Berto's Roses
By Ben
Part XXXVII
I do not know why, but it is so. I do my best artwork when I am depressed. And, believe me, I was depressed-deeply depressed. I was in mourning; I was helpless to do anything about the horrible events of the past twenty-four hours.
I had a few hours until Ricky would get to the house. I knew sleep would be impossible, and I had cleaned up the debris from the storm earlier. I walked numbly into my studio and picked one of my larger canvasses I had shipped from Chicago. I placed it on my big table and turned on my computer. I found my favorite digital photograph of Berto in the rose garden and began to sketch onto the canvas.
My eyes watched as my hands, seemingly on their own, reproduced the lines and shapes of the photograph in near full scale. I opened my new paints and applied the earth-tone pigments to my well-used palette. Starting with the adobe wall background, I applied the paint to the canvas, mixing and blending as the fine sable brushes work across the prepared canvas.
The painting began to take on life. I was able to capture, with my brush, what I had with my camera. Berto's youth and exuberance began to take on almost three-dimensional form. I painted from my heart; I painted from my pain and sadness. My love for this young man flowed down my arms and was manifested upon the canvas in a way that I would later not remember and scarcely believe.
Time past without me noticing. The orange light and long shadows of early evening caused me to look up from my now finished creation. I carefully picked up the wet painting and set it up on a large easel against the wall next to the door. I stood in the middle of the room and just stared at it.
Perhaps it takes an artist to understand the feelings that overcame me as I looked at what I had done. It isn't conceit, or false pride when an artist, be they a singer, dancer, songwriter, poet, or one whose gift is visual art can look at their performance and know, with certainty, that that which was produced through them is magic. Something higher, more perfect, directed the brush, the step, the voice, the mind to create to a level that it's amazing to oneself.
It turned on the lights and began cleaning my brushes and putting away the paints. I glanced from time to time at the painting. It was complete dark outside and I realized, with a start that Ricky would be arriving at any minute with Carla and Berto. My hosting skills automatically took over and I went to the kitchen and began fixing some light food, in case anybody was hungry.
I was not looking forward to this. At the same time, I needed to be with theses people. They all have suffered loss, and even greater than me. I, at least, had not lost a parent in the tragic accident. And Ricky had lost his beloved Jose as well. I didn't know what to expect, I didn't know what to say. I felt so inadequate. I fussed around in the kitchen then made sure the bed in Berto's room and two other rooms had fresh linen and that the bathrooms were stocked with soap, shampoo and towels, etc.
I looked out the window for the millionth time and saw the front end of the limousine drive through the gap in the wall and into the carport. The driver got out and opened the passenger door. I saw Ricky's head rise above the door as he emerged. I ran to him and we embraced. I held him tightly and felt his arms pulled around me as well. I just held him and gently swayed with him.
"Oh, Ricky. I am so sorry, my friend. I wish I could bear your pain for you." I said softly and kissed the top of his head as I hugged him. He looked up at me with brimming eyes, then closed them and the tears spilled out and down his handsome face. I kissed his eyelids then held him to me again.
"Ben?" came a small feminine voice from inside the car. Ricky turned and handed Carla out. "How are you, Ben? She asked me. I was overwhelmed with her concern for me at a time like this. I shook my head and said, "I honestly don't know right now." She nodded her understanding and took me into her tender arms. I held her closely and knew that she was the one with the strength. Carla would hold it all together and get us all through this. It was she who would be making the decisions about memorial services and what must be done to honor the lives of those we all held so dear.
I peered into the darkness of the car and asked, "Where's Berto?" Carla turned toward the interior and reached out her hand. She began withdrawing it and I saw Berto slowly emerge. Only it was not the Berto I remembered. It was not the Berto I had just finished painting on the canvas in my studio. I was shocked and concerned at his appearance.
His eyes, once so full of excitement and happiness now held a dull, haunting stare and seemed focused on nothing. There were dark circles around them and he had no expression on his face. I held my arms open to him but he walked right by me and into the kitchen. I looked at Carla and she shrugged. "He is taking this very hard, Ben. Give him some time."
