Florida, Mon Amour!: The Wages of Greed

By S.T. Mengibar

Carmen and Raquel, multimillionaire and beautiful twins, decide to explore beyond the confines of the Republique de Sacre Cur, a mythical South American country, whose major export is COCAINE! Their wealth derives from its illegal distribution. Marcelino, their father, unwittingly acts as courier for a cartel, secreting into the country a good portion of the profits harvested abroad. His secret and unique M. O. is accidentally revealed to Marcel, an international police agent who decides to relieve the twins father of some of his millions. Marcels boundless greed propels him to scheme criminal plans that include kidnapping and/or trickery, assisted by Brigitte, his wife, and Rolando, a renegade. Once his first stratagem fails, Marcel contrives a strategy to marry the surviving twin. He succeeds but his avarice finally receives its due reward.


Customer Reviews from Amazon.com

Great writing, January 10, 2006
Reviewer: pollyanna "polly" (Florida)

I had the good fortune of having received Florida,mon amour!as a Christmas gift.I was at once intrigued by its peculiar title. The story is fascinating and well-written. Florida,mon amour! has a truly original plot and the congruence of several foreign cultures and languages throughout the novel gives it a global panache. Mr. Mengibar has in effect broken the well-worn mold of the crime fiction and unrequited loves while showing us love in its various forms even the fake kind seasoned with unremitting greed.

Florida, mon amour!, December 26, 2005
Reviewer: S. Bell "orange guy" (New York, NY)

Florida, mon amour! is defintely not about Florida alone. It is about the United States, Spain, Sounth America, France and England. The convergence of their cultures and languages in this well-knit story gives it a fascinating glow of genuine originality and globality. It is difficult to put it down or to stop turning its pages as one is always expecting to find more titillating scenarios and peculiar situations. Love, death, greed, deception and an approriate denouement makes Florida, mon amour! one of the best novels I have read in recent years.

A truly compelling,powerful and well-written story, December 11, 2005

Reviewer: Caribbean empress "Yvonne" (Florida)
Florida,mon amour! is uniquely original not only in its plot but also in its development and harrowing denouement. Mr.Mengibar gets one's heart pumping frantically as you eagerly turn each page to see what will happen next. I fell in love with Raquel's rambunctious zest for life and her unfortunate fate, actually saddened me.An avid reader of fiction,I certainly recommend this wonderfully-paced,intriguing novel. You will hardly want to put it down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 10, 2005
• ISBN: 9781462833788

S.T. Mengibar

S. T. Mengibar, a Central-American born, came to USA in 1956. After marrying Grace in New York in 1959, he moved to Colombia. In 1965, he returned as an immigrant; becoming a U.S. citizen in 1982. He graduated from Lehman College (CUNY) in 1974; obtained a master’s degree from NYU in 1978, and a law degree from CUNY Law School in 1989. S. T. Mengibar has two sons, and three lovely grand-daughters. Since 1994, he has worked for the USINS as political asylum officer. He has completed three novels: Florida, mon amour, The Experiment (A Trilogy), and La Condesa de Cayaguanca.

Book preview

Part One

One

The birth registrar looked intently at the raggedy peasant standing before his desk. What can I do for you, he asked dryly.

I want to register my twin daughters, the peasant said softly, almost humbly.

Are you the father of both girls? the birth registrar asked seriously but absentmindedly while intently looking at the blank application form. A name plate on one side of his weathered desk read: César Augusto Candela, Registrador Municipal1.

"Sí, señor, por supuesto,2 they are twins," the applicant said, his dull eyes beaming with paternal pride.

Where do you live? Candela asked.

"Ay nomasito,3 en la Aldea Puerta de Golpe. About ten kilometers from here …"

Are you sure your hamlet belongs to the Calpayán’s municipality?

¡Sí, señor … ! the father affirmed. You registered my first set of twins right in this office about three years ago, he added to underscore his point.

OK. That’s enough! the registrar growled with a fed up attitude. Then he looked briefly but with a loathsome glance at the hollow eyed man who, not accustomed to the august and threatening presence of municipal clerks, twisted nervously the decaying brim of his straw hat.

A sleepy South American town, Calpayán was nested on a narrow tropical valley, bound by two majestic mountain ranges of the Andes cordillera.

And the name? the registrar asked.

Marcelino Buenavista Garrido ¡a su servicio, señor!

Marcelino? the municipal officer asked with an ironic chuckle. That’s not an appropriate name for a girl, is it?

¡Claro que no, señor! the peasant chuckled. That’s my name. For the babies we have chosen Carmen and Raquel.

And the mother’s name?

Cristina Fernández Santofimio, the father prompted.

Buenavista-Fernández, Carmen and Raquel, huh? the registrar took a long breath. So, in order to follow the alphabetical order, he said in a loud voice, we will register Carmen first. The self-centered office mouse abhorred to deal with members of the illiterate peasantry. Only the prospective of a long awaited, and still far away, retirement pension enticed him to remain in that lousy job for another few years.

Whose order, did you say, señor? Marcelino asked.

Never mind … ! When was Carmen born?

Had Marcelino raised his prematurely graying head, he’d have seen the unsightly watermarks that tropical rains, leaking through the weather-beaten roof, had left on the aged ceiling. But to a country laborer, the building with all its decrepit structures would have seemed a magnificent palace, in comparison to the one room thatched hut with a bare floor that housed his wife, four infant children, and his crippled in-laws. Marcelino, however, was not interested in the least on the state of the wrecked ceiling above, nor in the office’s worn furniture and its scruffy décor. His mind was concerned only with registering his second set of twins in the town’s birth records.

«They were born …» he began.

«Not they! the registrar shouted. Carmen, on what date was she born?"

On the same day Raquel was born, Marcelino answered triumphantly.

Brave news … ! the officer sounded miffed. And what date was that?

The first of January of this year, 1974, Marcelino replied proudly. Nacieron ambas un minuto después de las doce, he added merrily.

Big deal … ! the registrar muttered. Who cares that the guámbitas were born one minute after midnight on New Year’s Eve! he mumbled with a derisive smirk.

The proud father, however, did not hear, or pretended not to have heard the contemptuous remark. Lowering his torso over the desk, he whispered imploringly: Señor Candela, I’d like to ask of you a very special favor. That is, if you don’t mind …

What kind of favor? the registrar asked frowning.

Could you, please, place both names on the same registration page? His emaciated body almost melted in self-debasement in front of the overbearing officer.

And what would be the purpose for such request? he asked brusquely.

In that way, whenever I ask for a copy of their birth certificates, I won’t have to pay for two. ¿Si juera posible, no … ? You see, I am a very poor man! His supplicant voice sounded so genuine that, to Marcelino’s surprise, the registrar’s cold heart was momentarily touched.

