The Founders' Plot

A hospital security guard drove Julio to his car. He went to Marisol first. He wanted her with him when he told Carmella.

“Hello, Julio,” she said, smiling when she opened the door. But as she looked at him, the smile disappeared, her mouth opened, and she gave him with a sideward glance. “What’s the matter, Julio?” She gestured to the couch. “Sit down. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Julio flopped on the couch and began crying. “It’s Roberto,” he said, his voice shaking. “Roberto is dead. He got shot in a fight at the rally.”

“Ah, Dios no! No!” she shouted. Her head fell back and then she too collapsed onto the sofa and wept. She put her arms around him. “Oh, Julio, I’m so sorry. He was like a son to me and Carlos.” She hesitated, her eyes widening. “Carmella! Good Lord! What will this do to her?”

“I don’t know. I thought about it on the way here. I don’t know how to break this to her. I’m afraid of what she’ll do. I want you to come with me, okay?”

“Of course. But first we’ve got to calm down. Have you told Erika?”

He shook his head.

“We should do that first. Then all three of us will tell Carmella. I’m going to check on the baby. The boys are in the backyard playing with their friends. I’ll send them to Anselmo’s house. Why don’t you call Erika?”

“Okay, and I’ll contact the funeral home?”

Julio rushed to Erika when she arrived. They embraced and cried together. Father and daughter spoke for a few minutes, then Erika said, “Okay, let’s do this now and get it over with.”

Julio and Marisol nodded. Marisol cradled the baby in her arms. Julio put his arm around his daughter and pulled her close as they walked out the kitchen door to the porch where stairs led to his apartment.

Carmella was at the kitchen table sewing one of Julio’s work shirts. She got up with a wide smile and hugged Erika. “What a nice surprise,” she said, then abruptly stepped back. “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking at each of them. “I can see it on your faces. You’ve been crying. Why? What’s wrong.”

Julio put his arms around her. “Sit down.” She pulled away. “Tell me what’s going on!”

Erika began to cry, and Julio put his arms around Carmella again. “It’s Roberto.”

She jerked her head back. “What about him?”

Julio hung his head, and Carmella sucked in a deep breath.

Julio held her tighter. “Roberto is dead. There was a fight at the march, and he was shot.”

Carmella’s mouth opened and her eyes protruded. “Que! Mijo! Oh, please God, no.”

Then she stepped backward. Her eyebrows tightened and her eyes narrowed. “That can’t be. Why would you lie about something like this? Tell me it’s not true! Tell me!”

Julio pulled her close, but she broke away from him. Her eyes went glassy, and she shook violently and pulled her hair. She raised her hands into the air and screamed, “No! This isn’t true. It can’t be!” Then she crumpled into a chair. She put her head in her arms on the table, and her body shuddered as she sobbed.

Marisol breathed heavily and tears streamed down her face. She pulled a chair next to Carmella, held the baby in one arm, and put the other around her friend. “Go ahead, cry, cry. Get it out of you.”

Erika sat on the other side of her mother and hugged her, and their bodies convulsed as they sobbed together. Then, Carmella jumped up. She’d stopped crying and stared forward, motionless.

“Are you all right?” Marisol asked, standing.

Carmella said nothing. Staring straight ahead her arms hanging flaccidly at her sides, she walked trancelike down the hallway toward the living room.

Then, she turned back to them. She began to laugh and twirl around with her arms held out. They stared at her, dumbstruck. Carmella laughed loudly as she twirled faster and faster. Julio rushed toward her, but she collapsed before he reached her.

“Carmella!” he shouted as he knelt next to her. He put his left arm behind her upper back, pulled her up. He ran his other hand across her face and hair as her head rested motionless on his chest. Marisol and Erika squatted next to him.

“Carmella,” he pleaded. “Carmella. Please. Can you hear me?”

Marisol stood. “I’ll call 911. Erika, put ice in dish rags and hold them on her forehead and wrists.”

Marisol grabbed the phone on the wall as Carmella’s eyelids fluttered and opened. She looked around as if she didn’t know where she was.

“Carmella,” Julio pleaded, “can you hear me?”

