David Unger - The Mastermind

* * *

After nearly five years of living in Vista Hermosa, Guillermo and Rosa Esther decide to give up their house and move to a four-bedroom apartment in the Colonia España, in Zone 14. Crime continues to rise and be more targeted, and he does not want his wife or children to stare down the barrel of a gun held by someone who simply had to scale a brick wall. Their new neighborhood is tranquil — more bubble-like than an Israeli settlement on Jerusalem’s West Bank — and has armed guards at the entrance.

Rosa Esther finally accepts Guillermo’s repeated suggestion to celebrate their eight-year anniversary with a long weekend alone in Panajachel, leaving the children with her sister and ailing grandmother. They stay in a corner suite at the Hotel del Lago with a gorgeous view of Lake Atitlán, and a handful of dormant volcanoes visible from their fifth-floor balcony.

On Saturday morning they walk through the gardens to the hotel’s private beach. The sky is cobalt blue, and there are half a dozen turkey vultures floating high in the sky. The lake water is too cold and murky for Rosa Esther, so she watches from a chaise longue as Guillermo skims the surface of the water, flexing his well-toned arms as he swims in broad strokes.

When he comes out, Rosa Esther stands up and gives him a towel. “I had forgotten that you could swim so well.”

Guillermo smiles, thinking that his wife remembers little about what he’s told her. The swimming has been exhilarating, but he is exhausted, and he is very much aware of how out of shape he is. “When I was in high school, I took swimming classes at the Pomona. Do you remember where that is?” he asks nostalgically.

“Of course. It’s on the same block as Union Church.”

“You might have seen me swimming on days you went to church,” Guillermo says, wrapping the towel around himself and lying down on his chaise longue next to her.

“I don’t think I would have noticed,” she says.

It is a funny comment, and Guillermo has to check his laughter. He wants to tell her that when he met her she was much more open to things than she is now. Open to him. But he already feels that too much water has gone under that bridge. Had she ever been in love with his virility, or was he simply a quick ticket out of becoming her grandmother’s lifelong companion?

Still, he is willing to try to recover what they had in the weeks after they met at Pecos Bill, if only to feel less lonely and to foster a sentimental connection in her.

Later, in the afternoon, he asks Rosa Esther where she would like to dine. She tells him that she’s tired and would prefer to eat at a table overlooking the lake in the hotel dining room. He says that it would probably be too cold and he meekly suggests they order dinner to their suite and have a table set at the edge of the balcony. They can have the fireplace lit. The swimming, the fresh air, has invigorated Guillermo. He wants to see if there’s anything he might do to recapture the passion they once felt for one another.

Surprisingly, she says yes.

He calls the front desk and asks for someone to bring up some wood, light the fireplace in their room, and set up a small table for dinner. He orders a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, which will cost him more than eight hundred quetzales — a small price to pay to rekindle romance. Guillermo thinks that though he isn’t as captivated by Rosa Esther as he once was, perhaps a couple glasses of wine will animate him to plunge back into her, just as he dove into the cold Lake Atitlán waters.

A hotel porter brings a little round table for them and sets it up near the chimney with a white tablecloth and pewter candlesticks. He even brings a slender vase, with a long-stemmed yellow rose.

At six p.m. a waiter comes up to set the table and open the wine, which they drink while eating crackers and imported Gruyère and chorizo. Guillermo keeps sniffing the wine, which is both bold and full, and he feels a bit drunk after two glasses. Rosa Esther is also drinking, but warily.

They have a lovely dinner, talking mostly about the children. Guillermo mentions the possibility of visiting New York as a family next year for Christmas, and watching the ball drop in Times Square. Rosa Esther says maybe, which is better than no.

When Guillermo has drunk most of the bottle, he calls downstairs for two Hennessys even though his wife says she has had more than enough to drink. He closes the balcony door and tipsily puts more kindling in the fire.

The waiter brings up the cognacs in snifters and removes the dirty dishes. Guillermo gulps his down as if it were water, and feels the heat of the alcohol warming his ears. Then he grabs the other snifter, takes Rosa Esther by the hand, and lifts her from her seat. When he tries to bring her down onto the brown shag rug, she initially shakes her head softly but finally acquiesces.

For several minutes they sit silently, holding their arms around their own legs, watching the flames ignite the new wood in the fireplace. The flames shoot up toward the flue; small branches crackle and spark. Guillermo feels his heart filling with something like love as he begins to sip Rosa Esther’s cognac. She has moved a bit away from him and still has her arms wrapped around her legs, but now her eyes are closed. He leans into her gently and tries placing his lips on her mouth, but he loses his balance and his kiss lands sloppily on her chin.

Startled, she opens her eyes and pushes him away. “What are you doing, Guillermo!” she says rather harshly.

“I’m sorry. You looked so beautiful. I thought you were remembering us—”

“You’re always thinking about yourself. You have no idea what I was thinking about.”

“Why don’t you tell me, then,” he says softly, trying to reach out to his wife. His head is spinning.

“I don’t think you would understand.” She pushes herself up and moves toward the bathroom. “You know that you ruined it in New York with that Chilean whore. Ilán could have been born with herpes.”

He looks down at the rug and says, “Rosa Esther, they were all our friends. We were younger. I was careless.”

“Why?” she asks. “Because you didn’t use a condom with Chichi?”

“I’ve apologized for that.” He gets up to go after her, unsure of what he wants to do, but he upends the glass of cognac at the edge of the rug. He stops to watch the golden liquid dribble across the parquet floor.

“Yes, you did. And then there was Mercedes,” she says, entering the bathroom and slamming the door behind her.

He collapses on the rug, defeated. It seems her religion won’t allow forgiveness.

* * *

When the nightlight is turned off on her side of the bed, Guillermo is surprised to feel Rosa Esther snuggling into him and actually touching his briefs. He is taken aback. They haven’t made love in nearly six months.

He is aware that he is drunk, but he’s cautious because of their previous conversation about Chichi, Mercedes, and herpes. What does she want from me ? he asks himself, waiting for her next move.

She touches his briefs again, as if lightly knocking on a door, and lays on the mattress.

His penis hardens in its web of cotton. He lifts her nightgown and moves down the bed. He wants to drink from her. As he puts his mouth on her stomach, she closes her legs and tries to pull him up. He clamps her hand down on her legs as she squirms to get free, but he will not let go of her. He puts his forefinger in his mouth and then pushes it tenderly inside of her. She buckles her legs, throttling them to the side as if he were trying to brand her with a pike, and then suddenly relaxes her body. As he keeps wedging his finger in and around her vulva he can hear her licking her lips, swallowing, and gasping a word that sounds like his name.