The Moment

The warm October day came sliding down. The grasses swayed with the rhythm of the congas. Blades of light sliced through the trees proclaiming the sun's last shout of the day and dusk settled in for a long evening. Wedding feast preparations were evident among the long white linen clad tables and hundreds of starry candles twinkled as the light faded. Voices could be heard as an indistinguishable chorus and the laughter rose and fell in the rippling shadows of the smooth lawn while music played and glasses tinkled. This was the eve of the day that had been planned since the tiny child was born. This was the celebration long dreamed of by the parents of the dark eyed girl child as she took her first step, whispered her first sound, danced her first dance, smiled her first most engaging smile. She was the princess and her every breath was music to her parent’s ears. Oh yes, there were other children that came later, all adored, all doted on, all recipients of the lavishness of the hacienda, all heirs of the manor – all loved. But this one shown above all others. God had given her shine and her voice was music to all who were privileged to hear it. Songs were written about her, suitors vied for even just a glance thrown in their direction, other maidens of the village both envied her and loved her. But she was promised to only one – Reuben. Reuben and Celia had known each other from infancy. Born within months of each other to women who were best friends, their lives had been laced together just like two vines around the same tree. It wasn’t until the first fall harvest after grammar school that they began to look upon each other with a difference. Their parents had watched them, giving one another knowing glances as they envisioned the marriage of this golden pair. Both beautiful, both born into wealth and privilege, they were destined to carry on their family’s blood lines. It was their responsibility, no, their moral duty.

The marriage contracts were drawn up by the patriarchs of the two families when the two youths, Celia and Reuben were but 12 years old. The union would join two dynasties. The father of the bride Armando Reyes, the wise and benevolent owner of the El Hacienda Esplendido, lorded over his lands as a father would lovingly covet and protect his family. The hacienda spread further than the eye could see. Grapes from its vines, grain from its pastures, cattle from its ranges were touched with loving care and the harvest each year was abundant, each year growing to be bigger than the last. It was the source of all commerce, all food and drink, all festivals, all harvests and employment – in short, all of life in the village and this had been ongoing for generation upon generation.

Bernardo Morales, the father of the groom was also a land owner but instead of wine and beef, his land produced oil. His was a newer family to the valley, only a century in this place rather than centuries like the Reyes. A doting father, a stern businessman, a hard worker who showed true grit and fairness to his workers, his word was like sterling silver. His honesty was well known in the valley. The joining of the two families made perfect sense in bankable assets but, more importantly, it was fundamentally based on the love of every person within this happy place.

But when did the moment come? When had she noticed? That the sweet kisses from Reuben were not enough? The moment came in the spring when Celia had run into the stable to fetch her beautiful white horse, Robusto. Rounding the stable’s open doors, she literally ran into the new stable boy/man, Diablo Lopez. Darkly handsome, sturdy and slightly ruffled from the hard work of the horses, he was knocked slightly off balance. They both drew back in surprise. Then they laughed, brushed themselves off and turned away. That was the moment. After that, she always found something that necessitated a visit to the stable, even when her Robusto was out to pasture. When Diablo was gone from the stable usually somewhere with his companions, she could feel disappointment consume her. But when he was there, he would smile at her and blatantly look at her body as though quelling a thirst that only she could quench. One night she heard him from her window over the porch, singing along with the strumming of his guitar and she stole down in the darkness. His kisses were deep and strong and he smelled like a man who knew what he was about. She was overcome with guilt that first time and spent the next days in early morning mass.

“Please Father, God, save me from this craving.” Yet it continued, stolen moments of passion, knowing glances and risks taken.

Once, while dressing for a bridal soiree, she ran crying into her mother’s room. “Mama, please, I must talk to you. I cannot marry Ruben, please, please…I’ve been……” But her mother’s look was so hard and piercing that she was frozen.

“Stop! You will never say speak that way to me ever!” Then she softened.

“You are just nervous, my sweet daughter. There is nothing that you could ever do that couldn’t be forgiven by Reuben.”

“But mama, I will die if you make me. I do love him but not in a way that ….. No, no, please mama, please, I can’t do it!”

“Not another word!” Her mother’s words stung and then: “You can and you will!”

Spring flowed silently into summer. Celia’s color faded in the summer sun. Dark circles rimmed her pale eyes and sleep evaded her.

“It's bridal nerves,” friends were heard saying. “She’s in love, lucky Reuben.”

