Copyright 1991 Aya Katz
FROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND
After the debate, such as it was, I drove straight to Carmel and went right to my room. It was about nine-thirty when I got home. Strange to think of it as home, isn't it? It doesn't feel any less like home than anyplace else I've lived. Except for my parents not being here, of course.
I took a shower and I dressed for bed, because I thought I was exhausted. I felt that all I wanted to do was throw myself on the bed and plunge into sleep and forget about it all. But I couldn't get to sleep. I kept tossing and turning. I had this vague feeling of needing something. At first I wasn't even aware of it, it just crept up on me. I wondered whether I was hungry or thirsty or had to go to the bathroom, but it was none of that. Then I realized that I wished Nabal would come. Which was an awful thought in itself. Because if he did, it would only be for that, and so I couldn't maintain any illusion as to why I wanted him.
And of course, he didn't come, as he never does. I even tried to con myself into thinking he might come at 2:00 am, since that was the hour of night he last graced my room with his presence. It was a thin hope, and when that hour came and passed, I had no further hope.I cried a little, then solaced myself with the daydream that he was letting me hold him, and that I was staring deep into his eyes and asking "Why do the call it Vacuum County?" And I pretended that he told me and that it somehow explained everything. After that I fell asleep.
I didn't see him at breakfast, which isn't very surprising, because I overslept. But Anadora was there as usual, and rather than allow her to read my fortune, I thought I'd pester her for explanations about Caleb and Sam and the Judge, but instead she ended up telling me more of her tall tales. At least I think that's what they are.
"I heard about what they did to Caleb," I said to her. "Considering all that, I'm surprised you stayed here." I was trying to get her to tell me what happened after Caleb died.
She looked puzzled. "Whither would you have me go?" she asked.
I blinked. Those archaic words always stop me in my tracks. "Well, you could have gone back to Spain. I imagine you had relatives there."
"We have no relatives," she said. "Nabal has no closer kin than the people of Vacuum County."
I didn't understand what she meant by that, but I pressed on. "But surely you have family there, if you came from Madrid."
"I was a foundling," she said, her voice flat.
A likely story, I thought. She's too haughty to be a nobody. And besides, I somehow get the feeling that Caleb was too much of a snob to marry just anybody. Why else would he have gone all the way to Spain to get a bride? Weren't the women of Vacuum County good enough for him? But I wasn't going to argue with her. "What about the Cabeza de Vacas, they came from Spain, too, didn't they?"
At this her eyes lit up, as though sensing an opportunity to impart perfectly useless information. "Yes," she said. "Alvar Nu·ez Cabeza de Vaca set sail from Spain to the new world in 1527. He was thirty-seven years old, having been born only two years before the discovery of America."
"No," I said, trying to stop the narrative torrent. "I mean, more recently than that."
She shrugged. "We've lost touch."
I laughed.
She used this opportunity to take up her story. "He went as the Treasurer to Narvaez's expedition. Three hundred men disembarked in Florida and only four returned. And Nu·ez was one of the four."
I was tempted to ask her whether he'd killed them all. I remembered what David told me Nabal had said to Abby. About a pestilence striking down the people. About their not being fit to live.
"For eight years," she continued, "they wandered among the Indians. They were the first white men to cross the Rio Grande. Though strictly speaking , one of them was black. They explored the Big Bend. They went into northern Mexico and looked at bison."
Which, I thought to myself, is just another sort of cow, I suppose.
"They were taken captive by the Indians, made to serve them, spent years in the elements in their bare skins. Then one day a terrible plague broke out among the natives."
There's that pestilence, I thought.
"The native witch doctors tried to cure the people, but still they grew sick and died."
"Smallpox?" I asked.
Anadora ignored me. "Finally, even the witch doctors died. And at this the tribe was faced with a terrible dilemma. They couldn't do without a witch doctor. None of the remaining natives wanted to take on that responsibility. Finally, at a loss, they turned to their Spanish captives. The three others shook their heads, saying they knew nothing about it. But Nu·ez suddenly spoke up: 'I will be their witch doctor!' he said. So all the sick were brought to him, and he blessed them with the sign of the bull's head, and he healed them and they were cured. None of those he blessed perished."
