Casto paced nervously, but softly, the full length of the small kitchen, then quietly, he tiptoed across the kitchen threshold into the living room. After going a few feet, he stopped to listen. The sounds were getting louder. Casto returned to the kitchen, switched on the light, and sat down trying to ignore what he heard. But the familiar sounds were coming directly from their bedroom where Zoraida was. They grew louder as they traveled past the tiny foyer, the living room and into the kitchen, which was the room furthest away from her.
Leaning forward, Casto stretched his hands out palms down on the kitchen table. Slowly he made two fists, squeezing tightly, and watched as his knuckles popped out tensely under his skin. He could almost feel her presence there, next to him, panting and breathing heavily. The panting developed into moans of sensual pleasure, disrupting the silence of the apartment.
“If only I could beat someone!” Casto whispered hoarsely, banging his fists against the table and upsetting the sugar bowl. The cover slipped off the bowl, landed on its side and rolled toward the edge of the table. Casto waited for it to drop to the floor, anticipating a loud crash, but the cover stopped right at the very edge and fell quietly and flatly on the table, barely making a sound.
He looked up at the electric clock on the wall over the refrigerator; it was two-thirty in the morning.
Again, Casto tried not to listen and concentrated instead on the night noises outside in the street. Traffic on the avenue had almost completely disappeared. Occasionally, a car sped by; someone’s footsteps echoed against the pavement; and off at a distance, he heard a popular tune being whistled. Casto instinctively hummed along until the sound slipped away, and he then realized he was shivering. The old radiators had stopped clanking and hissing earlier; they were now ice cold. He remembered that the landlord never sent up heat after ten at night. He wished he had thought to bring a sweater or blanket with him; he was afraid of catching a cold. But he would not go back inside; instead, he opened his special section of the cupboard and searched among his countless bottles of vitamins and nutrient supplements until he found the jar of natural vitamin C tablets. He popped several tablets into his mouth and sat down, resigned to the fact that he would rather stay here, where he felt safe, even at the risk of getting a chill. This was as far away as he could get from her, without leaving the apartment.
The sounds had now become louder and more intense. Casto raised his hands and covered his ears. He shut his eyes trying not to imagine what she was doing now. But with each sound, he could clearly see her in her ecstasy. Casto recalled how he had jumped out of bed in a fright the first time it had happened. Positive that she had gone into convulsions, he had stood almost paralyzed at a safe distance looking down at her. He didn’t know what to do. And, as he helplessly watched her, his stomach had suddenly turned ice-cold with fear. Zoraida seemed to be another person. She was stretched out on the bed pulling at the covers; turning, twisting her body and rocking her buttocks sensually. Her knees had been bent upward with her legs far apart and she had thrust her pelvis forward forcefully and rhythmically. Zoraida’s head was pushed back and her mouth open, as she licked her lips, moaning and gasping with excitement. Casto remembered Zoraida’s eyes when she had opened them for brief moments. They had been fixed on someone or something, as if beckoning; but there was no one and certainly nothing he could see in the darkness of the room. She had rolled back the pupils and only the whites of her eyes were visible. She had blinked rapidly, shutting her eyes and twitching her nose and mouth. Then, a smile had passed her lips and a stream of saliva had run down her chin, neck and chest.
Now, as he heard low moans filled with pleasure, interrupted by short painful yelps that pierced right through him, Casto could also imagine her every gesture.
Putting down his hands, Casto opened his eyes. All he could do was wait patiently, as he always did, wait for her to finish. Maybe tonight won’t be a long one; Casto swallowed anxiously.
He remembered about the meeting he had arranged earlier in the evening without Zoraida’s knowledge, and felt better. After work, he had gone to see his mother; then they had both gone to see Zoraida’s parents. It had been difficult for him to speak about it, but he had managed somehow to tell them everything. At first they had reacted with disbelief, but after he had explained carefully and in detail what was happening, they had understood his embarrassment and his reluctance to discuss this with anyone. He told them that when it all had begun, he was positive Zoraida was reacting to a high fever and was simply dreaming, perhaps even hallucinating. But, it kept happening, and it soon developed into something that occurred frequently, almost every night.
He finally realized something or someone had taken a hold of her. He was sure she was not alone in that room and in that bed!
It was all bizarre and, unless one actually saw her, he explained, it was truly beyond belief. Why, her actions were lewd and vulgar, and if they were sexual, as it seemed, then this was not the kind of sex a decent husband and wife engage in. What was even harder for him to bear was her enjoyment. Yes, this was difficult, watching her total enjoyment of this whole disgusting business! And, to make matters more complicated, the next day, Zoraida seemed to remember nothing. In fact, during the day, she was normal again. Perhaps a bit more tired than usual, but then, who wouldn’t be after such an exhausting ordeal? And, lately she had become even less talkative with him, almost silent. But, make no mistake, Casto assured them, Zoraida remained a wonderful housekeeper and devoted mother. Supper was served on time, chores were done without fuss, the apartment was immaculate, and the kids were attended to without any problems. This happened only at night, or rather early in the morning, at about two or two-thirty. He had not slept properly since this whole affair started. After all, he had to drive out to New Jersey to earn his living, and his strength and sleep were being sapped away. He had even considered sleeping on the living room couch, but he would not be driven out of his own bed. He was still a man, after all, a macho, master of his home, someone to be reckoned with, not to be pushed out!