Oft times, she found amidst a crowd and looking up, would realize that her mind was somewhere far away with Diablo. She took to riding in the late afternoon all alone, down the dirt road that rimmed the hill overlooking the sweep of the hacienda. She felt free then, the heavy weight of her broken heart lightened somehow. Urging the white horse faster and faster she relished the rushing feeling of flight. After each ride, she could breathe again, but the old feeling of heaviness always returned once she was back surrounded by family and friends. And so now, on her wedding eve, before the dinner, she pulled away from her final fitting, away from the clucking of the old ladies, away from the laughing of her girl friends, the smothering of her ladies maid and her dress maker. She slipped through the gathering shadows of late afternoon, past the tables and the heady smell of gardenias to the stable. To get out, she thought, to breathe before my heart explodes and I die from its breaking. Her girlish thoughts fantasized at the thought that the tragedy of the dying bride would bring to the event, to the hacienda, to the village. Out of the darkened corner of the stable, Diablo stepped. His look stopped time as he held out his hands. “Come to me.”

But she turned and willed herself to gather the reins of Robusto. As she swung herself up, she heard Diablo say, “I will die without you.” As she rode away, she knew what she must do.

Riding up through the woods to the road, she felt light hearted again. She would be free! The guests would dance on without her, she thought. Surely papa would forgive her, she was his golden one. But mama would be so disappointed, mad at first but once she knew Diablo, she would surely love him too. And Ruben, poor Ruben. But, surely he will understand, he loves me so. Coming out on the road, she flung her cape behind her and touched Robusto’s flank lightly with the whip and raced away down the road, her heart pounding. Around the first curve they flew with a long stretch to go. Suddenly, out of the forest, a rider appeared. A woman with long wild black hair that flew in long matted clumps behind her bent over the reins of her massive black stallion.. Her face, dark and contorted, she rode her black stallion driving him forward with a vengeance. Her long black cape whipped behind her making her voice sound like a banshee’s wail. “Stoppppp, stopppp, Celiaaa before its too late. Come back! Stopppp. Listen to meeee. Stop! Stop! Danger! Dangerrrrrrrrrr!” The race was on with the black stallion gaining with every hoof beat. Celia’s heart raced, her knuckles bit into the mane of her beloved horse whose heart beat hard also beneath the saddle. She could see over her shoulder, the foaming nose of the black stallion and the long, crooked grasping fingers of the rider. She could almost feel the woman’s scratching nails grabbing at her cape. In terror, she jabbed hard into the side of the horse, “Go Robusto, go, hurry, hurry, help me, save me!” And then the bridge appeared. A sharp turn, holding on and twisting dangerously, the white horse and rider rushed across the wooden trestles and when she looked, the black stallion and the rider were gone.

Shaken, she threw herself off of her horse outside the stable and stumbled across the porch and into the great hall. “There was a demon, a witch, a murderous hag who wanted to hurt me! She tried to attack me….!” But no one was listening. The room blurred and spun, the music blended with glasses being clicked and voices hummed.

“There you are!” Her mother tightened her grip on her arm and spun her towards the dressing room. Celia watched herself from afar as she was dressed and fixed. Her hair was swept up with a jeweled comb, her nose powered, her cheek bones rouged. Flowers were arranged like a crown upon her golden head and she was sent forth to be a bride at the groom’s dinner.

She felt the unreality of the evening as she seemed to float through it smiling her smile on the outside while praying for it to be over on the inside. Toasts were given all around amid the smell of roast beef and the sound of the music and then the crowd paused for “The Kiss.” Ruben planted his sweet boyish kiss on her cheek, missing her lips as she turned her head away to see Diablo watching from the porch. Reuben’s look was pained and surprised , but she didn’t notice. Her heart had already left. And then it was over. The hacienda was dark. Somewhere off in the distance, the laughter faded. The bag of her hastily gathered things was flung over the back of Robusto. The two lovers left in the moonlight. The night was cool and dark.

Twenty years passed by. Some would say time stood still, others would say it flew by like a whisper. The years were not kind to the land or the village. Stories about the scandal of the groom left at the alter faded. Armando Reyes, without concern for his own welfare, searched far and wide for his beautiful daughter. No word came and nothing could be done to comfort him. One dark night, while making his nightly rounds, evil befell him and he was found in the morning light with a knife in his heart. The crime was never solved but those in the village sadly shook their heads and agreed that his daughter had been the one to kill him long before the knifing. His wife followed him shortly thereafter in death, never knowing the fate of her beautiful Celia.

