Joe Gallo - Part 2 - Chapters 11-18

[DRayVan]

11: The Plague Finds the First Victim

Wednesday, December 11

Father Ortega awakened at first light and sat on the edge of his bed. He expected to hear Niñita meowing, but then he remembered: she had died. A feeling of sadness and loss swept over him. She had been his cat, pet, and much more for nearly ten years, and he missed her dearly.

Overcome by grief and pain, he felt utterly miserable. A persistent throbbing in his head had awakened him several times during the night, leaving him clammy, disoriented, and exhausted. Beads of sweat covered his brow. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and noticed the wetness under his armpits.

Father Ortega rose slowly, gripping the side table for support while he steadied himself. Once he felt a flicker of stability, he moved through his morning rituals—undressing, bathing, and dressing—each action a struggle against the lingering heaviness in his body. He shuffled to the kitchen for a quick bite to eat, hoping to ease the queasiness in his stomach.

When he stood to clear his plate, dizziness struck, and he found himself staggering, clutching the table’s edge to keep from falling. The headache surged once more, sharp and insistent. Tears welled up in his eyes, tracing warm trails down his cheeks. Mucus streamed on his lips, and with a weary sigh, he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He felt both exhausted and beaten; he had so much to do for the celebration.

Before leaving, he took time to feed the flock of parrots that always gathered outside his window. Feeding time had become a morning ritual for Father Ortega and the birds. He scattered feed and sang and whistled to them, and they mimicked his sounds. Once they were fed, he grabbed his hat and left for the chapel. Along the way, Father Ortega greeted several villagers, stopped to chat with a few, and blessed them.

The sun was brightly shining when Father Ortega crossed the village square to the chapel. He reached for the large iron door rings but stumbled and had to lean against the building for support. He massaged his temples, hoping the pain in his head would go away. His knees buckled, but Father Ortega caught himself before sliding to the ground. His head bobbed. He rubbed his eyes and wiped the sweat off his neck and forehead. “Mother of God, what’s happening to me?”

Father Ortega stood, shook off his symptoms, and entered the chapel. He shuffled to the front of the chapel, often stopping to sit until he reached the altar. He genuflected, made the sign of the cross on himself, and stood.

Father Ortega went to the side room and changed into his priestly robes to prepare for the mass. He returned to the apse, poured wine into a silver goblet with great care, blessed it, covered it with an embroidered cloth, and put it on the altar. He took a bread loaf, tore it in half, blessed it, put it on the silver tray near the goblet, and covered it with an embroidered cloth.

Behind him, Fausto banged the doors, rushing into the chapel. “Sorry I late, Father.”

Father Ortega pivoted toward Fausto. “Ring the bell, Fausto. Hurry, my son, hurry!” Fausto ran to the bell tower and pulled the bell’s rope.

###

The early morning sun shone through the bedroom window on Rosa while she adjusted her dress and hair in the mirror. Joe stirred and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He rolled over and leaned on one elbow.

“Damn, Rosa, you are one beautiful woman all dressed up.”

Rosa smiled. “Thank you, José.”

“Where you going so early?”

Rosa made a final adjustment and twirled to face Joe. “To the mass.”

Joe held out his hand. “Forget the mass and come back to bed.”

Rosa shook her head. “No, José. Today a special holy day. Morning communion. Afternoon celebration. Tonight, we love.” She twirled in front of the mirror. “Notice my new dress? You like?”

“Anything you wear is beautiful.”

“No smooth talk me, José.” Rosa shook her head slowly. “You no notice. Men never notice. Why do I bother?”

“‘Cause you love me.”

Rosa stopped to allow Joe’s words to sink in, then turned to leave. “I won’t be very long.” She opened the door, hesitated for a moment, and closed it behind her.

###

The adjacent bedroom had faded white-washed, stucco-covered walls, an east-facing window, an upright dresser, a mirror, and a wash basin. In the bed, Sal cuddled María, a tall, shapely, dark-haired, twenty-one-year-old woman. “I like waking up to a warm woman next to me.”

“So... You like, señor?”

“Yes... Sí. I like. I like very much.”

María leaned over and kissed him on his forehead. She hopped out of bed and quickly started to dress.

Rosa knocked and stuck her head in the room. “Ready? We can’t be late for the mass today of all days.”

María stood in front of the mirror, fixing her hair. “You go. I catch up.”

“No. I wait for you in the lobby.”

“Yes... I hurry, then.”

###

The hotel’s cantina opened directly onto the bustling town square. A haphazard collection of political placards, activist flags, and candid photographs documenting the town’s history covered its yellowed and tarnished stucco walls. The tiled floor bore the scuffs of innumerable footsteps, and its surface was grimy and worn. Above, the ceiling fans wobbled precariously, with a rhythmic click-clack as they lazily churned the warm air.

Joe and Sal wandered into the nearly deserted cantina and settled at a table overlooking the town square. From their vantage point, they watched the villagers excitedly scurrying about, hanging colorful banners and stringing flags from the rooftops for the upcoming celebration and parade.

A waiter approached, bearing steaming cups and a menu. They each placed an order for breakfast.

Sal took a sip of his coffee. “I’ve tasted better.”

“Do you wake up each morning thinking of things you can complain about?”

“Seriously, Joe, ain’t this the worst—”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Sal.” Joe shook his head. “So shut up, drink up, and let me enjoy mine in peace!”

“And, Joe, they don’t even have any way of reaching the outside world. No phone or telegraph, just iffy mail service.”

“So? What’s the issue?”

“What if we need to contact Chicago, or they want to contact us?”

“Relax, Sal. Radiograms. They’re just like a telegram, except by radio. Satisfied?”

“Sure, Joe.” Sal nodded. “If ya say so.”

While they sipped their coffee, Fernando approached them with his perpetual ear-to-ear smile. “Well, señores? How was your night?”

Joe looked up and smiled. “Best ever.”

