Part 21, What Went Around, Comes Around.
Pansy discovers that a who attempts to snare a wealthy husband is likely to come to grief.
 
 
April 3
-- After breakfast, Pansy hurried back to her room. Beto was picking her up at 9:00, and she wanted to make herself as attractive as possible. She brushed her hair out and left it long, held by a scarlet ribbon and a pair of matching barrettes and flowing over her shoulders. She chose a demure high-necked sleeveless dress in a pale shade of pink, a pair of pendant earrings in the same shade, and low comfortable shoes. Only a hint of makeup went on her face, artfully applied. She peered into the mirror, then smiled, satisfied. When she was still a child, she had watched her sister Petunia–or was it Laurie?–two years older, making up her face in secret. She thought then that Laurie was silly, and threatened to tattle on her. Her sister had told her, “If you do, I won’t let you play with my old dolls. You’ll see who’s silly in a couple of years, niá±a; you’ll want lipstick too.” Then she shook her head, confused. Laurie couldn’t have said that, could she? After all, she had been the sister of… Jack Pinkerton? Yes, Petunia and Daisy had been–were–her sisters, and Tom, her brother. It didn’t matter now, she told herself. Forget Jack Pinkerton; he was dead.

Beto arrived at 9:10, dressed casually in slacks and a white open-necked shirt, his hair neatly combed. He greeted Pansy cheerfully, and ushered her to the familiar red Celica. On the way towards Ojos de Agua, he told Pansy, “If you approve, carita, I thought we might drive to a nice spot I know in the mountains, where we can picnic. Then later in the afternoon we’ll return to my house, and you can clean up there. We’ll listen to some records and then have supper. I’ll leave you at the church for your meeting.”

She agreed–she’d’ve agreed to almost anything–and Beto drove back through La Libertad, then southward out of the valley to high pineland. A few kilometers from town he left the gravel road for a dirt track, which ended at a grassy clearing. A waterfall dropped 10 meters from a ledge into a clear pool next to the clearing.

Their rendezvous passed much like the previous one. Pansy’s decision to refuse sex evaporated in the face of Beto’s silver tongue and her own body’s insistence. She managed to refuse his suggestion that she quit her job at Los Ocotes and move in with him as his housekeeper. He didn’t add that she’d be his mistress, but Seá±or Ovando had made the same offer; she wasn’t about to be as foolish a second time. She hinted at marriage, and he didn’t refuse, but he very pointedly didn’t agree either. Somehow he left the impression that it might be possible in the indefinite future. Beto didn’t set a date for another tryst, but it was understood that he’d get in touch with her.

Pansy’s literacy class that evening was slightly more encouraging. She succeeded in mastering a reading drill for simple one-syllable words. Even though Pansy was the slowest student, Seá±ora Marcos was patient, complimenting her on the hard work she’d done.
 
 
April 16
-- Celia Perry ignored most of the mail she had taken from her mailbox. She read a postcard for the third time, her temper held under tight control. The card had an American stamp and was postmarked Highland Park, Illinois. She almost hadn’t gotten it. Fortunately, the new tenants of her old house knew her and had forwarded the card. Highland Park: where in hell was that? She dug out an encyclopedia and turned to Illinois. Highland Park was a Chicago suburb. Was George hiding near Chicago? But the letter put him in Honduras, and the letter itself had a printed letterhead: Palmas Hotel, San Pedro Sula, Honduras. She turned to the Honduras article and found a map. There wasn’t much detail on it, but the city was there, not far from the seaport of Tela, where that bastard (as she habitually thought of him) had faked his drowning. George was behind this note, therefore he was alive. Funny, though, how it was worded, almost like a child’s note. George had always been one to show off his vocabulary, and he’d never use a short word when a long one was available. But the handwriting was clearly his. Why? Why had he written this? She was surprised at his audacity, too. George had always been cautious, and to wave a red flag like this, telling her where to look for him, was uncharacteristic. The directions were specific. Comayagua wasn’t on the map, but then, few towns were shown.

Her husband returned from work at 5:40. Roland Perry, a beefy red-faced man with short dark brown hair and a beer belly, was an accountant for Sears. His salary was enough to pursue the fugitive George, if only a lead could be found. And now she had the lead. She greeted Rollie with glee: “Dear, I have good news! That bastard George Deon sent me a card taunting me! He must think he’s safe after three years. Or maybe he just went crazy. I don’t know and I don’t care. Here, look at this.” She showed him the card.

“I don’t understand,” he responded after reading it. “Why would he send this? What’s he got to gain? And do you know it’s really him that sent it? It’s not signed.”

“Yes, it’s him! The details in it are right. No one else could’ve put them in. Why? I don’t have a clue. My guess is, he wants to gloat. Rollie, you promised to help me find the bastard. I gave up when the trail ended, when he was reported drowned. But now I have proof–he’s still alive! Remember, there’s a child-support judgment against. If we find him, it might pay off.”

Rollie shook his head. “No. I checked when his death was reported. He left damn few assets here, and they were all scattered then. He brought quite a bit with him, but whatever he has in Honduras, it wouldn’t be recoverable. And I doubt child support is grounds for extradition. No, it wouldn’t pay.”

“Damn it, Rollie! You said you’d help! I’ll find that shithead if it’s the last thing I do!”

He laughed. “Calm down, dear. I’ll help, all right. I just said it wouldn’t pay. Once we find him, we’ll take it from there. Now, where’s this Sigua-whatever place? Or Comayagua?”

“Damned if I know. In Honduras, I guess. What do you think we should do now?”

“Find out where it is. Then we can do one of several things. We could go down and look for him ourselves. I think that’s a lousy idea. You only have a bit of high-school Spanish, we don’t know anyone there, and he’d probably find out we were there long before we found him. Or we could hire a private eye. Expensive as hell, but it’s the most likely to succeed. How much are you willing to spend?”

Celia turned away angrily. “And you tell me that after we spend so much to find him, I still won’t be able to do a damn thing! The man’s a criminal, Rollie! There must be a way we could get the government to chase him down. Did he pay his taxes? Or maybe there’s someone else who’d want to find him, and they can hunt for him.”

Her husband sat down and lit a cigarette. “That’s an idea. There might be someone. Family, maybe? Nah–if they found him they wouldn’t tell us. IRS might be possible–I doubt he paid taxes after he skipped. I don’t think so, though. I think they’d look at the bottom line. It wouldn’t be worth their while either. Tell you what: we can do two things. First, maybe we can send a letter to this place. It’ll probably never get there, but who knows? It’s cheap enough. Second, I have a friend in Washington who owes me some favors. I’ll ask him to stop in at the Honduran embassy to see if he can find out anything about Siguatepeque or Comayagua.”

Celia paced the room. A clatter came from the kitchen. “Oh, that’s Jimmy again,” she remarked with exasperation. He’s getting into everything lately. I should’ve known this quiet couldn’t continue. Hold it a minute.” She headed for the kitchen, where a chubby toddler was pulling pots and pans from the storage closets. “Jimmy! No! You have your own toys in your room; play with them. Mommy needs these where they are.”

