you," he directed himself to Pipa, "I expect you know better than to repeat your slanders."
"You mean, about what a lousy lover you are?" she asked, truculently.
"No. I mean about my ever having given you the opportunity to test that hypothesis."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"You've never ... slept with her?" I asked. From the corner of my eye I could see that Anadora was laughing at us. All three of us.
"I would not touch her like, not even for ... " he paused and smiled, "dominion of the world."
"Well," said Pipa. "I never said I slept with him. I only said he was a lousy lover. And just you try to get me for slander. I've got proof." She pulled herself up to stand straight. "I have documentation." The evasive Mexican lilt came into her voice more strongly on this last word, as though she were almost tempted to say it in Spanish.
We all stared at her, until Anadora finally broke the silence. "This I would like to see." And while Pipa began to fumble obligingly through her purse, Anadora commented: "One of the seven wonders of the Earth, I'll wager."
A lipstick holder came tumbling out and for a moment we stared at it, as if it could give credence to Nabal's lack of virility. Back at U.T., Muriel Croston told me that lipstick is a phallic symbol. Together with fountain pens, pencils and the Washington monument.
Only it wasn't the lipstick. It was a letter. Crumpled and stained. She handed it triumphantly to Nabal. "You can do what you want with it," she said. "it won't do you a bit of good. Half the County's already read it."
Nabal took it out of the envelope. He handled it gingerly, as though it were a rare historical specimen. I watched his eyes scan the first side, and he colored. By the time he was through with the second side, his shoulder's seemed more stooped, and there was a tremor at his lips. I wanted to sink into the ground, I felt so ashamed for him, even though I didn't know what it was. For a moment I thought he would tear it to shreds, but he relented and let it fall gently to the ground. I kept focused on the letter as he walked away.
Pipa, vindicated, called after him: "I wouldn't sleep with you, not even for a big screen TV and a stereo."
Anadora picked up the letter and started chuckling to herself. When she was finished, she handed it to me. "Read, my child," she said "and learn." She walked away very smugly, as though she were glad to see Nabal debased. I felt sick as I read it:
"Dear David,
You know his birthday's coming up, except I think I'll get away before. Pipa will let you know when, as she's coming down, and I will give this to her to deliver.
I bought him candy for his birthday. It should satisfy his sweet tooth.
Nabal is like that. Easily satisfied. Very ardent for about thirty seconds, and it's over. He imagines that I must be sated because he is. Everything revolves around his needs.
He loves the people, too, that way. He thinks them there to serve him, an equal bargain. Why should he engage in charity?
He feels betrayed, and so has turned his back on County politics. "Let them drown in their own muck," he says. He will not deign to be their savior, because they've turned their backs on him. In me, he trusts implicitly.
Don't do anything hasty. Please tell Joe to pull back. Let him alone. I'll take care of it.
Love, Abby."
I looked up from the letter. Pipa was toying with her jet black hair, watching me. "Where'd you get this?" I asked.
"It was in room twenty-six," she said. "That day, when he killed her. I didn't think it would be good to have it for the inquest and the grand jury investigation, too embarrassing."
"But you've managed to show it to half the County since then?"
She shook her head. "After they no-billed Nabal, I told David I had it. He said, that's okay, it didn't matter, I could keep it. So I did."
I frowned, trying to remember that day. "I was the one who cleaned room 26."
Pipa shook her head. "Yeah, but I was there first. I was the witness, remember. Eb only called you up after."
"Right."
Anyway, that's what reminded me of that Turkish Delight, which I had since removed from my jeans pocket and placed in tissue in one of my drawers. I kept thinking about what she had said about Nabal's appetites and how easily they were satisfied.
Pipa left in the evening and I wished that Nabal would come see me, even though he wouldn't have touched me anyway as I was having my period. But he didn't come, as I knew he would not.
It was a double blow. That it had been said. And most of all, that she had said it. In the night I had dreams about locquats and world dominion and Turkish delights. I woke up thinking about Abby and the letter.
I had no idea he was doing anything wrong, sexually -- technically, I mean, which I suppose proves how utterly backwards and essentially non-sensual I am. Now there's a mouthful. I have a sweet tooth, too. And dressing for breakfast (I have plenty of underwear now) I uncovered the Turkish Delight from its wrapping. Feeling like Eve and Edmond and Alice all wrapped into one, I popped it into my mouth. I didn't bite, just savored for a moment. It tasted all right. Sweet, with a subtle overtaste.
I went out to the hall and into the kitchen for breakfast. Anadora was there. "Oh, there you are child. Do have an egg. I haven't read anyone's fortune today."
