Category: Santiago Holmes

“Billy Braithwaite could never look me in the eye again. He went back to school right after that night, and didn’t come into the Tavern again. People of his ‘station’ didn’t drink at the Tortoise, so I think he took to drinking at home by himself. I always thought that was why he never married. Who would want to live with a recluse?

“I saw him once, the day after the one-year anniversary of his incident with me. I was coming out of the pharmacy and he was headed in. I wouldn’t have noticed him except he was wearing a heavy sweatshirt with the hood up on a steamy August day. He looked away fast, but not before I saw two huge black eyes and a white bandage across his nose. I can only imagine what the sweatshirt was hiding.

“At that Sunday’s dinner I made mention of having seen him and the condition he was in. Gram gave her patented ‘oh dear,’ and Pap didn’t say a word; choosing to take a swig from his beer instead. Santiago let the hint of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth before wiping it away with his napkin upon receiving a look from Pap.”

Silence fell between us and we both went off with our own thoughts as the sun dipped down towards the Melanski. The slivers of river I could see through the trees glistened like fire. I thought about the mills, and my life.

I looked back on it in a new light that felt old. My emotions were always fragile. I was delicate. As I’d aged I’d assumed it was because I hadn’t had a father to toughen me up. My mother did her best, and she was as hard and tough as they come, but she wasn’t a father.

I looked up to Pap, but he wasn’t all that interested in me until I came to work for him, and by then it was too late. He’d already decided I was too soft and he only had a couple of years of life left.

Santiago had been the only other male in my life. He did treat me better than most of the other people I saw him interact with in town, but there was always a distance; more like an uncle or a much older brother. He’d sneak me beers and tell me stories of working in the cemetery, but he didn’t do any of the things I thought a father was supposed to; take me to ball games, get me to try out for sports, teach me how to work with my hands, tell me about life.

And still, a piece of me always wondered if he was my father and that’s why Pap let him work at the cemetery, and why he, Santiago, had treated me alright as a kid. Since I’d become an adult, whatever that is, I’d never had the courage to ask Ma. I’d asked all the time as a kid and her stock response was that he’d been an important man in Berwick who’d died in a mill fire years ago. 

That had always been enough, knowing he was important. It wasn’t now, but I still didn’t know how to ask, so I broke the silence, looking for an entry point.

“I guess that explains why Santiago was so angry when we buried Billy Braithwaite,” I said.

“Oh?”

I proceeded to tell my mother the episode of the burial and how it had driven the rift between us. She smiled when I told of Santiago urinating on the vault, shook her head and said, ‘Santiago’ with a false disdain.

“I’m sure he never would have told you this. He didn’t tell me until he had the diagnosis. Once a year after the assault had passed, he called Billy Braithwaite every day. Sometimes, if he’d been out late, he’d call in the middle of the night.

“He’d try to use a different phone each day, but called from the Tortoise most often. He never called from the cemetery, as he felt that would be a dead give away, but he assumed Billy knew anyway.

“He would tell Billy he was watching him and if he so much as looked in my direction or in the direction of another female, there wouldn’t be a person in the state who didn’t know what he had done that night.”

At this Ma turned and looked into my eyes. Her smile was sad, but her eyes were steel.

“I don’t want you to think any less of me, but I suppose I can’t help it if you do. I loved Santiago for making those calls. It’s awful, but the weakness and fear I felt behind the Tavern that night, I felt so helpless, and it was this one stupid man, boy really, who made me feel that way and knowing that Santiago put fear into him, well, it made me feel better.

“And knowing Santiago, when he said he called him every day, he called him every day. I’m sure it drove Billy mad.”

“Do you think that’s why he killed himself?”

“I don’t know why he did what he did, but I guess it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Why did Santiago call him? Did he say?”

“Not in so many words, but I can guess. I think he did it for Pap. I don’t think Pap ever wanted Billy to have a moment’s peace. Pap would never have said as much, but even at that point in time, he and Santiago had a good read on one another, so I’m sure he said something in passing and Santiago took it and ran.”

“Do you know who beat Billy up?”

“I don’t, but I’m sure you can guess.”

