“I don’t want people saying that just because of a drunken argument I could desert my close friend in his hour of need. Let me help you.”
Rosario asked for some time to consider his offer and wrote a letter to her husband filled with doubts and anxieties. The reply took two long months to arrive, during which time she refused to accept any help. Finally, Antonio’s answer came, urging her to agree without questions or hesitation to what Lorenzo was proposing. He said that she should accept the offer of help as something she rightfully deserved, but that in all other respects she should keep her distance from Lorenzo.
“I owe you an explanation,” Antonio added, and that would not be the last time he would leave her perplexed over an explanation that was not forthcoming.
“You owe me two,” she replied, alluding to Amalia.
Lorenzo took charge of the family’s debts, day-to-day expenses, and other matters such as the children’s schooling and medical care, the upkeep of the house, and other emergencies that unexpectedly arose.
At no time did Lorenzo try to take advantage of his role as a benefactor, and never did he attempt to play on the woman’s helplessness for his own purposes, even when circumstances seemed propitious. Nonetheless, throughout the neighborhood there circulated dark rumors, gossip, wagers, surveillance behind shutters, all nurtured by the desire to discover what mysterious reason was behind the rancher’s generosity.
Even the most distracted of townspeople wondered why that proud and lustful neighbor was making such a cult out of friendship. No one had ever seen that sentimental side of Lorenzo.
The gossip increased. Rosario learned about all of the suspicions and assumptions and patiently put up with the constant spying. She tried to protect the children from the rumors, but at times people came to call on her and report the latest lie. On other occasions, it was the children themselves who came home with questions that were hard to answer.
On several occasions, Rosario received terrible anonymous letters, whose offensive content was aimed at both her and Antonio. In a large scrawled script, the first of the messages assured her that her husband had killed because of another woman, and she would be well advised to pay him back with similar currency. The second letter was a warning from someone who was waiting for Antonio’s return so that he could administer his own justice, since that meted out by the court was too lenient and did not demand an eye for an eye. Despite the seriousness of the matter, the pages were burned in Rosario’s fireplace without her having reported them to the authorities. The important thing was for her to alert her husband in one of her letters. But he replied that it was nothing more than the provocations they had to endure, possibly organized by old Vasallo’s relatives.
Rosario dedicated more than one sleepless night to trying to find a way out of her situation. She was prepared to make any sacrifice for her children, but she saw no other path of action than the one she was following, which was causing so much cruel speculation. She ended up going along with the arrangement, trusting to her own integrity and the approval that her husband had given her.
From his cell Antonio managed to keep informed of virtually everything that was going on. In time, he set up a rapid and dependable means of communication that involved a series of individuals: a lobster fisherman from Batabano, a truck driver, and the firemen on a train. He wrote lengthy letters that tried to capture features of the unattainable reality of home, that tried to control it and make decisions from his remote position, all in an effort to overcome the consequences of his separation. Even though he shared in Rosario’s suffering and wondered about the strength of her resistance, he urged her to wait for him, to trust in him, and to continue accepting what Lorenzo offered. He explained that his generosity was not motivated by charity or the desire to do a favor, but rather by something associated more with a duty, the carrying out of a sworn promise. Just what that promise was he could not reveal until the day when, free to speak, he could tell her in detail what was involved. Antonio also wrote a lot about his intimate feelings and made repeated promises of loyalty and eternal love. This made her cry.
Lorenzo religiously kept the vow that he had made to the prisoner. He never failed to carry out what he promised, nor did he deny any of Rosario’s requests. This continued each day, each month, each year up until the morning when he awoke with the realization that he did not have long to live.
It was an old condition that at times he was able to forget, but that suddenly would reappear and affect him severely. It was winter, and that season helped to speed up death’s work. The moment arrived when he understood that there would be no reprieve, no doctor, no medicine, no miracle cure or accident that could save him.
After a long night of feverish reflection, he had his wife call a clergyman, an old family friend who had married them and baptized their children, a Franciscan priest who came immediately to tend to his soul, since there was no hope for his body.
“Father,” he said, “I feel that I am dying and I don’t want to go without confessing my sins.”
The priest listened to him patiently. At first there were everyday issues, minor sins, the Devil’s little tricks, but then he went on to capital sins, mentioning pride, anger, and lust. Then he said:
“I have a great debt before God, and before man. I committed a grave mistake and I scarcely have time left to do anything about it.”
The proximity of death terrified him, but worse was facing it burdened with guilt. He scarcely had the strength to make that accusation of himself. The dying man’s wife placed a white cloth on the table and the priest laid out on it the objects of the extreme unction: the cross, the candles, the saucer with the bread and the cotton, the holy water. The priest’s words were not enough. He needed someone other than God to hear him.
“My son, you have good reason, but it is not in my power to help you. Not even your wife could be a party to what you have told me.”
The priest explained to him the necessary secrecy of his confession. It was intimate and inviolable even if it involved a crime in the eyes of the law. Death came before the dying man had ceased to protest. Thus it was that Lorenzo’s carefully guarded secret remained forever with the Franciscan. If human justice had been as benevolent as that of God, he would have confessed much earlier and to a court of law.
Vicente the agronomer gave the eulogy. Since he didn’t know the deceased very well, he had to make inquiries concerning his person and he was careful about the words he used. Based on what he was told, he offered this observation:
“If death is seen as a punishment of God, only Lorenzo will know which of his sins provoked that blind rage. I merely want to give this farewell by acknowledging at least one of his virtues: silence.”
Rosario felt abandoned now for a second time. She wrote to Antonio telling him about the unfortunate death of Lorenzo and asking him what he would suggest that she do about this new crisis.
For the first time, Antonio reread his wife’s letter several times. The news of Lorenzo’s death was unbelievable, but there it was, clearly described, with details from the funeral that left no room for doubt. He did not sleep that night, and the next morning he requested an interview with the prison counselor. The counselor, Lieutenant Ramos, was familiar with his case. As a consequence of several previous discussions between Ramos and Antonio and the examination of his file, there was a pending application for a reduction of sentence for inmate 33455. It was supported by the prisoner’s exemplary behavior over the period of more than ten years. Contrasting with that, however, was the fact that Ramos had never been able to understand that inmate’s refusal to speak openly. When he committed the crime, he had no previous record and a reputation as a peaceful man, which matched his behavior in prison. When the regime of Fulgencio Batista collapsed in 1958, the word reached Antonio through a group of prisoners who came to him announcing their liberation. One of them was carrying the keys to all of the cells and the locks were soon opened. The few guards who remained on duty were paralyzed with fear. It was now just a matter of walking out of prison, into the street, and finding liberty. There was no longer a Batista, no longer a government.