“No! Want dese!” the child retorted. She lifted him and he began crying, “Want dese! Want dese!”

Celia gave his bottom a whack. Jimmy looked startled, then screamed in outrage. “No! Want!” She took him to his room and told him, “You stay here until you can behave yourself, or I’ll spank you hard!” He protested loudly, but she set him in a playpen amid a pile of toys. “I’ll let you out when you learn to behave,” she told him. He cried loudly, but she left him and shut the door. His wails were muffled to a tolerable level. She returned to the living room, where her husband sat on the couch with a cold beer.

She sat on a chair facing him. “Rollie, I don’t trust him. He’s devious. For some reason he wants me to come looking for him, and it’s not just for spite. I know that man.”

Rollie looked disgusted. “Darling, it’s you that wants to chase him all over creation. Are you changing your mind? It’d save quite a bit of trouble and money.”

“No, I didn’t change my mind. I just think there’s something funny going on. Maybe he’s nowhere near these places. I can’t see him making it easy for me to find him.”

“So? It’d be kind of stupid for him to give us a false clue like that. Even a false clue lets us know he’s alive, after all that effort to be declared dead. And if it’s a false clue, and he isn’t just doing it out of spite, then what’s he get out of it?”

“I don’t know, dammit! That’s the problem. I’ll think about it a while. In the meantime, supper should be ready in ten minutes or so.” She left her husband reading the paper and returned to the kitchen to finish preparing supper. As she stood over the stove she thought about the letter. Why in hell would he send it? It wasn’t anything she’d’ve expected of him. Then she thought about him, lolling by the side of some tropical beach, lazing in a hammock with a cold drink while she struggled to raise his child, and deciding on a whim to stir her pot. Her fury was aroused anew. “He’ll pay,” she told herself. “He’ll pay, one way or another. I’ll see him in hell!”
 
 
April 28
-- Dawn was breaking when Pansy awoke. She silently pushed away her sheet and, careful not to wake the babies, made her way to the bathroom. She felt queasy. For the last couple of days, she had had an attack of nausea in the morning, but it had passed each time, and she had assumed it was a minor illness. This morning she felt worse, and as she reached the washbasin she threw up into it. “ ¿What is wrong with me?” she thought. “I’ve felt pretty good ever since I got rid of that bug, whatever it was, back in March. Those antibiotics worked just fine. I ain’t had no problems since then. Besides, this feels different.” She tried to think what sort of bug might have hit her, and when she had ever felt quite like this. “It’s almost like when I was pregnant,” she thought. Suddenly her mouth dropped and her stomach turned over. “ ¡No!” she protested to herself. “ ¡It can’t be that!  ¡I been on the pill! And anyway, I had my period in… Let’s see, it was in…” She had trouble remembering. It had been a while, and keeping track of time was difficult. The days were pretty much alike. Thinking back, she recalled having cramps back at the beginning of March. Yes, she recall thinking it was just before Gordo had raped her; Doctor CantẠhad asked her, when she had gone for a pregnancy test. But that would mean she should’ve had another period before the end of March. Her heart sinking, she checked her little packet of pills. Yes, she had begun this package twelve days ago. Yes, she had missed her period for sure. She tried to think: surely she had missed it before! But she couldn’t recall missing it. Not since they’d begun again after she had Lilia.

She dressed in a daze. Her nausea passed quickly–“Just like when I was pregnant with Lilita,” she thought–and she left to help Marta prepare breakfast. Marta and Susana noticed her preoccupation, but thought nothing of it.
 
 
May 7
-- Susana rose early on Monday morning. At eighteen weeks, her pregnancy was plain to see for all. She was grateful that this time, Pansy would be available to help with the baby. Felipe was delighted, of course–even more so after learning that she was giving him a son. She wanted to walk alone around the finca in the cool predawn air while she still could, aware that soon her mobility would be curtailed. As she passed Pansy’s room, she heard her maid stirring. There was nothing unusual about that; Pansy always got up early to care for the babies and to help Marta. This morning, though, she seemed to be in trouble. She was vomiting into her toilet. At first Susana worried that she had come down with some stomach disorder, but then she thought, “Pansita’s been going out with that bastard Beto Sáºlivan. I’ll bet he succeeded. I’d better see about getting her tested.” She said nothing to Pansy, but went out for her walk. Pansy had recovered by breakfast, and Susana nodded to herself. Later that day Susana called her father and passed on her suspicions. Don Pablo agreed, and told her he’d arrange everything.
 
 
May 9
-- When Isabel CantẠentered the Clinic on Wednesday morning at 8:00, it was already steamy, and she was grateful for the air conditioning. There was a note taped to her office door when she arrived.

Doctor Cantáº:
Please, when you have a moment, stop by my office. I’d like to discuss Pansy Baca and her problem with you. Thank you.

The note was signed by Doctor Herná¡ndez. Consulting her calendar, she found she had no patients until 9:30, so she telephoned Rafael Herná¡ndez immediately and suggested they meet right away, if convenient. “The rest of my day’s pretty well filled, Rafael, but I’m free for the next hour or so.”

“ ¿In twenty minutes?” he responded.

“Fine. I’ll see you then.”

She was in his office, one floor up, at the appointed time. He invited her to share a cup of coffee with him, and she accepted. Then he asked, “ ¿What do you know about Pansy Baca?”

Annoyed, she replied, “ ¿What do I know? I know she was once a man, of course. A norteamericano, she told me. I know she’s been a guinea pig for you and Doctor Weiss. And for a couple of other doctors over at the Institute for the Mind, who played games with her brain. We discussed all that some time ago.  ¿What else should I know?”

He nodded. “Only a little more. She’s been going out with a local man, and Don Pablo thinks he got her pregnant.”

“If so, it’s no surprise. From what I’ve been able to find out, I think Don Pablo and his doctors–including you, Doctor–are at least partly responsible. I think Weiss in particular wanted to test his work. I don’t approve of your project.”

Her host nodded again, unperturbed by her disapproval. “I understand. And you know why she’s our guinea pig.” She nodded. “Anyway, it looks as if she’s pregnant. The don wants you to test her. He thinks she might’ve been seduced by her boyfriend. But Pansy’s hardly an innocent victim; she’s been having an affair in the hope that he’ll marry her. She slipped up, as happens. Still, you’re right. We pushed her this way. Don Pablo agrees, so he’s arranging to marry her off to a local campesino. He’s a good man, he’d like to marry her, and he’ll make her a good husband. And after all our work on her psyche, we think she’d make him a good wife.”

“ ¿Is that all?”

Herná¡ndez lit a cigarette and puffed. “Not quite.  ¿You know we implanted false memories to help Pansy adapt to her new existence?” Suspiciously Isabel told him she knew. “Good. If she’s persuaded that those memories are real, that Pansy Baca is a real campesina–as real as the norteamericano she recalls, Jack Pinkerton–then the psychologists think it’ll help her adapt better to her new life.”

“ ¿How are they going to do that?”

