Chapter 10
Margaret awakened shortly after dawn, and for a moment could not remember where she was. Then, feeling a slight soreness between her thighs, the memory of the previous night washed over her. "Oh, God," she breathed. She was so ashamed. She had acted like a wanton street whore. Three men had complimented her on her pussy, and she had actually felt pride! Paco and Diego had fucked her repeatedly, bringing on climax after climax; and then Carlos had brought Jean in, and the men made the two American women lie side by side while they fucked them simultaneously. That lewd spectacle had excited her beyond measure, and she had orgasmed continually until finally passing out from exhaustion at midnight.
Now, she was almost afraid to open her eyes, for fear of what she might see. When she did summon up enough courage to look around, she found herself alone in the middle of the rumpled bed. Her pena had been shoved back into her and the leather thongs tied around her waist.
Feeling degraded and dirty, Margaret went outside. The camp seemed deserted except for one thin trail of smoke rising from the dining adobe. Quickly, she made her way to the pool, then stood frozen in horror and growing anger as she saw Carolyn bathing herself.
Her young teenage daughter wore a pena!
"Carolyn!" It was almost a shout of pain. "What are you doing with that . . . that..."
Carolyn stared at her mother with a clear direct gaze, a faint tinge of red in both cheeks was the only indication of embarrassment. "I must wear it like the other women now."
Slowly the message soaked into Margaret's brain. Everything she had done had been in vain. "That beast," she said, beginning to sob. "I'll kill him! He promised me. He gave me his word."
Carolyn walked through the water and out of the pool, coming to stand by her mother. "He promised that none of his men would molest me. Joaquin said nothing about himself." She made the statement quietly, not regretting what had been done to her, even defending the man. He had made her feel like a woman the first time; the second and third times her burning need had been as great as his ... and this morning at first light, wanting him again, she had made him feel like a man and had not hesitated to awaken him by using her lips to gently nibble at that sleeping instrument which had brought her so much pleasure.
Margaret put her arms around Carolyn's waist and wept. "I'm so sorry, darling ... so dreadfully sorry! It's all my fault."
"No it isn't, mother. Don't blame yourself. Please don't." She looked down at Margaret's cum encrusted bare legs. Gently she took her by the hand, led her into the pool, and began washing her as she might a small helpless child.
"I've made such a mess of things, I'm so ... ashamed!"
Carolyn had never seen her mother like this. Always before, even under the worst circumstances, she had been a tower of strength. It was as though all of her defenses had been stripped away, leaving her vulnerable. In her mind she heard once again Margaret's wanton entreaties last night, "Fuck me ... fuck harder!" Now she knew what her mother had been shouting for. It was a normal reaction, one which neither of them had any control over . . . so why be ashamed? It was something to think about - something not yet to be discussed with her mother.
Finally Margaret seemed to regain some semblance of control. She stared at her daughter, closely inspecting her face and upper body. "Did he hurt you?" she asked softly, her voice full of concern.
"No. Well... at first... a little."
Margaret looked as if she wanted to ask another question, and so Carolyn answered it to avoid embarrassing her mother, "Four times." She didn't add that it probably would have been only three, the fourth time had been strictly her show.
"That bastard," Margaret said angrily.
"He really isn't that bad. He can be surprisingly gentle." She paused, carefully choosing her words, "As long as we're in the fix we're in, and we have no choice in the matter, then I'd rather be with him than Diego and Paco."
Margaret's eyes narrowed and once again she felt a wave of shame boil over her. "You know?"
"Yes. Joaquin made me listen outside your adobe."
"Oh, God! I'm ashamed."
"Don't be," Carolyn repeated. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. You had no choice. And once it started, you couldn't help yourself . . . any more than I could. Joaquin says that we are hot blooded women; that I should be proud to have a mother who reacts so intensely to a man . . . and that your blood has passed to me. I guess I never realized before that you . . . that you . . ." The girl could not finish the cruel sentence.