Look, he said, you must realize that complying with your unusual request would mean violating procedural regulations. However, if the department’s chief allows it, I’d do it, even though I’d have to start the whole registration anew.

¡Muchísimas gracias … ! the father thanked effusively, prematurely concluding that the bureaucratic rigmarole had been an affirmative answer. Screeching around in the old swivel chair and using his open hand as a megaphone, the registrar called his boss in a booming voice. The chief, without removing his hands from the velvety palms of his young secretary, yelled back with obvious annoyance: Señor Candela, por Dios ¿qué le pasa? Don’t you see that I am busy with the belated budgetary requests? ¿Cuál es su problema? he asked miffedly.

Would it be proper, the registrar asked, to place two different names on the same birth record?

¿Y porqué no … ?4 Juárez asked irritated and unthinkingly. And don’t bother me with such silly questions! the boss ordered while trimming his luscious mustache. His secretary smiled approvingly at his managerial grandiloquence. Candela, after tearing off the almost completed application, started a new one.

Ten minutes later, Marcelino exited from the municipal building. As he stepped on to the sidewalk, he instinctively reached for the only pocket in his trousers that had no holes of any size. His finger tips felt two thick coins within. He drew them out to ascertain if they were worth more than twenty pesos. ¡Mierda … !5 he cussed with angry dismay. Just enough for one tamal and a cup of coffee …

Such meager sum on the other hand would have been enough to pay for a bus ride to Puerta de Golpe, his minuscule community of palm-thatched huts. After a brief financial argument with himself, Marcelino made the instinctual choice: To fill up his empty stomach! After all, he thought, that would be the only substantial meal he’d eat for the rest of the week, unless he found a job before the day ended.

Upon finishing his cup of coffee and belching the gas from the savory tamal, Marcelino took a dusty road out of Calpayán. Most of the houses’ backyards, he observed, had been converted into cemented platforms on which coffee beans dried on the sun before bagging them for the brokers’ warehouses. One peon briefly stopped raking the beans. While holding a rake in one hand, with the other he raised his hat in a polite greeting. "Buenos días le dé Dios … ! he shouted cheerfully and went back to his chores.

Buenavista responded likewise while thinking that perhaps the man knew about job openings. No sabe de alguna vacante para jornaleros?6he asked full of hope.

No! Not in Calpayán, that I know, the peon answered. Pero váyase para Río Escondido …7 he advised. The coffee plant there is hiring now … he added knowingly.

¡Que Dios le pague por el dato!8 Marcelino thanked, rejoicing within. Allá me voy ahora mesmo ¡y de volada … !9

After a several hopeful turns of his neck to look for traffic going his way, he noticed a topless green pick up driven by a man wearing a wide brimmed sombrero, the typical farmer’s hat. Although fearing a sure rejection, Buenavista bravely raised and waved frantically his hand, to indicate that he needed a free ride. To his surprise, the utility vehicle slowed down, and stopped as soon as it caught up with him.

¿A dónde vas … ?9 the driver asked bluntly.

Buenavista felt momentarily irked by the driver’s disrespectful language. However, the pragmatic he was, and realizing his dire need, he quickly swallowed his pride. By then, he’d already become accustomed at being treated with that sort of maddening condescension. Some day, he promised himself, there would be an appropriate time to demand a respectful language. A Río Escondido, si mi’ace el favor,10 Marcelino answered.

¡Súbete … !11 he was ordered with the same condescending voice. The rustic man opened the door and accommodated himself on the mended seat. He then placed his blunt-edged machete between his legs and his soiled morral on his lap. The truck sped off, leaving behind a thick cloud of dust that blurred the vision on the rear view mirror. Smelling the acrid stench of animal sweat, he concluded the driver would be a farmer raising livestock.

¿Cómo te llamas … ?12 the man at the wheel asked.

Marcelino Buenavista, at your service, señor … ! the peasant replied diplomatically. ¿Y usted … ?13 he asked, using the polite term.

Carlos Vanegas Sarmiento. But everybody who knows me calls me Carlitos; but to you, Don Carlitos! Vanegas said haughtily.

I’m honored to meet you, sir! Marcelino replied diplomatically, ignoring the not-so-subtle barb. In his dire circumstances, he wouldn’t dare to match the driver’s arrogance.

How long have you been living in Río Escondido?

I don’t live there, sir, Marcelino replied. "My hut is near Puerta de Golpe, by the Guadiana river. But I heard the coffee processing plant in Río Escondido is hiring laborers.

Small wonder … ! Don Carlitos laughed sarcastically. Nobody would work there more than one week. Not for the miserable salaries those crooks pay. Do you have a family?

Sure, a famished one, that is, Buenavista answered despondently.

How many kids have you got?

Two five-year old boys, twins, you know. And God has just sent us another couple. Two beautiful little girls, the peasant replied proudly.

¡Coño … !14 Don Carlitos exclaimed crudely. That’s a large family!

¡Es la voluntad de Dios!15 Marcelino justified himself.

For heavens’ sake, don’t blaspheme! Vanegas retorted angrily. God has also created cheap condoms for people who want to avoid bringing children into a world of poverty.

Yes, that’s true, pero … the passenger began to reply ruefully.

¡Ningún pero que valga … !16 don Carlitos interrupted with annoyance. Unfortunately, many people think exactly the way you do.

Estoy completamente diacuerdo con usté,17 Marcelino agreed coyly. But what can a poor man do from getting bored when the only pleasure available to him is his woman’s warmth? he asked plaintively.

Yes, I know, Vanegas said while looking at his passenger out of the corner of his eye. But, shit, look at the consequences, he added coarsely.

The two remained silent for a few minutes. Have you ever driven a tractor, a car, or any motor vehicle? the farmer asked all of a sudden.

¡No, señor, nunca … !18 the peasant replied ruefully. But surely, I could learn, he added in a blithe, hopeful voice. If someone would bother to show me how it is done …

Can you read and write and do some arithmetic?

Yes, I can, Marcelino said. Although I only completed third grade, he added regretfully. After that my father put me to help him with the chores in our farm plot. And later I went to cut sugar cane for the hacienda’s owner. My old man used to say that peasants did not need an education to cut cane or to plow the land. Well, I guess, he was right, somehow.

Only half-right, mind you, Vanegas chuckled. A person without an elementary education has very few possibilities of advancement. It is like swimming up the river with one arm tied to his back. Very few people would succeed under those limiting circumstances.

Muy cierto, señor, muy cierto,19 Marcelino agreed.

Would you mind coming to my farm, right now? Don Carlitos asked.

The peasant’s eyes brightened. Would I mind? ¡Claro que no, señor … !20

¡Muy bien, entonces … !21 Vanegas said, offering his hand. Let’s see what you can do for me and for yourself, he added.