“They aren’t going to do that. That is, they aren’t doing anything more to her, neither mind nor body. Don Pablo promised the norteamericano that his punishment would end when he was freed, and that there’d be no more changes imposed. He’s holding to that agreement, even though Pansy has no recollection of it.”

Isabel CantẠwas silent for a minute. She sipped her coffee, then asked, “ ¿So?  ¿What do you want from me?”

“One thing only: that you shouldn’t tell Pansy what happened to her. She has no way of knowing what really happened to Seá±or Pinkerton, and lacking that information, we think it likely that, eventually, she’ll take her status as a campesina at face value. For her, now, that would be the healthiest outcome.”

Chuckling cynically, Doctor CantẠremarked, “Yes, I understand, it’s all for her own good. They’d never consider messing around with her mind for any other reason.”

It was Doctor Herná¡ndez’s turn to become annoyed. “I know your opinion, Doctor: you think that this whole project should never have been started in the first place. That Seá±or Pinkerton should never have been punished this way. That wasn’t possible. Pablo Herrera was going to have his head, one way or another. Or other parts of his anatomy.”

She nodded. “I understand that. And as a matter of fact, I can almost approve of what he did in spite of myself. Almost. Your Seá±or Pinkerton was a disaster. But the project’s unethical, Rafael. I know it, you know it. Maybe Doctor Weiss doesn’t know it; from what little I’ve seen of him, he doesn’t seem sensitive to that issue. I haven’t met your psychologists, but I doubt they’re much different from Weiss. Nothing’s been done to Pansy ‘for her own good’. It’s been punishment on the one hand, and an opportunity to experiment on a handy subject on the other. To hell with Hippocrates and his oath.” She raised an eyebrow. “ ¿Do you disagree?”

Herná¡ndez looked uncomfortable. “Well, maybe what you say has some truth. Certainly it’s true for the original project, although I think the alternative penalties that might’ve been inflicted were worse.  ¿But this final action? I think it’s defensible.”

“Not very, Rafael. It’s evil.” She sighed and looked away, shaking her head. “Your project isn’t reformation at all, it’s psychic murder. Your purpose–your explicit purpose–has been to wipe away everything that made up Seá±or Pinkerton. If that isn’t murder, I don’t know what is. Poor Pansy. I’m amazed she’s retained any sanity at all.” Then, looking straight at Herná¡ndez, she demanded, “Tell me again:  ¿why shouldn’t I inform Pansy about this latest game?”

“Because this latest game, as you put it, really is designed to help her fit into her new life. Isabel, the background of Seá±orSeá±or Pinkerton wasn’t at all helpful for a Honduran campesina. If that background was all she had to draw on, the psychologists think she’d never fully adjust. Our tinkering with her head may be her salvation.” He took another drag on his cigarette. “Without our intervention, it’s quite possible that Pansy might end as dead as Seá±or Pinkerton.”

She snorted, a surprisingly unladylike sound from the refined doctor. “I think your psychologists underestimate the resiliency of the human spirit. Pansy’s been dealing with her new situation for some time now, with some success.  ¿And now they’re worried about her adjustment? I’m skeptical.”

“You speak outside of your specialty, and without full knowledge. Pansy hasn’t been as healthy as you think; her resiliency wasn’t quite adequate to the task. She’s been hit at least twice by severe depression–life-threatening depression. I grant you, in her situation there’s a good reason for it. But there’s no guarantee that it won’t recur, and they’re trying to head it off.” He paused, then continued in a persuasive tone. “If she can draw on her girlhood memories, her memories of growing up as a campesina, they think she’ll do better. Isabel, she is a campesina now, whatever Seá±or Pinkerton may have been. And she’s free to rise above it now, subject only to her internal limitations. Pablo Herrera and Susana Arias won’t prevent it.”

“She is not a campesina. The very fact that she hasn’t ‘adjusted’, as you put it–and will not ‘adjust’, as you seem to fear, is evidence of that inconvenient fact. But I admit, there seems to be little chance that she’ll recover anything of her former status.” She sighed again. “Very well, Rafael. Bring her in tomorrow. And tell your shrinks I’ll play the game. But otherwise I’ll help her as much as I can.” He agreed, and the meeting ended.
 
 
May 11
-- Susana drove her new Camry behind the former manor house that held the clinic. Felipe had insisted that she get a new car, and she had finally agreed; the old one was showing its age. She and Pansy got out, and Pansy followed her mistress to the reception desk. When Susana had found Pansy throwing up before breakfast again, she confronted her maid with her suspicion. Pansy had broken down and admitted bedding Beto Sáºlivan, and Susana told her that she had to take a pregnancy test. “Pansita, I warned you,” she told her maid. “The pill isn’t infallible. Josecito is evidence enough of that.” Pansy hadn’t argued. She reacted to this crisis as to others, by a withdrawal into passivity.

At the desk Susana asked, “Seá±ora,  ¿is Doctor CantẠin?”

“ ¿Do you have an appointment, Seá±ora?”

Susana frowned in mild annoyance, then told herself that the woman was just doing her job. “Yes, we do. Please tell the doctor that Susana Arias is here with Pansy Baca.”

“Very well. Just a moment.” After turning to a small switchboard and ringing up the doctor, she said, “She’ll see you now, in Room 225. Go up the stairs, and it’s the third door on the right.”

“Thank you.” Susana headed up the stairs with Pansy in tow. At Room 225, Susana knocked.

Isabel CantẠresponded, “Come in, please.”

Entering, Susana began to speak: “Doctor, I think you know Pansy Baca. She…”

Doctor CantẠinterrupted her. “Seá±ora Arias, excuse me, but I must see Pansy alone. Yes, I know her. I’ve been her gynecologist for… I guess it’s a year now, and as her doctor I must insist that we speak privately.” She smiled and added confidently, “I’m sure you understand; you’d want the same thing.”

Susana began to protest, but changed her mind. “Yes, I suppose you’re right, Doctor. Pansy, I’m going shopping. I’ll be back in… oh,  ¿say an hour?”

The doctor nodded, and Pansy responded with a dull voice, “Yes, Seá±ora.”

After Susana left, Isabel CantẠasked Pansy to sit. She said sympathetically, “OK, Pansy, tell me what’s going on. That was your mistress, I assume. Don Pablo’s daughter.”

“Yes, doctor, but… I have… I have a problem. I think maybe I’m… I’m…” She couldn’t finish, breaking into sobs.

“ ¿Pregnant?” Doctor CantẠfinished for her. Pansy nodded mutely. “Well, if you are, you’re not the first woman in that fix. Nor is it your first.  ¿I assume this is a special problem?”

Pansy nodded again and tried to explain. “Li… Lilita wasn’t a… a problem. I… She… I was m…m… married.” Seá±ora Arias had kept her word on the public explanation for the presence of Lilia, but no such exculpatory agreement existed for the present pregnancy. “Now it’s… it’s different. I was seeing a man. I wanted… I wanted…” She swallowed. “I wanted him to… to marry me. But I tried not to get pregnant.” She hiccuped, then continued. “I took… I took the pill. Every day, like I should.  ¡But they didn’t work!”

