“The moon, the stars.”
“And you.” He smiled at her as if he weren’t worried.
Vicente stopped back at their little house to nail pieces of wood to the windows and doors. He considered locking the pig inside, but better for the pig to brave the wrath of the hurricane than his wife’s fury. He drove the pig into the shed. He wished that he had slaughtered it earlier in the summer, and invited their neighbors to feast on lechón; they could have celebrated surviving a year of the Americans. He took one last look at the house he had built for Valentina, with its roof sloped in four corners in the traditional cuatro-aguas style. He rode past the chicken coop sheltered by mango and citrus trees. The wind blew cool on the back of his neck. He shivered in the sun, disconcerted that he could smell the coffee flower so far away from the coffee trees.
Vicente rode his horse up the rocky slope that curved around the mountain. Even those mountain-born like Vicente had to be cautious of the steep trail. He rode alongside a village of bohíos built of straw or corn husks until he reached the hut Raulito shared with his mother. Vicente found Eusemia sitting under the shade of a mango tree, fanning herself with a large leaf.
“It’s you,” she said.
“It’s me,” he said.
“I expected you,” Eusemia said. “This heat is a terrible thing.”
Vicente took off his hat and wiped his brow with his kerchief. “I came to take you to my father’s house, Eusemia. You and Raulito.”
“You’ve always been kind.” Eusemia stood to pluck mangos from the tree.
“You’ll be safer there.” Vicente looked at the hut made of plant fiber.
She followed his glance, then held out the fruit. “It has survived other storms. Here, take these to your mother.”
Vicente put them in his saddlebags. “You won’t come?”
“I can’t be with those white people,” Eusemia said, “but I give you thanks.”
Vicente knew she meant that she couldn’t be in the same house with his father. “Raulito won’t come without you.”
“Make him go,” Eusemia said.
Vicente found Raulito inside the bohío, adding yagua rushes to its thatched roof. There was a pile of straw on the floor.
“I came to take you and Eusemia to Papá’s house,” Vicente said.
“I’m staying here,” Raulito said.
Vicente stared for a moment at his little brother, knowing he wouldn’t be able to persuade him.
Raulito pointed to the roof. “It leaks when there is an aguacero.”
“This one is sure to be un tremendo aguacero at the very least.”
“Did you see the moon? It’s going to be a bad one.” Raulito packed some straw into the wall. Vicente helped him. Before he left, the brothers hugged each other.
When Vicente rode past the rows of bohíos, he saw men carrying palm leaves or plant fiber to prepare their homes for the storm. Women cooked on fogones while their children, the little ones naked, played in the dirt. The children ran alongside his horse, laughing as they raced it. Vicente returned their smiles, wishing he could do more than just wave goodbye. He wasn’t a man who prayed, but he mumbled a heartfelt plea for the safety of the people in their straw huts.
Vicente wished that his family didn’t have to shelter in his father’s house. But at least Valentina brought out the best in Raúl Vega, everyone said so. It made Vicente a little uneasy. He had once heard his mother comment to Inés how only when Valentina was in the house could she recall the charming rascal who had come to call on her once upon a time. Wasn’t that so, Inés? Remember how charming he could be? Inés said, Yes, Angelina, of course she remembered, once upon a time Raúl Vega had charmed her into becoming his mistress. Vicente had a vague recollection of the day Inés had come into their lives, because that day was the only time Vicente had ever heard his mother raise her voice to his father. Mostly Angelina spoke to her husband in veiled sarcasm. Vicente wasn’t sure what had taken place between his parents, only that from that day forward, the widow Inés had slept on a pallet in his mother’s bedroom and he and his brother had carried their father’s things to the other end of the house. Vicente was in his teens when he realized that Inés was no longer called “la viuda Inés,” but just plain Inés, that she was his mother’s special friend, and that the pallet was gone from the floor. Inés and his mother shared a bed, but what was wrong with that, Vicente had once said to his wife, sisters often slept in the same bed, wasn’t that so?
“Elena and I didn’t,” she said.
Valentina had given him a look that he chose not to interpret. All that was important to him was that his mother didn’t stare for hours out into the horizon, as she had before Inés.
The rain had already begun when Vicente arrived at his parents’ house. In his old bedroom, Vicente changed out of his wet shirt and pants and into the clothes Valentina had brought for him. His shoes were soaked but he didn’t have another pair.
“The barefoot jíbaro has arrived,” Raúl Vega said as his son entered the kitchen.
Vicente greeted his father and kissed the women, receiving blessings in return.
Valentina was helping Gloria peel root vegetables. Vicente planted a kiss on her cheek; she smiled at him.
Raúl Vega was reading the pro-government San Juan News that islanders had nicknamed “el Esnú,” mocking the English name. Vicente’s father either proclaimed every article preposterous and an outright lie or called his countrymen who collaborated with the US government lambe ojos for kowtowing to the Americans. More than once, Vicente had witnessed his father tear the paper to shreds.
“Eusemia wouldn’t come,” Vicente told him, “and Raulito wouldn’t come without her.”
“It’s going to be a bad one.” His father put down his newspaper. “Did you notice the moon?”
“Maybe if you had gone it would have been different.” Vicente waited for his father to defend his negligence or to express remorse.
“Only if I’d forced them a la mala,” Raúl Vega said.
“I hope that you locked up your house very well.” Gloria handed Vicente a cup of coffee.
“I even locked up the pig.” Vicente smiled.
“Not in our house?” Valentina looked up from a half-peeled batata.
“No, querida.” He sipped his coffee. “Luisito isn’t coming?”
“Your brother probably decided to stay with his wife’s family.” Angelina lit one of her tiny cigars. “They live closer to them than to us.”
Vicente sat down at the table, picking up the newspaper pages his father had discarded. Lourdes climbed into his lap. Javier sat next to Raúl Vega.
They ate Gloria’s homemade blood sausage with boiled malanga and yucca and batata and Eusemia’s mangos. Lourdes helped Gloria wash the dishes.
And they waited.
Raúl Vega went to a cupboard and took out a bottle of rum. Gloria got up for glasses and he poured rum for everyone, even a splash for Javier; Valentina put her hand over the glass meant for Lourdes.
And they waited.