Cherubim faced Carmen and Raquel entered the municipal office that by then was lodged in a modernistic, newly built, four story building. The sunlight, seeping through panoramic windows, illuminated the obvious trappings and advantages of twenty-one years of relentless progress.

We’d like to obtain our birth certificates, what are the fees? Raquel, the vivacious twin asked the registrar. Her dark pupils immediately tried to pierce the blue eyes of the broad shouldered young man sitting behind the desk. She’d already noticed his square jaw and the air of angelic innocence his face reflected. Twenty-seven, at most, she said to herself smiling inwardly while seizing him up. He’d also noticed her most outstanding charms.

Not taller than the average, he thought, brown eyes, and full, sensuous lips, wow! Raquel’s raven black hair, cut short about the lower tip of her small ears, framed perfectly her fine facial features. Her face, devoid of make-up or face powder, showed a slightly brown complexion looking naturally fresh and soft. The perfect symmetry of her facial angles and the pristine clarity of her brown pupils made his heart race with unusual delight. Five hundred pesos each, he replied while fully reassessing the inquirer’s seductive looks. Fill in this application, please, he suggested courteously. All the information requested must be provided in order for us to serve you best. By the way, he added smiling while pointing to the name plate on his desk, my name is Rolando de la Fresniére.

Candela, the old registrar, had retired a few years before. And a few years later, the young stud had taken over the job. As he spoke, his light blue eyes continued unabashedly focused on Raquel’s well-developed charms.

Meanwhile, Carmen walked about the front of the office, almost enthralled by its sober, bureaucratically cheerful décor. She’d stopped to examine the portraits of the national heroes of old and of the recently elected president of the République du Sacré-Cœur, majestically wrapped in his yellow, blue and red presidential sash.

Not withstanding her amazing resemblance to her sister, Carmen looked, in fact, more beautiful, and more sophisticated in spite of, or perhaps on account of her customary proclivity for outward modesty and reticent demeanor.

«But, seriously speaking,» Rolando remarked, «I think the fee is a bit too much. If it were in my power, you’d get them for naught …» Raquel lifted her eyes briefly from the application form to meet his impertinent gaze. Her eyelids fluttered and a subtle smile moved her luscious lips.

His immediate supervisor, the town manager,—a plump, middle-aged brunette,—overhearing the flirtatious remark, walked sprightly to the subaltern’s desk. Rolando, she blurted out bossily, these señoritas are here to obtain a service, not to listen to your shameless propositions.

The young lass began to suspect that the grouchy manager had some plans of her own concerning the handsome registrar. After the angry nagging, she trotted back to her desk. Rolando’s ruddy face had turned crimson and his eyes bristled with impotent anger.

And your name is? he asked Raquel with trembling voice, as he looked at the clear and elegant stroke of her handwriting. She could not wait to show her own temperament

Are you sure your overseer will allow you to deal with us? she asked mordantly.

Sure, why not? he chuckled softly. "Is this document for you, señorita … ?

Raquel Buenavista Fernández, she replied sweetly. The birth certificate is for me and all the information is there, in the application sheet. That is, if the imperial power that rules your life in this royal bureau will allow you to read it, Raquel added sarcastically, looking with fiery eyes at the matronly bureaucrat who was by then, sitting behind a metal desk, ruffling a stack of papers.

Shhh … ! the handsome clerk counseled, placing his index finger on his pursed lips. Then, he spelled in syllables the family names: BUE-NA-VIS-TA-FER-NAN-DEZ, while clicking on the computer’s keyboard.

Raquel! the applicant insisted.

Yep, it is right here! Buenavista-Fernández, Carmen Raquel, Rolando said beaming. Let me get the copy from the printer, he added. Now, do you want also a birth certificate for your sister?

At this point, a slender young man in chauffeur’s uniform burst into the office. Señorita Raquel, he said in gasping bursts, a policeman has … ordered me to move the limousine … to the other side of the plazoleta. When you’re ready to leave, will you please look for me around there?

The Buenavista girl looked angrily at her harried servant. No, Rodrigo, she said with condescending authority, do not let any cop bully you! Let the vehicle stay wherever it is now. And if he gets nasty give him this pacifier and see what happens, she added while handing the servant a five hundred pesos bill. Okay? Her impatience with the driver was not as gentle as the one she displayed toward the registrar. Where were we? she asked sweetly.

Here is your birth certificate, Rolando said, but I am still waiting for your sister’s name. I mean, she is your sister, right? Wow! You really look like two drops of water or the belfries of the cathedral with all those cute bells, he added daringly.

Of course, she is my twin sister and her name is Carmen. Her data is on the second sheet I gave you, Raquel answered, ignoring his persistent staring at her pectorals.

Carmen, after having looked at some black and white photographs depicting Calpayán’s days of old that covered most of the front wall, had stopped at a bulletin board showing the mug shots of long-sought criminals; and at last, at a kaleidoscopic maze of personal advertisements and notices of lost and found pets and cattle. Upon hearing her name being mentioned, she walked back to rejoin her sister. Raquel, meanwhile, took a quick look at the document she had just received. She regretted acting picky with the charming registrar but realizing that she had no choice, she said coyly. Wait a second, señor De la Fresniére. This certificate must be for my sister Carmen, because it reads, Carmen Raquel. Her name is Carmen while mine is Raquel alone. There is some confusion here; some kind of mistake, she added demurely. The sweetness of her voice indicated that she did not want to place blame on the captivating employee. Rolando, nevertheless, felt mortified, as at that moment he realized that his mind had been focused on Raquel’s charms instead of what he was doing. To make things worse the bossy matron returned to Rolando’s side.

¿Qué es lo que está sucediendo aquí?22 she asked bluntly. It has taken you ten minutes, señor de la Fresniére, to produce a simple birth certificate. ¡Su ineptitud es realmente increíble … ! she growled, angrily shaking her head. And then asked mordantly, What do you think is the purpose of having a computerized birth registry? Answer me!

To save time by speeding up the search and retrieval processes of the documents requested, De la Fresniére replied meekly.

What about the citizens waiting behind these young ladies? Miss Plata continued her acrimonious barrage: Don’t you think they are also entitled to receive the same kind of courteous and prompt treatment? Her bossy and berating attitude seemed to mask her feelings of jealousy toward young Raquel.

But there is no one else behind them, Rolando remarked hurtfully. It became obvious to him that his nagging boss was fighting her own kind of war, albeit her scolding words appeared somehow justified.

That’s beside the point! the manager blurted out. Suppose there were other people waiting, what excuse would you give them? she asked.

Señorita Plata, if you just let me explain, the harried clerk begged patiently. These young ladies have requested their birth certificates. Since they are twins, they must have the same family name, right? But it just happens that there are only five entries under the Buenavista-Fernández heading and four of them correspond to males. How could we solve this riddle? he asked demurely.