Fernando turned to Sal. “And you, mi amigo?”

Sal cleared his throat. “Maria is a lovely young woman.”

Joe jerked his head toward Sal. “Maria? Who the hell is Maria?”

“Just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Sal looked toward the ceiling, dreamy-eyed. “And she knows how to satisfy a man’s every desire.”

Joe punched Sal’s shoulder. “Well, you lucky so-and-so.”

“Cut it out, Joe. You’ll make me spill my coffee... Like you said, this hotel does have its side benefits.”

Fernando nodded, proudly displaying his tartar-stained and gold teeth. “If you pay for the rooms, buy meals and drink from me, you can have the women as long as you stay. Por una pequeña carga. What you say, señores?”

Sal scrunched his face. “What’s that there ‘por una’ he’s saying?”

“Rosa and Maria can stay with us for a small extra charge. Just like my last trip.”

Joe looked at Sal, and Sal looked back, smiling.

“I guess it’s a deal, Fernando.”

“Sí, Señor Joe. A deal, no?”

“Sí, a deal.”

Sal nodded approval.

###

Father Ortega took one more glance around the chapel to ensure everything was in order for Mass. While he stood at the altar, a wave of weakness washed over him. His heart raced violently, and he struggled to breathe without triggering a coughing fit. Tears welled up in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, blurring his vision, and his nose ran. He reached for the nearest wooden bench for support. While he sat, he closed his eyes and worried about how he would summon the strength to get through the mass and provide comfort to his congregation.

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

12: The Plague Spreads

Father Ortega ignored his intense fatigue, but the pain in his joints and muscles registered his body’s protest as he struggled to open the heavy, wooden chapel doors. The exertion triggered a powerful wave of weariness, and a cold sweat enveloped him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He leaned against the cool stone wall for support, his palms pressed firmly against its solid surface.

He tightly closed his itchy eyes while massaging his throbbing temples. Warm tears streamed down his cheeks and mingled with the mucus gathering on his upper lip. He wiped his nose and lips on his sleeve. The pressure on his nose exacerbated a tickling sensation that triggered an irresistible urge to sneeze. He stepped back, drawing a deep, calming breath, hoping the urge would pass. But when it didn’t, he cupped his hands and braced himself for the explosive sneeze that erupted, shoving him back against the door and spewing mucus and spittle on his hands. Mortified, he quickly wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve and rubbed his hands on his robe.

He managed to open the doors to a crowd of excited villagers. As he faced the cheerful villagers, their bright smiles and warm greetings felt like sunbeams piercing through his weariness. He returned their zeal with strained smiles, shaking hands with an energetic fervor that concealed his exhaustion. Their cheerful greetings uplifted his spirit, momentarily reviving his weary spirit.

###

The extra benches quickly filled with villagers. Rosa and María slipped unnoticed and looked for seats in the back row. They found a tight spot between two older women, but when they squeezed in, the woman on their left looked at them with a raised eyebrow and a furrowed brow.

“Phfft,” the woman said, standing and moving to another bench.

María frowned.

“It’s her loss, Maria. Ignore her.”

“Easy to say but hard to do.”

The other woman turned to them and put her finger to her lips. “Shhh!”

Rosa and María looked at each other and smiled.

###

Despite his tears, Father Ortega’s eyes sparkled, and he smiled from ear to ear. The villagers’ eager faces, especially the children’s, re-energized him as the mass began. But after an hour, the long service had taken its toll. His brow furrowed, sweat beaded on his temples, his eyes squinted, and tears welled up. He continually licked the mucus off his upper lip, but his nose continued to dribble.

Father Ortega pressed on and lifted the goblet toward the cross. “This is the blood of Jesus, our Savior, the Son of God, and the Son of the Blessed Mary. Drink in remembrance of His shed blood on the cross.” While he drank from the goblet, his saliva and nasal mucus mixed with the wine. He took the bread loaf and held it up. “This the body of Christ. Eat it in remembrance of His broken body on the cross.” He tore off a piece of bread and ate it. Sweat from his hands contaminated the loaves.

Worshippers approached the altar one by one to receive Holy Communion, filled with profound reverence and eager anticipation. Each took a sip of wine from the goblet before passing it to the next person. Father Ortega stood at the altar, carefully tearing a small piece from the loaf of bread and offering the morsel to each individual with a gentle smile. Afterward, many somberly left the sanctuary.

Rosa and María watched until the last villager had received communion. Rosa elbowed Maria. “It’s now or never.”

Maria nodded. “Sí.”

The woman stood and slowly made their way to the altar.

Father Ortega’s headache throbbed as another wave of weariness swept over him. He hesitated, frowned, and slowly shook his head when he saw them. “No communion... For prostitutes.”

Rosa genuflected and stood. “Please, Father.”

“Yes, Father,” María said. “Please, Father.”

Father Ortega had been on his feet far too long and was too exhausted to argue with them, so he relented. “All right, my children, but you must come to confession. Tomorrow. Promise?”

“Yes, Father,” Rosa said. “I promise.”

“I will come, too, Father.”

Father Ortega sighed, gave Rosa the wine and bread, and blessed her. Rosa genuflected and turned away.

When María faced Father Ortega, he sneezed on her.

“God bless you, Father.”

“So sorry, my daughter.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “It’s my cold—”

“Not to worry, Father.” Maria wiped his spittle off her forehead. “Please, Father... The sacraments?”

“Uh... Yes... Yes, my child.” Father Ortega gave the wine and bread to María and blessed her.

Rosa and María held hands and hurried out of the church.

While Father Ortega watched them leave, he wiped his nose and made his way to the first row of benches to sit.

Several children ran toward him. “Father, you coming to the parade?” the first child asked.

The children crowded around him. Father Ortega patted them on their heads and kissed their foreheads. “No, my children. I’m not feeling well today. I must go home and rest.”

