Ay, Rosalía

Well, your prediction came true after all, I became a bill collector, just like you, papa, traveling the city on a Honda 50 from eight to six. Knocking on doors that don't always answer. People talk to you from a distance as if you were a leper or something, "Come back on Monday.I'm expecting a check.” whatever. But you always knew you were close to God, one of his angels, one of his helpers. "Everything under the heavens has a price and everything that moves must be paid", you used to say; "A time to lend and a time to collect," you had your own personal way of interpreting the Ecclesiastics, and you were right- we all have to pay. This is what I have on my mind while I wait for Rosalía, hunkered down in here among her dresses.

Did i tell you that after your funeral i got a job at compadre Luisin's bakery? Yeah, i told you about that. i really loved the night time commotion; sinking my hands in the dough, the smell of the it baking in the firewood, the sweat on my brow and the taste of that bread right out of the oven; it was like waking up in the Bible or something. it was going good too, with that organic bread. The hotels on the coast bought up the whole batch for their tourists. i bet you can't guess who opened an even bigger organic bakery and stole all our clients! i don't have to tell you. Those were hard times, old man, very hard. i decided it wasn't worth the effort to go on, that it would be better to try my luck in Puerto Rico; at least over there i would be making money in dollars, i could help the old lady, send her a little something once in a while.

You know all about mama, i suppose. She had to sell that little piece of land she had near Miches, the poor thing, to be able to support herself after you got run down. She thought the company was going to help her out, but your boss, Miss "Rosalía", said that the accident happened after office hours, that your schedule was until six and that the accident occurred at six o' five. She even hinted that you were using the motorcycle for personal matters, and practically accused you of stealing! The old lady was afraid to denounce her and in the end that shithead Perales gave her a few charity pennies. i had a lot of bad ideas running through my head when that happened. All that anger just churned around inside of me, just burning me up like a fever of a hundred and four. After a while, i calmed down a bit and decided to get a job; but then the bakery closed down and i just couldn't take any more. i got it into my head to get the hell out of there. if i stayed something really bad was going to happen, pa. i had that damn Rosalía stuck right between the eyes, like one of those annoying little headaches that don't go away. The only thing that stopped me was the thought of causing mama more trouble. i put the word out on the street that i wanted to leave and a few days later a man from La Romana contacted me. He called himself Perelló.

He was a "consul,” you know, one of those guys that organize the boat trips to Puerto Rico, those guys that go from town to town recruiting passengers and makes a commission for each one he reels in. This consul was the devil with a passport, papa; a real conman. When i spoke to him he looked me straight in the eye, not the slightest twitch, with this Rican accent, "Don't worry about a thing, bro. Soon you'll be knocking back cold ones in San Juan. Word, bro.” and i believed him. i handed twenty thousand big ones over to him. Twenty thousand. it wasn't easy getting all those pesos together. i had to sell everything i owned.

Mom cried a lot, but it was a done deal. One of the neighbors came over with a Haitian who was a voodoo witch doctor, and the man cast a little spell over me and gave me a trinket for luck. i didn't want to have anything to do with it, but mama said you can never have too many back ups and talked me into it. Later the consul came to pick me up and we took off to the meeting place. We all got together in a house on the outskirts of Miches. Out of all those people there was only one i knew and unfortunately it was Toño; you know, the guy i had that little run in with one time, over a woman. When he saw me he just looked the other way and so did i. At the time it seemed like a pretty bad omen to be crossing the sea with an enemy. i was about to leave when a woman from la Romana started up a conversation with me; Aurora was her name. in no time we were making plans for what we'd do once we got there. She had a cousin who could get us some work in Mayaguez. i kind of liked little Aurorita; she had these cute little brown eyes that kind of excited me and little doll hands. i forgot all about Toño. We were drinking coffee and chatting it up until about three in the morning when they started bussing us down to the beach in small groups. The boat will be leaving at five, the consul announced. We were the last ones to get on, because of what you always used to say, "the last will be the first and the first will be the last." Aurorita came with me; she just latched herself onto me, like a freckle. When we got there some one said that there were fifty of us which seemed to me like a lot for this little fishing launch. i didn't say anything, but found myself unconsciously fingering the trinket the Haitian had given me. When it was time to get on the boat some of the others started losing their nerve. The consul told them they could leave if they wanted to, but to forget about their money since he had already handed it all over to the "boss". it was the first time he mentioned the outfit's "boss", the boss of the money, of our lives, the one who never takes a loss.

