Emmanuella slumped back in her chair. She seemed winded by what Fernando could only assume were many long years of unvoiced discontent. The worry lines in her face etched deeper with obvious distress at what she’d said. What Fernando had pressed her to say. It was like lancing into an old wound, delving into the past. He regretted causing her pain, but he’d expected that this interview would not be pleasant. Nothing about the case of Carmencita was ever pleasant to recall.
“My grandmother says she once glimpsed the back of some she-devil who dwells in the jungle,” Fernando said, “and that it cursed her. She says it was this devil who took my grandfather and Joselito and chased my mother from Cortez.”
“Perhaps it is so,” Emmanuella said, her expression grave. “One shouldn’t go looking for devils, Fernando. There’s enough wickedness afoot as it is.”
“Do you know the name of this devil that devours men?”
“No,” she said, crossing herself, “and I do not wish to know it. To name an evil is as good as to bring it forth into being. What devil is there that doesn’t devour men? No matter what form they take, they are all the same. If in each generation a fine young man is lost, what difference does it make which wicked spirit stole him away?”
“Each generation,” Fernando said, narrowing his eyes. “Is that truly the case? My grandfather, Joselito—I assume there were others before them, but who has gone missing since then without a trace?”
Emmanuella hesitated, considering. “None that I have heard.”
Fernando contemplated this in silence as he drained the last of his beer. Through the greasy muslin curtains, a warm breeze rustled. A sudden pop and hiss from the stove made Emmanuella jump. As she returned to the table, Fernando stood from it and laid down a thick stack of cash.
“I want you to have this money.”
“Oh no,” Emmanuella said, wide-eyed and waving both hands before her. “No, Fernando, I cannot accept it.”
“I have no need of it, and neither does my abuela. She requires very little. If I gave it to her, she’d just end up feeding it to the goats for good luck.”
Emmanuella shook her head. “I have no need of it either, Fernando, truly. Pedro and Chico provide for us well enough, and Esteban is trying. It is your money, you should keep it.” Approaching him, she brushed some nonexistent speck of dust from his jacket and smiled. “Buy yourself something nice.”
Fernando looked down at her dryly. “If you don’t take that money, señora, I’ll feed it to the goats myself.” As she fixed him with a hard, very Chico-like glance, Fernando sobered and said, “I didn’t have a mother, but if I did, I’d have liked for her to have been like you.”
Emmanuella’s look softened as she tugged straight his lapels. “You’re a good man, Fernando.”
Fernando smiled. It was kind of her to say so.
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