Continued from Friday, December 8, 2023, #3702 issue of Amandala
by Hart Tillett
At breakfast on Monday morning, Miss Bertha, her landlady, saw what looked like worry lines around her eyes.
“Had a long night, Hilda?” she asked, as was her wont. Bertha, a childhood friend of her mother, was her confidant and would not hesitate to enquire of her boarder’s health if she felt something was amiss.
“Term exams,” she answered evasively and lapsed into silence. She escaped to her room as soon as she could and rushed to the mirror. No wonder Bertha has questions, she thought. Staring back at her were two slightly reddened eyes as if she had been crying. She dropped a pair of sunglasses in her shoulder bag to wear as she drove to school.
But like Bertha, her best friend at Sacred Angels, an English teacher named Loría, could tell something troubled Hilda. It was in her voice and the way she appeared to withdraw from company. Usually a gregarious person, Hilda sounded impatient and appeared distracted.
“C’mon Hilda,” she said, linking an arm with her friend’s on Day 3 of observing Hilda’s changed persona. “What’s with you?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” she replied jokingly, but Loría could not be put off so easily.
“We’re best friends for a reason, Hilda,” she punted. “Something’s bothering you,” she pleaded, “and I need to know what’s so important in your life to turn you into someone I hardly recognize.”
“It’s nothing, I tell you,” Hilda lied. “If I had a problem, don’t you think you’d be the first to know?”
“Well, promise me you’ll let me know if something’s wrong!” The two women hugged, and the matter was dropped. But a couple days later, Loría felt compelled to check with her friend again. It was during a break, and that time Hilda, feeling the need to talk to someone, decided to unburden herself.
“I don’t know how to say this or where to start, Loría,” she began, “but last Sunday I visited the mother of one of my students at the hospital.” She then proceeded to sketch out her encounter with Wally and Eleanor, and ended with the disclaimer that she could not understand why the event worried her so. “I hardly know him, and her not at all!” she blurted.
Loría listened patiently, noticing that her friend skipped over some of the details that would have fleshed out the account—the way she called “Wally’s” name; the edge that crept into her voice when she mentioned Eleanor. And when Hilda was finished, Loría looked at her searchingly.
“Are you jealous of this Eleanor, Hilda?” she asked finally.
“Jealous of a village girl?” she asked, and Loría noted that edge in her denial again. “Someone I don’t even know!”
“Well, if you’re in love with Wally, and she stands in the way…”
“Love, Loría?” she protested. “You’re stretching this way out of proportion, my friend.”
“But not beyond the realm of possibility, eh?” cajoled Loría.
“You don’t understand,” Hilda began to protest, but at that moment the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the break, and the friends separated.
What she wanted to explain to her (Loria) was that, aside from the obvious differences in their backgrounds, her parents would be very disappointed in her if she did anything as outrageous as falling in love with someone like Wally. He hadn’t gone to high school, and had no appetite for the things that she liked, such as the theater, music and travel. She had never forgotten what her father had said about him, and later on he had made it clear that she would be better off marrying someone with a vocation like teaching or an architect—people who could make a mark on their communities.
Loría, on the other hand, who had two failed relationships to guide her, knew the signs of engagement. Her instincts told her that the younger woman was in love, and that, having planted the thought, it would flourish in Hilda’s young heart sooner than later. And it did.
The encounter at the hospital continued to intrude on her quiet moments. Like when she sipped her coffee at nightfall or whenever she was out driving. She even nursed the thought of going back to visit with Wally before he was discharged from the hospital to see whether being near to him made her feel any attraction, but the thought that Eleanor might show up made her decide against the venture. The upshot of all this was the realization that perhaps Loría was right. She was being affected by the thought of Wally, but whether it was love or sympathy or something else was a matter she needed to flesh out in the course of time.
She felt like calling her mother, but that idea too fizzled as soon as it arose. She would confide in her dad, and the anger that would create would be a cloud over the approaching Christmastime, which she planned to spend with them in Belize City. Instead, she struggled alone in the thorny emotional patch into which she had been drawn. To calm these raging feelings, she went to the beauty salon, to her podiatrist, and spent a longer than normal time in the beauty section of the pharmacy. And she found herself watching more movies on TV with romantic themes.
Meanwhile, Loría was keeping an eye on her friend, certain as she was that Hilda had been caught in a romantic web.
“Say, Hilda,” she greeted her one morning, “how’d you like for us to make a run into Chetumal next weekend?” She saw Hilda brighten. “My brother and Jean, his wife, are going and have room in the back. How about it?”
“Sure,” she replied excitedly. That also was a flag to keen-eyed Loría, for previous invitations such as that were usually met with excuses as to why she couldn’t make the time.
Meanwhile, Wally had been seen by the surgeon who fixed the “broken” leg, which turned out to be no more than a dislocation. A single, sudden, forceful yank was all it took to repair the foot, and three days thereafter Wally was back in the village hobbling on crutches, which the doctor said he could discard after a week.