But we are six children, Raquel bolted in edgewise. So, it is either mine or my sister’s certificate that is missing, she added conclusively.

Miss Plata’s managerial anger subsided. She gazed intently at the monitor. Lo siento mucho, señorita, she announced dryly, but there is only one female Buenavista Fernández registered and that is Carmen Raquel. If you wish, we could request a diligent search for both names in the old provincial registry. The fee for that service is one thousand pesos, she added, and it would take from six to eight weeks to locate that information. If you want to apply for the search, request it through Mr. de la Fresniére …

Carmen finally spoke. Give us two copies of the birth certificate you have located, she suggested matter-of-factly. Y sanseacabó … !23she added impatiently and dismissingly.

The driver barged in. He, again, addressed Raquel, ignoring Carmen. Señorita Raquel, he said cheerily, the police officer, after accepting the money, told me that I could remain in front of the municipal building for as long as it may be necessary …

Fine, Raquel said pleased. We’ll be getting out of here any minute now …

Miss Plata did not feel too comfortable in the presence of the two young lasses. Her Rolando had already shown too much interest in the young wench, she thought; and the prudent thing to do, right then and there, was to get them out of her office, immediately.

Go ahead, Rolando! Give them an additional copy, she ordered and moved back to her desk.

A few minutes later, the twins filed out of the municipal building with identical birth certificates. The black limousine, driven by Rodrigo Peñafiel, sliced through the light vehicular traffic. He treasured driving the gorgeous twins to the Calpayán’s downtown area or to the very end of the world even at this very early hour of the day. Rodrigo felt to be in heaven’s glory whenever he took deep whiffs of the expensive fragrances that the girls sprayed liberally on their young, sexy bodies. Being in their company, even in the role of a lowly driver, was the daily highlight in his humdrum life. Sharing their company had become almost as important as the generous salary he perceived from Don Marcelino Buenavista Garrido, their multimillionaire father. Rodrigo had always played deaf and dumb at the occasional sermons he received from the boss, as long as he was allowed to remain employed as the twins’ chauffeur. Why, all the salaried drivers of the affluent citizens in the Calpayán district ate their hearts out of his fantastic luck! Just looking at their envious eyes, glancing at his beautiful passengers was more than he could ask for from heaven. During the hours he spent driving the ravishing heiresses, his problems seemed always trivial and unimportant. A smile from either of them, Raquel’s particularly, brightened every minute of his working days, making him forget the nagging from his jealous wife that annoyed his eardrums every day from evening to morning.

As soon as the twins boarded the limousine, Carmen took out and spread over her lap the tabloid Rodrigo had left on the magazine pouch behind the driver’s seat. She looked without particular interest at the sundry ads until a glossy picture caught her eye. She nudged her sister’s arm with her elbow. Raquel turned her eyes to the page showing a bright colored photograph of an imposing cruise ship sailing the high seas and silently read the text.

As his passengers were not carrying any conversation, the chauffeur suddenly clicked the car radio on. The buoyant twin moved forward her torso to inquire: Rodrigo, did you buy Miriam Hernández’s last CD for me?

No, Señorita Raquel, the chauffeur said regretfully. I tried to at the two music shops in Calpayán but they were out of it. Next time I drive to Santa Fenicia, I promise to get it.

Would you be able to find it there?

Sure! I don’t see why not. There are many music stores there …

Don’t forget your promise, huh! Raquel implored sweetly.

At that precise point, Miriam Hernández’s voice began to chime in with her silky, melodious voice, El hombre que yo amo sabe que lo amo; me toma entre sus brazos y lo olvido todo… !24

Isn’t that super-cool? Raquel asked cheerily and began singing along, aping the syrupy rendering the Chilean songstress gave to her singing performances. Rodrigo, too, hummed it along.

How did the disc jockey know, she asked beaming with elation when the tune ended, that I was looking forward to listen again to this fabulous song? How did he know that I’m in love with El Hombre que yo amo?

He must have ESP, the chauffeur chortled facetiously. Both twins laughed along, celebrating Rodrigo’s witty remark.

You seem to like that song very much, right? Carmen asked.

Yes, I do, I do, I do! her sister replied ecstatically. I actually adore it! It is so romantic, so poetic … ! And the uncanny way Miriam sings it with such gusto and such fervent emotion that any romantic listener, likes yours truly, would want to sing it along.

On that I fully agree! Rodrigo exclaimed blithely.

Nobody asked you! Carmen said crankily.

You are such a nag! Raquel chided her twin. And I know why your attitude is always so negative, she added.

And you are dying to tell me why, right? Carmen asked infuriated. Her sister looked quizzically at her.

Go ahead, doctor Buenavista, spill out your diagnostic beans! Carmen chuckled.

I’m sure your grouchiness is due to the fact that you’ve never had a boyfriend, Raquel affirmed unequivocally.

Is that true, señorita Carmen? Rodrigo asked brazenly. He could not keep his mind entirely on the road while listening to their lively disclosure of intimate frictions.

Carmen fumed. Rodrigo, she warned angrily, this is the last time I’m telling you to mind your own business. If I ever hear another word from you without being asked, I’ll ask my father to transfer you to the sugar cane trucking crew. Do I make myself perfectly clear, señor Peñafiel? she asked in a shout.

Sí, señorita Carmen, the chauffeur answered humbly. Por favor, disculpe mi intromisión,25 he apologized.

Going back to your habitual grouchiness, Raquel chided her sister. You would love Miriam’s song, too, if you had a lover, or at least a serious prospect of romance.

Perhaps, you should lend me one of the stallions from your stud farm, Carmen replied sarcastically.

You know what? That’s a great idea! Raquel celebrated her sister’s invective without shame or rancor. Let me see which one would be so daring to meet you half way. But, in exchange, you’d have to memorize at least one of Miriam’s most famous songs to show me that you would be serious about the poor slob, she said in jest.

Oh, please, I have more important things in my mind than memorizing silly songs that in a few weeks would be forgotten, Carmen said fastidiously.

More important things … ? Like what? Raquel chuckled.

Like this advertisement, her twin said, gladdened that the colorful ad had superseded the thorny subject of her failure to attract members of the opposite sex.

What is it all about, anyway? Raquel inquired uncaringly.

What is it all about? her sister echoed baffledly. It is about a two-week cruise through the Caribbean Sea in the Buque del Placer,11 the most expensive cruiser in the world. ¡Imagínate, dos semanas, querida, dos semanas … !26Carmen said, excitedly giggling while punching her sister’s arm.

I really don’t know you, Carmen Buenavista, Raquel said, stunned by her sister’s suggestion. Her brown pupils sparkled with worried disconcert.