I had to take it with a grain of salt. "How did he manage that?" I asked.
Anadora smiled. "He was a healer, like me. And he had the touch. In addition to which, he had been trained in the ways of his forefathers and knew lore that outdated the Roman conquest by centuries." She was very smug. "That's how he did it."
I frowned. "But you're not a Cabeza de Vaca by birth," I said. "How could you know that stuff?"
"Caleb taught me," she said. "Caleb taught me the old ways."
Now we were getting someplace. "Speaking of Caleb," I said, "when he was put away ..."
"Nu·ez suffered a similar fate in the end," Anadora broke in, unperturbed. "You see, he was appointed governor of Rio de la Plata. He set out with four hundred men and arrived at la Cananea, in the coast of Brazil, in 1540. He was a fair governor, true and just and scrupulously fair, but the people rose up against him and imprisoned him."
I laughed. "If he was so just and fair, why did they do that?"
Anadora didn't seem to think it was the least bit funny. "Because the people, as always, are short sighted and vicious and easily manipulated."
"Oh." I couldn't think of any better comment.
"Mind you, that is not a complaint against the people. I have always had the highest regard for the common man, but I am merely stating the facts. They don't mean any harm by it. It's just the way they are. I keep telling Nabal he shouldn't take it personally, but he turns a deaf ear." She sighed. "Nabal takes everything personally."
"So, did he kill himself, too?" I asked.
"Who?"
"Cabeza de Vaca." I realized belatedly that the use of the surname did nothing to clarify matters. "Nu·ez. The explorer. When they imprisoned him, did he commit suicide, like Caleb?"
She shook her head. "He was used to imprisonment by that time. The Indians had kept him captive in Florida. Now, it was the Spaniard's turn. The officials, the bureaucrats and the clergy hated him. It was they who fomented it, you know. Comuneros, the rebels called themselves. But their leaders were the rotten aristocracy that Nu·ez had tried to keep in check. And the clergy. The clergy detested him. He was tried by the council of the Indies and sentenced to exile in Africa. Which is rather ironic, actually."
I had no idea why she thought that was ironic.
"After eight years, his sentence was commuted and he was allowed to return to Spain. He died in Seville, a broken old man." She sighed.
I didn't know what to say. But Anadora suddenly perked up. "But you were asking about Caleb. Our attorney was going to appeal, but Caleb saved him the trouble. It's no real loss actually. He would have been ninety-one by now. Probably would be dead already. No one lives forever. So it's just as well."
She got up from the table and walked away. She's a cold one, I thought. I bet Nabal doesn't think it's just as well.
When Pilar came to clear away the dishes, I was still sitting there.
"What happened after Caleb died?" I asked her.
She kept at it, picking up the breakfast dishes and stacking them. "Nothing happened," she said. "They buried him."
"No, that's not what I meant ..."
"The se·ora, she wanted a funeral pyre, but Sam wouldn't let her. So he was just buried." She picked up her tray and took away the dishes, before I could get anything more out of her.
I spent the rest of the day in the library. Jafnez's stern face stared down at me disapprovingly while I tried to verify Anadora's story about Nu·ez. I would have liked to look up Caleb, but he's not in the books. So I had to content myself with Nu·ez.
The difficult thing about it was that all the books about Spanish and South American history were in Spanish. And the only Spanish dictionary I could find was Spanish-Spanish. Big help.
But somehow, I kept at it. Maybe it's because I have nothing better to do. But it was more than that. I felt driven. This is a puzzle and I've got solve it. I don't know why it should matter, but it does. It's the only thing I have left to hang onto.
So I sat there reading, and when something looked interesting, I folded the tip of the page ever so slightly, so that I could get back to it. And I looked up a lot of Spanish words and got definitions in Spanish. Sometimes it actually helped.
One time I heard someone passing in the hall and I thought it might be Nabal. But it was just Angelo. I called after him. He turned around.
"Angelo," I said, "could you tell me what this means?" And I held the book out to him and pointed at a particular sentence.
He gave me a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Miss Verity. I speak Spanish. But I do not read it." And he walked off.
I don't understand that. How could he not read it, if he speaks it? It's not like a different alphabet or anything. I mean, I don't speak it, and even I can read it. But he wasn't there for me to argue with. So I hit the books again. I had to get through a lot of rubbish till I found the juicy parts.
