GRINGA (95 page)

Day
eight
of my arrest. Today is Diago’s funeral.

             
I order my mind to block out any thoughts of Diago’s funeral. My mind betrays me and I find myself pacing.

             
At around 12 noon, Depp barges into my holding cell, grinning. ‘I got you a pass to the funeral,’ he says, his voice brimming with excitement. He leans towards me and whispers, ‘I bribed people to get it. Never thought I’d do something like this in my whole life, but I did.’

             
‘I’m going to Diago’s funeral?’ 

             
‘You bet!’

             
I
nod as fresh tears coarse down my cheeks.
 

             
Fifteen minutes later, Depp, Grey and two armed guards escort me to the funeral. My hands are cuffed but my feet are not shackled. Even though I know I’m going to Diago’s funeral, I still try to blank my mind. I try to zone out and live in the white space I’ve existed in for the last
eight
days.

             
We chug along the dirt roads to Tana-Mera but suddenly, we stop
abruptly
a distance away from the ranch.

             
‘What’s going on?’ I ask.

             
‘Mourners,’ Depp says. ‘Blocking the road.’ He touches his horn lightly but they hardly move.

             
I crane my neck to look around. ‘Mourners? But there’s ... ’

             
‘…thousands. Fancy that, huh? Diablo has quite a fan base.’

             
He’s right. I didn’t know Diago was that popular. I see some familiar faces in the sea of mourners – the superintendants of the hospitals Diago renovated, Manual and his family, a few prison guards, school teachers from the schools we donated to in the past, village elders. I’ve never seen so a huge funeral service in my life.

             
Finally, we worm our way to the ranch. Marquees and smaller tents dot Tana Mera. As we walk, I stop and look at a beautiful, white rose in the garden. I don’t have a flower for Diago, I’m thinking.

             
Depp looks at me, then the rose. Without a word, he cuts it and hands it to me.

             
‘Thanks,’ I mutter and clutch it between my cuffed hands. We walk on slowly and are guided into the largest tent. The moment I enter the tent, a murmur sweeps through the crowd. As I walk the murmur mutates into a load roar and everybody stands up.  

             
I see nobody and nothing. My eyes are fixed to the cherry-wood coffin in the middle of the room. Burnt orange and peach roses from Tana-Mera’s gardens
surround
the coffin. 

             
I stop walking
.
Immediately Depp seizes my arm. ‘Easy now.’

             
I shuffle my weary self towards the coffin, my legs threatening to give in, my heart threatening to splinter. This can’t be happening. My beautiful beast cannot be lying in a wooden box.
             
I reach out and touch the beautiful face of my love.  

             
He’s wearing the shirt and jacket he wore on our first date. He looks peaceful - no frowns, no hooded bloodshot eyes, just peace and what appears to be the slightest of smiles on his face. I long to hold him and cuddle him in my arms like I usually do. I want to rest my head against his broad chest and let him kiss my hair like he usually does.

             
This wasn’t supposed to happen, my darling Diago. If I had known the police were coming for you, I would have stood in front of you
and I would have let them kill me too
. All I know is that I will love you forever.

             
I place the single white rose on my husband’s coffin.

             
You can sleep now my darling beast; your pain is over.

             
Everyone is weeping, but Santana’s sobs can be heard above everyone else’s. Slowly, I approach her expecting her to hiss at me, tell me to get lost, blame me for his death. But she does nothing of that sort. She accepts my embrace and we weep together.

             
‘
He was my husband too,’ she says.

             
‘Yes, he was your husband too,’ I say through my tears.

             
Diago is buried in the village he was born in, as per his wishes.

Alone in my cell again, I cover my head with my blanket and think of my family. None of them attended the funeral even though most of the villagers of Siempre showed up to pay their respects. My father - he should have been here. I need him. I have no-one else. My world is destroyed and I’m in prison because of him and he’s nowhere around. Normally, I would lie to myself that I don’t care and that I’m okay without them. But now, my numbness is fading and I’m aching. My anger has deserted me and only sadness prevails. I feel the every bit the hurt and disappointment I’m supposed to.

