King of the Moon: A Novel of Baja California by Kira Gene

Author:Kira, Gene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AOPublications
Published: 2015-02-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

SINCE THAT NIGHT long ago, Abundio had gradually learned the events of Margarita’s sad life after La Paz, including the violent confrontation with her brother that was thought, tacitly, by the villagers to have caused the death of the infant and the madness of its mother.

The story had come to him in fragments, from offhand comments by the other fishermen, or from Socorro, who would sometimes pass along a bit of gossip from one of the other women.

Margarita herself had been of little help, partly because of her imperfect recollection, and partly because Abundio was reluctant to exchange more than pleasantries with her. He was appalled by the path her life had taken and by his role in it. Each night, as he fell asleep, he mulled over their time on the Malecón, and he thought he could remember signs even then that Margarita’s vision of the world about her would sometimes blur and darken. But he wasn’t sure.

He had never mustered the courage to reveal his secret to Socorro. What good would that do? To make his wife share his shame and misery, just to lessen his own? Nor would it have helped poor Margarita, a victim of the light and dark of life itself, of the moonstruck madness that came from God knows where.

Surreptitiously, Abundio had seen to it in the first weeks that he and Socorro built their house close to Pablo’s, and for the past fourteen years, he had kept a sorrowful vigil over Margarita Santos, the most popular girl on the Malecón, and he had watched over her as she descended deeper and deeper into her lonely world of dreams.

And he had listened, as the screams of the Santos family had shattered many nights in the caleta. Pablo Santos hated his sister and blamed her for the troubles he had with his wife. Many times, he had tried to send Margarita back to La Paz, but she always refused to go.

As he sat between the well and cross, watching Socorro wash clothes, Abundio considered their present set of problems. He was still wondering which to discuss first when Socorro wrung out the final shirt with a sharp grunt and flung it through the air. It spread itself out on the hot rocks like a casting net.

She came over and sat in the sand with her legs folded and her skirt wrapped beneath her. She combed Abundio’s hair with her fingers and picked off a gnat that had become caught on his sweaty shoulder.

“So, husband, what has been decided about the road?”

“Pablo is the only one in favor.”

“Why?”

“The others think it is too dangerous.”

Socorro wiggled her little feet.

“What do you think, Bundo?”

They sat with their arms braced in the sand, watching the dragonflies hover around the well. Against the far wall, a stand of bright green papyrus nodded in the shade. To their right, Margarita’s daisies drooped in the heat of the afternoon sun.

As they watched the dragonflies, Abundio used a fingertip to draw a figure-eight on the back of Socorro’s hand.

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