my story exceprt
The first time Meztli entered the wing enshrined for La Gran Dama, she was startled awake from a nightmare about a large bear. She dreamt that she encountered the large black beast in the middle of a forest. She did not know the woods or how she had gotten there, and before she had sufficient time to adapt to her surroundings, the bear locked eyes with her. The animal began moving towards her and Meztil knew she had to run. To her horror, she found that her feet would not lift from the ground. She felt frozen in place, paralyzed even as the bear continued to stalk toward her, its yellow eyes never off of her.
The closer the bear got the more desperate she was to get herself to move. But it was in vain, as the bear eventually stood in front of her, extending itself to its full height. All the while her legs did not - would not - move. The giant beast began to swing its large paws and Meztli started to think it would maul her face when the bear suddenly threw its head back and let out a deep, agonizing roar.
Meztli had never heard such a harrowing sound before. It was a loud, resonant moan that chilled her to her very spine. The bear sounded like it was in excruciating pain, which became more evident as it began to huff and grunt in distress. The black bear paced in agony, letting out harsh, guttural moans that made it almost sound human, and all the while it continued to stare at Meztli. It would pant and yelp, and Meztli couldn’t help but feel a profound sympathy for the creature, watching as it stared at her in anguish. The bear, which once stared at her to attack, now looked at her in utter helplessness. Its yellow eyes were begging her for help, pleading with her to end its suffering. And Meztli wished she could give the animal what it wanted but she could not. She tried reaching out to the suffering animal, but she was still stuck in place. Her legs were stubborn and they wished not to cooperate. The bear, frustrated by its pain and perhaps mistaking Meztli’s paralyzation for indifference to its torment, became aggressive with her. It swung its paws at her again, slowly, and methodically. Its giant, sharp claws just inches from her face. This time, Meztli did not fear the animal. Somehow she knew that in its agony it could not harm her. Suddenly the bear threw its head back again and let out a loud, painful, tortuous, roar.
It was then that Meztli was startled awake. She panted heavily as her eyes adjusted themselves to the darkness of her small room. Her neck was sticky with sweat, and her heart and body still felt erratic because of the dream. Breathing heavily, she tried closing her eyes in an attempt to settle down back to sleep, when she heard a deep scream coming from one of the rooms. Her eyes shot open and she lifted her head, waiting to see if she had truly heard the sound of someone screaming. The screaming quieted, but they were followed by the sounds of painful grunts and moans, so she lept out of bed, realizing that she must have been hearing these sounds in her dreams as she slept and there was someone in this wing of the manor in pain.
She put a coat over her nightgown and when she opened her bedroom door everything became quiet again. Still, she waited at the threshold, not fully convinced that all was settling.
“Dios.. Santo!” She heard someone cry out angrily, followed by ragged, shallow gasps of breath.
She hurried down the hall, guided by the sounds of moaning and grunting the poor soul in distress was making. It did not take long for her to reach the outside of Don Rafael’s room. She hesitated at the door, unsure of whether she should knock first or barge in, but that hesitation only lasted a moment before she heard him let out a guttural groan and she entered without another delay.
When she entered she immediately turned on the lights. She found Don Rafael in his bed, hair disheveled, blankets strewn over the floor, clutching his knee.
He turned to her and his eyes grew wild, “What are you doing here?” He asked in Spanish through gritted teeth.
“Nōcōcohuitlī,” she replied in Nahuatl, affirming his state of pain.
“It’s nothing,” he said bitterly, “It’s my knee. It - it acts up sometimes.”
Don Rafael winced in pain and Meztli knew she had to do something, “Yo te ayudo,” she said, mustering up the courage to offer her help in Spanish, “Just tell me what you need. I’ll help you.”
“No, I don’t want help. Not yours,” He gulped down the next spasm of pain before turning to her, “Lárgate!” He ordered her to get out.