I was really engrossed sometime later when I suddenly felt that someone was looking at me. I looked up from behind the book. It was Nabal. I hadn't heard him come in. He had this suspicious look on his face, the eyes hooded, frown lines between the brows. He looked on the verge of anger, but oddly vulnerable.
"Why are you reading that?" he asked. "You don't speak Spanish." The book in my hands was Historia del Descubrimiento y Conquista de America.
"I don't speak it," I said, "but I can read."
"A remarkable accomplishment," he said, taking me literally, I suppose. Or should I say, literately.
"Maybe you can help me," I said. "There are a few things I'm not clear on." I concentrated. "Did Nu·ez cry a lot?"
"What?"
"Well over here, it says that the Indians liked him because he made ... milagros. That's tears, isn't it?"
Nabal shook his head, annoyed. "Miracles, not tears."
"Oh," I said. "I could have sworn that was tears. Then how do you say tears?"
"Lagrimas."
"Oh, right." I took that in. "Like lachrymose. But then, shouldn't miracles be miraglos instead of milagros?"
He looked totally disgusted with me. I was afraid he would walk out on me, the way he usually does, so I said: "There's another passage I don't understand. Over here where he was made governor of Rio de la Plata." I pointed out the line and he came round and bent down to look at it. "Now this first part I take to mean that the governor, that's Nu·ez, gave some interesting orders, but I couldn't quite figure out what they were. But the rest I can't figure out."
He followed my finger and read aloud: " '... se le ordenaba que no llevara al Plata letrados o procuradores, para que no hubieran pleitos...'" His voice was crisp and clear.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
Nabal straightened up from the book, looking down at me. There was a half smile at his lips. "It means that lawyers were forbidden to come to la Plata, in order that there be no lawsuits."
"You're kidding." I cocked my head slantwise.
He shook his to indicate that that he wasn't. Kidding that is.
"Is that why the people rose up against him?" I asked. "Because they wanted lawyers?"
He laughed. "Not precisely." He toyed with the idea. "But, you know Miss Lackland, if the people didn't want them, there would be no lawyers." He grew more somber. "And the people get what the people want ... and deserve."
That's very smug of you, I thought. Only really, it wasn't so much smug as it was angry. It was not the anger of the righteousness, but the bitterness of one who'd been scorned.
He must have surmised that I was judging him, because that's when he went on the offensive. He was standing very close, but not touching. And I think he must have felt me shudder when he said. "Abner phoned me last night. He said I ought to know you'd been seen in deep and intimate conversation with David."
That's the way he got Abby killed, I thought. "You don't think that David and I ..."
He shook his head. "No, I don't think that. You're not his type." The way he said it didn't imply that I was anybody's type.
"Then what ..."
"I've been thinking that even before ... before Abby died, David was trying to foist you on me."
I wasn't following his logic. "Foist me..." I started to repeat. He ran his hand gently down the side of my cheek, barely touching. "Nabal ..." I whispered, not knowing what I was going to say. Wishing he wouldn't make me say anything.
His eyes bore into me. They were full of tortured questions. "Is it true? Did David send you? Are you his spy in my bed?"
"I've never been to your bed." I nearly choked on the words. I hadn't meant to say that.
He drew back. "It's no place for a whore," he said offhandedly. But he went right back to his original line of inquiry. "The first time I saw you, David was at me to help him against the Judge. Used you as some sort of concrete example of injustice. As though I needed one. Tried to arouse my sympathy."
"No!" I said. "That's not true. That wasn't the first time you saw me. It wasn't important enough for you to bother to remember, but I remember quite well." I was very angry, and my voice had this plaintive, chopped off, edgy quality. "You saw me twice before that. Once at the public library. And the first time, when I had my flat tire. Abby wanted you to help me with the flat. But no. You said that wasn't your problem. That I should take care of myself. If you had just done what she said, none of this would ever have happened to me!" I was on the verge of tears. Hot angry tears, which I barely held back.
He was detached. "So. You do hate it. All that talk about how happy you were to serve as my slut, that was staged, wasn't it?"
