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10.
“LOOK, THESE TOMATOES AREperfectly ripe, Aisha.”
That wasn’t news to Aisha. Nicolás was trying to make conversation and trailed her around the field like a puppy dog. It was annoying. All she had that was hers and that no one could take from her were her thoughts, and she would like to have them alone. She handed out the basket for him to drop the three buffalo tomatoes he’d picked. “They are a good size this year,” she said, because her mama would have something to say to her if she wasn’t polite.
“I will pick peppers?” he asked. “How many does Pilar want?”
Aisha didn’t care about the peppers or what Mama wanted. She just wished he would go away and leave her in peace. “Four or five.”
The cherry tomatoes were sweet and succulent. She plucked three vines of them and added them to their gathering. “And two lettuce.”
Nicolás put the peppers in the basket and touched her hand. She turned towards the onions though they didn’t need any, and his hand slid from hers.
“You seem more distant, Aisha. Is it Conchita’s marriage that distracts you? It’s a very busy time for the family I know, but you must trust that everything will go well. It’s a happy time.”
It was a happy time for her sister, and Aisha had no doubt that everything would be perfect for the wedding. That wasn’t the issue. Thoughts of the English stranger occupied her mind. She hadn’t expected to see Gabi again after the dancing. Bumping into her yesterday had fuelled her fantasies and filled her mind with false possibilities. She should never have agreed to meet her again. It was too risky, but she’d been caught off guard, and the more they’d chatted, the more she wanted to get to know her. She ripped the onions from their place in the ground, shook off the soil that clung to them, and threw them in the basket.
“Aisha, I want you to take me seriously.”
“Nicolás, I do. You are an honest man. You care about…you care about people, and we work well together.”
He leaned towards her, his hands clasped together, and his eyes narrowed as his frown deepened. “Not just our work together, Aisha. I want you to think of me as Conchita thinks of García.”
Her heart launched itself into her throat, choking her, making it hard to breathe. As the silence extended between them, his appearance shifted to defeated, and he took a step backward and lowered his head.
“I want us to be happy together, Aisha. I hoped you wanted that too.”
“It’s too soon, Nicolás.”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Not for me, it isn’t.”
Why was it always what he wanted that mattered? She took a deep breath to maintain her calm. “I need to be sure.” She would need to be forced was what she really meant.
“And you are not?”
She turned away and started walking towards the house. “It’s not that simple.”
He trailed a pace behind her. “Why, Aisha? Why is everything so fucking complicated with you?”
She stopped and faced him, her head inches from his. “Why are you shouting at me?”
He stepped back, ran his fingers through his hair and tugged at the back of his neck. “You always make excuses. Even Esme couldn’t work you out.”
The mention of her name in that way drove a knife through her heart. He couldn’t say that about the one woman who did know her well, who only changed towards Aisha after she married him. “How dare you bring your dead wife into this? If she were still here, you wouldn’t be knocking at my door, would you?”
He squirmed then lifted his head and adopted the posture of superiority that was his birth right as a male in their community. “What will become of you?”
She tried to stare into his eyes, but he avoided contact. Was his reaction intended to threaten? He couldn’t know about her desires, because she had nothing to hide except the images that were guarded closely by her mind. She couldn’t give any concern to what might happen should she lose her mental faculties, like Old María, and start speaking the truth. She couldn’t show him any concern for his verbal assault either. She mustn’t show any sign of weakness because that would lead to an intervention of some kind by her parents. “I will be happy, that is what will become of me.” She started walking back to the house, and he followed her.
Mama greeted them at the door. She held a basket covered with a cloth. Aisha put the basket of vegetables they’d just collected on the table and started towards her bedroom.
“Aisha, you need to take this food to Señor Pérez,” Mama said.
“Mama, I can’t. I’ve arranged to meet a friend at eleven.” There was no escape from Nicolás’s questioning stare.
“These are not plans that I know,” Mama said and raised her hand dismissively. “Señor Pérez is very old, and we have to look after him. I made fresh bread. Now take it and go.”
“This is Conchita’s job. Why isn’t she doing it?” If looks could kill, she would have fallen swifter than a bird shot from the sky. The joy and excitement she’d harboured for the meeting with Gabi seeped from the wound her mama had inflicted. She might as well be lying prone on the stone floor, bleeding, on a slow route to her death. “Mama, I need to talk to you.” She had to try to explain to her that she couldn’t marry Nicolás, or any man.