“We don’t know that, Pansy, not for sure. I’ll give you a pregnancy test and we’ll take it from there. First, while we check, tell me why you think you’re pregnant.” The doctor ordered Pansy to strip below the waist, and as Pansy complied she tearfully told about her morning sickness, and about missing her period. Then the doctor asked Pansy to describe the circumstances surrounding the failure of the pills. When Pansy told her about her brief illness, a light seemed to go on. “You took antibiotics, you say. Tell me about it.” Pansy did so, and the doctor nodded. “ ¿Didn’t you read the…? Oh, I’m sorry. I remember: you can’t read.” She looked down. “Pansy, if you take other drugs with contraceptives, they can interfere. If you’re pregnant–and I think you’re right, you probably are–that’s the reason.”

Pansy slumped. She had thought she was almost certainly pregnant, but she had still held some slight hope that she might be wrong. Her despair deepened a few minutes later when the test results arrived, and the doctor confirmed her diagnosis.

Sympathetically Isabel CantẠtold her, “Yes, I’m afraid it’s true, Pansy. Still, it’s not the end of the world. You’re not the first girl to slip up.”

“Yes, b…but that… that won’t matter. Seá±ora Arias, or Seá±or Herrera–whoever–they’ll use it as an excuse to do something else to me. I keep thinking there ain’t nothing else they can do, but… but they’ll find something.”

The doctor couldn’t deny it, and didn’t try, but she tried to reassure Pansy: “After all, Seá±ora Arias–or whoever did this–wants to leave you in good physical and mental health.”

“Yes,” Pansy replied. “I… I know. But Jack–or whoever I was–ain’t so important to them. I think I’ll lose a little more of him–and… and a little more–until I’m all Pansy, and no Jack. I’ll be dead, Doctor. Someone else’ll be in this body. She’ll still take care of the babies, and the doctors’ll still have their guinea pig. But I’ll be gone.” She sagged into her chair. “Maybe that’s the best I can hope for, Doctor. Pansy can have this body. There ain’t much of Jack left anyway”

Isabel CantẠwasn’t sure how to respond. It sounded as if two people were sharing a single body. “If that’s an accurate picture,” she thought, “there’s no doubt who’ll take final control. Jack has no chance, whether any other measures are taken or not. That body fits Pansy, not Jack Whoever.” But she didn’t say that, telling Pansy instead, “Don’t be too pessimistic. There’s really no difference between Pansy and Jack. Or rather, Jack today is Pansy. Or Pansy is where Jack lives today. The change is more drastic than most, yes. But the girl I was ten years ago is dead, in that sense. She grew up and became an adult woman, a doctor, a wife and mother. I’m not her, in your sense. But she lives on in me, just changed. In the same way, Jack Pinkerton lives on in Pansy, just changed. More than a little, true. But you’re you, whatever name you bear, whatever body you wear.” She wished she could be as sure as she hoped she sounded. “I’m a gynecologist, not a psychiatrist,” she complained to herself. “ ¡I shouldn’t have to deal with this!”

“Maybe, Doctor.” Pansy looked up, her eyes red. “That ain’t how it feels from inside, but maybe you’re right. I guess… I guess it don’t make no difference. They’ll do what they want, and whatever comes of it, I’ll take it. I don’t got no choice.”

Shortly after, Susana returned and took Pansy away. Doctor CantẠwondered after they left, “ ¿What is a person, anyway? If memories and habits and reflexes are all replaced, and the language; and the body is utterly changed…  ¿What’s left?  ¿Who am I, for that matter?”
 
 
May 14
-- Blank-faced, Pansy followed Susana to the front door of the casa at Las Rosas. The beauty of the blooming roses and the scarlet flame of the flowering poinciana, familiar from her last visit, were ignored. Just a month earlier she’d been here to witness Gordo’s punishment. Now it was her turn. How could she have allowed herself to slip into the abyss? Her parents would’ve been ashamed of her. What would the don do to her now?

The don was waiting for the two women, and ushered them into his library. “Please, sit down,” he told them, and then came straight to the point. “Suzi, you say that Pansy is pregnant.”

She nodded. “I’m afraid so, Father. There’s no doubt; the clinic confirmed it. She was seeing Beto Sáºlivan, and he seems to have had little difficulty in seducing her.”

Don Pablo turned asked, “ ¿What do you have to say for yourself, Pansy? I am told you were warned to avoid this. You were also warned specifically about Seá±orSeá±or Sáºlivan.  ¿Do you claim rape again?”

Pansy tried to pull herself together. She needed to defend herself, or God only knew what new horror they’d inflict. But lying was out of the question. She was sure he’d know if she tried to mislead him. Gordo certainly hadn’t succeeded. “No, S…Seá±or, he… he didn’t. He maybe persuaded me, but… but it wasn’t rape. I… I was willing.”

“ ¿Did you try to trap Seá±orSeá±or Sáºlivan into matrimony by having his baby? You, of all women, should know how risky that game is. If I recall, Seá±or Pinkerton asserted a similar claim for his problem with…  ¿who was it? Ah, yes, Celia… back in the United States. You told me she attempted to trap you into marriage with a baby.” As Pansy shook her head–she didn’t recall any discussion of that matter with Seá±or Herrera–Susana reminded him, “I think Pansita’s forgotten that conversation, Father.” He nodded, annoyed at himself for the lapse.

“But I… Yes, Seá±or. I mean no… I mean, I did know I shouldn’t. But I didn’t try to… to trap him.  ¡No, I didn’t! I tried to take care, Seá±or, to make sure I wouldn’t get… get pregnant. I wanted him to marry… to marry me, yes, but I didn’t try to force him or trick him. I was sure I couldn’t get pregnant.” Even in her present wretchedness it occurred to her that the don was right. Her situation was just like that of Celia and Susana. They had blundered, exactly as she had.

“ ¿Why were you so sure, Pansy?  ¿Are you not like other women?  ¿Were you not pregnant before?”

“I… Yes, I know I am, Seá±or.” She hesitated, and looked at the floor. “But I… I was tak… taking the pill.”

“ ¡Ah!  ¿Then you intended to go to bed with Seá±or Sáºlivan?”

“ ¡No! I…” Pansy glanced up, then down again. “But I… Yes. I tried not to, but I didn’t… I couldn’t control myself. I…” She stopped briefly to compose herself, then went on: “Like I said, Seá±or, I was willing, but I wasn’t trying to trap him.” Raising her eyes, she admitted. “ I… I wanted… I wanted him to love me. To marry me.”

“When you let him bed you, you knew you were doing wrong, I think.  ¿Is that true?”

“Y…yes, Seá±or, but…” She swallowed. “Yes, Seá±or.”

