Conquistadora by Esmeralda Santiago

Author:Esmeralda Santiago
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780307596772
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2011-07-12T10:00:00+00:00

Dr. Vieira asked that Leonor leave while he prepared the body, but she wouldn’t move from Ramón’s side.

“There’s nothing more you can do for him, Dr. Vieira,” she said with more aplomb than she felt. “This is now women’s work.” Ciriaca and Bombón stood by her, and the doctor, faced with their determination, withdrew, and moments later he and his assistant rode out of the batey as the morning began to warm.

The three women rocked Ramón from one side of the bed to the other as they washed the blood, dirt, and grime that pain made impossible to wipe when he was alive. They washed his hair and trimmed it neatly around his face, shaved him again so that his cheeks were smooth, even if bruises and scratches marred his features. They clipped his nails and rubbed manteca de cacao over his body. They changed the soiled bedcovers and wrapped him in a linen shroud from a sheet that Faustina brought them. She thoughtfully removed the festive tatting along the borders but could do nothing about the embroidered initials under the Morales crest.

“Luis sent a messenger to Los Gemelos, to notify your daughter-in-law,” she said. “We sent for Padre Xavier last night, but he’s attending another family on the other side of town. He’ll be here later today.”

Leonor had no idea when Ramón last confessed or took the Eucharist, but imagined it was the day before they set sail from San Juan, over four years earlier. He’d be buried far from his brother, from his homeland, from the family plot in the churchyard of their hometown of Villamartín in northwestern Cádiz province. Eugenio’s and Leonor’s ancestors were buried there, a hundred yards from one another on the same side of a tree-lined path. Ramón and Inocente would be the first of their clans to be scattered across the sea. Bombón covered Ramón’s head with the shroud. And as Ciriaca held her, Leonor let the full weight of her grief moisten the maid’s solid bosom, and her strong arms support her as Ciriaca led her away from the room decorated with the hopes and dreams of the Moraleses’ little boy, even as her own boy, aged before his time and broken, lay still and cold on the narrow bed.

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