Her statement hung in the air as the darkness fell around us though the sky still held the gentle light of the gloaming. Crickets and other night creatures began their songs. I fought with myself, struggling to find the courage to ask the question I needed the answer to, hoping it was somewhere in the darkness.

“So that’s why you cared for Santiago once he got sick?” my voice sounded thin in the darkness, “because of how he protected you and then tormented Billy the rest of his days?”

“Isn’t it enough?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” my tongue tripped over the thoughts in my head, “of course it’s enough, and I’m not questioning why you did it. It just…”

“Seems strange because you can’t help remembering how miserable and angry he was and that those traits don’t deserve care, or love. And maybe, you’re wondering if I cared so much because you think he was your father.” I could feel her smile as she said this.

“It couldn’t have been more than a minute, but it felt as though it was a lifetime. The entire interaction couldn’t have lasted more than ten minutes. Not long enough for anyone to miss me in the bar, but it was just after the kicks stopped I heard someone say, ‘hi Billy.’ My ears were ringing with pain and my eyes were such a mess of tears I couldn’t make out who it was.

“I felt such great relief someone had come to stop the kicking, that I wasn’t processing what else was happening. Then I heard a hard thud and the sound of air evacuating someone’s lungs. It was as though I heard what I had felt moments before. Something fell into the empty kegs I had been sitting on.

“Then someone was helping me up and gentle hands that smelled of dirt and cut grass were wiping tears from my cheeks as I was guided toward the door of the Tavern. My arms ached and my stomach hurt where the first blows had landed. I limped, already feeling the bruises on my legs, but I could walk. I wasn’t steady, but I could move.

“The invisible voice said, ‘get back behind the bar. Try to make it look like nothing bad has happened. It’ll be easier if no one thinks anything happened to you.’ The voice stank with the heat of hard alcohol.

“Still not thinking straight, but now moving, I eased my way through the door into the hazy fluorescent interior of the bar. I made it to the bathroom unnoticed and did what I could at the sink to make myself presentable.

“The tear-stained face in the mirror was unrecognizable. My eyes were puffy, and dark bruises were forming on my arms. I cleaned my face as best I could, took a deep breath and headed back to the bar.

“I had just made it back behind the bar, hoping Pap wouldn’t notice the bruises on my arms, when the backdoor slammed open and Billy stumbled into the room. Every head in the room turned toward him as he tripped toward his father’s table at the front. ‘Santiago hit me!’ he bawled at his father. At which point, Santiago stepped through the backdoor, a drunken bemused smile upon on his face.

“Mr. Braithwaite nodded at Big Mike Tatum who got up from his stool at the bar and made his way toward Santiago. 

“Before Mike reached him, Santiago shot a quick look at me and a small smile of apology hinted at the corner of his mouth, then he turned his attention back to Big Mike.

“’Hey Big Mike, destroyed any lives today?’ he asked in a voice the whole bar could hear, ‘yeah, I know you kept pushing for more, even after my father gave you everything.’ Santiago looked over Mike’s shoulder at the well-to-do of Berwick seated at the tables, ‘you’re all responsible for the death of this town, the death of the mills and the death of my father,’ he condemned them and turned his gaze back to Mike. ‘And you’re the worst of the bunch because you should have known better. You saw the place day in and day out and you knew. You knew what he was going through and still you demanded more money, more benefits, more time off and he gave it all to you with no questions asked. 

“’My father loved you and everyone else who worked in the mills and for the company. He did everything and would have done anything for all of you, for the this town, and you kept leeching him until there was nothing left, but that wasn’t enough so he died and you scraped at the memory of his name –‘

“And then Mike hit him. It happened so fast, I didn’t see his arm move. He had Santiago in his arms and was out the back door in an instant. Everyone inside the bar was quiet. Even Billy had stopped his whimpering.

“We heard multiple impacts, two loud grunts and then the sound of something crashing into the metal trash cans lining the Tavern’s back wall.

“Pap had risen from his stool at the sound of the first grunt and was at the backdoor when the body crashed into the cans. ‘That’s enough Mike,’ he said. I’d never heard the iron in his voice like that before. I was afraid of it. ‘Linda, ice and two Buds,’ he said over his shoulder to me, then he was out the backdoor.