Will you please tell me what the hell are you talking about?

What I am saying is that if we went on this pleasure cruise, we might be able to meet some nice looking, sophisticated European males—blond, athletic Germans; romantic Frenchmen, handsome Italian tenors, or, or brave Spanish matadors …

Raquel nodded mockingly, anyone better than the oaves that thrive around here, Carmen added with childish exuberance.

Yeah, sure … ! Or British soccer fans, Raquel chuckled.

Please! Carmen said wearily. Or we could just spend our money having all the fun in the world without anyone snooping over our shoulders, she added blithely.

Sounds cool and fabulous, but …

And we would be free to do anything and everything, Carmen interrupted. Her face had turned crimson with embarrassment at the lusty thought crossing her mind. Her eyes beamed with a devilish glance. We could even … she began to say.

Raquel blushed also, as she divined her twin sister’s lurid thoughts; albeit unexpressed. You are absolutely mad, darling, she said laughing.

Her sister looked at her sideways. No, I am not! she said seriously.

Raquel corrected herself. Yes! You are absolutely nuts if you believe that our mother would consent to let us go in a cruise where we would be surrounded by strangers, particularly handsome and charming men who would sweep us off our feet as soon as we board the boat. Never, darling, never … !

Pero ¿porqué no … ?27 Carmen asked angrily.

All by ourselves without a chaperone, at our age … ? ¡No way, darling, no way … !

But we are already adults, damn it! Why should we let outsiders control our lives? Why shouldn’t we be able to take full charge of our lives? she asked rhetorically.

I am certain mother would immediately say: ‘Without a chaperon concerned for your safety and good behavior, no way!’ And then she would offer her protective company as a trade-off. Raquel laughed this time with a nervous laughter. Although, it would be a fascinating experience to go alone, she added seriously.

And who said we’d be inviting our mother? Carmen asked. Daddy never says no to any of our requests; school vacation just started, so we have plenty of time in our hands.

OK then, go ahead, ask dad! Raquel suggested skeptically.

Besides, Carmen continued her exhortation to action, it is only fair that since we’ve finished our second college year with exceptional grades …

Yes, absolutely … ! Raquel interrupted with a serious frown. We ought to get some kind of reward, like a real two-week vacation.

After all, Carmen continued, you can bet dad will say no to our plan of entering your name in the beauty contest. So, we should get on this cruise as a trade off.

Sure, sure, that would be the day! Raquel commented sarcastically. The exuberant blooming of the trees by the roadside pleased her vivacious eyes as she stared smilingly at the sight of their early florescence. Nevertheless, it saddened her soul that mom and dad were so rigid and so old-fashioned.

Go ahead, darling ¡no tengas miedo!28 Carmen prodded her sister. Ask papá, as soon as we get home. After breakfast, I mean, before he gets tangled with all those lengthy telephone calls, she added.

¿Yo… ? Raquel asked angrily. Why me … ? That’s your brilliant idea! Why should I always end up doing your dirty work? In reality, the vivacious twin loved to obey her demure sister’s commands just to avoid the final responsibility for the consequences.

Well, simply because a brilliant idea of this sort may be born only in a lame brain like yours, Carmen laughed gaily. Go ahead and ask! she insisted. And when his majesty comes to me begging for my well considered opinion, I’ll tell him with all the necessary seriousness that your request sounds fine to me; that I’d go along just to please you and him.

OK! I’ll do it right after breakfast, Raquel promised.

The limousine stopped at the main gate of the extensive Hacienda Buenavista’s fenced-in territory. After the gatekeeper opened the electronically operated gates and waved with friendliness to Rodrigo, the limousine began the last two miles of the trip. Raquel and Carmen maintained an unusual silence as the vehicle maneuvered between dozens of loose cattle and the occasional potholes that plagued the two-lane paved road.

A stately mansion could be seen looming in the distance; sitting at the top of a round, low hill, overlooking the surrounding valleys. Laborers would stop their field chores to wave their wide sombreros at the beautiful heiresses. Occasionally, Raquel waved back upon recognizing some of their faces.

Two

Marcelino Buenavista, besides becoming wealthy, extremely perhaps by South American standards, had also grown extreme in all directions. Dangerously obese, indeed, my dear don Marcelino, Dr. Arnoldo Angulema, his private physician had candidly admonished him on every house visit. The patient had looked contrite while secretly laughing at the warning; certain as he was that being fat was synonymous with good health and vigor. His exceedingly good fortune in acquiring wealth had resulted also in one hundred kilograms of additional blubber.

In fact, he had grown so huge that even his private chair at the dining table had to be manufactured to his inordinate specifications. Cristina, his wife, meanwhile, had grown so proportionately thinner that it would be correct—perhaps facetious to say—that while her mate’s frame grew into everything, she fadded into nothingness. Her lean, almost gaunt figure, and her emaciated face, although still pretty by any standard, patently showed the thousands of nights of martyrdom she had suffered lying side by side with her gargantuan husband, even though he had always cuddled her lovingly.

Through their long lasting marriage, Cristina had remained the devoted, old fashioned wife who would obey every one of his orders, even those tyrannical and whimsical ones; and had fulfilled, as well, every one of his simple but multiple desires. Although she cared deeply for his wellbeing, she also concurred in his misconception of good health.

Thus, every morning, after gently placing the sandals on his mammoth feet, she made sure that a succulent breakfast was ready for him at the table. On that morning, as on every morning, she sauntered back and forth in her ninety-five pounds of almost fleshless bones, aligning and rearranging with punctilious care, again and again, even more dutiful and more dedicated than the servants themselves, the richly embroidered mantelpiece on which the expensive silverware and imported china shone resplendent. The elegantly draped table displayed the foodstuffs typical of Latin American cuisine, nutritious some, most of them fattening. The Buenavista family was about to seat for their morning repast. Impassively, the rotund patriarch stood at the head end of the table while Ernesto, the dining room servant, pulled backwards the royal throne to adjust it to the necessary distance from the table. Seeping through the broad skylight, the morning sun warmed the luxurious interior as well as the pleasant surroundings within and without. The dining alcove’s panoramic windows had been opened and the delicately embroidered silk and velvet curtains had been drawn to let the breeze enter in soft, caressing bursts of playful waves. Invitingly, the food aromas wafted enticingly from the kitchen.

After sitting on his chair, Marcelino, who’d returned the day before from the last of his customary, biweekly trips abroad, glanced with surprise at the almost empty table. His wife, sitting on his left, recited her prayers before meals with lips and eyes closed, and hands joined against her forehead. Quietly looking at her prematurely graying temples, he briefly recalled her youthful looks and the charmingly round and small face that had captivated and enticed him to a romance. Although not a religious man himself, he respected his wife’s beliefs and religious practices. So, he waited until he saw that her hands had separated, indicating that her devotion had ended, to inquire in his habitual booming voice.

