Tarnished Beauty by Cecilia Samartin Read Free Book Online Page B

faded into the roar of the river, and Jamilet couldn’t be sure if they’d perished or made it to the other side.
    It took little more than an hour for Jamilet to release her hands, using the strategy that Juan had suggested. She spent the rest of the day and most of the evening crouched at the bank of the river watching it flow past like an enormous glistening snake, carrying twigs and branches and the occasional plastic bag and tin can along its undulating back. She ate the last of the apple she’d been saving and drank frequently from the river. She listened to the wind whispering through the trees, and even more intently to the stillness that settled itself in between the sounds of nature all around her, hoping to hear the true voice of God somewhere in its midst telling her what to do next. But all she could be sure of was the beating of her own heart, and the breath entering and leaving her body reminding her that she should be grateful to be alive, and nothing more.
    The moon was high in the sky when she removed her clothes and rolled all she carried into a neat bundle. Everything, that is, except her boots; certain, as she remembered the complaints of the men earlier, that she’d be more sure-footed with them on while stepping on the slippery rocks that carpeted the river bottom. With the bundle tied securely to the top of her head, she stepped into the river, and braced herself against the water that swirled about her ankles and up to her knees, her thighs, and filled the warm spaces in her groin with a turbulent cold that was excruciating and terrifying all at once. Although she was panting and trembling violently, she continued to go deeper into the river that surged up to her waist, lapping at her breasts like a hungry sharp-toothed child. She clamped her eyes shut against the pain, gathering as much strength as she could, and before long found herself gazing into the familiar and hideous face of the fear and rejection she’d lived with all her life. If truth be told, the river water was warm by comparison, the sticks and debris that pounded into her body no more threatening than a friendly poke to the ribs.
    And then, when she felt herself on the verge of succumbing to the bitter cold, the river sang to her. “Life without despair is possible,” it sang over and over again within the deepest heart of its roar. “If you can endure…If you can endure…” The voice, more powerful and captivating than the ugliness of her past, plowed a valley through her consciousness, deep to the core of her soul, and she followed its call through the darkness until she heard nothing and felt nothing except for a numb and deathlike peacefulness. She was certain that she’d been taken by the river and that she was floating like a leaf on the surface of the water, spinning and dipping along with the currents, moving with a power that surpassed her most paralyzing fears. And there was nothing she could do but let herself go wherever it led.
    When Jamilet collapsed on the bank of the river, she was unable to move, and hardly even to breathe for a long while, but her mind soared with the joyous realization that she’d made it to the land of miracles. When she was once again able to feel the blood pumping through her arms and legs, and had determined that she hadn’t suffered any serious injuries, she dressed in clothes that she had managed to keep mostly dry, and spent the remainder of the night huddled at the base of a thorny bush that smelled of orange blossoms and mint. And there she slept soundly.
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    The next morning, she was awakened by a strange prickly sensation all over her body. She opened her eyes to discover an army of plump black ants. She leaped to her feet, ripped off her clothing in a flash, and jumped into the river without a thought of the horrifying experience of the night before. Back on shore she began to whip every garment she’d been wearing against the