I started to pull up a chair and I felt faint, then a sharp pain in my abdomen and everything got suddenly darker. Anadora watched me alarmed and ... Well that's all remember. Everything was suddenly sideways and ...
After that I have vague recollection of wanting to throw up only I couldn't because there were things inside of me and I was sweaty all over. Anadora's voice, heartlessly giving orders.
Later, it was dark and they were talking in Spanish. Anadora and Nabal. At least, I think it was Spanish, but it sounded very different and I couldn't make out any of the words. I must have made some sound, because she turned to me and said: "What have you been eating, child?"
I couldn't understand at first. She mentioned poison. "It was before breakfast. What did you have before breakfast?"
I felt uncertain. "A Turkish Delight?" I asked, as if she could tell me whether that was the right answer.
Nabal came up closer. "What?!"
He was angry and I tried to edge away from him. Anadora shooed him back. "Where did you get it?"
"From Abby," I started to say. "From the box in Abby's room."
"How dare you!" Nabal said. His hand balled up into a fist. "Those were mine."
Anadora calmed him down again in that incompehensible, unrecognizable Spanish. She sent Nabal away, but he was muttering in English as he left. Something to do with impudence.
"I'm sorry," I said to Anadora. She stroked my forehead and I fell asleep. The next time I woke up it was light. Pilar, Angelo and Nabal were there. This time the Spanish was the kind where I could make out words. Like "La Policia." That figured in it prominently.
My throat was parched. "Could I have a glass of water, please?"
Pilar went to get some. Nabal looked at me. His glance was angry and resentful.
Pilar brought me the water, and I tried to sit up to drink it. Nabal said: "We were discussing the implications of your little adventure." he said it disparagingly. "If we report this to the authorities, we'll have the police breathing down our necks. But considering that you are a convict under probation, your actions are already under scrutiny and ..."
That's when I started to panic. "What day is this?"
And when they told me: "Oh, my god, what time is it? I've got a probation meeting at 2:00."
Nabal was cold. "It's too late for that and you're in no condition to go. Pilar can phone in for you."
"No, no," I started to shout, not really loud, but out of control. "No. The Judge said next time I miss, I go to jail for certain."
Nabal didn't have much patience with me. I was struggling to get up and he said: "Miss Lackland, I don't have time for this. Control yourself."
I made it out of bed and managed to pull the covers from me, which had stuck to my gown. I was barefoot, in Pilar's flannel nightgown. The stone floor was cold. "Where are my shoes?" I asked no one in particular. "I've got to find my shoes. I won't let them put me in jail!"
I started to slip. Nabal caught me, inadvertently, I suppose. He was disgusted with me. It showed in the line of his mouth. He's incapable of pity, I thought. But the warmth of his hands supporting my back felt good. His face didn't care, but his hands did. There was a strange moment, when the black-brown eyes bore into me, without feeling. Unflinching. "Please, I don't want to go to jail," I whispered.
That's when the hardness wore off his eyes. It happened gradually, but fast, like a TV set shutting off, the light receding to a point. Suddenly his eyes unfocused. He shut them tight and shuddered. And when he opened them again they glistened. Then he hugged me to him hard, I suppose so that I wouldn't see his eyes. He squashed me to his chest, too tight. And his right hand stroked my back. It didn't really last that long. And then he placed me on the bed and covered me. And not looking me in the eye, he said, in a voice that quivered slightly, "I won't let them put you away. I promise."
He was gone before I had time to take it in. And I fell asleep again, dreaming that he held me still.
After that, he didn't come to see me, but I was told he'd been to see Seth Cain. Anadora took care of me mostly. Camomile tea and herbal remedies and sponge baths. And she brushed my hair and told me stories. "Do you think Nabal will be by today?" I asked her once.
She shook her head. "He's not one for visiting the sick. And he hasn't much of a bedside manner." She smiled so I knew she was thinking of Abby's letter. She added: "Besides he has much to forgive you. You've injured his amour propre."
I wondered why she chose the French term. They play fast and loose with their languages, I thought. And anyway, it wasn't I who'd injured it.
She seemed to read my mind. "The truth is not flattering, child. And you have brought the truth. He'll hate you for it yet."
I shook my head. "Hold still," she ordered and started to braid my hair at the back.
"I didn't bring any truth," I said. "It was Pipa."
She laughed. "Oh, that was nothing, really. I'm speaking of the poison. She meant to kill him."
"No," I said. "No, I can't believe that."
"We had them analyzed. Every piece was poisoned."
I wanted to shake my head again, but she held it still. "That doesn't make sense," I said. "She could never have gotten away with that."
Anadora was pulling my hair tight. It strained at the temples, but it didn't hurt. I felt vaguely Chinese. She said: "There was another box in the closet. It hadn't been tampered with. I think she meant to switch them."
