2 - NAZÁR
2
NAZáR
“Y ou should visit home more often,” my mother says, patting my cheek.
“He’s a man who has to find his way in the world, Maria José,” my father says. “He’s almost forty. No reason you should still be treating him like a boy.”
“He’s found his way, Papá. He owns a resort, a vineyard, and properties around the world,” my older brother, Gabriel, says, speaking up for me as he’s done since our youth.
“The amount of money or properties he can amass does not speak to his success, Gabriel. You should know this. What matters is the size of his family and how well he can protect and provide for them.”
“He’s got the provision down, Papá,” my younger brother, Matias, says.
“I’m talking family. The man needs children,” my father argues.
“Yes. I need grandchildren, Nazár,” my mother says.
“You have grandchildren, Mamá,” I point out. “Matias has two kids, and Gabriel has five.”
“That is not enough. I need more. I need your children, little Nazários, to run around here that I can spoil.”
“Mamá, even if I were to have children, they wouldn’t be here. I’d still have to bring them to visit just like I visit twice a year now.”
“But if you were to find a good Colombian girl, that might change, no?” she argues.
I smile and scoop some more ajiaco onto my spoon and into my mouth. I close my eyes, savoring the flavors of creamy, delectable corn, potato, and chicken soup.
“It’s good, no?” she asks.
“Yes, Mamá. Excellent as always.”
“That is why you need a good Colombian girl. Someone I can pass my recipe down to.”
I chuckle despite myself because I know this is an argument I won’t win.
“Your mother’s right. Stay away from those American girls. They’re too worldly and mean you no good. You see what happened with the last one that you married. Disgraced our name.”
“God rest her soul,” Mamá says, making the sign of the cross, although I know she didn’t like my late wife, Bella.
“Bella wasn’t American, Papá. She was French!”
“Dios mío! That’s even worse!” Mamá says, shaking her head and pushing her bowl away.
She does the same theatrics every time Bella’s name and nationality arise, as though she’s just learning that Bella was French.
“What’s worse about French women versus American women?” Gabriel asks, starting an argument that I want no part of.
“Women from both are shameless, but at least the American women try to have some discretion.”
“No, they don’t! I remember—” Matais speaks, ready to tell an oft-repeated story about some woman he had an affair with during college.
“Can we just stop?” I bellow, looking around the table at my parents and brothers and my brothers’wives, Salome and Luciana.
It must be embarrassing to them to listen to my brothers’ tales of ex-lovers every time this argument arises. Not to mention, the conversation will become heated and grow louder before long. And though everyone will kiss and make up at the end, that doesn’t change the fact that their children are in the other room eating and listening to every word.
“What is wrong, Nazár?” Mamá asks.
“Every time Bella’s name comes up, there’s always a heated discussion, disrespect associated with my wife’s name—”
“Well, son, she disrespected you,” Papá points out.
“And an omission that we don’t speak ill of the dead. At least that’s what we believe, but somehow, when that comes to my late wife, it doesn’t matter,” I grunt over Papá.
I’m standing now with my fingertips gripping the table’s edge so tightly that if they grow any tighter, I might rip the tablecloth free, clattering all their dishes to the floor. I’m tired of the disrespect that is associated with Bella, tired of careless remarks, the innuendos, and the callous humor.
“Where are you going?” Mamá asks as I stalk toward the door.
“Away!” I thunder, slamming the door closed behind me.
I don’t care that they view it as disrespectful and rude. I’m beyond caring about the ways of our traditions when those traditions only extend to them when it’s convenient. The rules never seem to apply to me.
It’s the reason why I moved away from home. When I first became a real estate developer, I remained in Colombia, wanting to improve my town. I ventured out as my wealth, reputation, and business connections grew.
I bought my first property in Mauritius because Bella and I had visited on several occasions and loved the island. We met in America, but after I’d proposed, she’d agreed to return home to Colombia with me, excited about the opportunity to live in another new country.
Problems arose from the onset, from my family refusing to speak English in her presence when they very well could to them asking ignorant questions about her country and nationality. We tried to overlook them. As much time as I spent reassuring her that my family liked her, I spent that much time begging them to respect her and give her a chance.
When she had her miscarriage, my family began to suggest that she was cursed and our marriage was doomed. It was more than Bella could take. I knew I had to leave my family if I wanted my marriage to survive.
And so, we did. We bought the property in Mauritius because we loved it, and it was in neutral territory for us both. Now, here I am all these years later, and I still have the property, but I no longer have my beautiful Bella.
What’s worse is the guilt I hold for often reliving my parents’ words suggesting she was cursed. Looking back in time, it seems as if maybe she was.
“Hey, are you okay?” Gabriel asks, catching up with me as I walk down the street of our little town of Villa de Leyva.
“I’m never okay when I come back to this place,” I grumble, shoving my hands into my pockets.
The sun is high in the sky and a little hotter than usual for Villa de Leyva. Sweat trickles from my hairline down the back of my neck.
“You know they don’t mean any harm, don’t you? They just want you to find someone to love you, settle down, and marry like they did.”
“Yeah? Well, that didn’t work out for me too well, did it?” I ask, turning to glare at my older brother.
“Look, I know there are a lot of insinuations out there about what happened to Bella, but . . .”
“But what?” I seethe when he doesn’t say anything after several seconds.
Gabriel stops walking and shoves his hands into his pockets, mimicking my stance.
“But . . . You haven’t given anyone anything to go on. No one knows what happened to her or why. We know that she died in a fatal car accident, end of story. It makes no sense, Nazár. She was familiar with the terrain, the roads . . . None of it ever made sense.”