Where is everybody?

Las gemelas, Cristina replied, went to town, early this morning, to get their birth certificates." She, as well as everyone else, always referred to Carmen and Raquel as the gemelas, or female twins, even though the other four children had also harried the unlucky stork by arriving in double bundles of joy.

Why do they need birth certificates? Marcelino asked frowning.

So they can get their adult TNI’s and DDV’s, his wife replied.

The what? the patriarch asked with annoyance.

Knowing that he hated to play guessing games, she tremblingly explained. TNI stand for Tarjeta Nacional de Identidad, and DDV for Documentos de Viajero.

Why do you have to talk like that? Marcelino asked annoyedly.

Like what?

Talking in acronyms … And why do they need passports?

The answer to the first question is that it is the current fashion in all of Sacré-Cœur, Cristina explained coyly. "It is called the American way to save precious time by reducing the names of government agencies or documents to their first initials. So, we say the UN, the OAS, BMW, AIDS, et cetera, et cetera.»

Her husband shook his voluminous head with incredulity.

«By the way,» his wife chuckled, «your name in the United States would be shortened to Marc, and mine to Cris,» she laughed, and then looked at Marcelino’s face expecting at least a smile.

«Okay, okay, that’s enough,» Marcelino said dryly. «And what is the answer to the second question?» he asked impatiently.

«What was the second question? I forgot," she said apologetically.

Why do they need a TIN and passports? he asked with a resigned chuckle.

It’s TNI, his wife corrected. They need the document because they are adults now.

Already… / Marcelino exclaimed with incredulity.

You weren’t here when they celebrated their twenty-first birthday, even though it was New Year’s Eve, Cristina said demurely, afraid of sounding reproachful. But I believe I told you when you returned, she added.

And the boys, where are they?

Marcos and Lino still sleeping … They came home about two o’clock in the morning.

¡Borrachos, estoy seguro! he remarked angrily.

Drunk? No, well, that I really don’t know, she lied on purpose to protect her boys from his wrath. I just heard them going up to their bedrooms, she added lowering her voice.

Drunk, of course … ! Don’t hide the truth from me, Cristina Fernández! Marcelino insisted in his booming voice His pitch denoted smiting anger. Cristina cringed in her chair.

I said, I didn’t know! She repeated in a hushed voice.

Of course, you don’t want to know! And, by the way, when will Pepe-José and Oscar comeback from their high school graduation trip to Ecuador? the husband continued his morning interrogatory.

To Colombia, she gently corrected her husband’s habitual lack of memory. They are due back this Sunday, she added.

At that point, their daughters walked in. They were hungry but beaming. After kissing their father’s and mother’s temples, and simultaneously reciting their customary greeting chant, ‘¡Buenos días, queridos padres!29’ they sat across the table and unfolded their table napkins.

How was your trip to Calpayán? the mother asked.

Fine! both replied in unison while filling their plates.

Daddy, Raquel said, the birth registry has a crazy foul up. They found only one of our birth registrations with both our names on it. Do you remember who registered us?

Yes, I did it, Marcelino admitted nonchalantly; recalling that most fateful day when he had to beg a favor from the arrogant registrar. But I understand, he added cunningly, that a computerized registry has replaced the old manual system. Most likely the clerk made a mistake when entering your names in the blessed computer.

That’s exactly what la señorita Plata told us, Raquel said. And she also said that a diligent search could be initiated upon payment of one thousand pesos. But we decided to get two original copies of the document instead, she added.

And who’s this Miss Plata? her father asked.

The town manager, Raquel replied.

Tomorrow morning we’ll go to Santa Fenicia to get our TNI’s and passports, Carmen announced matter-of-factly.

¿Pasaportes? ¿Para qué? Marcelino asked anxiously.

Do you want to know the truth? Raquel asked blushing.

Yes, the truth, Cristina said sternly. She knew how conniving her daughters were and how they loved to equivocate on their behalf.

I’d like to enter the Señorita Almanzonas beauty contest, Raquel said in an unusually shy voice, looking down at her plate, and the agency requires a passport for the registration.

You don’t need a passport to go to Quimbayán, Marcelino chuckled. The provincial capital is only fifty kilometers away, he added with a nervous laughter.

Dad, we know that, Carmen said demurely. However, she explained: "Should Raquel win the provincial competition in Quimbayán and the national title in Santa Fenicia, she’d have to travel to represent Sacré-Cœur in the Miss Universe contest. In that case, she’d need a passport, since next year’s world pageant will be celebrated in Las Vegas, Nevada.» Both girls knew for sure that a storm of outright disapproval would issue from both parents. But they were ready to face it.

«Still, you wouldn’t need a passport!» he affirmed coldly»

«Why not, daddy, why?» the twins asked in unison.

"Porque ¡ni muerto lo permitiré!30 Marcelino roared, adding with imperious voice: No daughter of mine is going to enter any contest of that sort … !" he added somberly.

Raquel was stunned and speechless. But why not, daddy … ? Carmen whined timidly.

No daughter of mine should parade in the altogether in front of perfect strangers! their father said unequivocally.

The twins looked at each other disconsolate. Marcelino did not dare to look directly at his daughters’ faces. With lowered eyes, however, he continued his harangue. That’s the most degrading, most shameful exhibition of female flesh! he pontificated heatedly. Forget about entering that disgraceful contest! he dictated loathingly.

The devoted wife could not agree any less. You heard your father, she said looking fiercely at Raquel. Forget about those silly contests. Better dedicate yourselves to your studies. That’s what you should do, she added sternly.

Your mother is right, you know, the father agreed.

Your marks were not as good as your sister’s, Cristina said addressing Raquel. Both of you are equally intelligent but not equally diligent …

Raquel is doing her best, Marcelino interceded to mitigate the confrontation.

I cannot get over the fact that one of our birth registrations is missing, Carmen muttered while cutting a corner of her roasted sausage. Her opportune comment finished the feisty conversation theme. I fail to understand how that confusion could have arisen?

How could that happen, dad? Raquel asked sweetly while seething in anger within.