I was devastated. Did he still hate me, because he saw me kissing Raul before he went back to school? Could it be possible that it was just one week since that horrible night? I wanted to hold him and comfort him. I wanted to tell him that everything would be alright. I wanted to be able to give him his mother back, but that was impossible. I needed him to reach out to me in his time of grief. I loved him so much, and he wanted nothing to do with me. This made the pain even worse for me.
I followed him inside and he was slowly looking around the kitchen, then made his way to the stairs. I followed him to the second floor. "I made your bed, Berto. There are fresh towels in the bathroom if you want to take a shower." I sounded like such an ass. Berto did not turn into his room as I expected but continued down the hall and turned on the light in Manuella's room.
He just stood and stared. I realized that he was looking for his mother. He must have been holding out some hope that somehow it wasn't true, that he would find her in the kitchen or in her room. What happened next broke my heart in two. He gave a little whimper, and looked at me. His face was that of a scared, lost little boy. He gave a choked sound and uttered, "Mama." Then he fainted and collapsed on the floor.
I ran to him and caught him just before he hit and cushioned his fall. I held his head and kissed him. My tears fell on his beautiful, sweet face as I said his name, softly, over and over. I rocked him in my arms and was racked with great sobs. I held him tightly to me, willing his hurt away. I don't know how long I stayed there with him like that, but Carla found us there and shook me into reality.
"Ben, Ben! " I looked up at her blurry image. "You must put him to bed, Ben. Here let me help you."
"No, Carla, please, let me do it." I managed to stand and cradle Berto in my arms, then carried him into his room. Carla pulled back the sheet and I lay him down. I lovingly removed his shoes, socks and shirt, then drew the sheet over his still form. I tucked him in and bent to kiss his face. I remembered the night I had whispered to him and had been shocked at his sleepy reply.
I started to sit down next to him, but Carla said, "Enrique needs to see you. He is downstairs in the sunroom." I looked anxiously down at Berto and started to protest that I need to stay with him. Carla gently touched my arm and said, "He will sleep now and I will stay with him. Enrique needs you now."
As small and as young as Carla was, she was still a force to be reckoned with. I started out the door and turned one more time to make sure Berto was in capable hands. Carla reached a small, soft hand to brush the hair off his forehead and sat next to him on the bed. I knew he would be fine with her there.
I found Ricky sitting in one of the large chairs and sipping a glass of what I assumed was some alcoholic beverage. He handed me a bottled water and I sat opposite him in a matching chair. I reached out and held his strong masculine hand in mine. We were silent for a time. Then Ricky said. "We will have a memorial service for them, Ben. Here in Santa Rosalia. We will honor them and celebrate their lives. At my nod, he continued, "Have you spoken to Manuella's sister, yet?"
"Oh my God, Ricky! No, I haven't." I was mortified. I hadn't given Manuella's sister or Carlos a thought. Truth was, I wasn't even sure I could have communicated with them, anyway. My Spanish was even more limited than their English.
"In the morning, maybe I should take Berto with me to tell them what has happened." Ricky suggested.
"I don't know if he's going to be in any kind of shape to do that, Ricky. He went looking for Manuella and when he finally realized he wasn't ever going to find her, he just collapsed. Carla and I put him to bed. She's upstairs with him now."
Ricky looked concerned. "Will he be alright?"
"I hope so. Young people seem to be pretty resilient. I think he just needs time to get through all of this. I'll go with you and show you where Carlos and his mother live. I'll let you do the talking, though."
"I have had people at the crash site trying to find anything, but the wreckage was so scattered by the storm that there was little to find. I have the same man who did Mama's funeral in charge of setting up the memorial service. When do you think it should be?" asked Ricky.
"I phoned Bob's daughter and I doubt that she would be interested in coming for it. Nathan is coming in the morning. I don't know who else from Manuella's family might attend. We can ask her sister tomorrow. What about Jose's family?"