I shook my head. "No. I want to be your slut. I like being your slut. It's the other stuff, the probation officer and the AA meetings and not being able to make any choices, that's what I hate. Do you know what it's like to be told you had to confess you were bad, when you hadn't done anything. To report to horrible people who say nasty things about you and who tell you if you'll only accept the situation, everything will be all right. And on top of all that, to have to pay them with your own money for doing this to you! Do you know what that's like?" I hadn't meant to start crying, but one stray tear escaped down my cheek and I tried to wipe it off with the back of my hand.
He nodded. "Yes. I have some small inkling. But I haven't any pity to spare." He started to walk away. But at the door, before he left, he turned round and said. "You missed dinner, you know."
After he had gone, I broke into uncontrollable sobbing.
........
He was right, of course. I hadn't had dinner. I hadn't even had lunch. Which probably accounted for why I broke down so easily. I went to the kitchen to see if there was anything left, and found Pilar straightening up. She acknowledged me with a nod, but just kept working.
I was too shy to ask her for anything to eat and she didn't offer any. I stood around of a while, then turned to go. I felt like Oliver Twist. And I figured it would be best not to ask for more. Although, Alice had a point, you can't very well ask for more, when you haven't had any. And yet the Mad Hatter was also right when remarked that anything is more than nothing. Even in that state of mind, I noticed that my thoughts were getting muddled. Rather than beg for a handout, I thought I'd just go to my room and sleep off my hunger. All my hungers.
And yet, just then Pilar spoke up: "The se·or was asking after you tonight."
"He found me," I said.
She looked up at me from her work. "Oh," she commented, surveying my features. Instinctively, my hand went up to feel my swollen lids. "You should have washed your face. The Cabeza de Vacas, they do not like ...this. Especially the Se·ora. She never cries."
"Never?"
"Not even for Se·or Caleb when he died. Not even for the boy when that preacher had at him."
"What?"
She busied herself with the clean up operation, again not looking at me. I was afraid she would ignore my question. But her voice issued forth, though her back was turned to me. I could barely hear her. "The Reverend Sam, he came every Sunday after his sermon."
I moved around to where she was facing me. She continued with her work, but at least I could hear her better. "It was his job to save the se·orito's soul. But the boy was ... muy orgulloso. And the harder he was pushed, the harder he rebelled. The Reverend Sam, he tried to be nice at first. He didn't want to hurt him. Only change his heathen ways. But when that did not work, he used to take him into the bedroom. Se·or Caleb's bedroom. And he would shut the door. And at first it was very quiet. But afterwards there were such gritos." She crossed herself.
"Gritos?" I repeated.
"I went to the Se·ora. She was standing in the sala. And when I told her she smiled. A terrible smile." Pilar shuddered. "Such a sonrisa, I will never forget. She said: 'Good. He is doing my work for me. Every stroke will play to my advantage.' And I said to her that it was not good for the boy. That it could stunt his growth. She said 'No. We thrive on hatred.'"
I stared at her. I had no other reaction. Except that my palms were sweating.
Pilar, despite herself, seemed to glory in my undivided attention. "I said to her, that perhaps it would not hurt the boy, but it was hurting me. For every time I heard the sound, the little one inside of me gave an awful kick. And the Se·ora, she put her hand on my belly and she said 'Then don't stand so close to the door.'"
"Huh?"
"My Pipita, she was born that year."
Oh, I thought. Not yet born and already she was getting a big kick out of torturing Nabal. "How long did this go on?" I asked.
"Many months," she said. "Until one time the boy did not get up. I found him naked on the floor and there was much blood. Then the Se·ora went to the Judge, and the Reverend Sam, he stopped coming. For the boy, that is. He still looked over the books, though."
Pilar put away the last of the items and ran a wet rag over the counter. "There, I am finished she said." She hung up her apron. "Good night, Miss Verity."
So I didn't get anything to eat after all. This time when I went to bed, it was actual hunger that kept me awake. That and anger. What kind of a mother! Why, if Nabal had been my child, I wouldn't have let anyone lay a hand on him. Not anyone. But eventually I drifted off to sleep and dreamt of tears and miracles and Oliver Twist. Only it was mostly in Spanish. That is, half the words were Spanish, but they were strung together in English sentences.
