The Quest

Aldonza set the plate of runny pork roast on the table and watched the hoard of muleteers dive towards it as if it was the first time they had seen substantial food in months. Perhaps it was. She listened to the clanking of silverware as she maneuvered around them, filling mugs with wine and beer and dodging tidbits of flying food from mouths and grabby hands. The innkeeper bustled out of the kitchen and placed more bowls on the table, overflowing with steamed vegetables and rice and beans before taking his place at the head of the table. “Well, gentlemen, I see you’re eating.”
“As well as the mules.” One of them muttered, receiving a smack on the head from one Aldonza had learned as Paco.
“God forbid.” Aldonza murmured, sliding in between the innkeeper and Anselmo as she took her seat and began to quickly eat what was left of their feast of sorts.
“So, Pedro, your friends and yourself—where are you heading?” The innkeeper asked with polite interest, tearing off a piece of pork and eyeing him across the table. His free hand let go of the grip on his napkin and rubbed a calming thumb across Aldonza’s, smiling at her and nodding to make nice with their guests.
Pedro downed the contents of his mug and nodded to Aldonza, who promptly stood up and filled it along with others who were finishing theirs as well. “We come from Salamanca and the nearby villages, the hills and plains, mi amigo. We are what they call wandering souls, restless natives…” A glazed expression filled his eyes as he spoke, staring off into the distance with reverence to his title. “We were originally commissioned by Juan’s father to wrangle the wild donkeys and horses of the area, and we did that for a while. But, the wild mistress of Adventure beckoned us to her, and we’ve been following her ever since.” He took a hefty chug from his mug and glanced at Aldonza across the table, that same damned smirk rearranging his features as he wiggled his brows at her. She lowered her eyes, the grip on her knife becoming tighter along with the tug on her heartstrings.
“This mistress, the lewd Adventuress, where will she take you?” The innkeeper asked as he scraped the remains from his plate.
“Precisely.” Pedro replied with a cocky grin. “We never know where we are going to end up. That’s what keeps it exciting, new, fresh, uninhibited.” Never during this string of sentences did his eyes leave the mocha orbs of Aldonza’s, and she huffed with frustration at the pull he seemed to have over her being, her conscious attention, her knowledge. “But we pick up jobs where we can, mainly herding cattle or butchering, working on a ranch when we come across one for a month at a time.”
The innkeeper seemed to have gained the knowledge he desired. “Ahh, well, Aldonza, it looks like we can end our search for hard-working farm hands.” He exclaimed, standing up and crossing over to Pedro. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I’d like you to take over the neighboring farm. The crops have been failing miserably in this weather, and the old man who owns the land, his wife just died, and we haven’t seen him since. For all we know, he could be dead, too.” He proclaimed roughly, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “For 10 pesos a week, you won’t find much a better deal than this.”
Pedro considered this offer, bringing a hand up to stroke his facial hair, his jaw. “Free room and board?” He questioned, nodding to his friends around the table and fixing a powerful stare on the innkeeper.
“A 2 peso cut for food and amenities.” The innkeeper bargained with slick wit.
“Make it 15 and you’ve got a deal, old man.”
Aldonza caught the attention of the innkeeper and internally fought through what would be best for the inn and what would be best for her. However, the innkeeper was already extending a hand, shaking his head with surprised pleasure. “Well, boys, it looks like we will be seeing a lot of each other for the next while.” He shook Pedro’s hand and made a loop around the table, shaking hands with each of the muleteers. “Aldonza, clear the table.” He ordered like an afterthought. “Make yourself useful.”
She scarfed down the rest of her food before rising, collecting plates and lustful advances as she made her way to the kitchen, burdened with plates and mugs and an uncomfortable lump in her stomach. She hurried through her evening chores, washing the dishes and mugs with quick, thoughtless motions so she could retreat to her room. She had forgotten how tiring it was to be sought after, and while it seemed like a shallow desire to be alone when in the company of such willing and advancing customers, she needed her space.
Aldonza crept to her room and shut the door, lighting a makeshift cigarette as she cracked a window open. She found her tiny mirror and touched up her provisional makeup, jumping and cringing when she heard a brash knock on her door. Without an answer it opened, and she shoved the mirror and makeup into the floorboard under the judging eyes of the stranger. “Getting pretty for later?” He asked, shutting the door softly behind him though maintaining his distance. Pedro leaned against the wall, tilting his sweaty locks against the rough adobe brick. He huffed out a chuckle as Aldonza gathered her skirt around her ankles, backing up to lean her back against the window sill. “You have many who would pay more than enough for your services.”