“While I scooped ice into a towel, Mike came back in and took his seat at the bar. He took a pile of cocktail napkins and wiped blood from the knuckles of his massive right hand.

“I grabbed two Buds from the cooler and made my way to the backdoor. I felt every eye in the bar on my back. When I got out into the thick night air a wave of relief washed over me. I hadn’t realized the tension I was feeling inside the bar.

“Pap was bent over the trash cans helping Santiago to his feet. Once he had him upright, Pap moved him over towards the kegs on the other side of the door and sat him where I had been sitting earlier.

“’He was hurting,’ Santiago stammered, my name failing to materialize through the mouthful of blood.

“’Just sit and be quiet a minute,’ Pap said, taking the two Buds from me and handing one to Santiago. He tilted his own back and finished it in one go, then walked back to the door. He opened it and yelled to Kenny to ‘put a round for the whole place on my tab.’ Then he turned back to me and said, ‘you stay here, I’m going to get the truck.’

“I knelt down beside Santiago and handed him the ice-filled towel. He tried to smile his thanks but his face twisted into pain. He held the ice to his mouth and mumbled ‘thank you.’

“I smiled my own thanks into his bleary bloodshot eyes and wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t come outside. I wanted to say more, but I didn’t have the words. We stared at each other in silence until Pap pulled up out back in the truck.

“Pap didn’t say a word as he lifted Santiago to his feet and helped him in to the passenger side of the truck. Once he was settled, pap came around to the driver’s side. He put a hand on my shoulder and looked at me with a pained tenderness, ‘we’ll talk about this later,’ he said.

“I went back in to work. Silence greeted me as I came through the door. The sound of Kenny mixing the last of the drinks from the round Pap had bought. There were no hidden stares. Every eye in the room was on me as I made my way back to the bar. 

“I don’t know if anyone knew or suspected what had happened to me out back, but I stared hard back at each table as I made my way toward the bar. When my eyes found Billy Braithwaite’s table, he wouldn’t look up to meet them and instead sat squirming beneath my gaze.

“I ducked back behind the bar, Kenny boomed out ‘order up’ and I got back to work. At the appearance of normalcy, the rest of the room returned to its respective conversations. Kenny raised his eyebrows at the bruises on my arms, but I shook my head and he knew better than to push for answers.

“The rest of the night was quiet, though the energy had gone out of the place. Kenny and I wiped down the bar, cleaned the taps and put up the chairs in silence. 

“I was nervous about getting home. I was afraid Billy might be waiting. He and his friends had shuffled out right after last call. It was a well-known fact that I walked home from work in the summer. I was nervous he’d be lurking somewhere on the route.

“When we came out the back of the Tavern I was about to ask Kenny for a ride, when I saw Pap parked across the street in his truck. A huge wave of relief washed over me. I said my goodnight to Kenny and climbed in besides Pap.

“He put the truck in gear and we drove home in silence. I took quick glances at him and saw the way he was working something over in his head. I was afraid he was angry with me. It wasn’t until we were parked outside the cottage he spoke.

“’Linda, I don’t want your Ma to know a thing about tonight.’ I started to protest, but he raised a hand, ‘I know she’ll hear gossip at the library or somewhere else around town, but if you tell her it’s not true, she’ll believe you. I don’t know how we’ll explain the bruises, maybe just say you bumped into a wall or slipped or something at work?

“’Santiago told me what happened. What he saw when he went outside. Your Ma, she’s a strong, tough woman, but she won’t be able to take the idea of you being hurt,’ I saw the tears glisten at the corners of his eyes, ‘I won’t be able to take it if you are hurt.’

“The compassion in his voice and look upon his face released what the night had pent up inside me, ‘I’m so sorry Daddy,’ I cried, breaking down into tears. Pap didn’t say anything, just pulled me across the seat and wrapped me in his arms as the tears fell.

“I don’t know how long we sat there or how long I cried. I stopped at some point and drifted off. Pap didn’t move an inch the entire time. He just sat in silence, holding me.

“When I woke, the first bright light of dawn was reflecting off the rearview mirror. Pap was sitting just as I’d left him, staring off at the cottage. When he noticed me begin to stir he looked down at me and asked, ‘did he touch you?’

