Dark Mondays Read Free Page A

you know what I mean?”
    “Yes,” said Tia Adela. “I thought so too.”
    “And I was looking in the phone book, and there’s this nice place called Wyndham Manor in San Luis, where they’d take—”
    “You have offended God!” shouted Nana Amelia hoarsely. She was trembling.
    Celia and Rosalie turned to gape at her.
    “I don’t care,” said Tia Adela. “And He has said nothing. But
she’s
angry, oh, yes.” And she nodded out at the sea, wild and sullen under slaty cloud.
    “Mama, what’s going on?” said Celia.
    Nana Amelia pointed up at the window. The young man was standing behind it, gazing out at the dark sea with an expression of heartbreaking longing.
    “That is her husband,” she said.
    There was a moment’s stunned silence, and then Celia said, very gently: “Mama, Tio Benedito has been dead since before I was born. Remember? I think we’d better go home now, okay?”
    Her mother gave her such a look of outrage that she drew back involuntarily.
    “Don’t be stupid,” said Nana Amelia. She stormed forward and up the steps, and Celia and Rosalie ran after her, protesting. Tia Adela shrugged and followed slowly. Margaret Mary came with her.
    The young man at the window didn’t seem to notice the women bursting into the room. Nana Amelia went straight to the wedding photograph on the wall, grabbed it down and thrust it in Celia’s face.
    “There! Her Bento. See? Dead as a stone. He went out past Cortes Shoals after rockfish, too late in the year. A lot of fools went out. The
Adelita
, the
Meiga
, the
Luisa
all went down in the gale, even the big
Dunbarton
! So many dead washed up on the beach, they loaded them on a mule wagon. Bento, they didn’t find. The sea kept him. And
she
never forgave God!” Nana Amelia turned in wrath to her sister, who had come in now and set her basket of apples on the table.
    Celia, who had taken up the photograph, looked from it to the young man by the window. Rosalie peered over her shoulder.
    “Mama, this is crazy,” said Celia. “Things like this don’t happen.”
    “So… he’s a ghost?” said Margaret Mary, peering at Bento. “And he’s come back to her? Just like he was? Wow! Only…” She looked sadly at her great-aunt. “Only, you’re
old
, Tia Adela.”
    Tia Adela folded her arms defiantly. “I know,” she said. “But I have him back. She can call him, she can beat herself white on the rocks, but she can’t climb up here. He and I will stay safe in my house, let her gale blow hard as it will.”
    “Who is this other lady she’s talking about?” Rosalie murmured to her mother.
    “Adela, don’t be stupid!” said Nana Amelia. “You know what will happen.”
    “This Wyndham Manor you called, how much does it cost?” Celia inquired of her daughter
sotto voce
.
    “Look, whoever you are, you’d better go now,” Rosalie said, turning to Bento. “Do you hear me? Go back to St. Vincent’s or wherever she hired you from.”
    He made no reply. She strode across the room to him. “Hey! Can you hear me?”
    She grabbed him by the arm and then she screamed, and staggered back. Celia was beside her at once, catching her before she fell. Bento had not moved, had not even turned his head.
    “Honey, sweetie, what is it?” Celia cried.
    Rosalie was gulping for breath, her eyes wide with horror. She was holding her hand out stiffly. Her mother closed her own hand around it and recoiled; for Rosalie’s hand was as cold as though she’d been holding a block of ice, and as wet, and gritty with sand.
* * *
    “Should I go get Father Halloway?” asked Margaret Mary.
    “No,” said the women in unison.
    “I don’t see why you’re all so mad, anyhow,” said Margaret Mary. “I think it’s neat. If we can really bring the dead back, so we won’t be lonely—well—wouldn’t that be great? You could still have Grandpa to talk to, Nana! How’d you do it, Tia Adela?”
    Tia Adela said nothing, watching Bento. He was pacing back and forth