Pa-pi

“Where were you last night?”

Rosa, standing wide-eyed in the door-way to the study, translated the old man's words carefully into Spanish.

The usually immaculate room was in disarray. Two large burgundy-leather chairs were thrown over backwards. Sheet music off the grand piano was scattered across the Persian rug. All the paintings now hung crooked on the oiled, mahogany walls.

“Mi casa,” Rosa answered hesitantly. She worried that her answer sounded as foolish as the question.

Senior Jeffrey sat himself upright on the sofa. An empty brandy-snifter dangled in his left hand. Rosa, standing in the door-way and dressed in her black and white maid's uniform, focused heavily on the gun in his right hand. She stood very, very still.

The old man made a sound like a nasal hiccup. His small red eyes seemed incapable of gaining solid purchase on anything he looked at, including her.

It smells like... goat balls, she decided. A smell from long ago. With it's return came the chill inside her stomach.

Her usually elegant and dignified employer staggered unattractively to his feet. Rosa, thinking the old man would surely fall, made no effort to move to his side.

The nearly unrecognizable man looked at her with one eye pinched tightly closed. Tears washed freely down his face. Rosa watched him sink to his knees.

It was now she thought she could go to him. Lift him. Set him back on the couch.

“I loved you!” he said, aiming the gun at Rosa's head.

“Pa-pi,” Rosa said, using the word for the first time since the dark streets of San Juan. "Venga aqui, Pa-pi," she heard herself saying.

She cradled the old man's head with one hand and unlaced the front of her dress with the other.

"Elizabeth?" he asked. A thousand lines creased his forhead as he gazed sadly up and into her eyes.

"Yes, Papi," Rosa whispered, lowering her breast to his lips. "Bueno, Papi...bueno."

326 Words--

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