"Does Nabal believe that? About her?"
"Well, he was ready to blame everyone. You, for eating it. Me, for letting you into the sanctum of her chamber. He even accused me of poisoning the candy." She clucked. "The mother who bore him! At whose breast he suckled."
Hm. I thought about that. She did have the opportunity. She had led me into Abby's room, like God conducting Adam into the garden, putting temptation in my way. And she had a motive. She hated Abby. I frowned. She could have sullied Abby's memory and killed me off, two birds with one stone.
Anadora finished braiding my hair, and came around to look at me. Again she seemed to read my thoughts. "Yes, I was being rather devious. I wanted to see if you'd take to the jewels. I didn't know about the candy."
My mouth fell wide open. "Oh. You thought I was a thief!"
She clucked. "I thought nothing of the sort. I merely made sure that you weren't."
But I was thinking of Abby, again. I can't believe it about her, even if I don't suspect anyone else. And why? Why should she do that. She had everything. Nabal and David both.
A horrible thought occurred to me. "You ... you don't think that David was in on it? You don't think he knew?" I shook my head. "He couldn't have known. Not David."
Anadora smiled. "I'll wager he didn't. He'd have made sure not to know. Abigail said she would take care of it. Why should he worry his pretty head how?" She put away the brush and handed me a mirror. "The wise prince arranges always not to know what evil deeds are done on his behalf. That way his hands are clean. Machiavelli."
I didn't care to think on what she meant. I looked funny in the mirror. Skinnier than before. My neck looked longer. My eyes were bigger. A little more like his.
"That was always Saul's problem," she said. "He never quite grasped how to keep his hands clean. Didn't have the knack. He was never subtle."
I shook my head. "The Judge? He strikes me as very dignified. Proper and upright. He's not oily, like Abner. When he passes sentence, it doesn't sound like a threat. Just a judgment. An immutable fact."
Anadora nodded. "Passing judgment is generally what judges do. Saul came to take it too seriously. Forgot the source. His father was a dirt farmer. He wasn't born a judge. And he forgot what made him one"
I laughed. "No one's born a judge."
Anadora took the mirror away from me, as though she feared that I was growing too vain. "Now, there you're wrong. The Cabeza de Vacas were County Judges for generations. Since before the Republic and until the Civil War."
"What? Not the War between the States?" I was amused.
"I'm not a Texan born," she said. "I can call it what I want." She seemed younger, almost girlish when she said that, as though the old hag routine had been stripped off. I wondered how old she really was.
"Where were you born?" I asked her.
"Madrid."
I was trying to remember which state had a Madrid in it. "Madrid ...?" I started to prompt.
"That's in Spain," she said.
"Oh, right," I agreed, feeling silly. "Funny, your accent is more ... New England."
She held up her nose in the air. "I went to Radcliffe."
"Oh," I nodded, trying to pretend it didn't clash with everything I'd ever imagined about her. Do they teach witchcraft at Harvard?
"Did you meet ... Nabal's father there?"
"No," she laughed. "Caleb would never set foot in such a place. It was he who sent me there. He wanted me to get an education, so that I might nourish our future children's minds."
"Oh," I said. "Then you taught Nabal at home?"
"Until Caleb died, I did. Then I was forced to send him off to school. In the long run, it was best this way, it was good that he should come to know the peasants."
I smiled. "The peasants?" She had a lot of gall to use such words. It made me angry, and at the same time, oddly excited. Like Nabal's insolent gaze, when it plunges below my neckline.
She ignored me. "Nabal hated it. He used to beg me not to make him go. But I always told him: 'Your father did not slit his throat so that you might stay home from school.' And he could never answer that."
"What?" It sounded like the annoying sorts of things that mothers say, except that something was terribly skewed about it.
"Well, you look tired," she said. "Get some rest. Pilar will bring your dinner in due course."
She left me trying to picture Nabal begging not to be sent to school. Only I couldn't imagine that.
When Pilar came with my tray, I asked her: "How did Nabal's father die?"
She stopped short and considered this, as though there were more than one answer. Finally she said: "The Judge declared that he was loco. So they locked him up. He died in the asylum." She indicated the rest with a finger across the throat in one jerky motion.
She started to leave.
"Pilar," I said, to stop her. "Was it true?"
"Que?"
"That he was mad? What did he do that was so crazy?"
"I told you," she said. "He killed himself."
"Right." I tried not to smile. "No, I mean, before that?"
"Oh." She seemed concerned. She looked around and finally in hushed tones she said: "He prayed to cows." Then, crossing herself, she hurried out lest I ask her anything more.
Maybe that's why they call it Vaca City.
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