“But you will miss all the fun, Father,” the second child said.

“Yes, yes, I know. But go and have lots of fun for me.”

The children scurried to find their parents, and everyone filed out of the chapel to watch the parade. He waved and blessed them as they left.

After the last family left the church, Father Ortega stood, shuffled to the altar, and leaned against it. Sweat beaded on his forehead, tears ran down his cheeks, and his nose dripped nonstop.

Tomorrow... I’ll clean up tomorrow, he thought.

Father Ortega shuffled to the side room and quickly changed into his habit before slipping out through the back door. He took the well-worn shortcut between the chapel and his hilltop hut, traveling through the rustling cornfield. When he reached the center of the field, he dropped to his knees, gripping his head in torment.

Father Ortega cried out in a desperate voice, “Mother of God! Help me!”

Abruptly, violent fits of uncontrollable vomiting and persistent coughing seized him, each wave rocking him back and forth. His face twisted in agony as a sharp, stabbing pain pierced his chest and viciously radiated down his left arm. Frantically, he clutched his chest with one trembling hand while the other fumbled at his collar, gasping for air. With a final pitiful shriek, he collapsed on the ground, lifeless and still among the swaying cornstalks.

*** End Chapter ***

[tailor STATELY]

Enjoying. We have the plague here in our county near Lake Tahoe... it's spread has been through squirrels... no deaths that I recall, 1-recent infection and only a few before that I believe... https://www.eldoradocounty.ca.gov/County-Government/Countywide-Press-Releases/Resident-Tests-Positive-for-Plague

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[DRayVan]

13: Epidemic

Thursday, December 12

The sun rose over the eastern mountains, casting long shadows across the village square. The crisp morning air brought a chill to the townsfolk while they cleaned up the remains of yesterday’s festivities. As the villagers carefully dismantled the decorations, colorful streamers fluttered in the breeze.

A small group of parishioners stood shivering at the chapel door while they waited impatiently for Father Ortega to arrive and hear their confessions. As the minutes dragged on, their hopeful anticipation slowly gave way to an uneasy concern, making the chilly morning feel twice as cold.

“What’s keeping the Father?” an elderly woman asked. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’m not dressed for cold weather.”

“Where could he possibly be?” a younger woman asked. “He’s never been this late for confessions.”

“We should check his hut,” an older man said. He glanced toward the path leading to Father Ortega’s hut.

“Maybe he could be hurt—or sick,” the younger woman said.

“He’s not sick!”

“How do you know for sure?” the young woman asked.

“The whole village would know by now,” the older man said. “You know Luisa. She could never keep a secret!”

They all chuckled and nodded in unison.

“She went to visit her sister,” the older woman said, shaking her head and rubbing her arms for warmth. “She told me yesterday.”

The older man looked toward the path again, searching for any sign of Father Ortega. “When will she return?”

“Not for a day or two,” said the young woman.

“Then what’ll we do?” the older man asked.

“For the love of God!” the elderly woman said, exasperatedly shaking her head. “Listen to yourselves! Gossiping and getting nowhere with all your guessing. I’ll go and check on him. Who’s bold enough to go with me?”

“Stay here. I’ll go, instead,” the young woman said firmly and turned to leave.

“No, we’ll both go,” the older man said.

“Forget it,” the older woman said. “I wanna see, too.”

The trio left together, setting their pace so the older woman could keep up.

###

Joe and Sal strolled into the cantina and sat at a table overlooking the village square. Rosa busily waited on other customers, but waved when she saw them. María spied them and brought hot coffee and two mugs.

“Good morning, Señor Joe.” María poured a coffee for him. “Sleep well, Señor Sal?”

Sal’s face flushed with blood. “María!”

María giggled and poured coffee for Sal as well. She handed them a menu and took their breakfast order.

“She likes you, Sal.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Sal shook his head. “It’s just a business arrangement with Fernando.”

“You’re blind if you can’t see what’s staring you in the face. I’m telling you, man. María likes you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Joe. So drop it.”

“Have it your way, but—”

“There’s no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Just drop it, all right?”

“Sure, pal. Sure.”

Joe and Sal sipped their coffee and watched villagers pass by.

“Did you know this town don’t have no telephones or even a telegraph?” Sal asked.

“What’s your point?”

“We’re on the edge of nowhere, cut off from civilization.”

“And?”

“Don’t that worry you, Joe?”

“Nope. Should it?”

“It should. What if—”

Rosa’s outburst interrupted Sal. “Let go of me, señor!”

Joe and Sal’s heads jerked toward Rosa’s voice.

A burly customer held Rosa’s wrist. She slapped his face and wrenched free of him. “Never touch me again, señor!”

Joe pushed his chair back and stood. “Where’d you put them? That son of a *****’ll never touch Rosa again!” He rushed over to the customer, grabbed him by his lapels, and yanked him to his feet. Joe’s uppercut landed square on the customer’s jaw, and he followed with a crosscut.

The customer crashed into a nearby table and hit the floor with a thud. Joe stood over him, fists clenched, ready for another round. The customer rose on one elbow and rubbed his jaw with his other hand. “I didn’t know she was taken, señor.”

“Nobody grabs Rosa and lives to tell about it!”

Sal grabbed Joe’s arm. “Sure… If ya knock him off, what’ll we do then? And the next one? Rosa’s gotta be used to this… And she handled him but good.”

“Sal right, José… I know what to do.”

The customer got to his feet and left. Joe and Sal returned to their table.

Fernando approached with his usual grin. “Still enjoying the women, señores? If not, I can find others when you grow tired of them.”

Joe jerked his head toward Fernando. “Don’t do that. Me and Rosa… Well… We have something special going.”

Fernando laughed. “Don’t think that, José. Rosa services the paying customers.”

Joe slid his chair back and reached for the left side of his chest, where he usually holstered his gun.

Sal grabbed his elbow. “What’s he tryin’ to say, Joe?”