“So the family does what they always do, turn to their hodgepodge of superstitious beliefs about what happened to my wife, rather than respecting my privacy and decision not to discuss it? You all would rather believe the worst?”
“That’s not true, and you know it, Nazár. You’re angry right now.”
“As if I don’t have the right to be!”
“You do, but . . . Those same beliefs once guided you before you moved away.”
“They were never my guiding principles. I just didn’t argue with them out of respect for my parents. Never once did I expect they would turn on me.”
“No one has turned on you,” he says, reaching for my arm.
I jerk away from him, seeing the wounded expression in his eyes, but I’m beyond caring.
“It’s been five years, Nazár. Don’t you think that it’s time you moved on?”
“Moved on to what , Gabriel?”
“Found a good woman who loves, respects, and cares for you.”
“As opposed to what?”
“What you’re doing now. Becoming a recluse on that island.”
Shaking my head, I mutter, “It’s a damn shame. My own family doesn’t even know me.”
“We could if you’d let us in again.”
I start walking toward the bar once more, and Gabriel picks up the pace, catching up with me.
“I don’t live like a recluse on the island. I travel to other places, meet people, and have friends worldwide.”
“Not when you’re at the resort.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“For God’s sake, Nazár, no one is allowed to visit the fucking resort without a personal invitation from you! You won’t even allow your family to visit. Matias and I showed up unannounced and weren’t permitted entry beyond the gates. You actually met us down there and escorted us to another hotel. What the hell?”
“It was in your best interest, as well as my own. I have precautions in place for a reason, Gabriel. If you can’t respect that, then I’m sorry.”
“We wouldn’t have had to show up unannounced if you’d invited or allowed us to visit once. You don’t even share pictures of that place. If it weren’t for the beauty I could see from the road, I’d question if you’d let it go to the dumps.”
“Never that.”
“Then you’re just in a prison of your own making behind guarded walls?”
“No. That’s you thinking that.”
My brother is trying to pilfer information about my private resort. I won’t disclose anything because my family isn’t good at keeping secrets and are judgmental assholes.
I open the door to La Cava de Juan Carlos and bask in the cool air flowing through the bar. Dim lighting, walnut overhead beams, orange walls, and liquor bottles hanging from strings overhead set the tone of the bar.
On the wall leading up the stairway to the second level are album covers from old bands of the seventies and eighties. Salsa music and the low hum of lively and hushed conversations create a laid-back atmosphere.
Gabriel and I sit at the rear, giving us a full view of the door.
“So, tell me this, at least. Is there anyone meaningful in your life?”
“That depends on what you mean by meaningful.”
“A potential love interest who has the possibility of turning into a wife, turning into a mother,” he says as he waves a finger at a server.
The woman smiles flirtatiously at us and winks at me as she takes our orders.
“Daniela, this is my younger brother, Nazár.”
“Hello, Nazár. Are you visiting or coming to stay?”
“Visiting.”
“Maybe I can show you around in your downtime.”
“This is home for him, Daniela. He moved away, but he’s very familiar with our town.”
“There are a few changes that I’m sure you’re not acclimated to. Maybe I can help out in those areas,” she flirts, leaning a little too close for my comfort and overwhelming me with the scent of cheap perfume.
She leans so close I can see the tip of her nipples pointed upward in her blouse.
“Don’t think you’re into what I’m into, my love.”
“Oh . . .” she says, looking between my brother and me.
I know that she’s assuming that I’m commenting on my sexuality. Many people make that mistake when I say that, but it’s fine by me. They can think whatever the hell they’d like. I’m secure in my masculinity and owe no one explanations. Besides, their assumptions keep them from the truth. Only those who delve into the world that I prefer catch my meaning.
“Um, what will you have?” she asks.
We order and return to our conversation.
“So, wife, mother?”
“Neither. I’m not looking for a family, Gabriel. I’m perfectly happy with how my life is set up.”
“Then why are you always scowling? You’re never happy anymore.”
“I have a lot going on in my life. It has nothing to do with my lack of happiness.”
“So, what . . . Have you become an international lover or something?”
Smirking, I spin the red frayed coaster around under my fingertip. “Or something.”
“You’re being extremely evasive, Nazár.”
“You don’t leave me any choice. I know the moment I spill a single detail about my life, you’ll say something to Luciana. She will tell Salome, who will tell Matias, and he’ll run to either Mamá or Papá.”
My sisters-in-law are sisters and share everything with each other.
“That’s not true.”
“It is, and the fact that you deny it lets me know that I can’t trust you. Don’t blame me if I don’t want to be the fucking content of gossip over the next family dinner.”
Daniela returns with our beers and a bowl of nachos, cheese, peppers, and jalapenos. We nibble at it while Gabriel talks about his wife and kids and catches me up on what’s been happening in his life.
When he finishes, he says, “You want it too, Nazár. You’re just too stubborn as fuck to admit it.”
“Want what?”
“What Matias and I have. Marriage, kids, family, home.”
I shake my head and say, “There will never be another Bella. She’s the only woman that I was capable of loving. Losing her . .. Let’s say it fucked with my psyche, Gabriel. I’m no good for any woman, and no woman is good for me. That’s why I get what I need before moving on to the next woman.”
Gabriel pulls his beer bottle from his lips and eyes me closely.
“What?”
“You poor bastard. You believe that shit, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter whether I believe it. It’s the way that it has to be. I’m happy with it, and that’s all that matters.”
Daniela walks by again, and I imagine her on her knees with a leash and collar, a ball gag in her troublesome mouth, preparing to be spanked. In my fantasy, those dusky-colored nipples are clamped, turning redder by the moment as her screams of pain are muffled. My dick hardens, and a smile takes over my face.