Trying to control his anger, Casto had confessed that it had been a period of almost two months since he had normal and natural relations with his wife. He reminded them that he, as a man, had his needs, and this would surely make him ill, if it continued. Of course, he would not touch her ... not as she was right now. After all, he reasoned, who knows what he could catch from her? As long as she was under the control of something, whatever it might be, he would keep his distance. No, Casto told them, he wanted no part of their daughter as a woman, not as long as she remained in this condition.
When her parents had asked him what Zoraida had to say about all of this, Casto had laughed, answering that she knew even less about it than he did. In fact, at one point she did not believe him and had sworn on the children’s souls, claiming her innocence. But Casto had persisted and now Zoraida had finally believed him. She felt that she might be the victim of something, perhaps a phenomenon. Who knows? When Zoraida’s parents and his mother suggested a consultation with Doña Digna, the spiritualist, he had quickly agreed.
Casto jumped slightly in his chair as he heard loud passionate moans and deep groans emanate from the bedroom and fill the kitchen.
“Stop it... stop, you bitch!” Casto clenched his teeth, spitting out the words. But he took care not to raise his voice. “Stop it! What a happy victim you are! Puta! Whore! Some phenomenon ... I don’t believe you and your story.” But, even as he said these words, Casto knew he was not quite sure what to believe.
The first loud thump startled Casto and he braced himself and waited, anticipating what was to come. He heard the legs on their large double bed pounding the floor as the thumping became louder and faster.
Casto shuddered and folded his arms, digging his fingers into the flesh of his forearms. After a few moments, he finally heard her release, one long cry followed by several grunts, and then silence. He relaxed and sighed deeply with relief; it was all over.
“Animal... she’s just like an animal, no better than an alley cat in heat.” Casto was wet with cold perspiration. He was most frightened of this last part. “Little hypocrite!”
Casto remembered how she always urged him to hurry, be quiet, and get it over with, on account of the children. A lot she cares about him tonight! Never in all their years of marriage had she ever uttered such sounds—he shook his head—or shown any passion or much interest in doing it.
Casto looked up at the clock; it was two minutes to three. He thought about the noise, almost afraid to move, fearful that his downstairs neighbor Roberto might knock on the door any moment. He recalled how Roberto had called him aside one morning and spoken to him. “Two and three in the morning, my friend; can’t you and your wife control your passions at such an ungodly hour? My God ... such goings on! Man, and to tell you the truth, you people up there get me all worked up and horny. Then, when I touch my old lady, she won’t cooperate at that time, eh?” He had poked Casto playfully and winked, “Hey, what am I gonna do? Have a heart, friend.”
Casto shook his head, how humiliating and so damned condescending. They were behaving like the most common, vulgar people. Soon the whole fucking building would know! Roberto Thomas and his big mouth! Yes, and what will that sucker say to me next time? Casto trembled with anger. He wanted to rush in and shake Zoraida, wake her, beat her; he wanted to demand an explanation or else! But, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Twice he had tried. The first time, he had spoken to her the following day. The second time, he had tried to wake her up and she had only become wilder with him, almost violent, scaring him out of the bedroom. Afterwards, things had only become worse. During the day she withdrew, practically not speaking one word to him. The next few nights, she had become wilder and the ordeal lasted even longer. No, he could not confront her.
Casto realized all was quiet again. He shut off the light, then stood and slowly, with trepidation, walked through the living room and entered the small foyer leading to their bedroom. He stopped before the children’s bedroom, and carefully turned the knob, partially opening the door. All three were fast asleep. He was grateful they never woke up. What could he say to them? That their mother was sick? But sick with what?
As he stood at the entrance of their bedroom, Casto squinted, scrutinizing every corner of the room before entering. The street lights seeping through the Venetian blinds dimly illuminated the overcrowded bedroom. All was peaceful and quiet; nothing was disturbed or changed in any visible way. Satisfied, he walked in and looked down at Zoraida. She was fast asleep, breathing deeply and evenly, a look of serene contentment covered her face. Her long dark hair was spread over the pillow and spilled out onto the covers. Casto was struck by her radiant appearance each time it was all over. She had an air of glamour, so strange in a woman as plain as Zoraida. He realized, as he continued to stare at her, that he was frightened of Zoraida. He wanted to laugh at himself, but when Zoraida turned her head slightly, Casto found himself backing out of the room.
Casto stood at the entrance and whispered, “Zoraida, nena ... are ... are you awake?” She did not stir. Casto waited perfectly still and kept his eyes on her. After a few moments, Casto composed himself. He was sure she would remain sleeping; she had never woken up after it was all over. Slowly, he entered the room and inched his way past the bulky bureau, the triple dresser and the rocking chair near the window, finally reaching his side of the bed.
