Esperanza is seated in a comfy patio chair in a garden full of roses and honeysuckle. She is nursing an ice tea in the shade of the tall American sycamore tree that dominates the patio. Mr. Douglas comes shuffling out with his cane and sits in the opposite chair at the round glass top table.
"You could have done worse", he says as a young woman who works at the church brings out an ice tea for him.
"At least I'm not trapped here", Esperanza says. "Not yet."
"You're still allowed to stay in the country?"
"I've been given immunity until the court case is settled. Then they can decide if they're going to kick me out. Then I'll just stay here. I'm glad I have this patio. It's enclosed so it's really inside the church basement here. At least I can still get fresh air."
"We're going to win. Tom doesn't have a snowball's hope in hell."
"He has influence and he has powerful friends."
"Piffle. They can prove over and over that he spent most of six months trying to kill his old man while holding you prisoner. He's dead meat."
Esperanza is quiet for a few seconds then looks at him with big round eyes. "Mr. Douglas-"
"Bill. Please call me Bill. We are friends now, aren't we, Esperanza?"
"Bill, the lawyer has told me that I won't be prosecuted for giving you that poison, those opioids that were meant to kill you. He said that he can argue that I was an unwilling accessory and that I actually did everything I could to try to save you. I will also be given immunity for testifying against your son. But, Mr. Douglas, or, Bill, I just want to ask you if, if-"
For the first time, he sees Esperanza falter. Her mouth trembles and her eyes flutter as she lowers her head and wipes away a tear.
"I'm so sorry, Bill, I'm so sorry for what I did. Please forgive me. I was only trying to not get sent back to the Philippines, or worse."
The old man stretches towards her his long bony and gnarled hand and gently pats her forearm. "Think nothing of it, dear. It's all right. You did your best. You saved my life."
She straightens up in her chair, smiles and says "Thank you." She reaches for her ice tea. "How do you like your new home?"
"It's no hell I guess. I think it's been enormously kind of the church to find me this place. The meals are good. No one really talks to each other but that's okay. That's okay.
He cannot stop thinking of his grandson, his only grandchild, the son of his son who tried to kill him, the son who he abandoned for so many years, the son who threatened to take him to court for hitting him with a paddle three times when he was a child: for throwing a rock through the window, for smoking, and for stealing. He only wanted to raise his kid right, to show him that he loved him, to see that he went the right way in life. He didn't anticipate that little Tom's cries of fear and pain while he was being paddled would stay with him, would be the last lingering noise in his head as he settled down to sleep at night. He didn't like hurting his kid. The old man was a gentle and loving soul. He didn't like to hurt anybody. He considered himself lucky in the war, not for being rescued from the internment camp but because he never killed anybody. He doesn't know how he could live with himself had he killed another human being.
Esperanza takes him for a walk in the neighbourhood. She is usually afraid of leaving the church which is now her home. Even with the immunity she is afraid of being picked up by the authorities and dumped on the next plane to Manila. She says she feels safe with him. This morning the old man got a phone call from his daughter, Abby. She wants to visit him tomorrow. He has gathered that his girl's life has also been one bitter, difficult and sad journey. She hasn't told him much but he wants to see her, often. She has also promised her support in the court case against her brother who always treated her like dirt under his shoes. He still cannot stop thinking of his grandson, with whom he lived for six months in the same house without once seeing him. He almost wants to stop and break down and weep. Esperanza puts her hand on his arm and they walk tenderly together in the afternoon light, a father and daughter on a warm day in June on their way together to the local Tim Horton's where they will gorge together on donuts. He still needs a cane though now his legs feel stronger than ever. He is happy to have Esperanza there to support him, to walk with him.
"Esperanza", the old man says. "Tell me please, what is the meaning of your name."
She smiles gently as though in a half dream and replies, "My name, Esperanza, is the Spanish word for hope."
The old man is quiet for awhile. Then he turns to her as they come to the door of the local Tim Horton's and says to his friend, "How many donuts can you eat today?"
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That is the conclusion of the story "Vengeance." I hope you have enjoyed reading it. It has been for me a pleasure to write it for you my gentle readers.
blessing
Aaron
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