Las Dos Marias

Chapter 22: Schemes and Flashbacks

A storm brewed in his mind as he crossed the dusty entrance of the cuartel. He could hardly understand why a man like Don Arnulfo Buenavista would welcome a lowly mujer into his home. The thought sent a tremor of disbelief through him, making his fists clench at his sides.

Shaking his head, he stomped through the hallways and flung open the door to the Teniente's office.

"And why the hell would the Alcalde concern himself with that mujer?" His voice cracked with fury.

The Teniente only looked at him dismissively, as if he was already used to his tantrums. "He is the Alcalde, after all. I'd say that's reason enough for him to concern himself with the issues in this town," the Teniente Mayor replied, taking a long drag of his tobacco, his tone laced with cynicism.

"Qué estúpido eres! I trusted you with this information! That damn daughter of Jose Ramos will cause nothing but trouble in this town—"

"Padre," the Teniente interrupted, waving a hand to silence his fury, "we both know that you have contributed to the downfall of the original plan. How dare you come here and call me estúpido."

Padre Enrique's anger instantly dissipated at the Teniente's menacing tone.

"Clean up your mess, Padre Enrique, before you barge into my office and act like a fucking idiot!"

With a heavy sigh, the friar angrily exited the office and began his long walk back from the cuartel to the chapel. He could feel the sun soaking into his thick robe, sweat forming all over his body, but that was the least of his concerns. By this time, memories started to resurface in his mind...

A few months earlier, when he first arrived in town, he had come across a strange woman. She was different indeed—but her personality had only fueled his intrigue.

"Good day, in the name of the Lord," he remembered greeting her.

She only gave him a piercing gaze, her shawl draped over her shoulders, the scent of herbs and flowers lingering in her hair. "Good day, Padre," she replied politely.

"I hope to see you in my upcoming sermon this afternoon," he said, hoping to spark a conversation.

"I do not concern myself with your long sermons, Padre. You see, I have patients to attend to in the hills. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Her responses even fascinated the new friar more. Who was this woman? And the challenge had left him with a purpose in his new life in this town, vowing to know every detail about her. Hence, as the days turned into weeks, he began to learn about the woman through the many speculations circulating around San Felipe: she was Constancia Ramos, wife of Jose Ramos. They had only one daughter named Maria Isabela. The family had been a mystery in San Felipe even before his arrival.

Since then, Father Enrique often found himself anticipating the woman's visits in town. She would come to the town square once a week, often accompanied by either her husband or her daughter. Each time he saw them together, a surge of contempt welled inside him.

Several times he tried to reach out to her, waiting for the moment she would acknowledge the friendship he was offering—and yet, the woman remained unfazed, too rigid in her duties, never once setting foot inside the chapel.

One day, after conducting one of his sermons, the Teniente Mayor came to him, fury simmering in his eyes as he confronted him. The Teniente harshly dragged him into a secluded part of the chapel, his grip leaving bruises on his arms.

"You swore you'd do a clean job! What the hell have you done this time? You really don't amount to anything, bastard!"

"I—I'm going to make it up to you—" he stammered.

"Make sure all the evidence is wiped out, estúpido! Or else, I'll forget that blood is thicker than water and have you murdered... like you did to that priest!"

He knew his past was catching up to him, and he had to do something about it. And as though the heavens favored him, rumors of a rising rebellion had begun to spread. He just needed to find a way to use that to cover his tracks.

One evening, he invited the mysterious woman, offering his best intentions for the last time.

"I do not intend to defend myself, Padre," Constancia said when he warned her about the dangers of practicing the old ways. "I am not a witch but a Babaylan."

Frustration clouded his rationality at her response. "I could make you my right hand in this chapel—to acquire such power would surely spark jealousy among the other ladies in town. You wouldn't be regarded as a mujer inútil anymore, and—"

"I am not a mujer inútil, Padre. I know what you want. You wish to lure me into your faith, but at what cost? I would have to abandon my true calling. I serve in ways you may not understand, but I will not bow to your fear."

"Your insolence will cause you pain, Constancia," he said bitterly, but she only looked at him with sympathy.

"May your God forgive you, Padre, for conjuring such thoughts."

Father Enrique heaved a sigh. He had exhausted all patience with this woman, and yet, she continued to shun him. In that moment, the priest decided on one thing: he would, after all, have to follow what had he and the Teniente plotted in San Felipe.