Casto rapidly made the sign of the cross before he lay down beside Zoraida. He was not very religious, he could take it or leave it; but, now, he reasoned that by crossing himself he was on God’s side.
Casto glanced at the alarm clock; there were only two-and-a-half hours of sleep left before starting the long trip out to the docks of Bayonne, New Jersey. God, he was damned tired; he hardly ever got enough sleep anymore. This shit had to stop! Never mind, wait until the meeting. He remembered that they were all going to see Doña Digna, the spiritualist. That ought to change things. He smiled and felt some comfort knowing that this burden would soon be lifted. Seconds later he shut his eyes and fell fast asleep.
Everyone finished supper. Except for the children’s chatter and Junior’s protests about finishing his food, it had been a silent meal.
Casto got up and opened his special section of the cupboard. The children watched the familiar ritual without much interest as their father set out several jars of vitamins, two bottles of iron and liver tonic and a small plastic box containing therapeutic tablets. Casto carefully counted out and popped an assortment of twenty-four vitamin tablets into his mouth and then took several spoonfuls of tonic. He carefully examined the contents of the plastic box and decided not to take any of those tablets.
“Okay, Clarita, today you take vitamin C ... and two multivitamin supplements. You, too, Eddie and Junior, you might as well...”
The children accepted the vitamins he gave them without resistance or fuss. They knew by now that no one could be excused from the table until Casto had finished taking and dispensing vitamins and tonic.
“Okay, kids, that’s it. You can all have dessert later when your grandparents get here.”
Quickly the children left.
Although Casto often suggested that Zoraida should eat properly, he had never asked her to take any of his vitamins or tonic, and she had never expressed either a desire or interest to do so.
He looked at Zoraida as she worked clearing the table and putting things away. Zoraida felt her heart pounding fiercely and she found it difficult to breathe. She wanted him to stop staring at her like that. Lately she found his staring unbearable. Zoraida’s shyness had always determined her behavior in life. Ever since she could remember, any attempt that others made at intimate conversations or long discussions created feelings of constraint, developing into such anxiety that when she spoke, her voice had a tendency to fade. This was a constant problem for her; people often asked, “What was that?” or “Did you say something?” These feelings extended even into her family life. When her children asked impertinent questions, she would blush, unable to answer. Zoraida was ashamed of her own nakedness with Casto and would only undress when he was not present. When her children chanced to see her undressed at an unguarded moment, she would be distraught for several days.
It had been Casto’s self-assurance and his ability to be aggressive and determined with others that had attracted her to him.
Casto looked at Zoraida as she worked. “I’ll put my things back and get the coffee started for when they get here,” he said. She nodded and continued swiftly and silently with her chores.
Zoraida was twenty-eight, and although she had borne four children (three living, one still-born) and had suffered several miscarriages, she was of slight build and thin, with narrow hips. She had a broad face and her smile revealed a wide space between her two front teeth. As a result, she appeared frail and childlike, much younger than her years. Whenever she was tired, dark circles formed under her eyes, contrasting against the paleness of her skin. This evening, she seemed to look even paler than ever to Casto, almost ghostlike.
Casto was, by nature, hypochondriacal and preoccupied with avoiding all sorts of diseases. He was tall and robust, with a broad frame; in fact, he was the picture of good health. He became furious when others laughed at him for taking so many vitamins and health foods. Most people ignored his pronouncements of ill health and even commented behind his back. “Casto’ll live to be one hundred if he lives a day ... why, he’s as fit as an ox! It’s Zoraida who should take all them vitamins and then complain some. She looks like a toothpick, em una flaca! That woman has nothing to show. I wonder what Casto ever saw in her, eh?”
Yet, it was her frail and sickly appearance that had attracted him the first time he saw her. He was visiting his married sister, Purencia, when Zoraida had walked in with her friend, Anna. Anna was a beautiful, voluptuous young woman with an olive tone to her skin that glowed; and when she smiled, her white teeth and full lips made her appear radiant. Zoraida, thin and pale by contrast, looked ill. In Casto’s presence, she had smiled sheepishly, blushing from time to time. Anna had flirted openly, and commented on Purencia’s brother, “You didn’t tell me you had such a gorgeous macho in your family. Trying to keep him a secret, girl?” But it had been Zoraida that he was immediately drawn to. Casto had been so taken with her that he had confided in a friend that very day, “She really got to me, you know? Not loud or vulgar like that other girl, who was acting like a man, making remarks about me and all. No, she was a real lady. And, she’s like, well, like a little sick sparrow flirting with death and having the upper hand. Quietly stubborn, you know? Not at all submissive like it might seem to just anybody looking at Zoraida. It’s more as if nobody’s gonna make the sparrow healthy, but it ain’t gonna die either... like it’s got the best of both worlds, see?”