             
I long for them to contact me and tell me how sorry they are that I’m hurting. I wish
Austin
would come over and tell me that they are worried about me. Bring me biscuits and fruit I won’t eat. I long for my father to put his arms around me and cuddle me like my mom used to do. I take my only prison-issue pillow from under my head and
hold
it to my chest. Closing my eyes, I squeeze it to me and pretend it’s my dad I’m holding. Just like I did when I was a kid and in need of a hug. 

Day
Twenty
of my arrest. Depp and my attorney barge
into my cell
. ‘They’re cutting you loose!’ Depp blurts. ‘You’re free, Payton.’

    
             
I look at him in surprise. ‘Why?’

    
             
‘Your file, Senora,’ my attorney says, ‘it is gone. Disappeared!’

             
‘Disapp …?’ I look at Depp. He looks up at the left hand corner of the ceiling.

             
After a few seconds, he leans over and whispers, ‘You owe me big time.’

    
             
‘Yeah, sure,’ I say in a saccharine voice. ‘What can I give you in return? A kidney? Cornea?’ 

             
Now why did I say that when he “lost” my file and gave me back my freedom? 

             
A wounded look crosses his face.

             
I guess my behavior is fuelled by anger and acute disappointment and for a moment, I toy with the idea of apologizing. But I don’t.

             
He turns and walks out of the cell. I slowly gather my meager possessions and wonder what is there to go
home
to.
             

             
Thirty minutes later, I meet Depp outside the prison.

             
‘Okay jailbird,’ he says, trying to move past our last tête-à-tête. He’s a lot more excited than I am. 

    
             
I nod and slip into the passenger seat of his car. ‘How d’ya do it?’

    
             
‘I took your advice. Pulled strings, bribes ... ’

    
             
‘So you’re corrupt after all then?’ Once again, my voice is devoid of humour.

    
             
He grins. ‘Huh huh.’ 

    
             
‘Mmm.’ I sit back and fall silent.

    
             
‘Payton.’

             
I stare ahead.

             
‘Payton, look at me.’

             
Slowly, I turn my head to look at him. 

             
‘I didn’t kill Diago,’ he says quietly as he pulls up at Tana-Mera.

             
I undo my safety belt and grab my stuff. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ I mutter as I stumble out of the car and shut the door.

             
The air is thick with smut and the smoke around Tana-Mera makes my eyes water. I look around and see the charred remains of the weed plantation. At least the authorities waited until after the funeral. None of the beautiful rose bushes survived the torching. Everything is brown and almost barren and emptiness prevails. I swallow hard to dislodge the lump in my throat. Tana-Mera, my home – destroyed with my husband.

             
‘Gringa?’

    
             
I turn around and look at
Troy
. My only link with Diago. My only proof Diago existed. ‘
Troy
, I’m free.’

    
             
‘I know,’ he says, a smile on his face. He gives me a hug then turns to Depp and pumps his hand. ‘Thanks for doing it.’

             
‘Pleasure,’ Depp says.

   
             
Troy
’s lack of surprise at my freedom leaves me wondering – was he in cahoots with Depp?

As they chat, I head towards my bedroom. The moment I open the door, I get a whiff of Diago’s aftershave, his masculine aura and a wave of sadness washes over my broken self. How do I do this? How do I live without him?

             
I picked up one of his t-shirts, hold it to my face and sob into it. Clutching the t-shirt to my racking breasts, I crawl under my bedcovers and weep. I weep for my lost love, my beast, my devil, my amigo, my student, my protector.

   
             
‘Gringa?’

             
I look up at
Troy
through my tears.  

  
             
When he sees my pain, his shoulders sag and for a while he just stares at me, a helpless look on his face. Quietly, he leaves the room.  

  
             
A few minutes later, Maria enters the room and crawls into bed with me. She holds me in her arms without speaking. After a few moments, Rosa and Santana join us. All four of us lie in my king size bed without speaking. 

             
An hour later, Maria says, ‘Let us go to the kitchen and have some food.’

             
I shake my head from side-to-side.

             
‘Come.’ Her stern voice stops me from protesting.