Don Pablo sighed. “Girl,  ¿what could you have been thinking?  ¿Have you no sense? You had no chance to wed Seá±or Sáºlivan. You are a maid, a campesina. He is ambitious. He needs a wife who will be a social asset. He was using you.” Pansy’s eyes widened, and the don explained, “A simple campesina could not help him as his wife, but would do nicely as a temporary bed partner. Of course, you ruin your chances for a good marriage with another man– ¿but what concern is that to him?” She shut her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. Seá±ora Arias and Seá±or Trujillo had both warned her; she hadn’t listened. Such stupidity! The don continued, “You must wed a man of your own class, a campesino. I can arrange such a marriage, and it should be very soon.”

A spark of rebellion flared and Pansy’s head came up. “Seá±or, I can’t do nothing about what you decide,  ¡but you got no right to judge me! You put me in this body!” Even in her present disastrous situation, she felt some satisfaction at his admission. “I ain’t no campesina like you say.  ¡Not really!  ¡I just look like one!”

Don Pablo raised an eyebrow. “ ¿You are not a campesina? I disagree, Seá±orSeá±orita. True, you possess some memories of a norteamericano who is trapped in your head; but you are Pansy Baca, a Honduran peasant girl. And whatever your memories, the present reality is that you are that peasant girl whom you see in the mirror every morning.” He smiled. “More to the point, anyone else–especially including Seá±orSeá±or Sáºlivan–would agree: you are a campesina. But that is irrelevant, and not the point under discussion. What matters now is that you are pregnant and unmarried.  ¿What do you plan to do?”

“I… I don’t know.” The affair with Beto had been a chance to escape her assigned station. Now that it had blown up in her face–or more accurately, in her belly–she had no Plan B; but the don’s arrangement for her would only cement her lowly status. “ ¡But I can’t marry no campesino! You got no right to punish me like that!”

“ ¿Punish you?  ¿Who speaks of punishment? The punishment of Seá±or Pinkerton is done–over– ¡finished!–and I am not interested in punishing Pansy Baca. Your behavior brings its own penalty. You behaved irresponsibly as a woman, just as Seá±or Pinkerton did as a man, and now you must bear the consequences. And the child. As did Susana.” He ran his hand through his thinning gray hair in a gesture of frustration. “But I understand why you speak in such a way. My daughter still sees her faithless lover in you, and treats you accordingly. By doing so, she keeps him alive in your head. And I bear some responsibility.” He looked away from Pansy and his voice became lower. “I believe the presence of that norteamericano in your head has affected your actions. Seá±or Pinkerton’s chief vice was the unthinking use of other people for his own ends, and you seem to have continued on his path; you were trying to use Seá±or Sáºlivan as a way to escape from your low status, as perceived by Seá±or Pinkerton.”

“ ¿You ain’t going to punish me?” Pansy looked confused. “But…  ¿Then why am I here?”

“Because you may not understand the seriousness of your problem, and therefore you may not choose your best course. I am here to make your alternatives clear, and to help you.” He turned to Susana. “Carita, you tell me that Pansy serves you faithfully and well.”

“Yes, I have no complaints. She doesn’t like being a maid–or better, that norteamericano in her head doesn’t like it–but she’s good at it.” She resisted the impulse to add that Seá±or Pinkerton had finally found his proper career.

“And as a mother, you tell me she is excellent.”

“Yes again. She takes very good care of both Josecito and Lilia.”

“Very well.” Leaning back in his armchair, he turned back to Pansy. “One alternative is that you should continue as Susana’s maid, to serve her and to take care of her son–the norteamericano’s son–Josecito; but you should be wed, to avoid scandal. Because you are already pregnant, your marriage must be soon.”

Pansy could follow the don’s logic, but she didn’t like where it was leading. “But Seá±orSeá±or,  ¡you can’t just force me into marrying some stranger–some campesino!”

He shook his head. “I will not force you into anything, Pansy. As you seem to have guessed–and I compliment you on your perspicacity–I took part in your punishment–or more properly, in Seá±or Pinkerton’s punishment. However, you are not he, even if he still lives in your head, and I will not penalize you for his misdeeds. Nevertheless, you–as Pansy Baca–have done wrong, and you–as Pansy Baca–merit your own punishment, and the loss of your position would be a reasonable penalty. My offer to find you a suitable husband is not a penalty, but a charity: if you marry quickly, you can continue to serve as Susana’s maid, and she needs you.”

“But I’d be…  ¡I’d be stuck as a maid!”

He raised an eyebrow. “You are an uneducated campesina–and if the truth be told, you are not very intelligent. That is why your sister went to the university, while you became a maid.  ¿What should you expect?  ¿Do you think there are many other jobs for which you are suited?” As Pansy tried to protest, Don Pablo held up his hand. “Let me clarify your alternatives, as I see them, and then you may tell me what other possibilities you see. You can do nothing, and let nature take its course–but you will lose your job as a maid. You can try to find your own husband–but again, there is only a limited pool of available men, and for you, they will all be campesinos. Perhaps you might attempt to emigrate to the United States, the home of Seá±or Pinkerton. You will find it almost impossible–and if you succeeded, you would be no better off. Or you can accept my offer and marry a decent man of my choosing, from your own class.” He leaned forward. “Pansy, it is an act of mercy I offer. You never had any chance to marry above your present station, and you have nearly destroyed your chances of marrying within it.” Despair flooded through her. “Your choices are limited.” He hesitated for a moment, then went on: “Pansy, as you say, we punished Seá±or Pinkerton by trapping him within Pansy Baca, but that is over and done with. I do not hold his actions against you. Now I am acting as I would for any young woman who came before me in your position. And I will do my best to see that you have a satisfactory husband, one who will love you and provide for you. I cannot assure you a happy marriage or a good life, but I can give you a chance for one–a much better chance than you will have without my assistance. You seem to be a good mother, and I believe you can be a good wife–or else I would not make this offer.”

She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please, Seá±or, no.”

He sighed. “Seá±orita, you still do not quite understand your predicament. Seá±or Pinkerton was able to walk away from the consequences of his irresponsibility. Pansy cannot. You are marked as a loose woman by your service as a prostitute.” She shrank a little into herself, ashamed. “But allowances were made for your special difficulties–as such allowances should be made for many women in that position. Now you have sinned through your own weakness, by your own admission, and you must accept the results.  ¿What will you do if I do not find you a match?”

A spark of hope flared. Maybe he wouldn’t force her. “Seá±or, I’ll continue to work for Seá±ora Arias.”

“No, Seá±orita. As I told you, that will not be possible. You have disgraced yourself, and soon it will be plain to everyone that you behaved like a common slut. She could not keep you then.”

Her heart sank. What else could she do? Maybe… maybe Beto would save her. After all, he put her in this plight. “Seá±or Sáºlivan would take me. I… I’m carrying his child.  ¡I could go to him!”

He nodded. “Yes, that might be possible, but you have not thought it through.  ¿Do you recall Seá±or Pinkerton’s maid, Mará­a…?  ¿What was her name?  ¿Mará­a Banderas?” Pansy nodded. She was ashamed of the treatment Seá±or Pinkerton had inflicted on his maid. Don Pablo continued: “If you go to Alberto Sáºlivan, that will be your own fate. You will be his slave during the day, and his plaything at night. He will use you and then throw you away when you become inconvenient. As I told you, he will not marry you, any more than Seá±or Pinkerton would have married his own maid.  ¿Is this your wish?  ¿Will you become another Mará­a Banderas?”