Yet, in all their nine years of marriage, Zoraida had never become seriously ill. Her pregnancies and miscarriages were the only time that she had been unable to attend to her family. After the last pregnancy, in an attempt to prevent children, Casto had decided on the rhythm system, where abstinence is practiced during certain days of the month. It was, he reasoned, not only sanctioned by the Catholic Church, but there were no drugs or foreign objects put into one’s body, and he did not have to be afraid of catching something nor getting sick.
Even after this recent miscarriage, Zoraida appeared to recover quickly, and with her usual amazing resilience, managed the household chores and the children all by herself. She even found time to assuage Casto’s fears of sickness and prepare special foods for him.
Casto could feel his frustration building inside as he watched her. What the hell was the matter with this wife of his? Quickly he reached into his cupboard and took out some Maalox; God, the last thing he wanted was an ulcer on account of all of this.
“I think I’ll coat my stomach.” Casto chewed several Maalox tablets vigorously, then swallowed. “This way, I can have coffee later and it won’t affect me badly.” He waited for a response, but she remained silent. Casto sighed, she don’t even talk to me no more ... well, that’s why I invited everybody here tonight, so they could see for themselves! He waited, staring at her, and then asked, “You got the cakes ready? I mean, you got them out of the boxes and everything?”
Zoraida nodded, not looking in his direction.
“Hey! Coño, I’m talking to you! Answer!”
“Yes,” Zoraida whispered.
“And the cups and plates, you got them for the coffee and cake?”
“Yes,” Zoraida repeated.
“I don’t know, you know? It’s been almost three months since Doña Digna did her job and cured you. I didn’t figure you were gonna get so ... so depressed.” Zoraida continued to work silently. “Wait. Stop a minute. Why don’t you answer me, eh? Will you look at me, for God’s sake!”
Zoraida stopped and faced Casto with her eyes lowered.
“Look, I’m trying to talk to you, understand? Can’t you talk to me?” Zoraida kept perfectly still. “Say something, will you?”
“What do you want me to say?” Zoraida spoke softly, without looking at him.
“Can’t you look at me when you talk?”
Swiftly and furtively, Zoraida glanced at Casto, then lowered her eyes once more.
“Coño, man, what do you think I do all day out there to make a living? Play? Working my butt off in those docks in all kinds of weather ... yeah. And for what? To come home to a woman that won’t even look at me?” Casto’s voice was loud and angry. He stopped, controled himself, then continued, lowering his voice. “I get up every morning before six. Every freaking morning! I risk pneumonia, rheumatism, arthritis, all kinds of sickness. Working that forklift, eight, ten hours a day, until my kidneys feel like they’re gonna split out of my sides. And then, to make it worse, I gotta take orders from that stupid foreman who hates Puerto Ricans. Calling me a spic. In fact, they all hate Puerto Ricans out there. They call me spic, and they get away with it because I’m the only PR. there, you know? Lousy Micks and Dagos! Listen, you know what they ... ah, what’s the use, I can’t talk to you. Sure, why should you care? All you do is stay in a nice apartment, all warm and cozy. Damn it! I can’t even have my woman like a normal man. First you had a phantom lover, right? Then, ever since Doña Digna took him away, you have that lousy chair you sit in and do your disappearing act. That’s all you’re good for lately. I can’t even come near you. The minute I approach you like a human being for normal sex, you go and sit in that... that chair! I seen you fade out. Don’t think I’m blind. You sit in that freaking thing, rocking away. You look ... you ... I don’t even think you’re breathing when you sit there! You should see yourself. What you look like is enough to scare anybody. Staring into space like some God damned zombie! You know what I should do with it? Throw it out, or better yet, bust that piece of crap into a thousand splinters! Yeah, that’s what I ought to do. Only thing is, you’ll find something else, right? Another lover, is that what you want, so you can become an animal? Because with me, let me tell you, you ain’t no animal. With me you’re nothing. Mira, you know something, I’m not taking no more of this. Never mind, when they get here they can see your whole bullshit act for themselves. Especially after I tell them...”
Zoraida barely heard him. The steady sound of the television program and the children’s voices coming from their bedroom filled her with a pleasant feeling. How nice, she thought, all the children playing and happy. All fed and clean; yes, it’s nice and peaceful.
The front doorbell rang.
“There they are.” Casto had finished preparing the coffee. “I’ll answer the door, you go on and get things ready.”
Zoraida heard voices and trembled as she remembered Casto’s threats and the fury he directed at her. Now he was going to tell them all sorts of things about her ... untruths.
“Zoraida, where are you?” She heard her mother’s voice, and then the voices of her father, mother-in-law and sister-in law.
“Mommy, Mommy,” Clarita ran into the kitchen, “Nana and Granpa, and Abuelita and Titi Purencia are here. Can we have the cake now?”
“In a little while, Clarita.” Zoraida followed her daughter out into the living room and greeted everybody.
“Mommy, Mommy!” Junior shouted, “Tell Eddie to stop it, he’s hitting me!”
