One of us is an addict..one of us is a fraud. One of us is haunted. One of us is a monster, one a killer, one a liar. One of us is a predator, one of us a prince. One of us is a seductress. One of us is damned. All of us are killers.
Some secrets sh...
The sea breeze whispered to my ear in a gentle and refined voice, a humming and alluring lullaby. "Don't say a word", it said.
And I kept the secret with me until the time the ocean served as my ultimate grave.
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A woman becomes a woman when she gets married, they say, however she loses all traits of womanhood to become either a servant if she's poor, or a presentation card if she's rich. I've taken my role to the limits and there's no better carnet for my husband than me. Only if he knew my ways...
It was the longest of the summer nights and the sun resisted to hide, tiptoeing above the painted in gold and scarlet horizon. The colors of sunset on the Caribbean Sea placid waters matched with the burning pyres along the beach line outsides the Walled City. Bonfires lit in the name of the Island's capital patron and saint, San Juan Bautista.
The locals, dressed in light cotton clothes as an obliged outfit to repel mosquitoes and the tropical heat, filed down the cobblestoned streets in ceremonious procession, conversing amusedly, while carrying wicker baskets loaded with fruits, cheese, cured ham and wine for those able to afford it. Others, carried what was left in the cupboards: bread, hard crackers, and home-distilled rum. And then it was me... and I was above all of them.
My thoughts ambled amidst the silky ivory fabric of my evening gown, sequins and appliqué reflecting the light coming from the Christ's Chapel. Inside the sanctuary, small enough to fit one or two people at a time, a hundred candles lit. The dancing flames illuminated the statue of Jesus crucified and the street as we rode by. The horse's hooves clacked a mortifying quickstep that broke the spell, that sudden connection with morality I had, lasting only the time it took me to recite the Pater Nostre. "... and forgive my sins, Amen." I shrugged knowing there wasn't forgiveness for an adulterer.
Singing and laughing cadences, a group of Marines neared, waving goodbyes while mounted on the back of a fancy calash. People formed on the sidewalks to watch them pass by on their way to La Marquesa as special guests, ironically juxtaposed with the memory, as recent as twenty years passed, when the hatred Spanish guards patrolled the capital. Two decades ago, no one even turned to look at, neither to smile or to greet soldiers. Today, Gringos were heroes to the locals, the saviors who rescued the island from a decadent and oppressive Spanish Crown's imperialism.
To all my musings I let escape a chuckle. It wasn't a night for politics, of those I had enough with my husband. Fortuitously, he had just left in one of his constant voyages taking care of the Island's exterior affairs. Martinique and sugar cane business came in with perfect timing to take Damiano out of sight for at least three days, and tonight I would place the cards over the table, and myself into another man's bed to get my beloved husband the amount of money needed to buy some votes in the Higher Chambers if needed, only for him to be sworn deputy and to ensure a stable marriage and life.
