Chapter 3 #3
"When I was near term, he brought a midwife in from…
god, I don't even know. Some nearby village. She was a mean old woman. She was there against her will, and hated me for it, no matter that I was there against my will too. I went into labor. It was long. There were no drugs for the pain. I bore my son. I was alone. Where the midwife was, I don't know. She appeared after I birthed him. Took him from me. That…that’s…” I shut my eyes, shake my head.
"That's when I snapped. She took my son from me.
Said it was his orders. I only remember certain things.
I…" I look at Lorenzo. "This is ugly, Lorenzo. I warn you."
"I saw the photos."
"Photos," I say, huffing a bitter laugh.
"The photos don't tell the whole story. I remember thrashing when the midwife took my son.
She called in the guards to hold me down and cut the umbilical cord.
The guard who cut it was just a boy, barely old enough to even have fuzz on his lip, but he was already one of them.
I could see it in his eyes. He saw me suffering and he enjoyed it.
He cut the cord with a pocket knife. I was all bloody.
Naked. Still bleeding. I hadn't passed the afterbirth yet.
But I…I watched the midwife tie off the cord stump on my baby's belly and take him away, and I snapped.
I took the knife from the boy and cut his throat.
I took his AK-47 and shot the other guard.
I…I couldn't stop. My vision was this reddish-hazed tunnel.
And I couldn't stop myself. I went room to room, shooting everyone I saw.
I couldn't stop. I ran out of ammunition and found another rifle.
The second-to-last person I killed was a stable hand.
He was sleeping—he must have been drunk to sleep through all the shooting.
I shot him while he slept. He never woke up.
He didn't even have a beard. He was…simple, I think they used to say.
He just liked the horses. Of everyone I killed that day, I regret his death the most."
Lorenzo says nothing. But he is looking at me, unblinking, unwavering. Bearing witness.
"I found the midwife trying to sneak out with my baby."
"Rafael wasn't there?"
I shake my head. “No. He was gone on business with most of his men."
"So you killed the midwife."
I nod. "I took my baby from her and I shot her.
She was a mean old woman who hated me, but she didn't deserve to die. None of them did.” I stand up again, breathing hard.
"I know their names, Lorenzo. All of them.
" I face away from him. Slowly, I lift my T-shirt to bare my back.
Peel up the strap of my compression bra.
"Inez," he whispers. "Meu Deus."
Thirty-two names are tattooed on my back, between my shoulder blades and over my spine, in the shape of a skull.
I recite each name in full, all of them—some of the names are extraordinarily long, as is customary, especially among older, more traditional families.
Lorenzo listens to each name. "You recited those names from memory."
"Every night, I say the names as I try to fall asleep. If I am home in my quarters at the club, I sometimes light a candle for them. Pray for them. I don't know why I do it. But I do." I pull my bra and shirt back down and sit with him once more.
"You have to forgive yourself," Lorenzo says.
I can only laugh bitterly. "If only it were so easy as that."
"How did you make it through the jungle to where I was?" he asks.
I shrug. "I don't really know, honestly.
I don't even remember how I knew where you were.
I don't remember much of any of that journey.
I remember being in the jungle. Walking and walking for an eternity.
My feet hurting. The baby crying. An old farmer gave me a ride, took me over a hundred kilometers, and gave me food and water.
If not for him, I probably would have died in the jungle. "
Silence reigns for a long time. I appreciate the fact that Lorenzo doesn't tell me how sorry he is, or give me a bunch of empty platitudes meant to comfort me. He's just there, and he knows there's nothing to say.
"What will you do about Reninho?"
I shrug. "I don't know. I can't even begin to think about that. I'm not…I can't imagine…" I shake my head. "I don't know."
"That is fair, I suppose."
"Let's go," I say, standing up. "We don't have time to waste on pity parties."
"Thank you for telling me all that, Inez." He holds me by the arms, gently.
My skin burns where his hands touch. The crawling of my skin that I usually feel when anyone touches me is…less. Or different. I don't mind his touch.
It even provides something like comfort.
I wrap my fingers around his wrist and hold on, breathing slowly as I try to put the memories back in their box.
It's funny, though…
The sharpness and the burn of the memories have faded, somehow. Dulled. As if…well, as if Lorenzo was right, and I did need to get it out.
It isn't some magic fix, some miraculous healing balm, but it's something.
"I don't deserve your love, Lorenzo," I whisper. I'm not certain I meant for him to hear, but he did.
"Deserve has nothing to do with it," he answers. "My love for you is a fact, Inez. Like the sun, or one plus one equaling two, or gravity. It just is."
"I thought you said it was something you chose?" I ask.
"I do. Because I tried not to. After you disappeared, I tried to move on. That’s what my relationship with Consuela was.
But it didn't work. I couldn't move on, so I stopped trying.
And eventually, I just accepted the fact that you own my heart.
Whether you are dead or alive, Inez or Sophia, guilty or absolved, I love you.
I can't not love you. And now you're back in my life and I love you all the more.
I choose to. I could…I don't know. Pretend not to.
I could accept your idea that you're incapable of accepting or giving love.
But I won't. I’ll give you time. I'll be patient. But what I won't do is give up."
I look at him, meeting his dark eyes and seeing the truth in what he's saying written in them. "I don't know what I'll ever be able to give you, Ren. I'm broken."
"Then I will love all your broken pieces."
He lifts his hand from my arm, and I freeze, not even breathing, as he ghosts his palm over my cheek, the barest brush. The contact makes me gasp softly.
I can't help nuzzling my cheek against his palm, just a split second, eyes closed, wondering why there seem to be moths fluttering at the pit of my stomach at his gentle touch.
He drops his hand. "I'll drive. You rest."