Joe was half out of his chair when Fernando wiped the smile off his face and stepped backward.

“He’s calling Rosa a whore.”

“What about his daughter, María? What’s he got to say about her?”

Joe stopped dead, looked at Sal, and burst out laughing. “Daughter? Fernando? He ain’t got no daughters, Sal. At least none, he’d claim.”

The color drained from Sal’s face. “Then María’s a—”

“Looks that way, old friend. Bought and paid for.” Joe plopped into his chair. “We’ve been had, old pal. And I thought—”

Fernando’s smile returned. “Wait, señores. What has changed? You have the best two women the town has to offer, and they are satisfying, no?”

“We don’t like being tricked and made to look foolish… I’m for leaving. What about you, Sal?”

Sal thought for a moment. “Do we havta?”

Joe thought for a moment and then laughed again. “What the hell. We have to arrange a flight anyway.”

María returned with their breakfast. After putting the plates on the table, she touched Sal’s hand, smiled, and returned to the kitchen.

“I’m telling you, man—”

“Zip it, Joe… And by the way, how come you didn’t know about Rosa?”

Joe grabbed his knife and fork. “Shut up and eat, Sal. You ask too many questions.”

###

Later that afternoon, Joe and Sal sat at the bar, sipping beers and chatting.

Fernando approached. “Excuse, please. A radiogram for Señor Joe.” He handed Joe an envelope.

Joe took it. “Thanks.” He ripped open the envelope and read the message.

“What is it, Joe?”

Joe crumpled the radiogram. “A job.”

“And I was just beginning to like this place.”

Fernando grinned. “A reply, señor?”

Joe shook his head. “No, but send Carlos a message to meet us at the airport Monday afternoon.”

Fernando nodded. “Sí, señor.”

*** End Chapter ***

[tailor STATELY]

Epidemic... I can relate. Enjoyed :)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[DRayVan]

14: Father Ortega’s Body Is Discovered

Friday, December 13

A few villagers queued up at the chapel for confessions, waiting for Father Ortega.

“Where can Father be?” an old woman asked.

“He wasn’t at his hut,” a young woman said.

“Where next do we look?” an old man asked.

They waited for a while, then left, confused and frightened.

###

The morning sun rose over the mountains in a cloudless blue sky. A few buzzards circled overhead.

Bayardo Sanchez, a farmer, went to his cornfield to hoe the rocky ground and pull weeds before the heat became too intense. As he worked, the sun continued to climb higher in the sky. After a couple of hours, he stopped, stretched, and took a gulp of water.

Two dogs scampered into the field and circled the stalks several rows from him. Bayardo picked up a sizable stone and threw it at the dogs, but missed them. They yelped and ran away but quickly returned.

“You beasts! Get out of here!”

Bayardo selected a stone and drew back his arm to throw when he saw a dark heap among the cornrows. The dogs were circling the mound and barking. He pushed through the cornstalks to get closer. When he was still a couple of rows away, Bayardo recognized Father Ortega’s robes.

One dog was dashing in and nipping at the garment. Bayardo threw the stone and hit the dog squarely on its head. It crouched and yelped, and then both dogs fled.

Bayardo reached Father Ortega’s body. It was face down in the dirt. His eyes widened when he rolled the body over, and his jaw dropped. He fell to his knees and made the sign of the cross. “Holy Mother of God!”

###

Saturday, December 14

Joe packed his belongings into his bag.

Rosa helped, although she was tearful. “Why you go?”

“Duty calls?”

“I don’t understand this duty you speak of.”

“I have a job to do.”

“A job?”

“Yes… Something I must do right away, then I’ll come back.”

“Last time, you no come back for two years.”

“This time… I’ll be back soon… A month at the most… I promise.”

“How I know you will—”

“Cause I love you, Rosa. I didn’t know until now, but I do.”

“Oh, José. You just say that to get—”

“No, Rosa. It’s more than that.”

“But… But you know me… Who I am… What I am. How—”

“Shut up and say you love me, too.”

“Imbecile. I love you first day you come to my village.”

Joe embraced Rosa and twirled her around, kissing her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

###

Joe and Sal loaded and secured their luggage on the taxi’s roof. Fernando and Rosa stood at the hotel’s entrance, watching them.

“Where’s María? Isn’t she gonna say goodbye to you?”

“She got sick last night, so I popped into her room this morning and said my goodbyes.” Sal got in the taxi.

“You have to go?” Rosa asked.

“Please stay a while longer, Señor Joe.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.” Joe got in the taxi.

Rosa waved and wiped her eyes.

“Let’s get outta here before I change my mind,” Joe said.

“Wouldn’t take much,” Sal said.

Joe tapped the taxi driver on his shoulder. “To the airport. Hurry.”

“Sí, señor.” The driver floored the pedal, and the taxi sped away.

###

Carlos waited beside his plane when the taxi screeched to a stop. Joe was the first to exit, and Sal was right behind. As soon as Sal unloaded their luggage and Joe paid the driver, the taxi drove away in a cloud of dust.

Joe and Sal carried their bags toward the plane.

Carlos rushed to greet them, grinning from ear to ear. “Señor Joe. Good to see you, but so soon?”

“Urgent business.”

Carlos shrugged his shoulders. “Too bad.” He took their luggage and secured it in the aft compartment.

“How soon can we leave?” Joe asked.

“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. I check engine first.”

“Goddammit, Joe. He’s checking that old engine again. What if—”

“Knock it off, Sal. I don’t need your whining on top of everything.” Joe followed Carlos and watched as he adjusted the engine.

While Sal paced alongside the plane, another taxi slid to a stop, its horn blaring. Fernando hopped out, frantically waving his arms and running toward them. “Señor Joe! Please come quickly.”

“What’s wrong?”

“María… She very sick.”

Sal grabbed Fernando’s arm. “How sick?”