Reuben took over the role of his aging father as oil baron but he was not the businessman that Bernardo Morales had been and mismanagement and dry holes took their toll, not to mention the loneliness of the broken heart. And then one day, Celia and Diablo returned to the hacienda. At first, they were welcomed with thanksgiving but it soon became apparent that evil had entered the place. The once beautiful Celia had lost her shine, her eyes downcast, she hid her bruised face behind her faded shawl. Diablo and his compadres strutted and pranced through the hallways of the mansion, kicking over anything that got in their way. Wielding all manner of weapons and shouting crude insults, they bullied the family and the hacienda staff and eventually ran them off of their land. It was shocking, especially to this family who had never had need for weapons to defend themselves. Their lives had been peaceful and loving insured by their beloved Armando Reyes and his beautiful wife, Angelina. Celia, crying and begging Diablo to stop, she was beaten and thrown in a shed out behind. She clawed herself free and again tried to catch up with her brothers and sisters but was discovered and after another beating, was locked in the room where her bridal gown still hung. Gathering in an inn in the village, the family and their staff and friends began to make plans to regain their home and to rescue Celia. Alas, the next morning, they were all found dead in their rooms, victims of a “mysterious disease.” The constable and his men were too small in number to go against the rebel gang. And so the days and years went by.

Without loving and careful care and hard work, the grapes withered and died, as did the crops and finally the cattle. The same is true of the heart. Celia’s fate was that of a prisoner in her own home. Her mother’s words came to her in dreams, dreams of lush lawns and brilliant days. Then the morning would come once more. Her husband’s unfaithfulness was all that saved her periodically from endless days of torture. She lived for one thing and one thing only.

On this warm October day, the wind whipped through the filthy house blowing up dust and splitting the once beautiful draperies into molding tatters. Pictures and finery had been sold or broken and the evil within the rooms permeated the air so that its acrid smell was toxic to breathe. The lord of the manor lay sprawled across the threadbare settee, whiskey bottle in hand, drool dripping off of his tangled beard. A bony dog crept silently around the house as the blowing sand hit full force. Somewhere, a door swung in the wind, chickens bobbed on the porch dodging the occasional bottle flung out of the broken door to land in a growing pile of glass on the once beautiful steps.

“Where do you think you’re going, wench?”

“Out.” Celia murmured as she threw her cape around her shoulders and hurried out, just missing being hit by a bottle and almost falling over the dog. “Don’t worry, she whispered to the cowering animal,” I’ll bring you something good to eat.”

The sneering high pitched laugh from within carried across the yard. “Oh, yeah? You don’t have anywhere to go – who would have you? You sow!”

Up the path, past the first rise, she cut back through the trees to throw anyone off the track who might follow her. She shivered under her cloak even on this day. Cold sunlight embraced her through the tall limbs and she could hear the leaves whispering their admonishments. But still she pushed further. How long had it been since she had eaten? She couldn’t remember and her boots felt loose on her feet – but no matter. And then, she rounded the crest of the hill. And there he was, her beautiful stallion, an animal that suddenly appeared one day from somewhere unknown, like a gift from God. She had hidden him here in the cave, stealing out to feed him with hay or oats that could be gathered from the overgrown fields. She loved to brush him, burying her face in his mane. And so now, the time had once again come. She would win this time, somehow, she must, she must. It was October once again and the sun was beginning its descent. Memories of long ago were clear in her mind’s eye. This is the day, she said to herself. Today.

They waited, she and her beautiful black horse waited there in the trees as the wind blew the dust, and the sun willing gave up with a sigh as it cast long shadows in the glen. And then the moment arrived. The young bride all in white on her white horse galloped by and NOW! Shouting at first and then crying out, Celia called, “Stoppppp, stopppp, Celiaaa before its too late. Come back! Stopppp. Listen to meeee. Stop! Stop! Danger! Dangerrrrrrrrrr!” Closer and closer she closed the gap, reaching out to grasp the cloak of the young girl – almost, almost……….And then suddenly, the white horse and the young rider, with a spurt of power, moved out of range and over the bridge and they were gone. “No! She screamed, tearing her hair and digging her nails into her bony arms. “No, I will die.” Her wail pierced the air sending flocks of birds rising in hysteria from the trees. Her horse, tired and spent turned back carrying his rider sobbing, a heart broken. It only took a moment.

The moment, how clear it appears, yet elusively remains just out of reach - impossible to retrieve. That moment in time – that moment – if only we could touch it, we would change it somehow. But it only comes once and then forever repeats and replays in our dreams. So, take warning, your future may come back to haunt you. If you listen carefully, one cold, dark night, you may hear the wail of the banshee and the high pitched whinny of the black horse. If you do take heed, they may be coming for YOU……heh, heh, heh……

pleasant dreams.