Tarnished Beauty Read Free Page B

increased concentration on their needlework. Eventually, one of the three would respond, sometimes by reminding Jamilet that her father had died many years ago, and how unfortunate that he was trampled to death by six horses at once so that there was nothing left of him. The year before it had been a drowning accident, and the year before that a tragic encounter with several bandits who had, for some reason, shot their pistols all at once while pointing at the same target between his legs.

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    C ARMEN LEFT FOR THE NORTH soon after Jamilet’s seventh birthday. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone. She’d been complaining for years about the lack of jobs, and the backward stupidity of the villagers, and her desire to live in a modern world where people weren’t so concerned with how many men she danced with on a Saturday night or if she really had a mole the shape of a sickle on her butt. This prompted Gabriela to scold her daughter about how much of her generous figure she’d made public knowledge, and she warned her that a bad reputation was like the foul smell of the unwashed, even worse in that it wouldn’t go away, not even after a long, hot bath. This would inspire Carmen to launch into a fit of foul language that could be heard almost a half mile away.
    After she left, things were definitely quieter, and there was plenty of extra work to keep everyone busy. There was the washing of the clothes, the feeding of the chickens, and the tending to the chili peppers that sprouted like Christmas ornaments all year long. There was the matter of sweeping out the dirt that blew in from the open fields, and helping Gabriela with the cooking. She was getting old and it was difficult for her to chop the onions and grind the garlic and chilies into the paste she used as the base for just about every meal.
    Aside from looking after the peppers, Jamilet enjoyed her kitchen chores most, and became a fairly acceptable cook. When money ran short, it was on this premise that she accompanied her mother six days a week to work at the family house owned by Americans in the city. It was located in a fashionable neighborhood of Guadalajara where the streets were cleaned daily and the windows festooned with lace curtains and fresh flowers. Children attended school with nannies attached to their hands like pets, and returned home for lunch in order to enjoy the delicacies created by their family cooks. Although Lorena applied for the position with no credentials or recommendations whatsoever, the Millers decided to take a chance on her. They found the lovely sad-eyed woman and her daughter to be unusually refined, considering that they, like all the others, were peasants from nearby Salhuero looking for work. Her daughter was lovely as well and would make a fine companion for their only daughter, Mary. They were hired on the spot, and six days a week for five years, Jamilet and her mother boarded the bus from their village so they could report to work promptly at seven and have breakfast prepared before Mr. Miller left at eight.
    Jamilet and Mary, who was only a few months younger, became good friends. Jamilet enjoyed the way Mary laughed for no obvious reason, as though happiness had just alighted on her like a butterfly in order to tickle her mercilessly until she relented with a good-natured prank or a game of some sort. After Mary came home from school in the afternoon, they spent countless hours together pretending to fish in the courtyard fountain, or playing hopscotch on the smooth ceramic tile that Lorena scrubbed on hands and knees every morning. They braided each other’s hair and wove flowers throughout, as though they were fairies, or queens. But what Jamilet enjoyed most was learning the American songs Mary insisted she memorize so they could sing them together. Songs with strange names, like “Jailhouse Rock” and “Blue Suede Shoes.” Mary told her they were very popular where she came from, and