“I dunno, señor. She’s dying, maybe.” Fernando turned to Joe. “Rosa say you study university medicine.”

Sal yanked on Fernando’s arm. “Dying? She didn’t seem that sick.”

“Please come, Señor Joe!”

“Unload my bags, would you, old pal? I’ll send for them.”

“Go. I’ll bring the luggage with me.”

Joe tried to get details from Fernando as they hurried to the taxi. “How sick is she?”

“I dunno how to answer, Señor Joe.”

“What’s her symptoms? What does she feel like?”

“Very hot. She can no breathe.”

Joe and Fernando got into the taxi. Joe tapped the driver’s shoulder. “Hurry!”

###

Sheets entangled María. Her face was flushed, blotchy, and dry. Her eyes were sunken, her hair was matted, and her lips were cracked. She struggled to take a breath.

Joe opened the door to María’s bedroom and stepped in.

Rosa stuck her head inside the room. “What’s the matter with María?”

“Stay out.”

“But José—”

“Do as I say. I don’t want you to catch what María’s got.” Joe took a couple of steps closer and stopped. “Has anyone died recently?”

“What you mean, Señor Joe? asked Fernando. “Is María going to—”

Joe interrupted him. “I need to know if anyone has died in the past three days.”

“Sí. Father Ortega. Bayardo found his body Saturday.”

Joe exited María’s bedroom and closed the door. “I must see his body.”

“But, Señor Joe, by now, it must be—”

“Doesn’t matter. Show me.”

“What about María?” Rosa asked.

“Keep her door closed.”

“But José—”

Joe grabbed Rosa by her upper arms. “Don’t open that door. Your life depends on it.”

“All right, José.” Rosa nodded. “I do what you say.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Joe hugged and kissed her and then left with Fernando.

*** End Chapter ***

[tailor STATELY]

Poor Maria :( Enjoyed :)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[DRayVan]

15: The Plague Attacks Another Victim

Several rough-sawn coffins, with uneven edges and splintered wood, stood upright against the wall of the dimly lit mortuary. One coffin lay open on a sturdy wooden bench. Father Ortega’s lifeless body, casually wrapped in a simple white cloth, rested inside. The lanky mortician, Hector Torres, with his thinning hair slicked back and his brow glistening with sweat, had just positioned the lid on the coffin and was hammering the first nail into its left edge when Joe and Fernando stepped inside.

“Stop, Señor Torres!” Fernando shouted as he extended his hand to halt the mortician’s action. “Please, stop!”

Hector paused his hammer mid-air, his brow furrowed. “Why, Señor Jarquin?” he inquired, glancing from Joe to Fernando.

Joe’s heart raced as he reached for the lid, his mind racing with dread. “I need to examine the body,” he stated firmly, though uncertainty lingered in his voice.

Hector stepped protectively between Joe and the coffin, the tension palpable as he tried to restrain him. “No… It’s sacrilege,” he insisted, the conviction in his voice betraying his internal conflict.

“María’s sick! Maybe dying!” Fernando shouted, his eyes wide with desperation, as he grabbed Hector by the collar, shaking him violently. “Señor Joe must see the body!”

Hector pushed Fernando’s hands aside, his expression a mix of fear and a sense of duty. “No! I cannot allow it. You’ll defile Father Ortega’s body, and that I cannot permit.”

Frustration boiling over, Fernando shoved Hector backward into an open coffin. “You want I should nail it shut?” A surge of anger emerged from his desperation.

Hector vehemently shook his head. “No. No, Señor. Look all you want.” The tension eased somewhat, and he stepped out of the coffin.

Joe swiftly lifted the lid off the coffin, peering inside with apprehension. The patchy reddish-purple and black spots disfiguring Father Ortega’s face sent a jolt of icy fear down his spine. Quickly, he slid the top back onto the coffin, his hands trembling. “Nail it on, Señor Torres! Nail it on tight,” he demanded, his voice quivering with urgency.

“What you find, Señor Joe?” Fernando’s voice trembled with fear. “What this mean for María?”

“I don’t know,” Joe replied firmly, though the color drained from his face as dread filled him. “But I need to see her again.”

###

Rosa was pacing outside María’s bedroom, and Sal was leaning against the wall when Joe and Fernando returned.

Sal stood upright. “I brought the lug—”

Rosa cut him off. “What you find, José?”

“As I feared. The plague. Black Death.”

Color drained from Sal’s face. “What the hell?”

Joe turned to Fernando and Rosa. “Any other villagers sick?”

They talked for a while, and then Rosa left.

Sal gripped Joe’s elbow. “How bad is it, Joe? Will María get better?”

“Sorry, pal.”

“Rosa thinks the shopkeeper’s family is sick,” Fernando said. “She go check.”

“Good. Did you enter María’s room this morning?”

“Yes… I go in and kneel by her bed. I kiss her cheek and pray.”

“Then you and Sal must stay in your rooms.”

“Why me, Joe?” Sal asked.

“Marie is contagious. And you could be contagious, too.”

“Okay… I go,” Fernando said.

“Can I get a bottle first?” Sal asked.

“No…” Joe shook his head. “Rosa’ll put one outside your door.”

“How long we going to be cooped up?”

“We’ll know in twenty-four hours. Forty-eight for sure.”

“Then make it two bottles.”

Rosa returned, all out of breath. “Garcia family sick. Father, mother, and five children. Neighbors, too. Many sick.”

Fausto rushed in. “Rosa… Rosa! The baker’s family sick. Butcher’s wife and his children. I see many… What happening to our village?”

“What’s your name, boy?” Joe asked.

“Fausto, señor.”

“Can you get help and remove all the benches from the chapel?”

“Sí… But why?”

“A hospital for the sick.”

“Okay, señor. You can count on Fausto.” He nodded and left.

“I stand by you, José,” Rosa said, “but tell me truth.”