Once he could drive again, he decided to go to Chetumal for some much-needed worming medicines for his horses. As he got out of his car at the border, he saw a laughing Hilda and others entering a red Chevvy Sedan with Orange Walk plates. The car was headed to the border, and he made a mental note of its tag and entered the immigration office to have his exit document approved. He might just happen to see that car again, as they were both travelling to the same Mexican city. Not much chance of that, but he’d keep an eye open.
Wally too, had been having his own sleepless nights, and it was all because of seeing Hilda at the hospital. He did not know her very well, although for anyone from the village to say they did not know Corporal Mando Stain’s lovely and educated daughter, Hilda, would be a lie. The moment he saw her enter the ward he realized that something had changed in him. It may have been the rapid heart rate, the flush he felt in his face and the regret he felt for not changing his clothing. The presence of his young sister Eleanor did not help much either, and he felt certain her presence played a part in Hilda’s haste to get away. He wanted her to linger, and regretted he was not more forceful in his effort to get her to stay for a while longer.
He drove around to some of the major shopping centers looking for that red car with the distinctive plates—without success. It was getting late, so he went to Josue’s, his preferred eatery. It was a small restaurant with eight tables and a smaller drinks bar. Located two blocks south of the Avenida Central, it offered quick service, tasty Spanish and American cuisines, and was clean and air-conditioned. Parked in front of Josue’s was the red car. There was no way he could just step in and not be seen by all the patrons there and, not knowing how Hilda would react to seeing him in a public venue, he thought of going somewhere else. But the desire to see her was too strong, so he decided to wait until her group came out with the hope of a chance encounter.
The day was cool, the lingering effect of the first cold front in the region. He turned on the car radio, and a Belize station was churning out Crosby’s “White Christmas”. He leaned back and prepared to wait until the group exited. He didn’t have to wait long. First out was Hilda and someone he didn’t know. They seemed happy. He timed his exit so that an encounter was unavoidable, and as they met he greeted them.
“Well, hello Hilda. Hello, Miss!” he said. “What a coincidence!” His face brightened with a cheek-wide grin. His eyes moved from one to the other. As Hilda made the introductions, the other couple emerged from the restaurant.
“Well, it’s good to see you again, Hilda.” There was a jauntiness in his voice, and his eyes twinkled and held hers as he spoke. “A pleasure to have met you, Loría.” He moved off then, and Hilda saw for the first time that he walked with a limp. He nodded to the couple about to join Hilda and Loría.
“Who was that?” asked Jean as they reached the car. “He’s so tall. And quite a looker to boot.” Loría decided to spare Hilda the need to explain.
“Just someone who Hilda knew from Guinea Grass,” she said curtly. “Went to school together,” she said shortly, and the subject was dropped. As they entered the car, Loría winked at Hilda. “We’ll finish this later,” it said.
But there was no “later” that day. Nor the day after. Hilda and Loría bought tamales when they reached the border, and by the time she got home Hilda felt the first symptoms of food poisoning. She was out of school for a week, and the following week was the close of school for the Christmas holidays. The days flew by in a blur, and then it was time to leave Orange Walk for her annual visit to the City to be with her family for the Christmas holidays, and take in a Christmas party or two. Time to pamper herself.
A week before Christmas, she got four letters in the mail. Christmas cards, she could tell from the shapes of the envelopes. Three were from students and teachers at Sacred Angels. The other was from Wally. It was Mando who brought them to her, and he was not pleased.
“How well do you know this boy, then?” he asked, his displeasure plainly evident in his tone.
“Wally?” she asked, and her voice barely concealed her irritation. “I saw him at the hospital in Orange Walk,” she replied, looking directly at him. “W-why d’you ask?”
“I believe you know the answer to that, Hilda,” he said sternly. “Boys like him are just looking for sport…” and he would have gone on in that vein, but Hilda had prepped herself for it.
“He’s not a boy, Daddy. He’s 23, and you make it sound as if I’m game for the hunt! I resent that, Dad.”
“Your father didn’t mean any such thing, Hilda, and you know it. What’s with you now?”
“Well, it sure sounded like it, Mom!” This time the edge in her voice was sharp.
Mando did not pursue that angle, but said instead: “What do you two talk about, then: pastures and cattle branding? You’re not a farm girl, Hilda, and he’s no Einstein, and probably thinks of spurs, feeding troughs and fence-wire in his best moments.”
“You need to leave off that stereotyping, Daddy. I’ve only seen him twice and purely by accident.”
“He seems to put a lot more on your relationship than that,” he parried, “one that entitles his sending you Christmas cards?”
“People send cards for different reasons, Daddy.” And, seeing an opening to tit-for-tat with him, she purred softly, “He probably thought we were above that kind of thing.”
“Just so he doesn’t show up here before we even get to know him,” cautioned Mrs. Stain.
“Why would he, Mom? You’re putting way too much meaning into this just because of a Christmas card!”
“Well, like your father has said, he appears to think it’s more to it than that!”
She was tempted to ask her what they would do if he stopped by during the holidays. She resisted the urge, got up and went to her.
“You’ll be the first to know, Mom, when that time comes around,” she lied. “Now where are those gifts you wanted me to help you wrap?”