She coughed out a rough cackle. “Si, thank you for telling the blind women what she obviously can’t see.”
“Mad yet curious...” He murmured, lowering himself onto the ground, though still maintaining a safe distance from her. “Tsk tsk tsk. You must not have ever heard of it.”
“Heard of what?” Aldonza asked automatically, mentally rolling her eyes from his hard-to-follow wit.
“The cat, and how it was killed by curiosity.” He told her, a grin rearranging his features. “A pussy can only be fulfilled if it gives into curiosity.” Now was his turn to choke out a harsh laugh.
“Oh, you’re funny.” Aldonza exclaimed roughly. “Real funny. This pussy’s already had its deal of curiosity, thank you.” She stood and glanced out the window, and felt a dark shadow loom over her.
“There’s always room for more.” Pedro mumbled to her, spinning her around so that she was forced to look into her eyes.
“There’s always room for stupidity, but it seemed like the cat didn’t have that, hmm?” Aldonza replied, nodding her head in self-approval of her quick-tongued wit.
Pedro frowned and moved his hand as if to push her snarled curls out of her face, though thought against it, instead lowering it into his pocket. “You’ve a lot to learn, mi gato.” He sighed, turning away from her and walking towards the door.
He had successfully spiked her interest. “And what is that?” She called out, taking a few defiant steps towards him. He turned to face her once more, a new smile filling his features. This one was new, softer, accepting and unassuming; still a tinge of arrogance filled his face like a natural blush.
“Curiosity and stupidity are hardly equals.” He murmured, drawing her closer to him with his words, his scent, his rooted yet shifting intentions. “To be curious you have to wonder, to dream. To be stupid you have to fail to acknowledge the inconceivable.”
Aldonza’s glaring eyes soften to shaped orbs. “What does that mean, inconceivable?” She asked quietly.
“The impossible.” Pedro nearly whispered. “You are a learning kitty cat. You need an older one to guide you, help you weed out the rats from the mice.” He puffed out his chest and drew her towards him with his olive eyes. “Can you tell which one I am?” He asked her, biting his lip with solitary curiosity.
“You?” She questioned, slinking towards him and sliding a hand around his abdomen. She pushed her body against his, her roughly rouged lips tickling from his facial scruff. “You’re a rat.” She leaned a hand back and swung, slapping him fiercely across the face. She watched as he brought a surprised hand to his cheek, his other one clenching roughly with agitation; his eyebrows knit themselves together, forming in the center as the left side of his face reddened from the harsh slap. “Do you think I’m stupid?” Aldonza questioned furiously. “You think I don’t know anything about men, about desire, about giving myself away?” She took a few disconcerted steps backwards until she was against the opposing wall, shaking with rage. “This isn’t my first rodeo. I can take care of myself because you-- you aren’t the first hombre that has come through here with a smart tongue and dominating drive.” She spat as Pedro moved towards her with the slightest of steps. “You think you’re special?” She cried in a hoarse voice. “You’re conniving, rough, sneaky. You’re nothing but a filthy rat.”
By this point Pedro was inches from her; Aldonza’s nose came up to his throat, her shoulders to his chest. He brought a hand back and Aldonza set her jaw, her nose, throat and eyes cringing as she waited for the blow, the smack, the tears that would inevitably fall from the pain.
Seconds passed, which began to feel like minutes. Aldonza opened her eyes and was surprised to see Pedro’s looking into hers with his trademark smirk. A single hand came up and caressed her face, her hair. “My little kitty cat,” He crooned to her in a sickly-beautiful tenor tone. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you? Kitty cats chase rats.” He brought a strand of her hair to his nose and inhaled deeply, letting it go as he turned on his heel and exited the room with a bemused laugh. Aldonza scowled, through remained on the wall for several more minutes, maybe even hours.
“Aldonza!” The beleaguered voice of the innkeeper called through the inn. The young woman sighed and made her way to the courtyard. “Aldonza, where have you been?” The innkeeper asked her pointedly. “Our guests have been clamoring about you.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Aldonza muttered to herself, straightening her shoulders as if preventing further snark from escaping. “What can I do for you, senor?”
