Tequila Tuesday

It seemed like months, not a couple of weeks ago.  I hadn’t been totally honest with Raphael.  I didn’t tell him about the coke.  I didn’t want him to think even less of me and I couldn’t see what difference it made.  I’d left his office and started back to the bank building, fighting the Roosevelt Avenue traffic all the way.  The day was Hector’s funeral. On the spur of the moment I made a U-turn and went back the way I came, past the station, past the stadium and Plaza las Americas, heading for Bayamon.

I had a general idea where the cemetery was from the address in the paper. Guaynabo was just south of Bayamon rising to meet the hills of Caguas.  Efrain had taken us out there to show us the huge PRELA facility at Monacillos.  We had lunch close to a cemetery in Guaynabo.  I believed that was the same one.

I found the cemetery and cruised through the narrow car paths past well-maintained grounds until I saw a funeral in the distance.  I parked and made my way to the gathering group of people as a limo pulled up.  I guessed that would be the family and the casket.  I paused next to a small mausoleum, pretending to read the inscription.  I did not feel conspicuous since I was but one of many cemetery visitors strolling the pathways.

I saw Nildy get out of the limo, assisted by Camba, who had arrived a minute earlier in a green car with an emblem on the side, obviously a government car.  Although a veil covered her face, I was close enough to see it was she.  An older woman and a young girl, her mother and sister, Emilia, I presumed, followed Nildy out of the limo.  They proceeded to a tent erected over a freshly dug grave open to receive Hector’s casket.  There was no sign of Martes.  He must still be in Bogotá.

I moved closer, trying to be as unobtrusive as I could and found a position where I could observe the ceremony without being noticed.

The mother and the girl had white handkerchiefs to their faces, obviously crying, as the minister read from a bible.  Camba stood next to the mother with an arm around her, offering whatever comfort he could. Nildy was standing a little off to the side, her hands folded in front of her, her head bowed.  She looked lovely even dressed in black in this situation.  I tried not to notice her legs, but didn’t have the strength.

This is truly a beautiful woman, I said to myself.  You are not made of stone.  Can the fucking guilt.

The casket was lowered into the grave.  Each family member laid a flower on top, Camba holding the mother tightly as she appeared to begin to faint from her grief.  Nildy was the last to pass the grave.  She reached down and touched the casket.  I wondered what she felt.

Camba led the family to the limo and guided the mother and the girl inside.  He motioned to Nildy but she shook her head and stood by the grave, where she remained as the limo departed, followed by Camba and the rest of the guests.

She was watching the cemetery workers cover the casket with the dirt piled around the opening.  She held up her hand and they waited while she laid the remaining flowers on top.  She stepped back and allowed them to continue their work.  She looked small and vulnerable.  I walked toward her, not really sure what I was going to do.  I stopped on the car path where the limo had been parked, hesitating and debating whether I should go on.

She turned and walked toward me.  Her head was still down.  She slowly raised her veil over her face and saw me standing there.  I felt more than saw her eyes riveting me in place.  I couldn’t turn around to leave.  I couldn’t move.

She came to me and laid her head against my chest.  I was willing my arms to remain at my side, but I felt her body shake with her sobs.