She shook her head, slowly at first, then vigorously. Much to her shame, Don Pablo was right. She hadn’t thought it through. But what else was there? Her family? Mamá¡ Rosa couldn’t help, and she couldn’t bear to face her mother with her disgrace anyway. Uncle Juan wouldn’t help. Petunia? No, she had no right to burden her sister with her troubles–even if Seá±or Sáºlivan would permit it, which was doubtful. “No, Seá±or, I don’t want that. But… but I don’t have… there isn’t…  ¿What can I do?” Her face was a study in horror and bewilderment.

“You begin to understand. What you can do is marry whoever will have you, and be grateful to him for accepting you.” She began to weep silently, tears flowing down her cheeks. “ ¿Do you agree?” She nodded, unable to speak. “Very well then: I have found a suitable man for you, and he has agreed to take you as his wife. You will promise to love, honor, and obey him, and you will keep those promises. Your husband-to-be lives at Los Ocotes, so you can continue to serve as Suzi’s maid, and to care for Josecito.” He paused. “I spoke with Beto Sáºlivan. He says that he assumed you knew–and he is right, you should have known–that you could never be a suitable wife for him, and he is right. He needs a middle-class educated blanca from a good family, not an illiterate morena maid. And he says you do not have proper notions about what is suitable for a woman’s concerns. That is odd, considering the opinions of your old self.” Again he paused. “Or perhaps not so odd, when one considers that Seá±or Pinkerton still lives in your head, and considers his own desires to be of supreme importance.” He took a sip of coffee and changed the subject: “Pansy,  ¿do you love your little girl?”

“ ¡Of… of course I do, Seá±or!  ¿How could I not love her?”

“And Josecito, the child of Seá±or Pinkerton:  ¿do you love him?”

“Yes… yes, I do.”

“ ¿Do they give you joy?  ¿And would you leave them?”

“Yes… yes, of course. They give me great joy.  ¡They are my whole life!  ¡And I could never leave them!”

He nodded. “Yes, I believe you tell the truth. You are a good mother.” Folding his arms, he went on: “Think back, Seá±orita. Look into the memories of that norteamericano you hold in your head. Seá±or Pinkerton loved no one, and in return, he was not loved. Even his family was not close, neither geographically nor emotionally. He was an emotional cripple. I said you will love, honor, and obey your new husband; it is not a punishment, not a condition I impose, but rather the natural course of human nature. In return, he will be a better husband that Seá±or Pinkerton could ever have been: he will love you and cherish you–and as a practical matter, he will support you and your children. You have the chance to create a decent life for yourself, and for your children.” Don Pablo’s tone softened a bit. “You may not have realized it before, but this chance I offer you–a suitable marriage–is the best life you could hope for. You have agreed to accept it, but you must do more than accept it, if that marriage is to be a success: you must embrace it as a welcome gift, and delight in it.  ¿Will you do that?”

Pansy stood silent for a moment, her dreams shattered. Don Pablo was right: Seá±or Pinkerton had betrayed her through his selfishness exactly as he had betrayed the other women. Then she nodded. “Yes, Seá±or, I… yes, I will.” She looked down at her feet, then added softly, “Thank you, Seá±or.”

Don Pablo rang his bell When Jaime Lá³pez entered, he told his servant, “Jaime, Pansy will wait outside while I speak with Suzi.” After Pansy had been escorted out, he told her, “My dear, your maid is Pansy-Ann Baca.”

Susana looked puzzled. “Of course she is.  ¿Why do…?” His message sunk in. “Yes… yes, I understand.”

“Good. You must forget that George is there at all. Or at least, act as if you forget. I know, it is difficult; but if Pansy is to become a normal campesina, then she must be treated as one. That means George must be allowed to die quietly.”

“ ¿George who?”

“ ¡Exactly!”

Later, back at Los Ocotes, Susana told Pansy, “Father tells me that your husband will be Hector Trujillo.”

“ ¿Hector?  ¡But he’s a moreno!  ¡He’s a black man!” Even as she complained, she realized that she was being foolish. Hector had wanted to marry her all along, and he was a decent man.

“Of course he is. And you’re a black girl,  ¿true? An eminently suitable match. He’s had his eye on you ever since you arrived. I think you’ll make a good couple.”

Pansy looked down at her bare arms. Yes, she was a morena. And Seá±ora Arias was right: she had little hope of marrying above her station. Hector was as good a man as she could hope for. Better than she deserved. She could be a lot worse off, even if Rico’s death hadn’t forced her to become a maid. And a whore. She shook her head; she had been Seá±or Cualquiera! She had been Jack, not Pansy! In spite of her traitor memory! But he was slipping away. “Yes. Yes, I agree. I’ll marry him, if he’ll take me.” Don Pablo had been right. Whoever she had been, and whatever had happened, she now was Pansy, not Jack. “But please tell me:  ¿does he know I’m pregnant?  ¿And what about Lilita?  ¿Will he take care of her?”

“Yes, he knows. He says he expected it all along. He thinks you’re naíve, and that Beto tricked you. And yes, he’ll care for both Lilia and your new child.” Then Susana admonished her sternly, “This is permanent, Pansy. There will be no divorce, no separation. You and Hector will wed a week from next Saturday in La Libertad.” Pansy wondered how Seá±or Herrera could arrange the ceremony on such short notice. “You’ll be his woman from that day on, till death do you part. You’ll cook his food, you’ll wash his clothes, you’ll satisfy him in his bed, and you’ll bear his children. Hector’s a good man, but he’s a campesino, with all that implies, good and bad. He’s ignorant. Intelligent and honorable and hard-working, but ignorant. And he’s very traditional: he will be the head of the household. He’ll love you and cherish you; you will promise to love and cherish and obey. He’ll expect you to keep that vow. And he’ll enforce it. You’ll be a traditional campesina wife, the woman Seá±or Cualquiera so admired. You’re pregnant now, of course. I want you to know: for the next ten years or so, you’ll either be pregnant with your next baby, or you’ll be nursing your last one. Seá±or Cualquiera said a woman is a baby machine. You’ll demonstrate that for Hector.  ¿Do you understand?”

“Yes, Seá±ora, I understand.” She remembered the cliches that Jack had told Susana; she understood well. Her life would center on Seá±or Trujillo and on her children. Her universe would be Los Ocotes and La Libertad. Tears trickled down her cheek, but she accepted her fate. For herself, she might have fought, and perhaps fled, to start over. But Lilia and Josecito needed her. And besides, Hector was a good man. He’d be a good husband, and she’d try to be a good wife.