“No matter what you may have thought of my relationship with Pap, no matter how much lip I gave him, no matter how hard he was on me, I never lied to him. And with the tone of voice he was using, I knew it wasn’t the time to tell him my first even though I was afraid he’d do something that would get him in trouble.

“‘He just hit me, nothing else. I think he wanted to, but he was having some sort of problem, so he started kicking me. He was drunk and embarrassed more than anything. I should have taken better care,’ was what I told him. No different than what I told you here today.

“Pap shook his head at me. There were tears at the corners of his eyes as he said, ‘I’m sorry this happened. I’ll make it right.’

“’What are you doing to do?’

“’Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take care of it,’ he said, smiling down at where I was curled up in the crook of his shoulder, ‘we haven’t done this in an age,’ he said and squeezed me to him, ‘I hate to ruin it, but let’s go inside to your Ma and the little one. I’m sure they’re wondering what we’ve been sitting out here doing all night.’

“And that was the last Pap and I talked about it. Gram tried to pry information from me after seeing the bruises on my arms at breakfast. Pap had gone out to the cemetery shed, so I told her a little bit, trying not to worry her. It didn’t matter, she knew Pap, and worried about what he might do. She also knew there was no stopping him once he started, so to the best of my knowledge, she didn’t try. She stopped asking if I was alright once the bruising on my arms faded.

Ma reached out and took my hand. She squeezed it and continued.

“I squirmed under his lips. His stink and the heat from his body were nauseating. I tried hard not to vomit. And then I was released from the wall and on my hands and knees vomiting.

“He’d punched me. His fist was a solid rock slamming into my stomach. He stood over me breathing hard, ‘I like hard to get up to a point, but it is my birthday and I should get what I want.’ His words tumbled over themselves with each breath.

“I would have run then, god knows I wanted to, but I couldn’t get any air into my lungs. Fear had curled me into a ball on the ground and he still stood between me and any type of escape.

“As silent sobs went through me, I kept wary eyes on him. He stood over me, panting and moved his hands to the waist of his jeans. With the sound of the zipper, everything stopped. I was paralyzed against what was to come next. I began to shake and my crying was more audible.

“Looking back, I can’t help but feel self-loathing, this dirty feeling that somehow I deserved what happened, and guilt. I know I shouldn’t. I know it sounds ridiculous; I was the victim, but when I went to work at the Tavern, I’d promised myself to never let something like that happen to me. I am furious with myself for ever being in that situation. I hate how weak and impotent I let him make me feel.”

I squeezed Ma’s hand. I wanted to speak, to tell her it was in no way her fault, to lash out at the memory of Billy Braithwaite and the well-to-do of Berwick, but I’d promised to let her tell the story. 

She squeezed my hand, acknowledging the thoughts that she watched race across my face, then with a sad smile, she continued.

“It didn’t happen. I was curled up on the ground, a sniveling mess of snot and scared tears. Billy stood over me fumbling with himself, trying to get his partner excited about what was to come next. It must have been the alcohol. Or maybe a certain part of him knew what he was planning to do was wrong. I don’t know.

“He started cursing at himself and his partner. Then he started telling me it was my fault for not giving him what he wanted. He alternated between that and blaming me for giving him too many drinks. He said he’d seen the way I was looking at him all night as I brought beers to the table, and the least I could do was give him a kiss now that he’d taken the initiative to come talk to me. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes.

“Then he kicked me in the stomach. I’d just started to get regular breath again when his foot landed. Whatever was left in my stomach ended up on his shoe, enraging him further.

“Through my tears I saw the moonlight cross his face revealing a mixture of humiliation and confused anger. It was almost as though he knew what he was doing and was mad about it, but couldn’t stop himself.

“I tried to beg him to stop, but the words wouldn’t come. ‘This is your fault,’ he repeated over and over as he kicked me again and again. The kicks and curses rained down in a waterfall of pain. At a certain point, I stopped feeling anything and just begged god to make him stop.

“I was curled in on myself, arms and knees tucked so after the first two kicks all the others landed on them or were deflected. Each blow landed hard though the impact lessened with each kick. The pain was still real, throbbing throughout my body. Then all of a sudden they stopped.