A tired smile crossed the innkeeper’s face. “Attend to these men. Make them feel like they’re at home—like they’re the luckiest men in all of España. You know what to do.” He gave her a firm nod in their direction, and she sighed, unable and unwilling to explain her personal objection.
“Aldonza!” A deep voice called out into the night, letting his plea soar towards the stars.
“See?” The innkeeper grinned. “They want you to join them. Go, mi hija.” He urged, pushing her forward so that Aldonza was shuffling towards the courtyard where hardy banter and laughs were erupting.
Juan fingered the guitar, his eyes closed in concentration and bliss as the music soared from the instrument, filling the humid air with rhythm, beat, fervent feelings. Aldonza leaned against the adobe building, tapping her foot to the beat of the Spanish music. Upon her arrival, the muleteers whistled and cheered; some ventured over to her, others shot her sultry looks across the courtyard. The rhythm continued through her figure, gliding and electrifying her frame until she was moving, dancing, shaking her hips as a pair of drums were spontaneously added to the music. A new wave of cheers burst forth from the men as she began to dance, lifting her skirt with traditional style as she salsa’d around them. A song was started, and soon the love-starved dreamers were dancing around her. “I come for love!” One called out, followed by the others repeating the same line. “I come for love! I come to Aldonza for love!” They cheered.
Strong arms were suddenly placed on her waist, and she shook them to the rhythm, stepping forward and backwards until she was spun towards the man. Aldonza stared up into the eyes of Anselmo, his round, boyish cheeks set with concentration as his hands gripped her shimmying hips; he was red, excited from the pleasure of a woman this close to him. He couldn’t have been a day over eighteen; he was the little dog among a pack of established ones. She titled towards him but was soon being taken into a new pair of arms. “Not today, mi hermanito.” Pedro called to him, gripping Aldonza against him as they shook to the rhythm. “Hola, mi gato.” He hummed into her ear. “Still chasing rats I see.”
Aldonza huffed and tore herself from his arms, falling into the outstretched ones of Paco. He picked her up and danced with her, her legs flailing and her arms holding on protectively around his neck as she was flipped back onto her feet. Juan ended the song and sauntered towards her, a gold piece outstretched towards her. Pedro stepped in front of Aldonza, blocking the opposing muleteer from her view. “Woah, mi amigo. What do you think you’re doing?” He asked Juan, straightening his shoulders and puffing out his chest.
“If you would get out of my way, mi amigo,” Juan mocked. “I’m going to pay a beautiful woman to make me the happiest man on planet Earth.”
Pedro clenched his fists and cracked his neck to the side. “Ahh, but you see, you don’t want to do that, as she is not yours to request.” He took a single step towards Juan and ripped the dinero from his hand.
Juan struck a similar pose, his five inch difference not playing in his favor. “And she’s yours for the renting?” He questioned roughly, spitting on the toe of Pedro’s cowhide boots.
“Who got us here, who helped us get a job here, mi amigo?” Pedro questioned harshly yet still calmly, as if slicing him slowly open. Anselmo came to his side, his whip outstretched towards his brother. Pedro shook his head, instead turning towards Aldonza. He handed her the gold piece instead, winking slyly as he removed his leather vest and shirt. “Tonight, mi puta.” He told her, clearly determining who was the dominant leader before sizing up Juan and quickly forcing him into a headlock. He held on tight, his muscles stretching against his leathery, caramel skin. Juan let out an angry cry as he was forced to the ground. He kicked against Pedro’s exterior and attempted to bite down on his arm, which was locked around his neck. Pedro’s free hand swung around and punched Juan in his head, a fleshy collision taking him to the ground; he swung his legs over Juan’s struggling form and brought flailing fists onto his swaying, bruising form. Cheers erupted from Anselmo, Paco and the other muleteers as their fearless leader depicted who was in charge through physical tactics.
“Tregua!” Juan called out in a high-pitched voice, using his native tongue to verbally raise the white flag of truce. Pedro hesitantly climbed off of him, kicking his side with the toe of his boot as he laid there, groaning from his “lesson.”
Pedro wiped his brow and turned towards Aldonza, retrieving his whip from Anselmo and putting on his vest. “Half past midnight,” He told her, loud enough for Juan to hear. He winked once, turning around to give a final blow to Juan with his whip before stepping over his body and settling at the table, where more wine and beer was consumed.