The Quest

“I mean, it’s not even fair.” A high-pitched whine filled the humid, nighttime air. Aldonza piled the last of the plates in the sink and began to scrub at the crusted food and sticky mugs with her filthy rag, dunking it into the dirtied water and forcing her nails against the rough metal, the softening wood. “He thinks he can just take her from me because he’s stronger, bigger? No way in God’s name does he have a bigger dick than me, that nasty son of a bitch.” The voice wailed and severely cut off, like a goose who had been struck by a fatal bullet and was nose-diving to its death.
“Here, drink more of this, mi amigo.” A voice replied, and loud slurps were heard in the courtyard where a mighty fire was roaring. A few muleteers sat around it, drinking and trading stories, whispering gossip and planning the new days’ adventures. “Hey, Aldonza, you kitchen slut you. Get your firm little ass out here and gimme s’more beer.” Juan yelled, throwing his empty mug to the ground. It rolled dangerously close to the fire. “Ahh, shit.” He muttered, leaning down to grab it. He stumbled and tipped over, the end of his long, black locks sitting in the open flame like a pig for roasting.
“Juan, levántate!” Paco called out when he noticed just what his friend had gotten into. Aldonza, who was emerging from the kitchen with mugs and a container of ale, noticed the commotion and ran to the scene, pouring the ale roughly over Juan as she gripped his arms underneath his armpits, toppling back from the weight so that his adrenaline-filled body was laid against hers.
Juan, still under the drunken impression that he was on fire, squirmed around the ground, shouting curses as he rolled around, trying to physically rid himself of the flame and terror. Aldonza crawled out from underneath his figure and promptly kicked him in the side. “Shut up, you vile poxy goat!” She spat. “You’ll wake the entire inn. You’re not on fire, you drunken idiot.” Juan stopped convulsing and looked up at her innocently, as if she was Jesus Christ himself and had just rid him of his many sins.
“Angel?” he whispered, gathering to his knees as he approached her, hands clasped together in prayer. “You have saved me from this hell.” He stopped in front of her and placed meaty hands around her hips. “It’s not looking good for you,” he murmured, gazing up at her with wide eyes. His eyebrows angled and suddenly he pushed hard on her lower back, forcing her to nearly snap in half as she toppled to the ground. “Prepare to feel my internal flame inside of you, bitch!” He yelled into the night, and he clambered on top of her, yanking at her shirt and tripping out of his trousers as the small heard of muleteers whistled and cheered and gathered around the forceful man and unconsulting woman.
Aldonza pierced the sky with a terrified scream and attempted to claw at his eyes, his abdomen, his back; Juan was too much, too heavy, too consumed by the deadly power of alcohol to be tamed, stopped. With cringed eyes, she laid her neck back and waited for it to be over, deciding that it would be easier to remain still so that he could finish sooner than if she was squirming. Juan removed a single hand from her body to lower his trousers, angled eyebrows framing menacing eyes as he stared with a drunken glaze at her. “He thinks that you’re his little f-flower!” Juan spat, fumbling with the buttons on his pants. “He thinks he’s the only one who can get action. Well I’ll show him who can g-get action! I’ll show you lots of actions, you filthy whore—AIEEEE!” Juan screamed a loud, powerful scream. It echoed through the courtyard with the intensity of a stampede as Pedro slammed him, back first, into the ground. Aldonza scrambled to her feet and covered her exposed body, eyes glued to the action before her.
“Getting a little cocky, are we?” Pedro growled in a ghastly tone. He loomed over Juan’s shrunken, pitiful form, which was cowering below the powerful leader.
“I do what I want, who I want, when I want, and you can’t stop me!” He called out bravely, though his voice broke into his higher octave.
“Juan, shut up!” Paco cried out, huddling around the men with the other muleteers. “You’re drunk, mi amigo!” He glanced at Pedro and gestured to his comrade on the floor. “He’s drunk, senor, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.” Pedro considered this and kicked his toe in the dirt, his figure engorged with rage. He spat on the ground and kicked the mound of dirt and spit onto Juan. “You sicken me. Just because a man is consumed by the monstrosity that is alcohol does not mean that he has the right or privilege to assault a woman!” He knelt next to Juan and harshly slapped him across the face. “Did you pay her?” He questioned roughly.
Juan shook his head and began to cry, pathetic wails wracking his shaking figure.
“Then what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” He stood up and crossed to the slinking figure of Aldonza, who was illuminated by the fire; her midnight curls were strewn across her neck, shoulders, face, and fresh cuts and splotches of bruises littered her arms, chest, legs. Pedro looked into her eyes and was able to decipher the hidden fear, the wretchedness, the hatred of a life that she didn’t choose. Turning to the men, he exclaimed in an assertive voice, “It’s time to go to bed. When the sun cracks over the horizon, I expect you up and ready to work. Tomorrow’s going to be the hardest day of your life if I have any say in it. And last time I checked—“ He fixed a terrifying glare on Juan, “I was the leader.” With a final kick he left them, retreating to the inn with a limping Aldonza.