“I was not, it was Clarita!” Eddie walked over to his little brother and pushed him. Junior began to cry and Clarita ran over and smacked Eddie.
“See?” Casto shouted, “Stop it! Clarita, you get back inside.” He jumped up, grabbing his daughter by an elbow and lifting her off the ground. “Demonia, why are you hitting him? Zoraida, can’t you control these kids?” He shook Clarita forcefully and she began to whine.
“Casto,” Zoraida’s thin shriek whistled through the room. “Don’t be rough with her, please!”
“See that, Doña Clara, your daughter can’t even control her own kids no more.” He turned to the children. “Now, all of you, get back inside your room and watch television; and be quiet or you go right to bed and nobody gets any cake. You hear? That means all three: Clarita, Eddie and you, too, Junior.”
“Can we have the cake now?” Eddie asked.
“I’ll call you when it’s time. Now go on, go on, all of you.” Quickly, the children left.
“Calm yourself, son.” Doña Elvira, Casto’s mother, walked over to him. “You know how children are, they don’t know about patience or waiting; you were no angel yourself, you and your sister.”
“Let’s go inside and have coffee, everybody.” Casto led them into the kitchen. There were six chairs set around the kitchen table. Doña Clara and her husband Don Isidro, Doña Elvira and her daughter Purencia squeezed in and sat down.
“Cut some cake for the kids and I’ll bring it in to them,” Casto spoke to Zoraida, who quickly began to cut up the chocolate cake and place the pieces on a plate. Everyone watched in silence. “Milk,” snapped Casto. Zoraida set out three glasses of milk. Casto put everything on a tray and left.
“So, mi hijita, how are you?” Doña Clara asked her daughter.
“I’m okay.” Zoraida sat down.
“You look pale to me, very pale. Don’t she, Papa?” Doña Clara turned for a moment to Don Isidro, then continued without waiting for an answer. “You’re probably not eating right. Zoraida, you have to take better care of yourself.”
“All right.” Casto returned and sat down with the others. “They’re happy now.”
“Son,” Doña Elvira spoke to Casto. “You look tired, aren’t you getting enough rest?”
“I’m all right, Ma. Here, everybody, have some cake and coffee.”
Everyone began to help themselves.
“It’s that job of his. He works so hard.” Doña Elvira reached over and placed an extra large piece of chocolate cake on Casto’s plate before continuing, “He should have stayed in school and become an accountant, like I wanted. Casto was so good at math, but... instead, he ... ”
“Pass the sugar, please,” Doña Clara interrupted, “and a little bit of that rum cake, yes. Thank you.”
They all ate in silence.
Doña Elvira looked at Zoraida and sighed, trying to hide her annoyance. What a sickly looking woman, bendito. She looks like a mouse. To think my handsome, healthy son, who could have had any girl he wanted, picked this one. Doña Elvira could hardly swallow her cake. Duped by her phony innocence is what it was! And how could he be happy and satisfied with such a woman? Look at her, she’s pathetic. Now, oh yes, now, he’s finding out who she really is: not the sweet innocent one, after all! Ha! First a phantom lover and now ... who knows what! Well, we’ll see how far she can go on with this, because now he’s getting wise. With a sense of smug satisfaction, Doña Elvira half-smiled as she looked at her daughter-in-law, then ate her cake and drank her coffee.
Purencia saw her mother’s look of contempt directed at Zoraida. She’s jealous of Zoraida, Purencia smiled. Nobody was ever good enough for Casto. For her precious baby boy, well, and there you have it! Casto finally wanted Zoraida. Purencia smiled, serves Ma right. She looked at her sister-in-law who sat with her head bowed. God, she looks sicker than ever, but she never complains. She won’t say nothing, even now, when he’s putting her through this whole number. Poor goody-two-shoes Zoraida, she’s not gonna get on Casto’s case for nothing; like, why is he jiving her? I wonder what it is she’s doing now? After that whole scene with Doña Digna, I thought she cured her of whatever that was. Purencia shrugged, who knows how it is with these quiet ones. They’re the kind that hide the action. Maybe she’s doing something nobody knows about... well, let’s just see.
Doña Clara looked at her son-in-law, Casto, with anger and a scowl on her face. Bestia ... brute of a man! He doesn’t deserve anyone as delicate as Zoraida. She has to wait on that huge monster hand and foot. With all his stupid medicines and vitamins when he’s as fit as a horse! Ungrateful man. He got an innocent girl, pure as the day she was born, that’s what. Protected and brought up right by us. Never went out by herself. We always watched out who her friends were. She was guarded by us practically up until the moment she took her vows. Any man would have been proud to have her. Canalla! Sinvergüenza! She’s clean, hardworking and obedient. Never complains. All he wants to do is humiliate her. We already went to Doña Digna, and Casto said Zoraida was cured. What now, for pity’s sake? Doña Clara forced herself to turn away from Casto because the anger fomenting within her was beginning to upset her nerves.