“We have an outbreak, an epidemic of deadly, contagious plague, and many will die.”

“And María?” Rosa asked.

“She’s gonna die.”

“And Papá? Will he die, too, and Señor Sal?”

“Wait a second… Papá?” Joe asked.

“Sí. Fernando’s my Papá, my adopted father… María’s my sister.”

“Don’t that beat all?” Joe said, shaking his head.

“What we do now?”

“We’ll know about your father and Sal in a day or two.”

“What will happen to my village?”

“Send a radiogram for help. Tell them what I told you, and then meet me at the chapel.”

“Sí, José, but be careful. You all I got left.” Rosa turned and left.

###

Fausto and two other men were removing the last of the benches from the chapel when Joe arrived. “Good work, Fausto.”

“Thank you, señor.”

“Can you ring the bell?”

“The bell?”

“The chapel has a bell, doesn’t it?”

“Sí… It has bell.”

“Here’s how to ring it: three gongs, then count to ten and three gongs, then count to ten. You understand?”

“Sí, señor.” Fausto turned to leave.

Joe grabbed his arm and spun Fausto around.

“Señor?”

“Do it twelve times: three gongs, then count to ten. Understand?”

“Three gongs, count ten, twelve times. Go now?”

“Yes… Go!”

Fausto scurried toward the bell tower. After a few minutes, the bell’s gong was loud and clear.

Rosa arrived. “I send message for help. What we do now?”

“Wait for the villagers to come.”

###

Before Fausto had finished ringing the bell, several villagers gathered in front of the chapel. Joe and Rosa went to the front of the chapel and stood on a nearby retaining wall.

“Who rings the bell at this hour?” a villager asked.

“Why three gongs?” another asked.

“A danger signal, estúpido,” a third villager said.

“What danger?”

Joe extended his hands. “Listen, my friends!”

“Who’s this Americano, this gringo who calls us friends?” a young man asked. “He no amigo of mine.”

The crowd murmured.

“You and your village are in great danger. A plague is making your friends sick, and many will die if we don’t act quickly.”

“Some always get sick, but most live,” the young man shouted. “Don’t panic us with your grim tales.”

The crowd hurled insults at Joe, and a few villagers drifted away.

“Don’t go. Listen to me. We must work together to stop this disease until help comes.”

“What does he know?” the young man asked. “Anyone know him or trust him? Go back to America and leave us alone.”

The crowd bellowed in agreement.

Joe shouted above the din of the crowd. “Bring your sick here… To the chapel. Cover your mouth and nose with a cloth like a mask, and don’t get close to anyone.”

“He wants us to act like bandits.” Several villagers shouted and then laughed and mocked Joe’s suggestions.

“Wait, amigos. This disease is in your lungs. When you breathe or cough, you can spread germs to someone else and make them sick. Covering your mouth and nose with a mask will help!”

The crowd’s dynamic turned ugly.

Rosa tried to intervene. “Please wait!”

“Whore!” someone yelled.

Joe started to step down, but Rosa held him back. “Señor José is doctor. Listen to him… Please.”

Joe shouted above the murmuring crowd. “Don’t gather in groups. Keep your distance from everyone.”

Most of the crowd dispersed, leaving only a handful still standing there. An older man stepped forward, followed by a few villagers. “How can we help, Doctor?”

Rosa and Joe stepped down from the retaining wall and greeted them.


*** End Chapter ***

[tailor STATELY]

Mob mentality and a distrust of strangers... a recipe for disaster... Enjoying :)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[DRayVan]

16: The Plague Gets the Upper Hand

Joe and Rosa stepped inside the hotel and stopped in the lobby. Joe faced Rosa and took hold of her trembling arms. “Wait here while I check on María.” His steady voice belied the uneasiness in his gut.

Rosa’s heart raced as she tightly squeezed his hand. He glanced back at her. “I afraid for her,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe reassured her by squeezing her hand and nodding. “I know you are, but you must prepare yourself for the worst, Rosa. What I find could be bad… Very bad.” His solemn tone carried his unspoken fears.

Rosa held Joe’s hand for a few moments longer. Her eyes shimmered with tears, threatening to spill over. “Be careful, José. Be careful, for my sake,” she said, her voice quivering with emotion.

Joe slowly opened the bedroom door and peeked inside. A chill raced down his spine; María lay motionless, her breathing imperceptible, her eyes distant and fixed. “María… María, can you hear me?” She remained unresponsive.

He closed the door and returned to the lobby, the weight of the awful news pressing on him. When he spotted Rosa, he hesitated for a heartbeat; his shoulders slumped, his bottom lip drooped, and his eyes misted.

Joe’s body language spoke volumes.

“Nooo,” Rosa cried, her voice breaking as she rushed to Joe, wrapping her arms around him tightly. She buried her head in the comfort of his shoulder and sobbed. Joe wrapped her in a warm embrace, softly kissing the top of her head and wishing he could take away her pain.

After a moment, Rosa pushed away. “I must tell Papá,” she said, her voice firmer now.

“Okay, but remember, don’t open his door.”

“I won’t,” she said, wiping her eyes and nose before leaving.

Joe went to the bar and ordered a whiskey to steady his nerves. When the amber liquid arrived, he sat at a small table facing the village square. His thoughts swirled as he tried to remember his lessons about diseases.

He took a sip, relished its warmth, and then downed a generous gulp, wishing it could drown his despair.

Moments later, Fausto arrived, his eyes urgently scanning the bar. When he spotted Joe, he hurried over with an expression of concern and urgency. Joe leaned forward, sensing Fausto’s report would be bad news.

“Señor Joe… Many villagers gather at the chapel… Many sick,” he said, his voice sober with concern.

“How many?”

Before Fausto could respond, Rosa reentered the bar, teary-eyed.

“How did he take it?” Joe asked, already fearing the answer.

“He cry.” Rosa’s tears ran down his cheeks.