Marcelino could have cleared his daughters’ puzzlement by simply acknowledging what he’d done on that fateful day when he’d registered their birth at the town hall. However, he refused to answer Raquel’s query; simply because he knew that such disclosure would open up the proverbial Pandora box. Besides, it was his unremitting penchant for utmost secrecy that had been all along his emblematic characteristic. For instance, he had never mentioned, and even had forbidden his wife to tell the children the truth about those terrible years of cruel poverty they had endured in the earlier years of their marriage. At some point he had casually remarked to Cristina that the old saying that ‘children came at birth with a loaf of bread under their arms,’ was absolutely true, particularly in the case of their adored gemelas. Yet, neither of them had mentioned to the girls that felicitous circumstance of their birth. And he’d belatedly revealed to his wife that on that unforgettable morning while on his way back from the birth registrar’s office, he’d begged a ride from don Carlos Vanegas, who, after hearing his tale of crass penury had taken him under his wing, hiring him as capataz31 of his hacienda. The job had come with a generous salary and an adobe house, roomy enough for their family. Another example of his predilection for concealment was that when he decided to complete his elementary education at night time, he hid his books in the boss’ stables to insure that his children would never be privy to his lack of an elementary education even though, upon graduation, Vanegas had promoted him to administrator of the farm. Furthermore, he’d even forbidden his wife to disclose to anyone, particularly to their children, that in his preadolescent years, God had allowed him to survive a political pogrom by giving him an almost terminal case of smallpox, even though traces of the virulent scars were still visible on his body but not on his face. His infection had ensued at the moment when the ruling conservative leadership was ordering its henchmen to kill all known liberals throughout Sacré-Cœur. His family executioners, not wanting to contaminate their machetes, had spared his life in the certainty that in a matter of hours he would die of natural causes. His faithful wife, always prone to fanciful accounts, had glossed over their wretched past by concocting the story that her in-laws had died in a plane accident over the Atlantic, as they returned from vacationing in their private summer castle on the French Riviera. To the parents’ felicitous peace of mind, the youngsters had unquestioningly believed her version of the family history.

Marcos and Lino finally joined the family at the table and greeted their elders with taciturn good-mornings and perfunctory kisses on their foreheads. Both had taken a quick cold shower to hide their reddened eyes but had failed miserably in their purpose. They sat on each side of Carmen and served themselves large cups of coffee. She offered them the sugar bowls that they rejected in silence. Their father looked at both boys with an inquisitive glance.

Muchachos,32 he said without any preamble, I’ve got a few chores for you to do after lunch. The boys expressed their assent with unintelligible grunts. But once you’ve finished your breakfast, he added, I want the two of you to go out there to the cane fields. Count the number of farm hands actually working and of those who are there just pretending," he added sarcastically.

¡Mierda, otro sermon … ! And I got this fucking headache, Marcos said to himself with veiled anger. He’d never dare cuss openly in front of his parents; much less while at the table and in the company of his sisters. He looked at his twin brother with the corner of his eye and noticed that he, too, was transfixed by fear.

Didn’t you hire a couple of capataces for those menial tasks? Cristina asked with annoyance. What happened to the last one you were interviewing last month?

I hired him, too, and now I have three overseers, Marcelino said with anger rising in his voice, but I also have two sons who are good-for-nothing leeches and who must learn to earn their keep before they can apply for social security benefits! His bitter irony seemingly fell in deaf ears. His wife, however, had plans of her own for her beloved boys.

Cristina put her napkin down on the table and looked fixedly at her husband. I don’t want my sons having anything to do with peons, she said with a raised chin. She had early concluded that her alleged aristocratic ancestors would turn in their graves if her children mingled with the lowly peasantry. That’s why you have supervisors, she continued in the same haughty tone. If you don’t trust them, fire them, and get someone you can trust. Unusually, her voice had risen a few decibels, perhaps too many for Marcelino’s sensitive eardrums. However, when the safety, honor and well being of her beloved brood appeared in danger, she’d fight anyone with tooth and nails, and as a mother tigress, if necessary.

That’s right! Marcelino said angrily. They are your sons and you will be coming from the grave to see that your lazy drones have something to eat and rags to wear.

Cristina, realizing that her caustic words could ruin her husband’s digestion, decided to calm herself. Perhaps, she added softening her voice after a long silence, if you opened some kind of decent business in Santa Fenicia, Marcos and Lino could run it as managers or something on that level, where they’d be respected entrepreneurs.

That’s not a bad idea! Raquel piped in timidly. What about a haberdashery for rich patrons? she asked merrily. The intended captains of industry, however, kept their opinion on the subject to themselves. Their silent mouths opened only to stuff in more food.

All right … ! Marcelino said, his anger subsiding, I’ll see what I can do in the days ahead. But today you must go down to the sugar cane fields. After you receive the list, call their names, pay them, and make sure that no peon is paid twice. Also, take Bonifacio and Tomás Rey along with you and make sure that they carry loaded rifles. Don’t get into trouble, though, he counseled paternally.

That’s exactly why I worry! Cristina shrieked. Do you know if any guerrillas are hiding within our land? she asked. Her husband dismissed her question with a hand gesture.

"Marcelino Buenavista, you’re sending my sons to a sure death!» his wife predicted. «And you call yourself a protective father!» she added derisively.

Guerrillas … ? her husband chuckled. You must be daydreaming!

"¡Guerrilleros, sí, señor y armados hasta los dientes!33" Cristina insisted stubbornly.

"Where did you get that weird notion about guerrillas in our midst? Thieves and highwaymen you will find them everywhere, here in Sacré-Cœur, on the streets of Río de Janeiro, and in the jungles of Cochin-China. Besides, nobody dies on the day before!» he added dismissingly.

But prudence saves lives! Cristina admonished humbly.

Prudence is just another fancy word for panic and cowardice! Marcelino retorted. Now if we are going to be driven by fear, then, we might as well get ourselves under our beds and wait there until death arrives, he added sarcastically, and turned to his elder sons, saying emphatically: I have given you clear orders. You must go! Then he signaled for Ernesto’s help in getting up from the table. He did finally get up from his mammoth chair after a few fitful attempts.

You, Marcelino Buenavista, never have bothered to read a newspaper. Or watch the television newscasts, or even listen to the radio for important news! Cristina reproached him. If you did, she continued in the same reproachful tone, you’d know that there are guerrillas everywhere, unchecked and undeterred by the authorities.

Why should I bother to read newspapers? Marcelino asked unconcernedly. Publishers print whatever they want to tell the readers. Mostly lies and half-truths! And the same goes for the news on the radio and television. They don’t broadcast but lies, half-truths and outright falsehoods! he said while his chest heaved in a storm of wrath. Besides, he added after a brief pause, I do read good books while in the planes or in the hotel rooms. Those books teach me how to talk properly and understand many things about the world. He then walked as sprightly as he could toward his office.

I am going to bring him a copy of El Clarín from Calpayán, Cristina said fuming, and I won’t talk to him until he reads it!

Don’t bother, mom! Marcos said. That’d be a waste of time!

Why not … ?" Lino asked.

Didn’t you know? Daddy abhors newspapers with a passion, Marcos explained. The other day he became furious when I asked him to wait for me while I bought a copy of El Heraldo Feniciano. He just does not like to read newspapers. And that’s why he lives in his own cocoon, a nether world of his own. What are we going to do to make him change his ways? he asked plaintively.