This time it was a woman; probably some lady from the capital, but i didn't give it much thought because i was to busy looking into the great noisy expanse of darkness where we would soon be going; that was all that mattered at right then, that sea filling everything; the world, the eyes, the ears, the agony, and the dreams.

We set sail at about five. it was dark; the moon had gone to hell behind some ugly mist. The consul stood waving goodbye from the beach like he was seeing us off on some friggin' picnic and we floated away in silence. The water splashed about from the prow and it wasn't long before all of us were wet and shivering shamelessly because now we could all claim it was from the cold. The dawn came soon enough, but the sun didn't; it stayed hidden behind that haze all morning. The captain explained that it was better this way; that we should cover our faces with something because we could still get burned from the glare; that that's how the sea is, he said, that motherfucker. i really didn't like his way of talking. it was like he was chewing something very bitter. On the prow some women started a rosary and soon enough everyone started in with the Holy Mary's; even me. There wasn't anything else to do anyway. About mid morning we spotted a shadow behind us, far off, and the captain told us to stay down because it could be the Coast Guard. We all lowered our heads and kept praying softly, although by now some of them were crying too, very quietly. There was a bit of everything that day, vomiting, tears, tremors, fainting, hysteria, regrets. At one point the captain gave the order to tie up one man who was demanding to be taken home. Tie up that dog, he told his first mate. i wish you could have been there and told me what you read in that face, old man. it looked to me like the face of a person who was already dead, the face of body without a soul. i really didn't like that man who spoke like he was spitting ice and watched the horizon with those tiny clouded eyes.
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Sundown finally came after what seemed like an eternity. Everyone wanted to know how much longer before we arrived. Soon, was all the captain would say as he stared at the other boat in the distance with malice in his eyes. At six o' clock we ran out of gas. The captain and his mate started cursing the consul for giving them gallons that were half empty, and that was when i knew something bad was going to happen. No captain, no matter how irresponsible, leaves the matter of gasoline in someone else's hands. Any doubts i might have had vanished when the boat that had been following us all day, finally caught up to us and rammed us. Most of us thought that they had come to rescue us and started jumping for joy. But that was when it all turned sour, old man. The captain and his mate jumped overboard and swam over to the other boat. When one of the passengers tried to follow them he was greeted with a hail of bullets. When he turned back i saw it was Toño. it was still light out, and i could see he was bleeding. i don't know exactly what it was that made me feel sorry for him, papa, if it was the other people screaming, or the reddish water around Toño's body, and i still don't understand why i did what i did next: i jumped in to save Toño, to save my enemy. i swam fast, my mind a blank and i managed to grab him around the neck. Don't you die, dammit, i told him, but he didn't listen. He looked up at me for a moment as if he were glad to see me and that was it; i let go. The body turned over, as if to take one last look at the sky, and then went under. it reminded me of you, of the afternoon we covered you with earth in the cemetery, the taste of the sea filled my mouth, and i could feel my heart swell in my chest. When Toño went down i said a quick prayer to the Virgin to forgive me for what i was about to do and i swam towards the other boat. i'd rather have died from a gunshot right then, than by hunger or thirst in a few days' time, but they were already sailing off and left me waiting for their mercy. i was considering letting the waves drag me down when i caught a glimpse of the captain of the other boat. i know you're not going to believe me, old man, but it was Rosalía's chauffeur. in that second everything changed; i didn't want to die anymore, and while i was swimming back to the boat that little merengue by Juan Luis started going around in my head, you know, the one that goes: si tú me abrieras la puerta, ay Rosalía. if you'd open the door for me, ay Rosalía, and it hasn't stopped since then.

