The Quest

Aldonza placed the wooden pails on top of the crumbling brick well, lowering herself onto it with a heavy sigh and a hefty scrape on her exposed legs. She lowered the buckets into the well and felt her arms ache as they gathered the heavy liquid, her biceps straining as she retrieved one and eventually the other. “Aldonza!” a gruff voice yelled from the direction of the inn. It was the innkeeper, her boss, of sorts, and he sounded harried. His bloated form wobbled quickly towards her, his mumbled words drifting towards her through the thick heat of the late afternoon. “Aldonza, hurry, we have new guests!” he cried. “We need fresh water for the men and their burros; throw something on the fire for supper, straighten up the rooms—you did change the linens from the last guests, yes?” He asked, placing a sturdy yet aging hand on her shoulder as he checked off items on his mental, jumbled checklist. “Look nice, my dear.” He concluded, sweeping her dark curls to expose bare shoulders. “Where there are men there is desire, and where there is desire there is opportunity.” He patted her shoulder gently and turned to leave.
“Comprendo,” she sighed, loading her weary arms with the filled buckets as she trudged behind him.
The innkeeper turned to her, a new thought registering and spewing out of his cracked lips. “It might just pay off, Aldonza.” He murmured, taking a bucket from her as the two walked quickly to the inn. “Remember what you are here for, mi hija.” He told her, glancing at her with a fatherly gaze. Aldonza nodded, yielding but understanding, and watched as the innkeeper hurried towards the inn and grumbling about chores and money and time.
The young woman hauled the pails to the courtyard, murky water sloshing out as she advanced with quick, uneven steps. She dumped the entire contents of a pail into the water trough for the horses and burros, the other to boil water for what would soon be chicken and pepper stew. Aldonza made her way to the stables to fill the hay bins and sweep away used hay, broken bottles, ratted blankets from previous guests who were too rude, drunk or a combination of the two to clean up after themselves.
The sounds of crude laughter, yells and the metal clanking of saddles, boots and whips filled the air as the new guests made their way to the rough-looking inn. Aldonza scurried towards the inn and up to her solitary room, hoping to hide herself from the appraising eyes before she absolutely had to. She closed the wooden door behind her and sunk onto the floor, lifting up the floorboard to retrieve a shard of mirror. Placing it on the window sill, she gazed at the sliver of her reflection; she appraised her appearance, noticing the angles of her eyebrows, the cut underneath her left eye, the way her caramel skin flushed above her cheekbones and how the tiny hairs near her forehead and ears plastered themselves to her face with thick, sticky sweat. She rummaged once more through her secreting hiding place in the floorboard and retrieved a darkened piece of wrapped up cloth. Unfolding it, she placed her finger in the red glob and smeared it on her lips, her cheekbones, trying desperately to achieve a healthy looking glow. Dipping another finger into the brown, dirt-looking mound, she darkened her eyebrows and eyes, brushing some of it on her eyelashes so that they spread apart, so that they would dance through the wind and catch the attention of the men.
Aldonza continued her ritual, doing the best she could to cover up scratches and bruises from work-related injuries. Nobody wanted to buy a broken toy. A harsh whistle pierced the air, and Aldonza quickly put her mirror and makeshift makeup into the floor, covering it up as she made her way to the courtyard where the muleteers and innkeeper were gathered. She approached the innkeeper, bowing to him as she waited for her instructions.
“Aldonza, we have guests.” The innkeeper told her, gesturing to the rough men. Most had climbed off of their horses and were shielding their eyes from the sun, trading glances with each other as the appraised the young woman. “Attend to their animals and gather their things. Then join me in the kitchen, as I’m sure they’ve worked up quite the appetite after traveling so far!” The innkeeper appraised the men and pushed Aldonza’s lower back, forcing her forward to attend to the chores he had assigned her. “Date priso, mi hija.” He murmured to her. “This way, men. Your animals and possessions are in good hands.”