Don Isidro sat uneasily. He wished his wife would not drag him into these things. Domestic disputes should be a private matter, he maintained emphatically, between man and wife. But, his wife’s nerves were not always what they should be, and so he had to be here. He looked at his daughter and was struck by her girlish appearance. Don Isidro sighed, the mother of three children and she hasn’t filled out... she still has the body of a twelve-year-old. Well, after all, she was born premature, weighing only two pounds at birth. Don Isidro smiled, remembering what the doctors had called her. “The miracle baby,” they had said. “Mr. Cuesta, your daughter is a miracle. She should not be alive.” That’s when he and Clara had decided to give her the middle name of Milagros. He had wanted a son, but after Zoraida’s birth, his wife could bear no children, and so he had to be satisfied with what he had. Of course, he had two grandsons, but they wouldn’t carry on his last name, so in a way it was not the same. Well, she’s lucky to be married at all. Don Isidro nodded slightly, and Casto is a good, honest, hardworking man, totally devoted. Don’t drink or gamble; he don’t even look at other women. But, he too was lucky to get our Zoraida. After all, we brought her up proper and right. Catholic schools. Decent friends. Don Isidro looked around him at the silent table and felt a stiffness in his chest. He took a deep breath; what had she done? This whole business confused him. He thought Doña Digna had made the situation right once more.
“So, Casto, how are you? How’s work?” Don Isidro asked.
“Pretty good. The weather gets to me, though. I have to guard against colds and sitting in that forklift gives me a sore back. But, I’m lucky to have work, the way things are going.”
“You’re right, they’re laying off people everywhere. You read about it in the news every day.”
“Zoraida, eat something,” Doña Clara spoke to her daughter.
“I’m not hungry, Mami,” Zoraida’s voice was just above a whisper.
“Casto, you should see to it that she eats!” Doña Clara looked at her son-in-law, trying to control her annoyance. “Whatever this problem is, I’m sure part of it is that your wife never eats.”
“Why should he see that she eats or not?” Doña Elvira interjected. “He has to go to work everyday to support his family ... he hasn’t got time to
“Wait a minute, Ma,” Casto interrupted, “the problem here ain’t food. That’s not gonna solve what’s going on.”
“It seems to solve all your problems, eh?” Doña Clara looked at Casto with anger.
“Just hold on now ... wait,” Don Isidro raised his hand. “Now, we are all arguing here with each other and we don’t even know what the problem is. Why don’t we find out what’s going on?” Don Isidro turned to Castro and waited.
Everyone fell silent. Don Isidro continued, “I thought that Doña Digna’s treatment worked. After all, you told us that yourself.”
“It’s not that no more,” Casto looked around him, “it’s something else now.”
“What?” Doña Elvira asked.
Casto looked at Zoraida who sat with her hands folded on her lap and her eyes downcast.
“Weren’t things going good for you two?” Don Isidro asked. “I mean, things were back to normal relations between you, yes?”
“Yes and no,” Casto said. “Yes for a while and then ...”
“Then what?” Doña Elvira asked. “What?”
Casto looked at Zoraida. “You want to say something, Zoraida?”
She shook her head without looking at anyone.
“All right, then like usual, I gotta speak. You know that rocking chair Zoraida has? The one she brought with her when we got married?”
“You mean the one she’s had ever since she was little? Why, we had that since Puerto Rico, it belonged to my Titi Rosana.” Doña Clara looked perplexed. “What about the rocker?”
“Well, she just sits in it, when... when she shouldn’t.” Casto could feel the blood rushing to his face.
“What do you mean she sits in it?” Doña Clara asked. “What is she supposed to do? Stand in it?”
“I said when she shouldn’t
“Shouldn’t what?” Doña Clara turned to Don Isidro. “Papa, what is this man talking about?”
“Look,” Casto continued, “this here chair is in the bedroom. That’s where she keeps it. All right? Now when, when I ... when we ... ” Casto hesitated, “you know what I mean. Then, instead of acting like a wife, she leaves the bed and sits in the chair. She sits and she rocks back and forth.”
“Does she stay there all night?” Doña Elvira asked.
“Pretty much.”
Everyone looked at Zoraida, who remained motionless without lifting her eyes. A few moments passed before Don Isidro broke the silence.
“This is a delicate subject, I don’t know if it’s a good thing to have this kind of discussion here, like this.”
“What do you want me to do, Isidro? First she has those fits in bed driving me nuts. Then we call in Doña Digna, who decides she knows what’s wrong, and puts me through a whole freakin’ rigamarole of prayers and buying all kinds of crap. After all of that pendejá, which costs me money that I frankly don’t have, then she tells me my wife is cured. Now it starts again, except in another way. Look, I’m only human, you know? And she,” Casto pointed to Zoraida, “is denying me what is my right as a man and as her husband. And I don’t know why she’s doing this. But I do know this time you’re gonna be here to know what’s going on. I ain’t going through this alone. No way. And get myself sick? No!”
“Just a moment, now,” Doña Clara said, “you say Zoraida sits in the rocker when you ... approach her. Does she ever sit there at other times? Or only at that time?”