Ricky shook his head sadly. "No they will not come. They stopped talking to him when he was at university and became my lover. I called them and told them what has happened, but even that did not soften their hearts."
"Then I guess we don't have to wait for a long time for people to get here, so it should be soon. Are you sure you don't want to do this in San Augustin? It is the Don's home, after all."
Ricky looked up at me with a sad smile on his handsome face. "Papa was born in Santa Rosalia. He owed much land here as well. He moved himself to San Augustin when he was a young man. Many of the people here knew him and held him in high esteem."
I nodded my head in understanding. "Are you hungry? I made a few things to eat. You and Carla and your driver may have anything you want. There are plenty of rooms for everybody, too."
"No, gracias, mi amigo, but I am not hungry. I will just sit here for awhile and then go to bed. You look like you could use some sleep yourself, Ben."
I did feel dreadfully exhausted. "Yes I could. I am going up to check on Berto and then I'll head out to my bed." I rose and gave Ricky a hug and kissed his forehead. "Buenas Noches, my friend."
"Good night, Ben. We will take care of the details in the morning."
I trudged up the stairs and saw Carla sitting in a straight-backed chair next to Berto's bed. She held his hand as he slept. It was a beautiful scene and in happier circumstances I would have gotten my camera and captured such a loving tender moment. It was plain to see that Carla loved him. How could she not? I knew just how she felt.
I cleared my throat softly and she looked in my direction. "He seems to be sleeping peacefully, now." She told me.
I leaned over and touched his thick, soft hair. "There is some food in the kitchen for you and your driver. I am sorry, but don't know his name. And rooms are ready for you as well."
Carla gave a small smile of appreciation. "Gracias, Ben. I am not hungry, but I will see to Paco. Why don't you say good night to Berto and try to get some sleep?"
"I will." I said and Carla left the room.
I looked down at the sweet angel boy-man on the bed. "Oh Berto," I whispered. " I am so sorry you have been made to go through this. I promise that I will make sure that you are taken care of. You'll finish school and become happy and prosperous, just like Manuella wanted you to. And you will never lack for love."
I ran my fingers through his hair, then bent to kiss his cheek. He had soft stubble growing there and I felt it on my lips. He needed a shave. He also needed a haircut, I noted. But all of that was unimportant at the moment. I tucked the sheet around him and made my way to my studio.
I stripped of my clothes and let them just fall to the floor. I crawled between the sheets and inhaled their fresh, clean scent. I wondered if I could make them smell this way-the way that Manuella always did. I remembered her chubby cheeked smile and the way she used to wail to beckon Berto. A single tear slid down the bridge of my nose. I would miss her terribly. I looked up at the starry sky through the large windows. "I'll take care of him, Manuella. I promise." At some point, I just drifted off.
I heard a hushed voice calling me. "Senor Ben, Senor Ben..." I looked up and saw a tall, slender silhouette in the open doorway of the studio. "Senor Ben?"
"Berto?"
"Si, it is me, Senor Ben. May I please sleep with you? I do not want to sleep alone, tonight."
"Of course, Berto. Come here." I lifted the sheets and he crawled in beside me, turning on his side and rolling up into a near fetal position. I wrapped my arms around him and he snuggled his back into my chest.
"What is to become of me, Senor Ben? Will I live with mi Tia and Carlos? What about university?"
"The university is all taken care of. Bob made sure of it a long time ago. As for where you will live. That's up to you. You can stay here with me if you want to."
That seemed to satisfy him as he pulled my arm more tightly around him. We spoke no more that night, but later I could feel him softly shaking and heard him sniff. I knew he was finally crying, working through his grief. I just held him and comforted has best I could. I fell asleep with Berto in my arms.
I found I needed a period of "mourning" myself after the demise of some of the story's characters. That's why it took so long for me to continue. Thanks for your loyalty. Much more to come.
Please write to me at ben_sc@hotmail.com. If you haven't read any of my other stories, check them out under the "Authors" link. Look for "Lyle Benton".