I didn’t know what to think of them, honestly. I forced myself to finish my coffee—it was so bitter in comparison to my cocoa.
After dinner, my sisters played their instruments. They made a great duet: Angélica with the harp and Catalina with the violin. It was obvious that they’d had formal musical training. Had my father sent for me years ago, I might have had my own instructor and could have become a proficient performer, too—I loved music so.
I refrained from humming or swaying, though I was moved by the beautiful sounds coming from my sisters’ dextrous fingers. I wished I could accompany them with my singing, but it would be disastrous if I did. For one, I had no ability as a tenor or a baritone, so my singing would be an obvious giveaway. Then there was the fact that I’d become insecure about my voice ever since Cristóbal and La Cordobesa had gotten into the habit of shoving cotton balls into their ears every time I sang. The nerve of those two! I knew I wasn’t La Caramba or one of those legendary zarzuela singers, but I liked to think I had some flair when I sang, which I did often, usually when roasting cacao beans at the shop. I sighed. How I missed my old life. But it was gone for good.
“Don Cristóbal?” Martin’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
My sisters were done performing and stared at me expectantly.
“Yes?” I said.
“I was asking if you’d like to join me and Alberto for a drink in town?”
A drink with a priest? My first inclination was to decline. I didn’t like to stay up late and I didn’t particularly enjoy Martin’s company, but I stopped myself. This might be a good opportunity to get some information from these men. Moreover, if I found a way to spend the night in town, I could take the check to the bank first thing in the morning and find out who had signed it. Otherwise, I would have to find a ride to Vinces in the morning or climb on one of those horses again and take myself to the bank. My sore bottom didn’t like that idea one bit.
“Sure,” I said.
While my brother said goodbye to my sisters, I rushed upstairs and collected the check.
CHAPTER 11
It was apparent I knew little about males and their habits because I’d never heard of priests going to bars. Or maybe my brother was different from other men of God. But tonight, I had the rare opportunity to enter the male mind without any restrictions. To my surprise, I was growing excited to get to know this mysterious world of theirs.
I followed Martin and Alberto to a dim room, where the laughter and the clicking of bottles and glasses became louder. We walked past a long bar aligned with stools and two bartenders in pressed white aprons hustling behind the counter.
We settled in one of the back tables. As the first round of aguardiente was passed, I studied my two companions. There was a camaraderie between them that hadn’t been apparent at the house, in a way I’d never experienced with women. With the women in my life—my mother, my friends, my assistant—I always had to choose my words carefully, lest I hurt their feelings. But these two men were completely at ease with each other. Martin explained that the two of them had known each other all their lives even though Alberto was three years younger than Martin.
“I tried to save this one from a life of celibacy, but he wouldn’t listen,” Martin said, rolling up his sleeves. “Now he has to pay the consequences with a sore wrist.”
It took me a moment to understand the implication, but when I did, I offered a chuckle of approval—not that this was my kind of humor—but it seemed to appeal to both of them.
Martin ran his fingers through his hair, laughing with gusto, while Alberto watched him with an amused smile. Martin refilled his glass and tried to add more puro, as he called it, to mine, but I shook my head.
Martin scoffed. “What? You’re worried about this cassock?” He nodded at Alberto. “He’s not going to hold it against you. He doesn’t go around counting sins.”
Well, if I was going to convince these men that I was one of them, then I had to act like them. If the priest was drinking, then I’d better do it too, even if I wasn’t fond of alcohol. Oh, no, was I going to turn into a drunk by the end of this experience?
“All right, just one more,” I said. “I’m trying to cut back.”
Martin filled my glass. “Why? You’re a free man now.”
The callousness of this man! Alberto widened his eyes. I must have done the same because Martin seemed taken aback.
“I’m sorry, hermano,” he told me. “It slipped out.” Martin dipped his chin down.