Pedro maintained a safe distance from the woman as she hobbled to her room, taking a few moments to lean against the doorframe before pushing it open wearily. With a hefty sigh she turned to glance at him, where he was waiting at the door like a wandering sheep. “Aren’t you going to come in?” She questioned, and he couldn’t help but notice the ring of grey and purple that was watercoloring itself across her left eye. Pedro nodded and entered the shabby room, shutting the door softly behind him.
“Sit,” she muttered to him, lighting a candle and then a cigarette. She roughly closed the makeshift blinds of tattered cloth and sat atop the wooden windowsill. Taking a drag from the cigarette, she lazily puffed the hazy smoke out, watching it swirl through the curtains and into the night air, the cool breath of the moon. “Why are you doing this?” She questioned. It hung in the air like the smoke, tangling itself through the atmosphere that separated the two.
“I—Do what?” Pedro asked quietly, pointedly looking around the room at the makeshift bed in the corner, the loose floorboard.
“Oh, don’t play stupid with me, guacho.” She choked through a rough cough. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t even try to play. What is it you want?” She continued, fixing her eyes upon his coarse form. “You want money? Sex? Wine? What do you want from me?”
She met Pedro’s olive eyes and fiercely glared into them, the bruises and shadows from the harshly-lit room transforming her visage into one of a monster. He maintained eye contact and bit his lip as he thought. “Here comes the kitty cat again,” he murmured to her, a devilish smile moving his cheeks and eyebrows higher on the planes of his face.
“What do you mean?” Aldonza quickly retorted, eyes shifting away from his as she moved a curtain to stare out into the night.
“Curiosity is going to lead you to your grave.” He told her. “Why do you wonder what it is I want from you, when really you should be asking yourself what you want from me?”
Aldonza’s brows knitted together as she fought to comprehend his confusing jumble of words. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”
“Ahh, mi gato, you’re progressing.” He clicked his tongue proudly. “Learning to ask for help is the first step to—“
“I’m not asking for help.” She replied roughly. “I don’t need help.”
A patch of silence filled the space between them as she slowly examined her arms, her legs, her hands caressing the scars and scratches and mounds of purpling skin. The wind whistled softly through the night and in the far off distance a pair of owls exchanged personal renditions of their very own music. “Whatever you say, kitty.” He finally responded, watching as Aldonza slowly stood and crossed to her cot. She moved a pail from the wall and looked into it, sighing as she ripped off a piece of her skirt and dunked it into it. Removing it, she wrung out semi-clear liquid from it and slid her tattered shirt down one shoulder, blotting and applying pressure to the fresh wounds. A hiss of agony escaped her clenched lips and her body trembled slightly from the waves of pain. Pedro stood and hesitantly ambled towards her, kneeling. He took the rag from her hand and looked into her eyes, nodding softly before continuing to softly blot, softly clean, softly examine with compassionate eyes.
Aldonza slowly lowered herself to the floor and allowed herself to be cared for. So many times it was she who was left with the unknown task of attending to her wounds, to trying in vain to reach the gashes on her back, to lying on the filthy floor as dirt and manure ground infectiously into her open wounds. She sighed thankfully as Pedro carefully washed her skin, watching as it transformed from puffy, festering, oozing red to softer, slightly purple caramel. A wave of goose bumps erupted on her skin as Pedro unbuttoned her shirt with the skill and modesty of a surgeon, tending to the wounds that were on her back, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. At different intervals a soft sigh would escape Aldonza’s chapped lips; it was the closest thing she could give to a thank you.
Pedro wrung out the rag and draped it across the windowsill as Aldonza climbed atop her cot, physically relaxing as her body met the softer fabric that was stuffed with worn-out hay. Draping a blanket over her, he blew out the candle and turned to leave.
“Pedro?” Aldonza called out in a tone that was more needy than she would ever admit to.
Pedro turned around and met her luring eyes through the semi-darkness.
“Will you stay with me?” She questioned softly, like a child asking for a final hug from a dying relative, a reassurance that everything was going to be okay.
Without replying, Pedro positioned himself on the cot, maneuvering his body until his arms were softly woven around Aldonza’s middle, hands clasping neatly over his through the sack-like blanket. “I’ll ask you one more time,” Aldonza murmured through nearly-closed lips. “What do you want from me?”
“Your consent.” Pedro whispered softly, tickling her ear and neck with his warm, lucrative breath.
Aldonza sighed roughly. “What does that mean?”
“Your permission,” Pedro replied calmly, methodically. “to let me show you how a man should treat a woman.”
“Alright,” Aldonza replied as she drifted into a hazy, dream-like state. “You do that, Pedro. Show ‘em who’s boss.”
Pedro snorted back a laugh. “Oh, don’t you worry, mi gato. I will.” He tightened his grip around her and felt her melt into sleep, the rigidness of her body relaxing as she reached a state of worry-free bliss.