She looked up, appearing surprised to see him. Then she put her arm around his neck, leaned her head on his chest, and wept quietly.

He looked helplessly at Marisol and Erika.

Marisol hung up the phone and stepped forward. “Let’s get her to bed.”

Erika helped her father pick up Carmella and took her to the bedroom down the hall from the kitchen. They laid her on the bed, beneath the large crucifix hanging above the headboard. She was perfectly still, saying nothing, just staring at the ceiling, her eyes reddened and puffy. Julio sat on the bed next to her and held her hand. Erika sat on the opposite side of the bed and squeezed her mother’s other hand.

“Try to rest,” Julio said, caressing her forehead. “Try to sleep. I’ll be right here.” He motioned for Erika and Marisol to leave.

They walked into the kitchen, closing the bedroom door behind them.

Carmella awoke at six that evening.

Julio was lying next to her with his arm around her. “How are you?” he asked.

She slowly pushed herself up with her head hanging down on her chest. “I’m all right now,” she whispered.

He helped her up and walked her into the kitchen to sit with Erika and Marisol’s baby.

“Marisol took the prescription to the drugstore for the tranquilizers,” Erika said. “She should be back soon.”

Erika made chicken broth, and tea mixed with honey.

Carmella picked up the spoon next to the soup bowl and looked at it. “It’s a little dirty,” she said. She stood and dropped it into the sink, then pushed around silverware in the cabinet drawer and pulled out another spoon.

Marisol returned and gave Carmella a tranquilizer. She slowly sipped the tea and spooned some broth into her mouth. Finally, she pushed away the soup and tea, then smiled at Marisol and Erika. She took their hands. “Thank you. Thank you so much for being here.”

“We’ll always be here, Mom,” Erika said, hugging her mother.

“Whatever you need,” Marisol added.

Carmella stood up sluggishly. “I need to take a shower and change clothes. No, a bath. A nice hot bath.”

“That’s a good idea,” Julio said. “I’ve got to go to the funeral home. Marisol, will you stay with Erika?”

Marisol nodded.

Erika walked her mother to the bathroom.

“Why don’t you two relax?” Carmella said with a weak smile. “Lie down. Maybe you’ll get some sleep like I did.”

“Yes, I can use some rest,” Marisol said.

“Me, too,” Erika agreed. “Call if you need anything.”

Carmella nodded and closed the door. Julio heard the water running in the tub as he put on clean clothes. “You two try to rest if you can,” he said and left for the funeral home.

“We’ll try,” Marisol answered.

Making the funeral arrangements pushed Julio into an even deeper depression. There was such a finality to it, the last act of a play in which his son dies. He entered his dimly lit apartment silently and checked on Marisol and Erika. Both were asleep, Erika in the second bedroom and Marisol on the living room couch with the baby. He looked into the master bedroom, hoping Carmella was also sleeping. But she wasn’t there. He noticed light at the bottom of the bathroom door.

She was still in the tub?

Then, “Oh, no!” he shouted as he turned the bathroom doorknob.

Locked.

“Carmella!” he shouted and pounded the door with his fist. “Carmella, open the door!” He slammed his shoulder into the heavy wooden door, but it wouldn’t give.

Marisol and Erika ran to him. “What is it?” Marisol asked.

“I don’t know for sure! But we’ve got to get this door open. Erika, my toolbox is on the porch. Get me the crowbar,” he said and again slammed himself into the door. “Hurry!” he shouted as he tried kicking the door open.

When Erika returned, he shoved the curved tip of the crowbar between the edge of the door and its jamb, just above the knob. He pulled hard three times and the door flew open.

“No!” he shouted and rushed to the bathtub. “No. Oh, Carmella, Carmella,” he sobbed as he reached for her.

Marisol gasped and put her hands over her mouth. She fell to her knees and turned her head away as Erika screamed and ran to the bathtub.

Carmella’s naked body lay in the tub, her head rolled to the left, her glazed eyes open. Her arms were at her sides. Both of her wrists were slashed open and floating palms up in the blood-red water. On the floor next to the tub, Julio saw the sharply honed, blood-streaked paring knife she’d managed to secretly get into her pocket when she’d gone for another spoon