“Once in a while, at other times, but always ... always, you know, at that time!”
“Ay ... Dios mío!” Doña Elvira stood up. “I don’t know how my son puts up with this, if you ask me.” She put her hands to her head. “Casto has the patience of a saint, any other man would do ... do worse!”
“What do you mean, the patience of a saint?” Doña Clara glared at Doña Elvira. “And do worse what? Your son might be the whole cause of this, for all I know ...”
“Now, wait.” Don Isidro stood up. “Again, we are fighting and blaming this one or that one. This will get us nowhere. Doña Elvira, please sit down.” Doña Elvira sat, and then Don Isidro sat down also. “Between a man and wife, it’s best not to interfere.”
“Okay then, Papa, what are we here for?” Doña Clara asked.
“To help, if we can,” Purencia spoke. Everyone listened; she had not spoken a word before this. “I think that’s what my brother wants. Right, Casto?”
Casto nodded, and then shrugged.
“Let Zoraida say something,” Purencia continued. “She never gets a chance to say one word.”
“Nobody’s stopping her.” Casto looked at Zoraida. “Didn’t I ask her to say something? In fact, maybe she can tell us what’s going on. Like, I would like to know, too, you know.”
“Zoraida,” Doña Clara spoke firmly to her daughter, “mira, you better tell us what all of this is about.”
Zoraida looked up, meeting her mother’s angry stare. “I don’t know what Casto means about the chair.”
“Do you sit in the rocker or do you not sit there, like he says?” her mother asked.
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes? What times? Is it like the way he says it is? Because, if this is so, we want to know why. Doña Digna told me, you and all of us, that there was an evil spirit in you that was turning your thoughts away from your husband, so that you could not be a wife to him. After she finished her treatment, she said the evil spirit or force was gone, and that you would go back to a normal husband-and-wife relationship. We have to accept that. She is a woman of honor that has been doing this work for many years, and that she is telling us the truth, yes?” Doña Clara took a deep breath. “But, if you feel anything is wrong, then it could be that Doña Digna did not succeed.” She turned to Casto. “That’s possible too, you know. These things sometimes get very complicated. I remember when the Alvarez household was having the worst kind of luck. Don Pablo had lost his job, his wife was sick, and one of their boys had an accident; all kinds of problems, remember? You remember, Papa? Well, Doña Digna had to go back, and it took her a long time to discover the exact cause and then to make things straight again.” She turned to Zoraida, “Bueno, mi hija, you have to tell us what you feel, and if you are doing this to your husband, why?” Doña Clara waited for her daughter’s response. “Go ahead. Answer, por Dios!”
“I... ,” Zoraida cleared her throat in an effort to speak louder. “I just sit in the rocker sometimes. Because I feel relaxed there.”
“Yeah!” Casto said, “Every time I go near her at night, or at two or three in the morning, she relaxes.” He raised his hand and slammed the table, “God damned chair!”
“Cálmate, mi hijito, calm yourself.” Doña Elvira put her hand over her eyes. “I don’t know how long my son can put up with all of this. Now she’s got an obsession with a chair. Virgen, purísima! Somebody has to tell me what is going on here!”
“Listen to me,” Don Isidro spoke in a firm voice, “if it’s the chair that bothers you, then we’ll take it back home with us. Right, Mama?” He turned to Doña Clara who nodded emphatically. “There should be no objection to that, eh?”
Everyone looked at Casto, who shrugged, and then at Zoraida, who opened her mouth and shook her head, but was unable to speak.
“Very good.” Don Isidro clasped his hands and smiled. “There, that ought to take care of the problems pretty much.”
“Except, she might find something else,” Casto said. “Who knows with her.”
“Well, but we don’t know that for sure, do we?” Don Isidro replied. “And in the meantime, we gotta start somewhere.”
“I feel we can always call Doña Digna in again if we have to.” Doña Clara poured herself a cup of coffee. “After all, she was the one that told us Zoraida was cured.”
“I agree,” Doña Elvira said, “and even though she don’t ask for money, I know my Casto was very generous with her.”
“That’s right, they don’t charge, but after all, one has to give these people something, or else how can they live?” agreed Doña Clara.
“Isn’t the weather funny this Spring?” Doña Elvira spoke amiably. “One minute it’s cold and the next it’s like summer. One never knows how to dress these...”
They continued speaking about the weather and about television programs. Purencia spoke about her favorite movie.
“That one about the professional hit-man, who has a contract out to kill the President of England ... no, France, I think. Anyway, remember when he goes into that woman’s house and kills her? I was so scared, I loved that movie.”
Everyone agreed, the best kinds of movies were mysteries and thrillers.
Zoraida half-listened to them. They were going to take away the rocker. She had always had it, ever since she could remember. When she was a little girl, her parents told her it was a part of their history. Part of Puerto Rico and her great Aunt Rosana who was very beautiful and had countless suitors. The chair was made of oak with intricate carving and delicate caning. As a little girl, Zoraida used to rub her hands against the caning and woodwork admiringly, while she rocked, dreamed and pretended to her heart’s content. Lately it had become the one place where she felt she could be herself, where she could really be free.