"Nor did I," Margaret said softly. "I've been such a rotten wife."
"Mother, please don't."
The woman smiled ruefully and nodded her head a couple of times. "Okay." She made a pretense of brightening, then asked, "Where is everyone?"
Carolyn immediately grew solemn. She recounted the incident with Carmencita, then said, "This morning Dona Louisa reported that Carmencita did not sleep in her bed last night. The men have gone looking for her; I think they fear she may report them to the police. Meanwhile Joaquin says we must continue to wear the penas ... or else."
"I could have gone all day without that last bit of information." Margaret grimaced, "These aren't the most comfortable things in the world."
"They're a little distracting, too." Carolyn looked at her mother; their eyes locked, then a little grin puckered up the corners of the female judge's mouth. "They are," she said quite succinctly, "damned distracting!" They smiled at each other, the smile of one woman acknowledging another, speaking openly, candidly.
Dona Louisa and Jean Pepper were drinking coffee in the adobe kitchen when mother and daughter walked in. Jean blushed when she saw Margaret, then lifted her eyebrows, shrugged, and said, "Morning."
Margaret soon learned that everyone had gone in pursuit of Carmencita; even Maria, who had left her baby behind. Finishing breakfast, Dona Louisa put Jean Pepper to work in the little vegetable garden that had been planted behind the adobes. Carolyn was assigned the task of cleaning pots and eating utensils and helping Dona prepare for the later meals.
Margaret, somewhat apprehensive, was given charge of little Enrique, the seven month old infant. The fat Mexican woman laughed good-naturedly when she saw how gingerly the female judge was holding the child. "He will not break," she said, "hold him on your hip or up to your breasts. Go walk with him, you will soon become accustomed to him and remember when you carried your muchachita." When Margaret walked out, Dona Louisa went to the door and watched her with serious eyes. There was a change in the gringa from yesterday afternoon; she supposed the men had been responsible . . . although obviously weary, the American woman seemed to be softer, more feminine today.
Carolyn worked, chattering away with Dona Louisa. She liked the fat Mexican woman, and the feeling seemed to be reciprocated. She learned that Dona Louisa was her real name; she was actually a "Dona". Twenty years before, when she was eighteen, she had been kidnapped by Joaquin's father. She had been his woman for four years, until the police had killed him in an ambush. Although she had been offered her freedom, she stayed on and had been a second mother to young Joaquin. She told the girl she had never liked Carmencita, and that Maria was the wife of Jose who was serving a five year term in prison.
When Carolyn took a break after washing the cooking utensils, she found her mother bouncing the gurgling child on her knees and cooing to it. Rather than disturb them, she visited Jean Pepper, who complained of getting sun-burned on her "untanned ass". Then, feeling she had stayed away from the kitchen long enough, she started back to the adobe. She stopped, completely alert and motionless, as her eyes caught the sight of her mother in the shade of a tree by the pool. Margaret was holding the crying baby close to her chest. Even as Carolyn watched the infant reached out a tiny hand and clutched at the bare breast; his cries stilled as his little open mouth began suckling. Margaret appeared to be terribly embarrassed at first, but then after glancing around surreptitiously and seeing she was unobserved, the woman relaxed and her face lit up. Complete and utter contentment was etched on both faces. Carolyn had never seen such a look of soft serenity before about her mother, and she wished that she were a painter or a photographer able to capture this moment forever.
Silently she slipped back to the kitchen.
Lunch time came and went, as did siesta. The baby slept happily and peacefully beside the slumbering Margaret.
The sun had gone behind the canyon walls and light was beginning to fade when the men returned to camp.
Stumbling along with them, his hands tied behind his back and a trail of new blood seeping down the right side of his face was a man.
"Father," Carolyn screamed and started toward him.
He looked up and saw the running nude figure of his daughter and his nude wife - like some painting come to life - carrying an infant on her hip. He closed his eyes prayerfully. "Thank God, you're alive. I thought you were dead."