Eventually, I woke up, still hungry. It was just after midnight. I put on my shirt over Pilar's nightgown, and went out to raid the pantry. I just hope none of the food is poisoned, I thought to myself. I mean, what if Abby spiked the peanut butter before she died and nobody's noticed yet.
Only when I got there, the light was on, and Anadora was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea. "Come, child." she said. "Keep me company. Have you been troubled in your sleep? Perhaps I could interpret your dreams?"
I sat down. "No thanks. I just thought I'd make a peanut butter sandwich. If that's okay ...?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
So I got up again and started searching the cupboards. I found some bread. "Where do you keep the peanut butter?" I asked.
"I have no idea," she said. "I'm not entirely sure we have any. Pilar takes care of these matters."
So in the end, I just had bread and tea. Which is better than nothing. Or at least, more than nothing. Anadora watched me eagerly, probably waiting for the opportunity to examine the bottom of my cup.
"You know," I said languidly, "I looked up that stuff you told me about Nu·ez. It said he used a cross to bless those Indians."
Her look was full of disdain. "Well, naturally, he said he used a cross. Do you think he wanted to be crucified?"
"Huh."
"He may have been politically naive. But he knew enough to fear the Inquisition."
I shrugged. "I didn't think Conquistadors were supposed to be afraid of anything."
She didn't honor that with a response.
"Why did you let Sam in the house after Caleb died?"
"He was Nabal's guardian," she said. "Court appointed. Responsible for his moral and spiritual upbringing." She snorted. "They found me unfit."
"But they didn't lock you away?"
"No. There was never any question of that. It was wasn't a matter of mental competence to handle my own affairs. Only to manage those of my son. They made Sam the guardian of his person and his estate. Then afterwards, only of the estate. Saul let me be his personal guardian then. As long as I promised he would go to school."
"How did you get him to do that?"
"Nabal?" she asked.
"No. The Judge."
She smiled. "He has a soft heart. Mine is flint in comparison. His mind is not bad, but he was always given to neurasthenic symptoms. I rather think that's why Sam chose him in the first place. Saul is so easily suggestible. Why, I'm even told that in a fit of religious frenzy, he once spoke in tongues. They used to do that sort of thing at the First Baptist Church. Only, since none of them know any languages, it's all gibberish."
"It must have been hard for you when Sam was ... hurting Nabal." I meant it as a statement, but it came out as a sort of question.
"Nonsense," she said. "A good beating never hurt anyone." She paused to think then continued: "As a matter of fact, it's been known to do a great deal of good. Rather than turning his back on the people, I have strongly suggested to Nabal that he should overpower them instead. Whips and chains. They would respect that. But he insists on treating everyone with honor, which is always sure to backfire."
"Wasn't Nabal angry with you for letting Sam hurt him?"
"Oh, no, on the contrary, he was furious when I went to the Judge. So was Sam. Poor Saul, always getting it from both sides. Sam savaged him for consorting with witches. Nabal scorned me for consorting with Judges. You know, Caleb made him swear never to be a friend to either Saul or Sam. And he would not have me break that oath in his behalf. He felt I betrayed his father."
"Oh," I said. "Then it's a little bit like Hamlet."
Anadora snorted. "He's nothing whatever like Hamlet. If anything, I would say that he resembles Coriolanus."
But I have never read Coriolanus. So I didn't find that very helpful.
Anadora, however, was still fixated on the subject of beatings. "Misanthropy, like misogyny, comes not from expecting too little, but from respecting too much." She sighed. "Why, he might have even won over that so-called wife of his, if he had beat some sense into her. You know, I never approved his marriage to that temptress, but after it was done, I told Nabal that if he meant to keep her, he should give her a good thrashing. Women like that, you know."
I gave her a funny look. She spoke about it as though she were discussing the properties of some other species that couldn't possibly have included herself. "'When you go to the woman, do not forget the whip.' Nietszche, a brilliant man."
"Didn't he go mad?" I asked.
"Yes. He couldn't stand to see a horse beaten," she responded deadpan. "A very sensitive soul."
I laughed. "You don't really mean all this stuff you're saying?"