Aldonza surveyed the hoard that had recently arrived; some carried knapsacks, others swords and slingshots. They had a collective griminess to them; they reeked of battle, of lust, of sweat and the lucrative yet tiring scent of pure man. She kept her eyes down as she walked in the direction of the stables, lazily grabbing the lead ropes of their animals, moving away from their undressing eyes and prying questions of just how much it would take for them to receive. A darkened muleteer who had a particular swagger in his hips advanced towards her as the innkeeper and some of the muleteers hurried to the kitchen. “My animals may be in good hands for now… But can I be in yours tonight?” He placed a hand on her shoulder and began to lower it towards her bosom, fixing a cocky expression in his slit-like eyes.
“Let’s stick with the animals.” Aldonza muttered, shaking his hand off and staggering way. A collective, impressed bought of “Ooohs!” and awe came from the muleteers, who were watching in a dog vs. dog challenge style as they each tried out their most effective pick-up lines on the young woman.
“Have you ever been to Salamanca?” A higher-toned voice asked her as his arms wrapped around her waist from behind. He seemed glued to the air of the woman, as if it was the first time in months he had seen one; he appeared younger than the others, like a lost puppy or a little brother.
“Not this again, Anselmo.” A voice from the group of muleteers mumbled in an amused tone.
His grip around Aldonza tightened until she turned towards him, answering in a strained voice. “No.” She narrowed her muddied eyes at him and pursed her lips impatiently.
“Oh, you haven’t?” The muleteer asked, slinking towards her. “Well then you’ve never felt the best pair of kissing lips against yours. These lips are famous throughout all of Salamanca, sweetheart!” He moved towards her, lips outstretched and eyes closed with boyish desires.
“A man whore for an actual whore!” A tall one with a buzz cut guffawed, and the rest joined in with sick, jolted laughter.
“Get out of the way and let a seasoned pro show you how it goes.” A particularly built muleteer, teeming with large muscles and a scraggly beard that flirted with his jaw line, came forward; their eyes met, his olive and questioning, like prying the seal of an envelope as though careful not to tear it, and hers narrowed, assuming slits. He seemed the natural leader of the group, and his comrades quieted down and physically leaned forward as they watched with fascination. Aldonza gauged him, sized up his silhouette, the entire time keeping her stance firm and her visage monotonous with the same stony, set expression. “Hola,” he greeted, bowing to her and smirking at her from underneath thick, mahogany eyelashes. “I can’t help but notice that you look worn out, exhausted. ¿Está cansado?” He questioned, picking up her hand and firmly holding it, his thumb softly rubbing against her skin, tickling it as he fixated his bewitching smirk on her lips, her face, her eyes.
“What are you getting at?” She asked roughly, though not tearing herself away from his grip as she had the others.
“I’m merely asking, hermoso. Are you tired?”
“I—yes.” Aldonza replied, eyeing him suspiciously as the seasoned veteran used one of his greater tricks.
He nodded, knowing, and placed his free hand on her hip. “I have a nice, thick bed of hay in the stable.” He told her in a soothing voice as he slowly brought her closer to him.
Aldonza felt her resistance slipping and had to physically shake her head to clear her thoughts. “Ahhh, good.” Aldonza replied, slinking towards him and placing a hand on his bare chest that was showing through his sweaty collar. “Eat it.” She pushed him backwards, though he instantly retaliated forward.
“You would refuse Pedro?” Anselmo questioned to the rest of the muleteers, and they erupted into a loud, collective guffaw.
“Try me.” Aldonza replied simply.
“My mules aren’t even this stubborn.” Pedro shouted, as if proclaiming a fact that even the dumbest man knew.
“Fine,” Aldonza countered, one hand tangling in his locks while the other caressed his strong jawline. “Make love to your mules.” She smacked his chin so that his head tilted back and turned swiftly on her heel, bringing with her their animals and an extra pail of water. She listened as she walked to the badgering that Pedro was receiving from his comrades.
“Some expert!” One of them guffawed.
“Yeah!” One of them cried. “Anselmo, don‘t listen to your hermano. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“Is that why I’ve had more action in the past month than all of you combined?” Pedro asked in a domineering, heavy voice. “She’s just a… she’s more resistant.”
“She’s tight!” One of them murmured, raising a new bout of dirty laughter.
“Oh, no, that one?” One of them asked. “She’s loose.”
Their voices slowly drifted away as Aldonza approached the stable, and while she could feel the eyes of the four men staring at her, watching her, she felt as though she had won the battle… for now.