“Bueno, we have to go. It’s late.”
“That’s right, me too.”
“Wait,” Casto told them, “I’ll drive you people home.”
“You don’t have to ... ” Don Isidro protested. “We know you are tired.”
“No, I’m not. Besides, I gotta drive Ma and Purencia home, anyway.”
“That’s right,” Purencia said, “my old man doesn’t like me going out at night. It’s only because of Mami that he let me. So, Casto has to take me home.”
“I gotta get you the chair, wait,” Casto said. “And, you don’t wanna carry that all the way home. It’s not very big, but still, it’s a lot to lug around.”
“All right, then, very good.”
Everyone got up and Zoraida began to clear away the dishes.
“Let me help you,” Doña Clara said as she stood up.
“Me too,” Doña Elvira said, without rising.
“No, no thanks. That’s all right. I can do it myself,” Zoraida said. “Besides, I have to put the kids to bed and give them their milk and all.”
“I don’t know how she does it. Three little ones and this place is always immaculate.” Doña Clara turned to Doña Elvira. “It’s really too much for her, and she has no help at all.”
Doña Elvira stood. “She keeps a very clean house,” she said and walked out with Purencia, following after Casto and Don Isidro.
Doña Clara looked at her daughter, who worked silently and efficiently. “Mira, mi hija, I better talk to you.” She stood close to Zoraida and began to speak in a friendly manner, keeping her voice low. “You have to humor men; you must know that by now. After all, you are no longer a little girl. All women go through this difficulty, eh? You are not the only one. Why, do you know how many times your father wants ... well, you know, wants it? But I, that is, if I don’t want to do it, well I find a way not to. But diplomatically, you know? All right, he’s older now and he bothers me less; still, what I mean is, you have to learn that men are like babies and they feel rejected unless you handle the situation just right. Now, we’ll take the rocker back home with us because it will make him feel better. But you must do your part too. Tell him you have a headache, or a backache, or you can even pretend to be asleep. However, once in a while you have to please him, you know. After all, he does support you and the children and he needs it to relax. What’s the harm in it? It’s a small sacrifice. Listen, I’ll give you some good advice; make believe you are enjoying it and then get it over with real quick, eh? So, once in a while you have to, whether you like it or not; that’s just the way it is for us. Okay? Do you understand?”
Zoraida turned away and, without responding, continued with her work.
“Did you hear what I just told you?” Doña Clara grabbed Zoraida’s shoulder firmly, squeezing her fingers against the flesh. “You didn’t even hear what I said to you!”
Zoraida pulled away and turned quickly to face her mother. She looked directly at Doña Clara. “I heard you...” Zoraida stopped and a smile passed her lips. “I heard every word you said, Mami.”
“Oh, all right, then ...” Doña Clara said, somewhat startled by her daughter’s smile. “I only wanted to ... ”
“Mama! Come on, it’s time to go,” Don Isidro’s voice interrupted her.
Doña Clara and Zoraida went into the living room. Casto carried the rocking chair and waited by the door. The children had come out of their room and were happily jumping about.
“Look, Mommy, Grandpa gave me a quarter,” Clarita said.
“Me, too,” said Eddie. “He even gave Junior one.”
“All right, get to bed!” Casto shouted. “Zoraida, put them down, will you?”
Everybody said goodbye and, in a moment, Casto and the others left.
“Mommy, where is Daddy taking your chair?” Clarita asked.
“To Nana’s.”
“Why?”
“Because they want it now?”
“Don’t you want it no more?”
“I already had it for a long time, now they need to have it for a while.”
Zoraida gave the children their milk, bathed them and put them to bed. Then, she finished rapidly in the kitchen and went to bed herself. She looked over at the empty space near the window. It was gone. She wouldn’t be able to sit there anymore and meet all her suitors and be beautiful. The last time ... the last time she was dancing to a very slow number, a ballad. But she couldn’t remember the words. And she was with, with ... which one? She just couldn’t remember him anymore. If she had the rocker, she could remember; it would all come back to her as soon as she sat down. In fact, she was always able to pick up exactly where she had left off the time before. She shut her eyes, deciding not to think about the rocker, about Casto, Doña Digna or her mother. Instead, Zoraida remembered her children who were safe and asleep in their own beds. In a short while, she heard the front door open and recognized Casto’s footsteps. She shut her eyes, turned over, facing away from his side of the bed. Casto found the apartment silent and dark, except for the night light.
In the bedroom, Casto looked at Zoraida, who seemed fast asleep, then at the empty space near the window where the rocker usually stood. Their bedroom seemed larger and his burden lighter. Casto sighed, feeling better. He reached over and lightly touched Zoraida; this was a safe time of the month, maybe she would wake up. He waited and, after a moment, decided to go to sleep. After all, he could always try again tomorrow.