GRINGA (32 page)

             
‘“Him”? You mean
Austin
? Eh …’

             
His nostri
ls flares at my response. ‘Why?
’

             
‘’C
os he’s nice.
He’s a good man - pleasant, intelligent, educated ... a gentleman.’

             
‘He
must be
gay.’

             
‘He’s not gay! He just … dresses nice.’

             
‘He
is your sister’s
husband. How you do this?’

             
I drop my gaze.

             
‘He got
a
baby.’ His voice is edged with reproach.

             
‘
You
getting all moral on me?
You
?’

             
Cords appear in his neck.

             
‘What? You gonna kill him now?’

             
‘
Si
.’

             
‘Don’t you dare. Be nice for once.’

   
             
‘Nice?’

             
‘Yeah, good
,
nice
. Y
ou know ...?’

             
‘I don’
t
know.’

             
‘You don’t know?’

             
He shakes his head. ‘
T
each me.’

             
‘Me?’

             
‘
Si
. Teach me
how to be good, nice
.’

             
I stare at him. ‘Why? Why do you want to be nice now?’

             
He
drops to
his haunches and stares at the ground. Then he looks up at me. ‘Imatired.’

             
‘Of what?’

             
He shrugs. ‘This life. I wan
t to
be good. Teach me how to be
nice
Payton,’ he says softly. ‘I wan
t to
learn how to be good.’

    
             
His words surprise me. ‘Teach you how - that’ll take decades. I don’t think you’re teachable.’

    
             
‘
Si
?’ His
d
isappointment
is visible
. 

    
             
I nod but then I feel really bad. ‘You
really
wanna learn how to be nice?’

    
             
‘
Si
.’

    
             
‘Why?’

    
             
He looks me in the eye. ‘For you.’

             
He suddenly looks so vulnerable and sincere and even human, that I feel a little sorry for him. I don’t know why I’m feeling this way considering he’s such an asshole, but I do.        

    
             
‘You swim good.’

   
             
‘Swam for
University
of
Los Angeles
two years in a row,’ I brag, treading water. 

    
             
He nods and raises his busy eyebrows. ‘Time to go now,’ he says softly.  

    
             
This is the first time we’re actually having a conversation and I realise I’m no longer afraid of him. If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it already. Frankly, if he kills me, he’ll be doing me a favour.

    
             
I slowly emerge from the water and accept my dress from him. ‘
Gracias.
’

             
He helps me into it and steadies me when I stagger.

             
I giggle and accept his help. 

             
We walk back to the village in silence. I reach my room and stand in front of my bed.

             
The bed rises and hits me in the face.

             
When I awake, I have trouble remembering, like very drunk people usually do. But I remember him saying something about wanting to be good. Did I hear correctly or was it a figment of my inebriated imagination?

It’s morning. I stagger into the kitchen to find Maria and
Rosa
are giggling. Strange. They’re usually grumpy in the mornings. 

    
             
‘Wassup? Someone’s birthday?’

    
             
‘Is Christa,’ Maria says in a sing-song voice. ‘She go for five days to her sista!’

             
I squint at her. ‘And ...?’

     
             
Maria sighs impatiently. ‘Is
one
week
wirrouther, Senorita. We must celebrate, Senorita.’

     
             
I yawn and accept the cup of coffee from
Rosa
. ‘Yeah, celebrate … maybe we should put some whisky in the coffee, huh?’

             
They are suddenly so quiet, my head snaps to look at them. Although both women look at the floor, I spot the smirk on their faces. I glance at the wall clock – 9 AM. Their eyes are shining, but not from joy. I nod several times. ‘You’re drunk! I’m gonna breathalyse ... ’

    
             
‘
Si
!’ the ladies chorus, giggling like two overweight schoolgirls.

    
             
‘Go bring us a bottle,’
Rosa
urges and shoves me out of the kitchen.

             
‘Hey stop!’ I protest.  

    
             
Maria nods vigorously, reaches into the grocery cupboard and  brings out an almost empty bottle of Vodka. ‘This Senorita,’ she says. ‘Go bring us one of this.’

    
             
I look at Maria, then at
Rosa
and finally sigh. ‘What the hell – let’s do it.’ With that, I hurry off to steal booze for my already tipsy servants.

    
             
At the sight of the bottle of Vodka in my hands, the ladies rip off their aprons, throw down their dishtowels and bring out three large drinking glasses. Shot glasses don’t seem to exist here.

   
             
We sit on the patio, basking in the morning sun and drinking Vodka. Well, the bithces sit back and enjoy the morning sun while I’m made to do all the fetching and pouring.

    
             
‘Not too much Senorita,’ Maria says, her eyes lighting up like a sign on an all night liquor store at the sight of me refilling their glasses. ‘You are not a big drinker.’

    
             
Yeah right. ‘
I
am not a big drinker,’ I correct.

    
             
Rosa
doesn’t bother with discretion. ‘Is too little, Senorita. Pull some more. Pull some more.’

     
             
‘Okay, okay,’ I say and top her glass. ‘But if you guys fall on your faces and hurt yourselves, then Diablo’s mother is gonna kick  ... ’

    
             
‘She not his mother!’ Maria snaps. ‘Don’t call her that.’
             

             
I pause with my pouring and look at her. ‘Wh …what do say?’

Maria’s glare and the pursing of her lips confuses me. When Rosa and her exchange secret glances, I sense some juicy gossip here.

             
Strategically, I top their glasses before they ask for it. What do you know – Vodka is a mighty muscle relaxant – their tongues get really loose and start wagging – stuff that makes my jaws drop and I’m pretty sure my FBI friends listening in are equally shocked at what they learn.

             
‘Christa, she adopt Diablo,’
Rosa
says.

             
Shocked? There’s more – I learn that
Troy
and Diablo are blood brothers while Pedro, Rocky and Digger are Christa’s biological children.

             
‘Diablo,
Troy
, Lucas, Santana – Christa adopt them all when they were children,’
Rosa
says. 
             
My jaws drop. ‘So ... Santana ... I mean ... so Diablo, he’s not incestuous, then? I mean he’s not having sex with his sister?’  

    
             
Rosa
flashes me a reproachful look.

             
‘Wow,’ I mutter. ‘How wrong was I?’

             
‘But Santana, she do everything Christa asks her to do, Senorita, because she got no place to go. And Christa make Santana evil. Very evil sometimes and I no like Santana for that.’

    
             
‘Gosh, I had no idea ….wow!’

    
             
Maria explains: when Diablo was six, arsonists burnt down his village and killed his parents. He was found wandering around with two year old
Troy
on his back. Christa, a drug dealer from another village, who was always on the lookout for kids she could ‘adopt’ with the sole purpose of using them as cheap labour on her cannabis plantation, heard about the village being destroyed and decided to do some pillaging herself.