GRINGA (80 page)

             
He does both.

Counting the money is an
arduous task. Diago,
Troy
and I begin counting. After getting over his initial shock of parting with the money,
Troy
didn’t raise any objections about parting with the money and I’m relieved with that. 

             
‘I am surprised that Diago said yes to this,’ he says. ‘But, I am happy we can do something good with this money. It’s just sitting here.’

             
I smile at him.

             
After counting for two days and only tackling three shelves, Diago flings a wad of notes across the room. ‘It’s too much to count!’ he says. ‘We will be here for a year counting this.’

             
He’s right; we have millions of pesos and millions of American dollars. Plus money is coming in on a daily basis from the cannabis crops.  

  
             
‘I could buy a lot of shoes with this money and change my name to Imelda.’

             
They shoot me confused looks.

             
‘Never you mind.’  

  
             
Diago governs three villages, not two, so we distribute the money between the three.

             
As can be expected, the village elders are thrilled about getting money. We decide on a school each or a learning centre where adults can also drop in to learn. It is be a village project and all villagers are encouraged to chip in to help – an excellent morale booster.

             
We call the schools
D
iago Cruz Centre of Learning
.

             
Diago and some of his men also engage in some debt collecting so we have more funds to pass on.
Diago’s
men also get involved with the building work in the communities and the morale at Tana-Mera is once again high.  

  
             
As for Diago – people all around shower him with gifts, which they sometimes just leave at the entrance of the ranch.

  
             
But most exciting to me - Diago is now interacting with people on a daily basis - people of society, not just drug dealers. They don’t run away when he’s around anymore. They are still respectful but not fearful. I watch him interact with the village children and I smile a melancholy smile. It’s clear he loves kids. Other people’s kids. He still has no intention of having a child of his own with me. That hurts but I swallow my disappointment and say nothing.

             
It’s a month later and Diago,
Troy
, Santana and I and go out to a restaurant to celebrate.

             
‘To three schools, three libraries and two hospitals!’ I say, and raise my glass.

             
Maria has a visitor – her granddaughter Isabella. Maria struts around with a smile on her face.  ‘I go ...
Isabella
go to university in
America
. Isabella is very clever. Isabella can walk when she was only nine months. Isabella can …’

             
Rosa
rolls her eyes
.
‘Isabella, Isabella, Isabella!’
she mutters

             
I smile.

             
Maria glares at
Rosa
.
Rosa
wrinkles her nose.

             
‘Isabella is nineteen,’ Maria continues.

             
Isabella is also stunning – large, honey-coloured peepers with tarantella lashes and auburn hair snaking down to her waist. But she is also pleasant, respectful and has a warped sense of humour and we immediately click. I take her to the rock pool and show her around.

             
As we walk back to the ranch, we spot
Troy
on the roof doing some repairs.

             
‘Hey
Troy
!’ I shout. ‘Have you met Isabella?’

             
Troy
looks at Isabell
a and just topples off the roof.

             
Isabella and I look at each other in horror then dash to help him.

             
He gets up and shrugs us off. 

             
‘Are you hurt?’ I ask.
This is
so unlike
Troy
. He usually
has excellent co-ordination.

             
‘No,’ he says, unable to tear his eyes away from the exotic Isabella. ‘I’m okay. It was nothing.’

             
Isabella and I exchange glances.

             
‘Gosh,
Troy
, that was quite a fall from where I was standing,’ I say. ‘You sure are a tough motherfucker.’

             
‘It was nothing,’ he repeats, a trace of arrogance in his voice.

             
Isabella looks at me and winks. ‘You are just so amazing, senor,’ she gushes. ‘You jump like a stuntman. Like Zorro, actually.’

             
‘Eh?’ Suddenly,
Troy
sucks in his stomach and stands up really straight.  ‘Zorro? Really?’ His eyes are shining now.

             
Isabella nods several times.
Troy
lights up like a torch and
adopts a John Wayne swagger. They start talking to each other in Spanish and after
a while, I decided that three is a crowd and
head back to the ranch, alone.

             
‘I can arm wrestle anyone and win,’ I hear
Troy
say.

             
‘Anyone?’ Isabella says. 

             
I shake my head and smile to myself.

             
The next day, I see
Troy
, limping alongside Diago, a cast on his leg.

             
‘What the ...?
Troy
, what happened to your leg?’

             
‘I break it,’ he says, his voice crackling with excitement.

             
‘You broke ...When? How?’

             
He coughs and splutters and avoids eye contact with me.

             
‘
Troy
?’

             
‘I fall off the roof, remember?’

             
‘You fell off the ...?’ I stop and stare at him. ‘Why the hell didn’t you say something
then
? I mean, you must have been in so much pain.’

             
‘Isabella ...’ he says and places his hand on his heart. 

             
‘Isabella?’ I burst out laughing. ‘You wanna be macho for Isabella so you suffered so much pain? Are you crazy?’

             
He gives a sheepish smile. ‘She said I was like a stuntman, gringa, remember?’

             
So that John Wayne swagger was him trying to walk with a broken leg. ‘Christ
Troy
, the

pain ... ’
             

             
He shrugs. ‘Zorro, remember? She is worth it, gringa.’

             
Nuff said. ‘You sure?’

             
He nods several times, his eyes glazing over as he remembers the lovely Isabella. ‘She is. She is.’

‘Married?’ I scoff. ‘That’s not true, Grey.’

             
He stares silently across the table at me.

             
I look at Depp. He’s calm today but he’s also holding my gaze.

             
I slam back into my chair. ‘That’s a load of crap and you know it. You guys are …man, talk about straw
s
.’ 

             
Silence.

             
My cockiness wanes.
‘To ... to whom?’ My voice is a mere croak now.

             
‘Santana,’ Grey says.

             
‘Santana? You’re shitting me. I don’t believe you guys.’

             
Grey nods at Depp. ‘Show her.’  

             
Reluctantly, Depp removes a page from his file and slides it over to my end of the table.

             
I squint at the page and frown. ‘It’s in Spanish. What …what does it …?’

  
             
‘It’s a marriage certificate,’ Grey says, his voice impatient, obviously contemptuous of my ignorance. ‘
Says
Diago Cruz is married to Santana Pablo.’

  
             
‘Married to …’
To still the rush in my ears,
I shake my head from side-to-side. ‘I ... I ...That can’t be ...’

  
             
‘It’s true,’ Depp says, his voice soft and almost apologetic.

  
             
The sick feeling that envelopes me is probably shock, devastation. I study the ground in silence.

             
No wonder he’s never asked me to marry him – he’s already married. I slap my palm to my forehead. Santana once called him her husband – fuck! Why didn’t I take note?  

             
In a daze, I wake up and stand with my hands on the edge of the table. Christ! How could Diago do this to me? I really love him. I know he loves me. I believe him because – well, he just isn’t that kind of guy – deceitful, a player.

             
But now ... the precautions he takes during sex – it all makes sense – the motherfucker’s married
!

  
             
‘Payton?’ Depp peers at me. ‘You okay?’

  
             
I look up at him, struggling to and fake a it-doesn’t-matter-to-me look, but I fail miserably. All I manage is a helpless shrug.