Meztli stood for a moment, debating on whether she should listen to him or not when he suddenly threw his head back and screamed in pain. In his anguish, he looked at her, his eyes pleading with her to help. His brown eyes had the same look as the black bear from her dream and she felt that he was indeed the animal desperately trying to reach out to her through her dreams.
Meztli marched to his wash table, filled the basin with water, and wet his washcloth. She took the damp cloth and went over to his bedside, wiping his forehead that was riddled with sweat.
“I’ll help you,” she told repeated more firmly in Spanish, “Just tell me what to do. I will help you.”
Don Rafael moaned, “Why you? Why did it have to be you? Why hasn’t anyone else woken up yet?” Meztli tried not to be offended at the implications of his words as she continued cleaning his face, her eyes fixed on the rag, trying to ignore the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped as she moved the rag from behind his ear to his neck. “Alright,” he said eventually, “Alright. There’s… there’s a wheelchair in my closet. Bring it here.”
Meztli nodded, put the cloth in her coat pocket, and brought out the chair. She placed it alongside his bed and Don Rafael gingerly got out of bed and into the chair. When he sat down he let out a few labored breaths, clutching onto his knee again.
“Medico?” Meztli asked him.
He shook his head vehemently, “No, no. Take - take me to the east wing.”
The east wing. La Gran Dama’s wing. The place she had once been told she couldn’t enter. She couldn’t possibly understand what would be in that part of the manor that would aid him, but she obliged nonetheless.
Meztli thrust open the large double doors of La Gran Dama’s wing and wheeled Don Rafael inside. It was a large bedroom. There was a large four-poster canopy bed, a beautiful cream-colored Frech-style vanity, and a large, artisan writing desk.
Don Rafael suddenly cried out in pain, “The desk,” he mumbled out, “Take me to the desk. Quick!” Meztli did as she was told, sitting him alongside the desk. “Look in that drawer. There’s a box. Bring it to me.” He motioned to the wide drawer in the center of the desk.
Meztli nodded, opened the drawer, and found a redwood burl box. She handed the box to Don Rafael. She watched as he took out a brown tourniquet with shaky hands. He hurried to roll up the sleeve of his nightshirt. As he did Meztli noticed small, purple bruises on his forearm. He tightened the tourniquet above the bruises he nodded to the box, “You’re… you’re going to have to inject me.”
Meztli grabbed the box and saw there was a tiny glass bottle that was nearly empty of a clear liquid, a needle and syringe. She took out the tiny bottle, “Sir,” she said hesitantly.
“Hurry,” Don Rafael pleaded, “Just do it.”
“But, sir,” Meztli tried again.
“It’s - it’s alright. It’s for the pain. That’s all it is. It’s for the pain.” Though he sounded as if he were trying to convince himself as much as Meztli.
“But, sir -”
“What,” Don Rafael interjected loudly, his patience worn, “You said you would help me. Hurry and fill the syringe. It’s an order.”
“Sir. The bottle. It’s practically empty.”
“What?” Don Rafael barked, snatching the box from her hands. He looked inside and his eyes grew wide in anger, “Puta madre!” He cursed through his teeth, smashing the box on the floor. His anger seemed to exacerbate his pain, as he threw his head back, groaned, and took deep, long breaths to steady himself. He undid the tourniquet and tossed it on the floor.
Don Rafael closed his eyes then, continuing the slow, deep breaths, and Meztli started to think he was falling asleep, when suddenly he gulped, “Alright,” he said in a hoarse voice, “Go wake up Juan. Send him to get Dr. Castillo. Do it quickly. I need… I need the medicine. Fast.”
Meztli nodded and rushed back to main wing of the manor. She was quick to wake Juan up and send him. In that time Francisca had also woken up. Upon learning the situation from Meztli, she went to the kitchen to make tea. It struck Meztli that neither her nor Juan had had a real sense of urgency about what was going on.
“Where is that damn doctor?!” Don Rafael yelled out, pulling Meztli from her thoughts. She rushed back to the east wing and informed him that the doctor had been sent for, and Francisca would be up with tea soon.