“Good.” Susana’s tone softened. “Pansita, this is your last chance to redeem yourself, and Seá±or Cualquiera as well. Seá±or Cualquiera tried to use Celia Tolliver, Mará­a Banderas, and me as objects, for his own ends. You tried to use Miguel Ovando and Beto Sáºlivan. Each and every time, the attempt backfired. Now, in a way, you’re using Hector. He’ll save you–and Lilia, and the new baby–from a short life of disgrace and misery. He’ll support you.” Pansy began to protest, but Susana cut her off. “I know, that wasn’t your intent. More to the point, it’s not a one-way exploitation, but a partnership. In return for his support, you’ll provide a woman’s services, including bearing his children. If you carry out your part of the bargain, and if you’re lucky, you can salvage some respect, maybe even love, into the bargain. You might even have a happy life. If not…” She shrugged. “That’ll be too bad, but at least you’ll get the support you and the babies need. My father and I will see to that. But that’s all you can really count on.” Pansy nodded her understanding, and Susana went on: “Now, since you’ve been gone, Marta’s taken care of the babies over at her house. Josecito’s been crying for you, and I think Lilia needs attention. Change back into your uniform, and see to them. And fix your face. You look terrible.”

“Yes, Seá±ora.”

Left alone, Pansy tried to collect her thoughts as she retrieved her uniform. Beto had betrayed her, and she hated him. But Seá±or Cualquiera… He had done the same. To Celia, to Susana. And he would’ve betrayed Petunia, her own dear sister, the same way. Her memories weren’t completely clear–at least not those pertaining to Seá±or Cualquiera–but she remembered enough. He had been a bastard. He was just like Beto. “ ¡No!” a corner of her mind shouted. “ ¡They tried to trick me!” She pushed that voice back into its corner. She was both Seá±or Cualquiera and Pansy Baca, but right now she didn’t want to hear from that part of her that held the remnant of that pendejo. He had done enough damage. She was Pansy Baca now! Dismissing her musings, she left for Marta’s house to reclaim the children. Whoever she had been, whatever Seá±ora Arias had done, she needed to make a life for herself and her children. And she’d have to do it as Pansy Baca. Or, it appeared, as Pansy Baca de Trujillo. But at least she could have a decent life, if not a comfortable one. And Hector might not be rich–or even middle-class–but certainly he’d be a better man than Beto. Or Seá±or Cualquiera.

Late that afternoon, Hector himself stopped by as she hung out the washing. Pansy flinched at first when she saw him, but then she steeled herself. If this man was going to be her husband, she wanted to get to know him. She spoke first, declaring firmly, “Seá±or Trujillo, we have to talk.”

“Yes, of course, Pansita; that’s why I’m here.” His handsome, if scarred, face seemed strangely unsure, and she suddenly realized he was feeling uncomfortable in his own awkward position. “I… Well, I wanted to tell you I don’t hold nothing against you. It was Beto. Like I told you the other day, he’s like that. It ain’t right, but lots of men behave like that.” After a pause he added, “Call me Hector.”

His sympathy touched her; she had no right to it, and she tried to keep from crying. “Thank… thank you, Hector. I… I was… was stupid. I should’ve listened to you. I… I…” She stifled a sob. He came to her and held his arms out. She couldn’t hold tears off any longer, ran to his arms, and wept on his shoulder. When she recovered, she looked at him, embarrassed, and apologized: “I… I’m sorry, Hec…Hector.”

He patted her on the back. “Pansita, you need a man, and you was hoping Seá±or Sáºlivan was him. He wasn’t, and you was foolish to think he might be. I told you he wasn’t no good for you. But foolishness ain’t no crime. My wife died, and I need a woman. You’re a good woman. You don’t run around, you work hard, and you take good care of your baby. If you marry me, I’ll take care of you and your kids. I’ll be a good husband.” He looked down at the ground, and added, “I think you might come to love me. I’m hoping you will.”

Sniffling, she replied, “I hope so too, Hector. I don’t know you well, but I think you’re a good man, and that makes it easier.” She pulled away and sat on a log, looking down. “I don’t know if I’ll be a good enough wife for you, but I’ll try. I’ll try to be the best wife you could possibly have.” She looked back up: “But I’m not a very good cook, you know.”

He laughed easily. “I think you’ll do well enough. Anyway, tomorrow’s your day off.  ¿Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night? Then you can go to your class.”

She was confused, but pleased. “ ¿Will you…? But… I wasn’t sure… Yes, I’ll go with you.”

He smiled. “I said I didn’t think you needed it. If you want to, and if it don’t keep you from doing things you’re supposed to do, well, I don’t care none. If you like, I’ll pick you up at 4 o’clock tomorrow afternoon, after I can get off.  ¿OK?” Shyly and with a tremulous smile, she agreed. Maybe her sentence of marriage wouldn’t be the disaster she had feared. Hector kissed her before he left, and told her, “We got to get to know each other quick. After all, in ten days you’ll become Seá±ora Trujillo. And we got to make plans for the wedding.”

After Pansy finished the dishes, she thought about her future. Her impending marriage might not be a disaster at all–it might even be the decent life that Seá±or Herrera had held out–but there was no doubt that it would be the final nail in the coffin of her hopes for higher status. Well, as a little girl Pansy hadn’t hoped for more than a good husband, beautiful children, and freedom from want. Her mother had been a maid, and she hadn’t really expected to do better. With Rico she had had a chance for a middle-class life, but she had to face reality: his death had killed that dream. Her dalliance with Beto had been foolish, exactly as Don Pablo had said, just a desperate try to escape her low status. The part of her mind that held Jack’s persona tried to protest, but she ignored it. So she’d be a maid; it was better than nothing. It was a good job, for an ignorant campesina like her. She had never been smart enough to do anything else–not like her sister. And she had always wanted to marry. It was the only proper life for a woman. God had intended that she find a man and bear his children, and she had been an idiot to think she could find a man outside her class. As far as regaining the lost memories of Seá±or Cualquiera: why bother? She was Pansy in truth, whether his memories had meaning for her or not, and so she’d remain until she died. The identity of Jack Cualquiera wasn’t important.

Somewhere in the back of Pansy’s mind, a remnant of Seá±or Cualquiera shrieked in despair. He had been trapped in an illiterate campesina, and he had watched as his essence dissolved into Pansy’s personality. Now he’d become the pregnant wife of an ignorant nigger cowboy. He’d spend his life bearing and raising a bunch of snot-nosed brats. And there was no way out–ever! But Pansy ignored him. He no longer mattered to her.
 
 
May 15
— In the morning, after Susana had eaten breakfast, Pansy asked her, “Seá±ora, please,  ¿can I leave Lilita here with Marta on Thursday? I want to visit my sister to tell her I’m getting married I couldn’t possibly do it without telling her, so she can be with me. I want her to be my Matron of Honor. I could take Lilia with me, but that trip’s pretty hard on her.”

“Yes, I think that’s reasonable–you can go, and the Lilia’ll be well taken care of here. But the trip’s pretty hard on you, too.” She paused to think a moment. “If you’d like, you can save the trip, and I’ll let you call her on my cell phone. Or you can make the trip and tell her in person. Your choice.”

Pansy’s face brightened, but then fell. “I… But I don’t have her number.”

“Don’t worry, I have it. I got it when you went to visit, so I could reach you if I needed you. I’m sure she’s home with the baby most of the time, so you could call now, if you like.”

“Thank you, Seá±ora. I think I’ll do that.” Seá±ora Arias fetched the phone for her, and five minutes later, Pansy had reached her sister. “Petunia, I… I have to tell you something. Something important. I…I’m getting m…married. To… to one of Seá±ora Arias’s workers.”

At the other end, Petunia sat down suddenly. “ ¿You are what?  ¿Did I hear you right?”

Having blurted out the news, Pansy found it easier to provide the details, and Petunia quickly agreed to join the wedding party. She asked if her family would also be invited, and Pansy replied, “ ¡Of course!  ¡You couldn’t possibly think they’d be left out!” Tactfully, Petunia didn’t ask why the wedding was so sudden.

After hanging up, Pansy thought about the rest of her family. They would want to see her get married also; but she didn’t know where they were, except that none lived nearby. Her mother was working as a maid somewhere in Choluteca province. Tomá¡s was probably down there too, but she had no way to reach them. Perhaps it was just as well. Her hasty nuptials would be sure to bring questions–questions she didn’t want to answer.
 
 
May 17
-- Hector picked Pansy up at 4 o’clock as promised. He borrowed a Los Ocotes pickup and took her to a cheap restaurant, where they planned their future over rice and beans. Hector told her he had saved a little money and hoped to buy a plot of land where he could become an independent cattleman. “It’ll take a while, Pansita, but maybe it’s possible. If you keep your job with Seá±ora Arias and we save as much as we can, then in five years, or maybe seven, we can start our own place.”

She told him about her childhood, how her parents had gone from Comayagá¼ela to the United States, and then to San Pedro. “They always told me to try to get an education. It was the key to a better life. And I tried, Hector. You know I’m taking that class in La Libertad. Well, I could read a couple of years ago, and I was going to be a teacher. But I got a head injury. It made me forget, so now I’m starting over.” Of course, Pansy no longer knew that Ibarra and José had taken her literacy. She thought Susana had done it–perhaps with her father’s help–when she, or they, put Seá±or Cualquiera into this body; but she couldn’t tell Hector that.

Hector told her that Don Pablo had arranged a meeting with Padre Villeras. “He wants to make sure we both know what we’re doing, and that we ain’t going to do nothing wrong when he marries us. Seá±or Arias told me that Padre Villeras didn’t want to marry us so quick, but Don Pablo made him do it.”

They didn’t plan to have many guests at the wedding. Hector would invite his parents and a brother from La Libertad, and two of the cowboys. Pansy would invite Marta and her husband and daughter, and Petunia and Felipe Sáºlivan. “My father’s dead,” she explained, “and my other family members live too far away.” “We’ll invite Seá±or and Seá±ora Arias, of course,” Hector told her. “Seá±ora Arias paid for the church wedding. I’d have trouble finding the cash.” Pansy reluctantly agreed.

They talked about their respective families and their past lives. Hector was curious about her life in the U.S., but she explained that she didn’t remember very much. “I was too young. I remember Dallas was a big city, and I remember my first day of kindergarten there, but it’s all hazy now.” Finally Hector reminded her that she had to be at class soon. “It’s almost 7. I’ll meet you here in an hour.”

Seá±ora Marcos scolded Pansy gently for missing her Tuesday class, but no more. The class went poorly; Pansy had been distracted from study during the previous week, and some of what little she had learned, had slipped away. Still, her teacher encouraged her. “I know it’s hard, Pansy, but trust me. It’ll come. I can see the difference in you. Next year you’ll be reading fine.”

When the class ended, Pansy hurried back to the plaza, where Hector met her and took her home.
 
 
May 18
-- Rollie Perry entered his apartment a little late for supper. Celia, annoyed, asked, “Where have you been? The roast’s getting cold.”

He ignored her question and told her, “I have news, dear. That place in Honduras–you remember that card you got, a month ago? I know where it is.”

She immediately forgot the cooling roast. “Yes? What did you find out? Where is he?”

Her husband laughed. “Slow down, slow down. I don’t know where he is. I do know where the places in the letter are. First, I talked to my friend, and he contacted his friend at the Honduran Embassy in Washington. Comayagua was easy. It’s a small city in the central part of the country. And Siguatepeque’s a town in the mountains, not far from there.”

She gritted her teeth audibly. “Damn it, Rollie, I thought you said…”

He held up a hand. “Hold your horses, darling. According to the card you got, he’s living somewhere near Siguatepeque. So the guy at the Embassy asked someone, back in Honduras. Probably someone in Comayagua, but I don’t know. Who cares, anyway? This other guy, or someone at least, said that Siguatepeque’s a dinky little town in the middle of nowhere. An American living there wouldn’t really blend in very well.”

Her eyes lit up. “Now we can catch the bastard! It ought to be easy to find him there!”

“Who said he was there? Your card didn’t. Judging from the description of the place, I doubt he’s there; it’d be too easy. He wouldn’t be that stupid. He might not be anywhere near there. But I’m hungry, dear. Let’s talk some more about it after supper. Like you said, it’s getting cold.”

They sat down to eat. Jimmy behaved well, eating most of the food that Celia put in front of him. After supper Celia washed the dishes while Rollie supervised Jimmy in the living room. Joining him when she had finished, she returned to the subject of George Deon. “If he’s not there, what should I do now, do you think?”

“I didn’t say he’s not there. I said I don’t think he’s there. The card hinted that someone there knows where he is, though. Maybe he visited there. Or the guy at this address knows him. Or that girl–what’s her name? Petunia, that’s it, Petunia Baca. Maybe she’s there. It’s the best lead you’ve had. The only lead.”

“Rollie, I want him. I want him so bad. What can I do now? There must be a way to track him down.”

Rollie puffed on a cigarette and shrugged. “I knew you’d ask, so I made some inquiries. There are a couple of possibilities. Or three, really. We can go there ourselves and ask. We can hire someone in Honduras to check. Or we can send a letter to this address, and hope we get a helpful answer.”

“What about that other idea, to get someone else to search? Someone here in the US, I mean, like the IRS.”

“No one else is interested. He wasn’t very close to his family, and they’re convinced he’s dead anyway. They won’t help. I checked on the IRS; like I thought, they aren’t interested. I bet they owe him a refund. No, it’s us or no one. Are you sure you…?” He broke off; it was a stupid question.

She ignored it. “The three aren’t mutually exclusive. I’d say, just send a letter to start with. See what the guy says, if he knows anything about George. If he denies knowing anything, then we hire someone. If the people at this address do know something, then we take it from there.”

“Sounds good to me. You write the letter, and we’ll see what happens.”

“I can write it in English, I guess. I hope he can read it, or get it translated. If not–if we don’t get an answer–I’ll see if I can get someone to translate it into Spanish for me. If the letter doesn’t work, we’ll try something else.”