Joe stood, his stance shifting from one of dismay to resolve. “There’ll be time for mourning if we survive this. For now, we’ve got work to do. Lead the way, Señor Fausto.”

###

Sunday, December 15

As the sun rose, Joe and Rosa walked out of the chapel, where the cool morning air revitalized them. Joe wrapped his arms around Rosa, pulling her close. “Help better arrive soon; I’m exhausted. How about you?”

“You give me strength,” she said, her eyes shining with determination.

“When I leave, come with me.”

“No leave Papá all alone. Who will care for him?” Her voice quivered with concern.

“Sit and rest, Rosa. It’s time to check on them.”

Rosa settled onto a nearby bench while Joe hurried to the hotel. His pace slowed when he reached the hotel steps. He hesitated, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

Hope blooms eternal, he thought.

Joe shook his head, having little hope for their condition but still hoping for a miracle. He pulled his shoulder back and went in.

###

Joe softly knocked on Fernando’s bedroom door, but the silence inside was unnerving. Joe cracked open the door and peeked in; his heart sank. Amid crumpled, lifeless sheets, Fernando lay twisted and unresponsive. His face was blotchy, his eyes glassy and fixed on the ceiling, and his chest’s shallow rise and fall were barely detectable. The gurgling sound with each breath told Joe that Fernando was fighting a losing battle for his life, and the end was within hours, if not minutes, away.

Joe quietly closed the door, his heart heavy, and moved to Sal’s bedroom door. A sense of foreboding settled over him when he knocked, but again, there was no response. With a deep breath, he opened the door and glanced inside.

The room was a disordered jumble: a tipped-over, empty whiskey bottle lying on the floor beside the bed, another resting precariously on the bedside table, its contents half gone.

Sal lay tangled in the sheets, his body jerking with each violent coughing fit. A glob of bloody sputum splattered onto the pillow as he struggled to catch his breath.

Joe knew Sal’s deep gurgling sounds meant his lungs were filling with fluid and slowly but surely drowning him. “Sal… Sal…” Joe called. But Sal could not respond during his coughing fit. Joe quietly closed the door and walked away, knowing this would be the last time he’d see his friend alive and could do nothing for him.

###

Joe returned to the chapel and found Rosa talking with an older woman. The moment the woman noticed him approaching, she curtsied and hastily left.

Rosa’s expression went from worry to hope. “Papá? Sal?”

Joe wrapped her in his arms and held her tight. “I’m so sorry, Rosa. They’re dying, and I can’t do anything for them.”

“I must go to Papá!” Rosa said, wriggling free of Joe’s embrace.

Joe pulled her back. “No, it’s too dangerous.”

“María. Now Papá. What I do?” Her voice cracked as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Come with me. When this is over, leave San Rafael with me.”

They sat together on a nearby bench, the sun’s warmth beginning to break through the morning chill.

“Where we go?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Back to my country. The old country.”

“Florida?” she asked.

Joe laughed softly. “No, silly woman… To Sicily. To my village of Porticello near Palermo. It’s so peaceful there, surrounded by ocean waves and sun-soaked sands.”

“Where is this Sicily? Never heard of this place.”

“In Italy,” he said. The thought brought a glimmer of excitement to his eyes.

“It pretty there?”

Joe nodded enthusiastically, his face lighting up with fond memories. “The prettiest place on earth. The sun, the ocean, the golden beaches—pure magic.”

“What you do there?”

“My uncle is the village doctor, and—”

Rosa became dreamy-eyed, filled with visions of visiting distant places. “My José, a doctor… I so proud.”

“I’m not a doctor yet, but if I study hard and my uncle teaches me—”

“You be good doctor, José. I know you will…” Then reality hit her. “What about Florida?”

“What you mean?”

“You have a job there.”

“Yeah… Forgot about that.”

“You go back?”

Joe shook his head. “No! I’m done with that life… I’ll walk away… And disappear in Sicily, live quiet lives, and grow old together. Would you like that?”

A joyful smile broadened across Rosa’s face. “You make me happy… Happiest woman in whole village, José.”

As they shared a tender kiss, the moment’s calm was interrupted when villagers arrived, bringing a sick man and woman to the chapel. “Excuse please, señor, señorita. We bring sick friends,” one of them called.

Joe and Rosa ended their embrace and turned to lend a helping hand.

*** End Chapter ***

[tailor STATELY]

:( ... so sad...

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[DRayVan]

17: Beating The Plague at Its Own Game

Tuesday, December 17

At dawn, Joe went to check on the conditions of Sal and Fernando. He quietly opened Fernando’s door and found his body still, with no signs of life. He opened Sal’s door and wasn’t shocked to see a corpse entangled in the bedding.

Joe had expected both would die during the night, but the reality of never seeing his best friend again hit him hard. He slumped against the wall, choking back tears. If what he found wasn’t bad enough, he had to break the news to Rosa.

Rosa was asleep on a bench outside the chapel. She stirred when she heard Joe approaching and sat up. “Papá?”

“I’m so sorry, Rosa.”

“No, José. Nooo, not Papá.” Rosa jumped up and ran to Joe, weeping. After a few moments, she asked, “And Señor Sal?”

“Gone, too.”

Rosa wiped her eyes and nose. She adjusted her hair and clothes. “There be another time for sorrow. Now we work—”

Fausto approached and bowed. “Can I help?”

“Tell Señor Torres that Señores Fernando and Sal are dead.”

“Rosa’s Papá? And señor’s friend, too?”

“Yes, both are dead… Now go!”

As Fausto left, a villager with sweating and mottled skin shuffled toward them. “Please help me.”

Joe and Rosa rolled up their sleeves.

###

Thursday, December 19

Joe and Rosa took a mid-morning break after spending the entire night laboring in the chapel, caring for the sick and dying. They looked haggard from exhaustion, with sagging bodies, drooping faces, reddened and puffy eyes, and rumpled clothes. The scent of chicha, their only antiseptic, lingered on their hands and arms.