The rest of the holidays went by with no further Wally talk. Hilda selected a card suitable for the moment and personally mailed it to him. She went to a party organized by an aunt and was off to Caye Caulker for a two-day break. When she returned, she went to a hardware store on Albert Street to pick up a delivery she had ordered earlier on for her parents. Then it was Christmas Eve and the annual parade by the Fire Department and ambulance crews. A week later, she was heading back to Orange Walk and the New Year, a year that would change her life forever.
Somehow, the two of them seemed to run into each other at every turn: at the butcher’s; at the market; in line at the pharmacy; at a funeral service. Just about any place where people gathered. And occasionally they had the chance for a chat. This went on for a while, till one day she got a call from Wally. His birthday was near, and he was having a few friends over for a small party.
“I’d really like for you to attend, Hilda,” he pleaded when she was slow in accepting his invitation. “I promise not to have any spurs hanging on the walls,” he said, a reference to the comment about Wally’s social limitations which she had shared with him. “It won’t be an all-night party, as my parents need to go to bed early for their bus ride to Chets the next day.”
Ah, thought Hilda, this is to be a meet-my-parents occasion, sounds like?
“And bring Loría with you,” he added after a while.
“OK,” she conceded finally. “I’ll be there!”
It was, as he said, a small gathering made up of the butcher and his wife, Loría, Wally’s parents and a much subdued Eleanor. Wally was the perfect host, giving them a grand tour of the building, making sure everyone was comfortable, and the bartender, who turned out to be one of his cowboys, kept them entertained with his endless stories from their ranching exploits.
It was a new house, a 3-bedroom bungalow built at the top of a gently rising hill. And while not very large, it had everything, including a music alcove, a foyer and mud room, and a sunken living room that Hilda thought would be a bright but cozy, relaxing place for a weekend. The floor was polished wood, and the ceiling was the highest she had ever seen. A patio out back had an inlaid barbeque grille standing off from which were a few lounge chairs. Whoever designed it knew what he was doing, melding the open plan concept with flow efficiency. Everything was very neat, and once or twice she caught Eleanor looking at her quizzically. She smiled and was surprised when the gesture was returned.
Soft music with a Latin flavor wafted from the alcove, providing ambience for the chatter that swirled as one or the other held the attention of the little group. Mostly the talk was about the house, reminiscences about Guinea Grass with its long history, and the rapidly expanding town of Orange Walk. There was a lot of laughter whenever Wally’s father recapped some boyish mischief his son had been engaged in as a child growing up in the village. Wally would occasionally steal a glance at Hilda to see how she reacted to these anecdotes, and was pleased with what he saw.
The first to leave was Reuben and his wife.
“Tomorrow is Saturday,” he explained, “and we need to be up early.” A while later Wally’s parents went to bed, and then the others said their goodnights until only Wally, Loría and Hilda remained.
“Looks like we’re now keeping Wally from his bed,” Loría joked as she got up followed by Hilda. “We need to be going too!”
“Why the rush?” Wally mocked, “The night is still young!” Loría saw the longer than necessary glance as Wally looked at Hilda. They moved to the foyer to collect jackets.
“For you two, perhaps,” she responded smiling, “but not for an old hen like me!”
They had reached the wide verandah from which the distant lights of the town glimmered. A night owl hooted, and it was like a welcome call. For just a moment, the three of them stood together admiring the enchanting vistas of the night—the stars shining against the utter blackness of the sky as the moon began its slow climb above the tree line downhill. Wally’s German Shepherd ambled into view at the sound of voices.
Loría, in her wisdom of the ages, realized that this was not a moment for a threesome.
“I think I need to use the loo before leaving,” she muttered and moved back into the house, leaving Wally and Hilda alone.
“It’s such a lovely home you have,” she said. “And this view is straight out of a picture book.”
Wally did not respond, and when she turned to him, she saw that he was watching her in a way that made her ask, “What?”
“You could have it for the rest of your life, Hilda,” he said softly, gutturally. “If you wanted to, that is,” and this time there was no mistaking the tenderness that couched his voice.
Hilda was taken aback, as his meaning momentarily confounded her.
“W-what do you mean?” she stammered in confusion.
This time Wally moved closer to her, and she didn’t back away.
“What I mean, Hilda, is that from the moment you walked into that hospital ward my life was changed. Every thought, every activity, and every fiber of my being since then has been filled with your presence, your gentleness and your beauty.” He paused, but she remained quiet. “What I’m saying, Hilda, is that I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you!” He reached for her hands and felt their softness.
“I love you too, Wally,” she said softly, “but it seems like love is a strange, elf-like thing that employs pranks to conceal itself. I also felt the same as you did, and not realizing what it meant all this time.”
He let go of her hands then and hugged her. She loved the strength and warmth she felt from the embrace—secure, protective and emotional. Their lips met, but the sound of the flushing toilet made them move apart.
“All good to go,” chirped Loría making her way back. “Sorry I had to desert you like that but you know…” She was not allowed to finish.
“Don’t be,” said Wally, and the tenor in his voice told her that her ploy had worked.
To be continued