That was the worst night of my life, papa. When i got back up on the boat some woman flung herself on me, mumbling some words i couldn't make out, and stroking my face with little girl fingers. it took me a while to figure out it was Aurorita. i felt strange. Like everything had suddenly changed. i didn't know it then, but i was the only thing that had changed. That boat was like purgatory. The ones who weren't crying had their eyes so wide with fear that they looked like a bunch of owls. Of course by now the praying was in full swing. Even the bravest were reciting their Lord's Prayer. i read somewhere that sometimes the captains jump ship near the coastline and swim to land with the help of the empty gas gallons and leave the boats adrift in a spot where the currents will pull them away. That way they were saved and everybody else died of thirst, hunger or drowning if the boat capsized, which was more than likely since these boats are all made hidden away somewhere in the brush with no respect for any kind of norm. i mean, after all, it only has to stay afloat for some thirty six hours, long enough to cross the Mona Channel. A lot of the passengers wouldn't look at the sea, like that would make it disappear. Others screamed like children. Most of them, though, were too dazed to speak or even move. The weather got worse at dawn and the waves grew. We unhooked the motor and watched it disappear into the water. i remembered too, what some journalists had written, and the other stories, the worst ones, the ones that didn't come out on TV, the ones you only heard from the mouths of eyewitnesses; the pregnant women who aborted from fear and bled to death; the boys who wanted to live whatever the cost and ate the dead and even fought over a piece of human flesh, salted from sea water and sun dried. i didn't want to live that way, not with the taste of someone in my mouth for the rest of my life. i had a reason to stay alive. i prayed with the others but sometimes, between the words of the Lord's Prayer, the name of that bitch, that thief, that daughter of the great whore Rosalía Perales would slip in.

I didn't even have a watch, I had hocked it to pay for the trip; someone said it was seven and that was the last conversation before that piece of shit for a boat finally capsized. At first I went down with the rest of the group but I managed to swim away and by the time I turned around only about ten of them were left; the sea had swallowed up the rest of them. Someone tried to grab on to me; it was Aurorita, the poor thing. I tried to get away from her, pushing her and even giving her a couple of punches, but she wouldn't let go, like a tick. I had to bend her fingers back to get her off me. She said something before she disappeared, some cuss words I think, but I didn't hear her well because my ears were filled with the sound of her little fingers breaking in my hands. Don't think I didn't feel bad about it, I liked the little woman well enough; but I told myself afterwards I had done her a favor; it was better that she died then, right away, than be eaten by the sharks. That was the next episode we had to deal with. When the sharks arrived two things happened: I peed and the boat suddenly bobbed up by my side. It was capsized and I had a hard time getting up on top of her. Throughout all of this the sharks were circling me without biting me even though they had plenty of time to attack me since I had been thrashing about for a good while; I think my piss grossed them out.

When I finally managed to pull myself up on the boat I looked around. I didn't see a soul; they had either drowned or were eaten by the sharks. I must have fallen asleep 'cause I remember opening my eyes at one point and some one calling to me from the heavens. Then I realized it wasn't heaven but the deck of a huge ship. A nurse appeared but by then I was in a white room and I was dry. Each time I opened and closed my eyes my life lurched forward a few steps until everything got back to a semblance of normality. A doctor told me I was very lucky. He asked me how I was feeling but I couldn't open my lips, I just looked at him from afar as if I'd fallen into some kind of well. The next day when I woke up there were two guys by the bed; I knew right away they were cops before they asked me my name. I told them. I told them everything expect the part about Aurorita's last embrace at sea.