“Always tea,” he said bitterly, “As if that’ll help the pain. Could at least bring a man a - a stiff drink.”
He sighed and leaned his head back against the chair. He gulped and took deep, shaky breaths. Meztli was at a loss of what to do, or how to help him, so she did the only thing she felt she could do. She took out his washcloth from her pocket and quietly started wiping his face again.
“Don’t,” he said hoarsely, not opening his eyes, “You shouldn’t be here anymore. Go back to your room. Try to sleep.”
Without thinking and without care for propriety she grabbed his hand, “I’m staying,” she told him resolutely.
Only then did he open his eyes, and they had the same pleading expression in them of the black bear from her dream, “Don’t. Don’t touch me. Please.”
The double doors of the east wing were opened and Meztli immediately dropped her hand.
“Tea,” Francisca said, putting down a silver tray with a kettle and tea cup.
“Leave it on the table, Paquita.”
She did as she was told and informed Don Rafael that she had heard Dr. Castillo’s vehicle a moment ago, and that she would go down to meet it.
When the older woman left Meztli poured Don Rafael a cup of tea. He tried grabbing it but his hands were shaky. Meztli lifted the cup to his lips, staring at each other as she did so.
Juan, Dr. Castillo, and Francisca then entered the room.
“Well,” Dr. Castillo said, “Rafa, seems you found a good nurse. You certainly look like you’re in good hands.” He bellowed out a laugh.
Dr. Castillo was about the same age as the Don with brown curly hair and a clean shaven face. From the way they spoke causally to each other it appeared to Meztli that they had been friends for a very long time.
“Eugenio,” Don Rafael said, “At last. It’s - it’s my knee. I need - I need the medicine.”
Dr. Castillo’s face suddenly turned grim, “Your knee, huh? Seems to me you’re knee’s been giving you lots of trouble recently, Rafa. And more frequently, too.”
“I didn’t call you out here to hear a lecture, Eugenio. I just - I just need a dose. One dose. And then we all be on our way.”
Dr. Castillo let out a deep, exasperated sigh but nodded.
The doctor moved toward him when Don Rafael looked to Meztli and put his hand up, “Wait,” he said, “Juan take - take Soledad back to her room.”
Juan put his hands gently on Meztli’s shoulder’s to lead her away when Don Rafael suddenly called to him.
“Yes, Sir?”
Don Rafael motioned with his fingers for Juan to approach him, and Meztli pretended not to hear him whisper to Juan, “Make sure she never enters this wing again. Do you understand? I almost - I almost made her inject me herself. I don’t - I don’t want her to see me like this again.”
“Understood, Don Rafa,” Juan gently led her away, “Come along, Maria Soledad.”
Meztli glanced at Don Rafael and saw the familiar tightening of his lips whenever someone used her “proper” name. She said nothing but she turned around as she left the room and the last thing she saw before Juan closed the doors to the east wing was Dr. Castillo wrapping a tourniquet around Don Rafael’s arm.
“How much longer?” Dr. Castillo asked after Meztli was gone. “How much longer are you going to keep this up?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Don Rafael replied coldly.
The doctor only scoffed, “That may work on that new servant girl because she doesn’t know anything yet. But you’re not fooling anyone else. Least of all me, Rafa. How much longer are you going to go on like this? Look at this arm. Look at these marks. You’ve even got a case for this stuff.” He motioned toward the floor, where the shattered box was alongside the discarded tourniquet, empty bottle, and the needle and syringe.
“And what of it!” Don Rafael yelled. “It’s - it’s the only thing that helps the pain!”
“Don’t give me that. Don’t think I don’t know what goes on here. Look at yourself. In this room that you built for her. In this house built for her. Abusing a drug that was intended to help you. You are using this old injury and your knee as a crutch. What exactly is your goal here, Rafa? What do you want? What are you trying to do? Because if you don’t stop this I can tell you exactly where you’ll be going.”
“So what,” Don Rafael sneered.
The doctor sighed, “So when are you going to join the living?”
Don Rafael looked up at the doctor, his eyes enlarged and wild, like an animal that was beginning to feel cornered, “Living? Do you think I care about that? Do you think that I’m not aware of what I’m doing? Didn’t you wonder exactly why I was taking the drug here, in this room, in her room? Because this medicine is the only way I can be close to her again. I feel her ghost and spirit in every corner of this house. She haunts me day and night, but I can’t get to her. She’s everywhere I look, she’s in my dreams, but I can never reach her. She tortures me. When I’m here in this room, finally, she becomes alive again. She lives here. And that’s all that matters to me. ‘Join the living,’” he scoffed, “Let me tell you something, my life only existed when she was around. I was born the moment I laid eyes on her, and everything I am and everything I was is buried in the dirt next to her. So I don’t really care where I’ll be going, because there’s no place I can go where I’ll be with her again… except for this. So just give me the drug and leave. It’s late and I got to plan a trip to the United States soon.”
Dr. Castillo stared at him in confusion, “The United States?” Suddenly it dawned on him, “Rafa -”
Don Rafael interrupted, “Say one more word and I’m throwing you out for good. You’ll never be allowed to step foot inside this house again. Do you understand? Say just one more word and you won’t hear from me again until I’m finally dead and you read the obituary.”
The two men stared menacingly at each other for a long while, each daring the other person to back down, but neither did. Eventually, Dr. Castillo sighed and took out a small bottle with a clear liquid, a needle, and a syringe. He filled the syringe with the liquid and injected it into Don Rafael’s forearm.
Don Rafael did not come out of La Gran Dama’s wing for three days. The servants were not perturbed by this. Everyone would merely take turns peeking through the doors to check on him. True to his word, though, after the third day, Don Rafael informed the servants that he would be going on a trip and would be leaving later that day. Meztli was confused by this, given the pain he had been in, and judging by the dark circles around his eyes she was certain he had not slept much since that night. She had heard Dr. Castillo leave after administering the medicine and she wanted to see how he was faring. At first, she went over to Don Rafael’s bedroom, assuming he had been brought back by the doctor or Juan. But she found his bedroom door still open and empty. She crept back to the east wing and stood in front of the doors. She thought she could hear a low voice coming from inside. She peeked inside and saw Don Rafael sitting on the cream and gold chair of the desk. The wheelchair lay abandoned on the side, he had a drink in his hand and his legs were stretched out, his head leaned back against the top rail. His eyes were closed, and Meztli thought he was finally going to sleep.
She crept away to return to her room when his voice called out, “You’re here.” Don Rafael’s voice sounded thick and heavy as if he was fighting the urge to sleep.
“Do you need anything, sir?” She asked him in Spanish as she entered the room.
He was quiet for a moment before he turned to her, “Come here. Why are you so far away?”
Meztli approached him. He looked up at her and she was shocked to see how small his dark pupils had gotten. She took the drink out of his hand and placed it on the table.
“Shall I assist you to your room?”
“No,” Don Rafael said, “No. Stay with me. Why must you always try to leave me?”
Meztli stared at him in confusion, “Sir?”
“I want you to be with me. Please. I’m begging. Stay.”
“Sir,” Meztli said hesitantly, “Perhaps it might be better if I get someone to help you.”
“No,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her into him, “Don’t you see? I want you. Only you. Why can’t you see that?” His eyes were searching her face and Meztli did not understand what he was trying to find there. She was beginning to wonder if he was even seeing her at all. Suddenly he reached up and caressed her face, “God. You’re so beautiful.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Meztli was stunned. She was certain now that Don Rafael was not in his senses. “Sir,” she said gently, “Let me go. I’ll get someone -”
“No,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and clinging to her, “Don’t go. Please. Don’t go. Not when I finally have you. Promise me. Don’t leave me. Don’t ever leave me.”
Meztli looked down at him. He was resting his head against her stomach gazing up at her as if he were a small, frightened child. She knew she shouldn’t indulge him. She knew that he was not in his right mind and knew not what he was doing. Still, she could not refuse him, not when he appeared so small and helpless.
“Alright,” she said softly, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen in his eyes, his pupils still tiny.
He seemed comforted by this and he nestled back into her stomach, arms still wrapped around her waist, “My darling,” he said, and Meztli could feel his warm breath on her belly button, “I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. Maria Elena.”
And there it was. The answer to all her questions. And the confirmation that he was not really speaking to her at all. It was the first time she had heard La Gran Dama’s name. None of the servants had ever spoken it before. Even Don Rafael seemed averse to using it, only referring to La Gran Dama as Her. Now she knew why. It was sacred. The way he had said her name was as if calling her brought him closer to God. Delicate. Beautiful. Meztli felt ashamed he had accidentally wasted it on her. She left him soon afterward, when he suddenly slumped in the seat and his hands dropped from her body. She knew he was not sleeping because she could see the tiny dots his pupils had become, but she also knew that his mind would continue to be far off, and the only thing he was conscious of now was the visions of the ghost of a love long since dead.
She wondered that morning as he prepared to leave if he would recall what had happened or if she was in trouble for returning to the east wing. She even worried that maybe her job was in jeopardy. However, he did not mention anything. He barely even looked at her as he ate breakfast and packed his bags. Even his health seemed normal. His black eyes regained their normal size and he barely needed the assistance of his cane to walk. The only time he looked at her that day was as he was getting into his car after instructing everyone on what to do around the hacienda in his absence. He glanced around at everyone and their eyes met, he held her gaze briefly before getting inside his automobile.
When his vehicle left the servants went back to their usual tasks. Ever so often she would hear the servants talking about it in Spanish. He went back to the United States, they would say, and exchange knowing looks. Meztli could not help but be curious about what Don Rafael had to do in the United States. She wondered if he would recount stories of his business there to Juan or Francisca on his return so that they would tell her. Somehow, given the treatment he had given her on his departure, she was sure she could not ask him herself.
It was several days, nearly a couple of weeks before Don Rafael returned. Meztli was shocked by the stark contrast of his appearance. His clothes were dirty and stained with sweat. Hair was unkempt. He had dark stubble around his face, and dark circles around his eyes that made it evident he hadn’t slept much, if at all, in all the time.
He did not say a word to anyone as he entered the manor. He simply walked past everyone and headed straight for the east wing. His manners and appearance did not phase anyone.
“Well,” Francisca said with a sigh, “At least he’s in better shape this time.”
“His pupils are still the normal size.” Juan agreed. “Which means he might only be drunk.”
Francisca nodded, “I’ll bring him some coffee to be sure.”
Francisca brought up the coffee and Meztli tried going about her work as usual. However, when she would pass by La Gran Dama’s wing, she could hear him inside. Sometimes he sounded as if he was speaking to someone, sometimes he sounded as if he was pacing back and forth through the room. She could envision him in there like the black bear of her dream; anxious, stressed, and aggravated. This lasted for days, until suddenly it stopped and the room fell dead silent. The abruptness of the silence concerned Meztli and she wondered if Don Rafael was alright.
She attempted to creep into the room, creaking open the doors and saw through the slit Don Rafael laying on the floor face down.
“Don Rafael!” She could not help but cry out.
She was moments from rushing to him, when suddenly Juan pulled her away and closed the door.
“Leave him, Soledad,” he said in Nahuatl with a gentle smile, “It’s alright. He’s just sleeping.”
“But he’s on the floor,” she replied in their language.
“He’s just resting it off. Don’t worry. The worst is over. Come.” He gently pulled her away.
It took a few days for Don Rafael to wake up from that slumber. Those days were harrowing to Meztli, and she preferred the sound of his pacing like a caged animal to the silence they had to endure. During his sleep, the rest of the servants accommodated him by being as quiet as possible during their work. Even the dogs he kept in a separate wing of the hacienda knew to be quiet when they were outside near the east wing. It was as if he were forcing the entire house itself to join him in a type of sleepwalking.