"Of course, I do. But Nabal didn't listen. And you see what happened. It nearly got him killed." She paused. "In future, I expect he'll take better note of my counsel." She looked at me more closely. "Has he beaten you yet?"
I shrank from her. "No!" It came out angrier than I intended.
She took it philosophically. "Well, I hope you won't hold it against him."
I didn't know how to take that. "Did Caleb beat you?"
"Don't be impertinent, child," she snapped.
I didn't have too long to think that one over, because Pilar, in a houserobe, burst in to the kitchen. "Se·ora, there is a visitor for you."
"At this hour?"
"Si. It is the Judge. Will you see him?"
She thought about that. "Yes. Yes, of course. Show him in here."
The Judge, when he came in a few moments later, seemed hesitant and confused. He was wearing a black windbreaker and was dressed more casually than I'd ever seen him. But there was still that air of majestic dignity.
"Have a seat." Anadora motioned to the chair between us.
The Judge looked down at my bare feet and the way I was dressed. "I wanted to speak with you alone," he said.
"Oh, do not mind the concubine," she said. "She's my apprentice."
I am? I wanted to ask, but thought better of it.
He sat down, gingerly, careful that he not brush against either of us. "Have some tea," Anadora said, pouring him a cup. He accepted it.
"I couldn't sleep," he said. "The doctor can't help and neither can Nathan. And David, David isn't there for me either. He used to be the solution. Now he's the problem. I pray but God doesn't hear me. I don't know what to do."
"So you thought of me?" She seemed pleased.
"No. No. Not you. I wanted to talk to Sam. I miss him so much. I have to talk to Sam."
"So you thought of me." This time it was a statement.
"Yes," he said it softly, almost a whisper. "I've got to talk to Sam. Just this once," he said.
Anadora shook her head. "This isn't entrapment, is it Judge? Considering your ban on soothsayers in this County ..."
"I didn't say anything about soothsayers," he answered gravely. "That was only for fortune tellers." He was perfectly serious.
"Oh," said Anadora. "Well, then in that case, finish up your tea, and we'll see what Sam has to say."
He swallowed it all in one gulp and handed her the cup like a supplicant. Anadora examined it closely.
"Well?" he asked.
She leaned over the cup more closely. Suddenly, she gasped and drew back form the cup, as in terror. But she kept staring at it. "Yes," she said. "I see him."
The Judge seemed very impressed with this. "Who?" he asked, his voice strained.
She answered in a stage whisper: "Sam."
"What does he look like?" the Judge asked.
Anadora concentrated on the cup. "Well, he's old, and he's got a long, grizzled beard and he looks very angry."
Saul nodded. "That's Sam, all right."
I almost succumbed to a case of the giggles, but stifled it. I only coughed a little.
"Don't be afraid, child," Anadora said to me. "The spirit won't harm you. It's the Judge he's upset with." She turned to him. "He wants to know why you've bothered him."
"The State Comptroller's office is going to audit me. I don't know what to do. Everybody's against me. I went to Church and that didn't help. Tell me what to do."
Anadora hunched down over the cup some more. "He says that his God has abandoned you. That your office will be torn form you and given to another, to David, as he told you before, because you tried spare Caleb. And he says that his God will visit your punishment on the whole County. Sam says: tomorrow you and your kin are with me."
The Judge looked confused. "What does that mean?"
"It means your death," she said.
He shook his head. "But what does he mean, with him? In heaven?"
Anadora smiled softly. I don't think Saul noticed. "Well, let's just say that wherever he is, that's where you'll be."
The Judge put his head down on the table. He stayed that way a long time. "I think he's passed out," I said.
Anadora shook him. "Get up," she said. "It's over."
He lay there. "I don't have the strength," he moaned. "I can't drive back like this."
Anadora had no mercy. "Well, you can't be seen here," she said. "You can't stay here."
"I'm so weak ," he said. "I haven't slept in days. And I haven't eaten."
"Then I'll feed you," she said. She stuck her head in the refrigerator, how about some of this veal cutlet," she called out. "And some tortillas."
"No," he said. "I'm not hungry."
"I'll have some," I said. She gave me an odd look.
Eventually we all had some. We sat there eating silently, and then she sent the Judge on his way. And I went to bed. But I overslept again. So I missed Nabal at breakfast once more.
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