They flew me back to Santo Domingo as soon as I could walk. I didn't try to escape from the hospital like one Dominican nurse, from Macoris, suggested. I still had Juan Luis' little merengue playing in my head but only the music and that one line: si tú me abrieras la puerta, ay Rosalía. That was all I could think about. I made lots of plans in that hospital bed. It did me a lot of good going over those plans in my mind because something always went wrong. I told myself I had to be very careful, study people, like you always told me; stalk them, find out when they're home, when they're out, when they eat, when they sleep, and then, wait for just the right moment to make your move. You always thought I wasn't listening, papa. You would go on about bill collecting; the only subject in you repertoire, but it did me good, pa; it did me a lot of good. In that hospital I started to work out a plan. By the time they deported me I still didn't know how I was going to do it, or when, but I knew for sure that I would do it come hell or high water, may God have mercy on my soul.

The few weeks I spent in prison in the capital flew by. After all that had happened the Mona Channel, prison was a resort hotel. You have to play the fool, my son; you used to tell me that too; even though it didn't do you much good. That fucking bitch Rosalía; first the father and then the son, but I didn't tell a soul about it. I remembered something else you used to say: life is a loan with a high interest rate and no one leaves without payin... I was thinking about collecting. When they interrogated me I didn't tell them anything. I didn't mention Rosalía. I invented a bunch of lies. The man who recruited passengers and sold the passage, the consul, was a guy from Samana named Gustavo that was all I knew, I told them. I had to, pa, lying was the only way to save myself because that way no one could consider me a threat. And it worked, because a few weeks later I was out. Si tú me abrieras la puerta, ay Rosalía. I sang as I walked out of my cell.

I stayed in the capital for a while. I told myself I still wasn't ready to go back, but that was a lie. I can tell you that: even I didn't recognize myself; I didn't like the sea anymore, not even the smell of bread. I'd go to bed early so as not see the night sky. But I kept your advice in mind; observe people, find out everything before you ring the bell so they'll open. I got a job at cousin Romerito's bodega, in the capital. I found out everything from there, thanks to the family. One day they told that Rosalía was thinking of running for governor. I mean, can you imagine that, old man? Rosalía governor? You did well in dying, dammit. I said to myself it would be impossible to get near her if she got elected. You know how that is. Body guards here, chauffeur over there, soldiers and police around the house day and night. I had to go see her now, old man, now.

I got there at night in one of the minibuses that leave out of the Enriquillo Park. The first thing I did was stop at a bodega and buy a pound of flour and an empty oil gallon which I filled with unleaded gas a nearby station. Then I stopped in another bodega and kicked back a few drinks until it got late. About one in the morning I walked to Rosalía's street, surrendered myself to the lord, crossed myself about seven times and set fire to the house next to hers. There's nothing like a good fire to attract a crowd, and make them stare mesmerized and forget about everything for a while. I didn't feel sorry about burning those people's house, Rosalía's neighbors. Nothing made me feel sorry anymore. Everyone came out to stare. All the neighbors were there, including Rosalía, shouting, crying for help, talking into their cell phones, waiting for the firemen; and there I was, in the bushes, listening to the burning wood crackle like poor Aurorita's broken fingers, breathing in the smell of your motorcycle, watching the night stain with Toño's blood, watching Rosalía's house calling to me in silence. She'd opened the door for me, papa.

Rosalía's room smells of perfumes, of creams with strange names, of moisturizing lotions and money, but I hardly noticed because I brought others with me, stronger ones, more insistent ones, like the smell of warm bread, the smell of salt, the smell of hate. I only hope she doesn't notice them when she comes in, or it doesn't occur to her to look in her closet where I am crouched with the rest of the gasoline and my pockets filled with flour. I'm going to wait until she falls asleep and then I'll wake her up. She wanted to be a baker, she will bake for the souls in hell because, like you said, everything under heaven has a price and it's her time to pay. When the blazing mattress wakes her up I will be by her side, covered in a cloud of leavening, to collect on her life, for my grief stricken soul, to collect for your life, for Toñito's and even Aurorita's. Are you happy, papa? Your son too will be a real bill collector, like the angels in heaven, like you. Ai, Rosalía.
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