Fausto ran toward them, excitedly pointing up at the sky. “The planes! The planes!” he shouted, his voice filled with surprise.

They turned to follow the sound of the roaring engines, shielding their eyes from the brilliant sun and squinting to locate the approaching aircraft.

“José, can you see them?” Rosa asked, her voice trembling with anticipation.

“There! I see them!” Joe said, pointing. “Over there!”

Two sleek twin-engine cargo planes flew toward them, their metallic fuselages gleaming in the sunlight. As they made a sweeping arc to line up with the runway, the sound of their engines gradually eased as they descended for landing.

At that moment, Joe embraced Rosa, lifting her off the ground and twirling her around in delight. He then kissed her passionately.

Fausto gasped and hid his face with his hands as Joe kissed Rosa. Blood rushed to his neck and cheeks, turning them a bright red.

###

Joe and Rosa waited at the hotel’s entrance as two taxis screeched to a stop in front of them. Three men and a woman got out and approached.

Colonel Rafael Ortiz, a medium build, a balding man with a military bearing, casually saluted Joe with his riding crop. He nodded and tipped his hat to Rosa. “Greetings. We’ve come to—”

Doctor Samuel Friedman, a stout man with curly red hair, smiled and pushed past Colonel Ortiz. He extended his hand and grinned. “Doctor Sam Friedman, visiting from the University of Miami… At your service.”

Joe shook his hand.

Billy Whitman, a short, boyish-featured man with blonde hair, hustled to one side for a snapshot. He held one camera while another hung from his neck. Once in position, he said, “One moment, please… Smile.”

Doctor Friedman and Colonel Ortiz struck a pose with fake smiles while Joe and Rosa looked bewildered.

Whitman extended his hand. “Billy Whitman. Miami Herald. Photographing Doctor Friedman’s travels.”

Joe shook his hand.

Whitman stepped back and lined up another shot. “One more, please.”

Doctor Friedman gestured toward Nurse Cristela Guerrero, a lanky twenty-five-year-old woman with black hair rolled up in a bun. “My attending nurse, Miss Guerrero, and I have come to assist. How can we help you, Doctor?”

Whitman snapped more pictures.

Joe shook his head. “I’m no—”

Rosa elbowed Joe in his ribs and stepped in front of him. “Doctor Jovani Gallo come visit our fine village from America to marry me, his fiancée, but priest get sick and die. My sister and father die. And his amigo, Señor Sal, die, too. Many in my village sick and die. Doctor Gallo save many lives.”

Joe grabbed Rosa’s arm and pulled her toward him. He hugged and kissed her forehead.

Whitman caught the embrace on film.

Doctor Friedman stepped forward. “Congratulations on your marriage, Doctor Gallo, but what can we—”

“My congratulations as well, Doctor Gallo,” Colonel Ortiz said, “but I… We must know the current situation and extent of the emergency.”

Whitman took out a pad and pencil and began jotting notes.

“The village priest, Father Ortega, became ill on December the twelfth and held mass,” Joe said. “Only God knows how many he infected.”

Doctor Friedman asked, “What are their symptoms?”

“Here’s what I’ve observed of the sick, dying, and… Dead: uncontrollable cough, bloody sputum, difficulty breathing, fever, nausea, severe vomiting, headache, weakness, chest pain, and black blotches under their skin.”

“Well done, Doctor Gallo. You’ve made my work much more manageable. A village near the Pacific coast had a similar outbreak, and it decimated the community: two in five of its one thousand inhabitants fell ill, and half of them died. What are your mortality statistics?”

“So far, twenty-three are sick, and five have died.”

Doctor Friedman looked at his nurse and then at Joe. “You say just twenty-three are sick and only five casualties?”

Joe turned to Rosa. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Sí… Doctor.”

“Amazing… Pneumonic plague can sweep—”

“Pneumonic plague?”

“Yes, Doctor Gallo. You’ve presented the classic symptoms of pneumonic plague, which is highly contagious and can sweep through a village, leaving countless dead and dying. There’s no treatment, no cure. How did you keep the disease confined?”

Rosa continued. “Doctor Gallo, isolated. How you say… Quarantined, the sick in the chapel. No one come close to no one. We wear masks.”

“Quite impressive, Doctor Gallo. Is this a new procedure from Florida?”

“No… Just common sense, given the nature of the disease process. We initially had some problems convincing the villagers, but within a day, they complied when they saw their family and friends getting sick. In no time, the entire—”

Colonel Ortiz interrupted. “You’ll have time to tell the complete story, but first things first… When was the last time you slept? Or ate something?”

“Can’t remember when.”

Whitman approached Joe with his notepad ready. “Gallo. Jovani Gallo has a familiar ring to it. Ever been in Miami?”

Joe squeezed Rosa close to him. “You must be thinking of that new table wine… Gallo wine… From California.”

“No, not the wine… But I’ll remember. I always do.”

Colonel Ortiz put his hand on Whitman’s shoulder. “There will be time for interviews later, Señor Whitman. I’m sure Doctor Gallo and his wife are hungry and tired.” Colonel Ortiz turned to Joe and Rosa. “We’ll take over for now… You and your lovely bride need to rest.”

“One favor, Colonel.”

“Just ask.”

“Please take care of Rosa’s father and my friend, Sal. Their bodies are at Señor Torres. I don’t want a mass grave for them.”

“Yes… My pleasure. Now go, if you please. Rest. Eat something.”

Hand in hand, Joe and Rosa strolled toward the cantina. Halfway there, Joe stopped and wrapped his arms around Rosa.

“I love you, Rosa,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “These past days have made me realize how much I—”

“I love my José,” she said, pressing herself against him. “Shut mouth and kiss me.”

*** End Chapter ***

[tailor STATELY]

The cavalry arrives :)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor