We - Part 3
3.
The first thing Silvia said about my wedding dress, after she said it was beautiful, was that there was too much material and that it covered all her favourite spots. She was right. There’s just too much material. I look around the room for something sharp. I grab a knife from the table and get to working on the dress. I can’t possibly fight evil mafia guys with such a restricting garment. I takes me a few minutes but I manage to turn it into something more suited for guerilla war.
I look for my brother and head to him on the opposite side of the large room, ducking beneath windows.
“Paco, do we have a plan?” I ask.
He looks at Mariano who’s next to him, shrugs his shoulders helplessly.
“I… we… maybe…”
“Look, I was thinking… We don’t have a lot of ammunition, I’m thinking we should make every bullet count.” They look at me and I continue. “I was looking out the window and can’t see them, I can’t just shoot and hope to hit one. We’re at ground level, but this big casona has a second level… Get where I’m going with this?”
Twin light-bulbs seem to appear above their heads. Yup, they’re with me now. “So - I’m gonna go upstairs and see if I can shoot me some moving and hiding ducks from up there. What do you say?” I grin at them.
“Pepa, yes… OK… Just… be careful… You still have to dance that waltz that Don Lorenzo taught you, with your bride.” I laugh. “Right, wait ‘till Silvia sees I can be graceful too on a dance floor.” I say gleefully. He hugs me to him, kisses my cheek and sends me off.
I climb the stairs barefoot and reach the long hallway upstairs. I enter one of the rooms at the back of the house, right above the one we’ve been dining in downstairs. I approach one of the sunlit windows and look out. Such a beautiful view - all wasted. Windows - I’ve always been fascinated by windows, looking out of them, looking into them, always wondering what goes on behind them and those thick walls holding them up. Clean, blinding windows, dirty, dusty windows, blinds drawn, shutters closed. Families growing behind them, growing apart, children learning to walk, old people learning to die - day in, day out. Silvia’s lit bedroom window at night while I was pedaling down the street every night hoping to get a last glimpse of her that day before I went to bed.
I shake myself out of my thoughts, reach out and draw the curtain a little. I can see him clearly, hiding behind a tree, and the other one five feet at his right. I move to the next window and see 3 more. Easy shots from here, if only there were 5 of me to make the shots at the same time. I’ll just have to be quick about it because the others will be alerted as soon as I fire the first shot and will be easily able to pinpoint my position and aim at me in turn.
I take one last look at Sara and pick the first, the one closest to her. Young and eager, but in the wrong place at the wrong time, trying to murder the wrong people. I aim and shoot. He crumbles to the floor, before he even touches the ground, my second shot takes out one of his buddies. I jump to another window just before the one I was standing behind seconds ago bursts into shards. They’re moving around like rats, trying to find shelter - the third bullet goes into his back, he looks like he’s stumbling, his feet no longer able to hold up his body. I see another one moving from behind a corner, I move the rifle to the right and shoot, I miss, he ducked right back behind the corner.
The ones remaining figured out what was happening and moved to more hidden spots and are shooting sporadically at me. I lean against the wall and wait and listen, looking where the bullets hit, figuring out from approximately where they’ve come, drawing a map in my mind as to where they are positioned.
They say falling in love is an automatic reflex, like breathing or fear. I was a child who had no fear - I never felt fear when surrounded by the bullies in the schoolyard, I knew I could take them on and walk away proud, with a black eye or unharmed - it didn’t matter, I never feared I’d lose my parents, I knew it would happen, grown-ups always seemed not to be quite able to get it right and be the parents or partners they were supposed to be. Today I don’t fear their bullets and their rage and their revenge, I don’t fear death. I don’t fear life either - I don’t fear picking out a school and babysitters for our child, I don’t fear picking out a colour for our sofa or a place for us to retire to: I relish the thought of it all, I’m looking forward to it with every single fibre of my being. I was a child who had no fear - for herself. I felt fear the day Silvia’s mother died and I held her small sobbing body in my arms and knew I didn’t have the power to make the tears stop. I felt fear the day of Sara’s 1st Communion when I held Silvia’s sobbing body in my arms, after we were caught kissing and the grown-ups turned it into a disaster, and I had to say goodbye to her. I feel fear now because if one of those bullets reaches its mark in Silvia, nothing and no one would ever be able to fix me, and nothing and no one would ever be able to stop Silvia’s tears again if it reaches its mark in me.
So I wait some more, reading the trajectory of every single bullet.
The first thing Silvia said about my wedding dress, after she said it was beautiful, was that there was too much material and that it covered all her favourite spots. She was right. There’s just too much material. I look around the room for something sharp. I grab a knife from the table and get to working on the dress. I can’t possibly fight evil mafia guys with such a restricting garment. I takes me a few minutes but I manage to turn it into something more suited for guerilla war.
I look for my brother and head to him on the opposite side of the large room, ducking beneath windows.
“Paco, do we have a plan?” I ask.
He looks at Mariano who’s next to him, shrugs his shoulders helplessly.
“I… we… maybe…”
“Look, I was thinking… We don’t have a lot of ammunition, I’m thinking we should make every bullet count.” They look at me and I continue. “I was looking out the window and can’t see them, I can’t just shoot and hope to hit one. We’re at ground level, but this big casona has a second level… Get where I’m going with this?”
Twin light-bulbs seem to appear above their heads. Yup, they’re with me now. “So - I’m gonna go upstairs and see if I can shoot me some moving and hiding ducks from up there. What do you say?” I grin at them.
“Pepa, yes… OK… Just… be careful… You still have to dance that waltz that Don Lorenzo taught you, with your bride.” I laugh. “Right, wait ‘till Silvia sees I can be graceful too on a dance floor.” I say gleefully. He hugs me to him, kisses my cheek and sends me off.
I climb the stairs barefoot and reach the long hallway upstairs. I enter one of the rooms at the back of the house, right above the one we’ve been dining in downstairs. I approach one of the sunlit windows and look out. Such a beautiful view - all wasted. Windows - I’ve always been fascinated by windows, looking out of them, looking into them, always wondering what goes on behind them and those thick walls holding them up. Clean, blinding windows, dirty, dusty windows, blinds drawn, shutters closed. Families growing behind them, growing apart, children learning to walk, old people learning to die - day in, day out. Silvia’s lit bedroom window at night while I was pedaling down the street every night hoping to get a last glimpse of her that day before I went to bed.
I shake myself out of my thoughts, reach out and draw the curtain a little. I can see him clearly, hiding behind a tree, and the other one five feet at his right. I move to the next window and see 3 more. Easy shots from here, if only there were 5 of me to make the shots at the same time. I’ll just have to be quick about it because the others will be alerted as soon as I fire the first shot and will be easily able to pinpoint my position and aim at me in turn.
I take one last look at Sara and pick the first, the one closest to her. Young and eager, but in the wrong place at the wrong time, trying to murder the wrong people. I aim and shoot. He crumbles to the floor, before he even touches the ground, my second shot takes out one of his buddies. I jump to another window just before the one I was standing behind seconds ago bursts into shards. They’re moving around like rats, trying to find shelter - the third bullet goes into his back, he looks like he’s stumbling, his feet no longer able to hold up his body. I see another one moving from behind a corner, I move the rifle to the right and shoot, I miss, he ducked right back behind the corner.
The ones remaining figured out what was happening and moved to more hidden spots and are shooting sporadically at me. I lean against the wall and wait and listen, looking where the bullets hit, figuring out from approximately where they’ve come, drawing a map in my mind as to where they are positioned.
They say falling in love is an automatic reflex, like breathing or fear. I was a child who had no fear - I never felt fear when surrounded by the bullies in the schoolyard, I knew I could take them on and walk away proud, with a black eye or unharmed - it didn’t matter, I never feared I’d lose my parents, I knew it would happen, grown-ups always seemed not to be quite able to get it right and be the parents or partners they were supposed to be. Today I don’t fear their bullets and their rage and their revenge, I don’t fear death. I don’t fear life either - I don’t fear picking out a school and babysitters for our child, I don’t fear picking out a colour for our sofa or a place for us to retire to: I relish the thought of it all, I’m looking forward to it with every single fibre of my being. I was a child who had no fear - for herself. I felt fear the day Silvia’s mother died and I held her small sobbing body in my arms and knew I didn’t have the power to make the tears stop. I felt fear the day of Sara’s 1st Communion when I held Silvia’s sobbing body in my arms, after we were caught kissing and the grown-ups turned it into a disaster, and I had to say goodbye to her. I feel fear now because if one of those bullets reaches its mark in Silvia, nothing and no one would ever be able to fix me, and nothing and no one would ever be able to stop Silvia’s tears again if it reaches its mark in me.
So I wait some more, reading the trajectory of every single bullet.