“What do you do?” she asked him.
“I’m a lawyer.”
She looked like she was going to laugh, but didn’t. “Sometimes I put dirt on the horses,” she said.
He took her hands, which were calloused and rough, like splintered wood.
“Sometimes I use the kids, make them play without shoes in front of my cave, so I seem more pitiful. More gypsy.”
“You are not pitiful,” he said. “I was scared of you when you were dancing. I was jealous.”
“Jealous of a gypsy woman?” she asked.
“But you can feel. I bet you feel everything when you dance. I feel nothing.”
She put her lips to his lips, which were still sticky from the glazed peaches. He kissed her and thought, this woman would not know what to do with a black velvet box, and he felt a sickening relief. This woman would never shop for china plates and a matching sheet and pillow set.
“Do you feel that?” she asked, and he nodded and she put her hand between his legs. They struggled with their clothes and he would have ignored the rising bellows if Loli had not shoved him away so roughly.
“Don’t be scared,” he said. “They’re just doing what they’re supposed to do.”
She swallowed a few times. “Did you hear a gun shot?”
He listened, but only heard the cries.
“You need to go,” she said.
“What? Why?”
She dressed rapidly, put up her hair, ran to the basin and began to scrub at her face with a rough cloth. “I heard it. My brothers,” she said, scrubbing, scratching away his scent, “they’re coming.”
A shot rang out, hit the air and the silence in the cave.
Ramón went over to her, still naked. “You’re a grown woman”
She threw her cloth at him; it hit his chest with a cold smack. “They’ll kill you,” she hissed. “They’ll kill you if you don’t leave now!”
He stepped back, shivering. “I’ll put on my clothes. But I don’t want to leave.”
Before he could put on his pants, another shot released, stinging their ears, and a new smell filled the cave, of smoke from a barrel, of cool sweat, of family. Ramón turned around and saw the three brothers in the mouth of the cave, sharp-edged and smoking. On their shoulders hung rifles, on their legs were navajas like Loli’s, but larger. They made no moves to speak as they swayed in the dark mouth like loose fangs; all five remained still, the only sound their breathing, like a faraway stampede, a low, collective growl. Finally, the tallest one spoke.
“Looks like a Yanqui.”
Another one replied, “No, an Irlandés.”
And another, “Not pale enough. Even the ass ain’t pale enough.”
Loli stooped to pick up Ramón’s clothes, shoved them at him and shuffled over to her brothers. “It’s not what you think. It’s…”
“What, puta, what is it? It’s not you with a naked man. It’s not you alone in our cave, with a naked hijo de puta?”
She hung her head. “He’s from Granada.”
In unison, they let out a peal of laughter, opening their dirty mouths, laughing in the mouth of the cave, moving their shoulders up and down, the rifles clicking. The tallest one pointed a black finger at Ramón. “We’re not from the same Granada, cabrón.” He shoved Loli away and spit on the floor. “Come over here.”
Ramón tugged on his pants then lifted up his hands, keeping his eyes on the rifles; all of the wine previously swimming in his head suddenly and miraculously disappeared.
“Listen,” he said, standing in front of the tallest one, at an arms length, “I respect your sister. She is very talented.”
All three narrowed their eyes, and reached for their navajas.
With a rattling heart inside his chest, Ramón shook his head. “No, no, I meant with her dancing. I saw her dance. She’s talented!” he cried.
They relaxed their fingers; one pulled out a tin box, passed a cigarette to the other two, then offered one to Ramón.
“No, I don’t smoke,” he said, and waved it away.
Again the silence. The one with the tin box sucked on the filter, while the other two kept their eyes on him, waiting for a signal.
“So, were you planning to marry our little sister before or after you fucked her?” the brother with the box asked him.
Ramón wiped away the sweat pouring into his eyes, willed his legs to stay strong. “I, I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he whispered.
The brother nodded, stomped out his cigarette and turned to the other two. “Put down your rifles,” he said. “We won’t need them.”
They lowered the weapons, and stepped closer. The teeth, ripped out of their roots, moved closer to him, threatening to bite into his thin flesh. “I like your hair, guapo,” one said, dragging his fingers through his locks, then curling the ends tightly in his fist. “Let me get a better look, eh?”
One grabbed him then by the arm, and another by a leg, and pulled him outside to face Loli’s cave and all the surrounding caves, the small white shelters glinting under the moon.
“Let’s see how talented you are, puto,” one said, and they flung him to the ground. They circled him like angry bulls, kicking up dust and licking at the spittle on their lips. One broke from the pack and flew at him with two ugly fists, and beat upon his temples like small grenades—boom, boom, boom. Then another dove in, his strong arms like black wings across his face and torso, and another came in and scratched at his eyeballs until Ramón could no longer see, only hear their brawl song like singing blades. He could smell their naked lust for blood. Boom, boom, boom. Soon, his limbs turned limp and wilted like lilies, and as he lay there, both alive and dead, he wondered how it was that these men, these brothers, had survived for so long with hearts of pure oil.
“Enough!”
Someone was shouting, running toward him.
“Enough!”
Someone was struggling, writhing, clawing at the ground and pounding their flesh against fleshier flesh, a rough flesh that would not give. Then, all at once, the pounding stopped. Everything was quiet, and Ramón turned his head to cough into the dirt.
“Stay away from here,” he heard someone say.
“No place for your soft ass,” said someone else.
“Next time we’ll skin you and hang you on our wall.”
Ramón considered this final threat, imagined his body stretched out, translucent against the cave wall, forever staring at a lonely guitar.