You cannot teach new tricks to an old dog! Lino remarked.

His mother became infuriated. You must show respect for your father even in his absence! she said sententiously.

Yes, mother! the nagged son replied contritely.

I’ll go to talk to him right away to soothe his bristled ego, Raquel promised while getting up from the table. She then gingerly followed her father’s heavy footsteps.

Marcelino Buenavista closed his office’s door with a loud bang. Raquel, coming behind, frantically tried to open it but found it locked. Unhurriedly, she gently tapped on it and waited.

Papi, por favor, déjame entrar, she begged sweetly.

Suddenly, the door was made ajar. Silently, the beefy patriarch headed back toward the panoramic window that opened to the front garden. What do you want? he asked dryly.

I want to talk to you about something of importance. Would you care to listen? Raquel asked with unusual coyness.

The dour countenance of the family man remained voiceless for a moment; gazing pensively at the distant landscapes of verdant forests that covered the smoothly rolling hills framed by the scenic window. The bluish, almost conical body of a far away volcano with its lofty summit crowned by perpetual snows seemed to be dissolving itself into a cloudless sky. Raquel approached his bulky frame from behind. Her curly head towered over his massive shoulder and she, endearingly, let her silky chin drop on it. The daughter did not attempt to embrace her father at the belly level, knowing that the length of her arms would never be long enough to gird his voluminous waist. Instead, she tickled his hairy earlobes and played with a loose strand of his graying locks.

I’m not in the mood for games, he groaned impatiently, obstinately trying to liberate his body from her closeness. He sounded more like spoiled child than a stern paterfamilias.

Is my dear daddy a grouchy old man? Raquel asked teasingly in a childish voice.

I’ve never been grouchy, and you know that! Marcelino protested defensively. But your dear mother is trying very, very hard to get me off the wall, he added bitterly.

Oh, no, no, dad, that’s not true, Raquel countered soothingly. My mother loves you as much she loves us. That’s why it vexes her to think that something dreadful could happen to anyone of us.

Her father harrumphed skeptically while she added, I fully agree with you that my older brothers are lazy and lacking in ambition.

Well, I am glad that you, at least, can see my point, he said gratefully.

We all do, dad, even Marcos and Lino themselves! But, it is also true, she continued in a dialectic frame of mind, that neither you nor my mother have ever encouraged or forced them to pursue a career, or even have enticed them to learn a trade or to get a job. They should learn something now that would be useful for them in their future.

Yes, that’s true! the old man admitted ruefully. I guess, it is also my fault, he added regretfully.

Now, all of a sudden, Raquel pursued her reasoning in a serious, thoughtful tone, you expect them to act as if they had been properly trained to run a farm, or manage any business.

Marcelino was truly surprised hearing his vivacious daughter’s well-thought and well-pondered arguments. She sounded so mature and her discourse was so logical and so convincing, that she even reasoned almost like Carmen, he said to himself with paternal pride. The patriarch looked straight at his daughter’s eyes trying to discover any indication that this girl was Raquel and not her twin sister Her defiant but seductive glance convinced him that she had to be Raquel. Carmen always lowered her eyes when he looked directly at them. Why? He would not dare guess the reason for Carmen’s customary bashfulness but he certainly blessed the difference that allowed him to know who was sitting in front of him. He decided to play the severe father’s trick.

I pray to God Almighty every night that my older boys show some initiative, Marcelino remarked with sadness in his voice. At least, they should demonstrate a minimal interest in the affairs of this house, of our hacienda and its business.

Quite understandable, daddy dear, Raquel readily admitted.

But what do they do, day in and day out? her father asked and answered himself. They go out every night to shoot pool until the place is closed. I have also been informed that they hang around with whores and pimps in taverns and brothels. And in those indecent places they get drunk every night, he added lugubriously.

Well, that I don’t know, Raquel said looking straight at the distant landscape to avoid becoming a rattler to her siblings. I’ve never seen them drinking or drunk!

Of course, you never have, her father chuckled with feistiness. They usually come home around three o’clock in the morning completely smashed. They’d never dare booze under my roof! At least, not yet … !

I am most certain they wouldn’t! she said with conviction.

Yes, most likely they wouldn’t! But what worries me is the undeniable fact, her father continued in earnest, that in a few years; it could be tomorrow, they’ll have to manage this farm. And for that long or short term eventuality, they must begin to learn now, bit by bit; in the same way I learned to administer don Carlitos’ farm, he added inadvertently.

Yes, I believe they should! Raquel said fastidiously. But, dad, she added naively, you went to the college of agriculture in Ecuador to learn farm administration while my older brothers never went beyond secondary school.

That’s absolutely true, he said trembling internally as the subject broached by his daughter was, for obvious reasons, anathema to him. But, is that what you wanted to talk to me about? he asked trying to change the direction of the conversation. Nonetheless, his feistiness, usually short-tempered, had subsided,

I honestly promise that in the next few days, Carmen and I would have a serious talk with Lino and Marcos, Raquel said purposely deflecting the direct question, as she needed to do a little bit of cajoling before she’d make her request. In fact, she added artfully, "we’ll talk to Oscar and Pepe-José, as well. I’m sure that from that day on, all of them will show zest and diligence.

¡Que el cielo te oiga!34 Marcelino exclaimed, joining his hands in attitude of prayer. I certainly hope so, honey! Would you care to do that for me? And, now, what can I do for you?

I need your permission for me and Carmen to go on a sea cruise through the Caribbean, Raquel said with her usual bravado. This morning, she explained in a serious tone, we saw one of those cruises advertised in the newspaper. The shipping company claims that the boat is one of the most comfortable and most reliable in the world. Carmen and I believe this is an excellent opportunity for us to broad our horizons and to meet people …

A sea cruise, huh? he interrupted pensively.

It is also important that we take a vacation away from home, in order for us to get out of this suffocating cocoon, Raquel added with unusual firmness.

Suffocating cocoon, huh? he chuckled shaking his head in disbelief. What about Carmen? Is she also interested in going?

Well, I am sure she’d be delighted, she fibbed. I did not want her to get too excited about the trip before you approved my plan. But I did casually mention it to her.

Well, let me hear what she says, he promised. But don’t say anything about this reckless adventure of yours to your mother. At least, not yet … Unless you would like to take her along, too, he chuckled.

Papá, you should know that since last January, Carmen and I have reached adulthood; that means that we’re old enough to lead our own lives, and … .

Yes, I know, darling, he interrupted her sweetly. Your mother reminded me of your coming of age and I want to apologize for missing your birthday party.

You were forgiven, dad, she said understandingly, we knew you were working for us even though you were away from us. So your absence was justified.

Thank you for your understanding, he said.

Raquel continued. "Being