The Return of Prodigal

The Return Of The Prodigal

By Estaban Bacca

A hot Maltese sun had baked the limestone village throughout the day. The shadows had grown long and any activity along the quay had died away. Edgar Baldachino sat at his regular table outside the café. Over the rim of a wine glass, his eyes watched the fleet of fishing luzzus peacefully bobbing at their moorings but his thoughts were far from tranquil. His mind was thirty years in the past.

He had been a youth of eighteen when he'd decided he had to have Maria Bianchi, Maria of the flashing eyes and musical laugh. Two years his junior, she was the prettiest girl in the village and the only daughter of its wealthiest family. That having grown up an orphan living with an impoverished aunt might limit his chances had never entered his mind. He had been certain that she would recognize his love for her and that fate would somehow lend a hand. In fact, he had never had any chance at all. Maria had never even noticed the quiet, young man with the adoring eyes. Her heavily chaperoned, very Catholic existence had kept her so removed from young Edgar that even living in the same small community, they might as well have been worlds apart.

She had been married, through a family arrangement, to Mario Zamut, a brawling, bull of a man. As the most successful fisherman of the fleet, Mario had acquired three boats. Even though he bullied his crews and was known to fly into brutal rages, his success was respected. Everyone in the small community, except Edgar, thought the match was apt.

Their wedding day had been one long torture for Edgar. He had watched bitterly from the fringes of the celebration. Maria's radiant smile and smooth olive complexion had been showcased by the brilliant white lace she wore. Edgar had sought to dull the ache in his heart with steady doses of the local Marsala wine. When Mario had discarded his coat and tie for the dancing, the sight of Maria in the groom's brawny embrace had proved too much for Edgar. He had taken himself off along the quay, not stopping until he'd sagged onto the stones at the tip of the breakwater. The half empty bottle had slipped from his hand and smashed. He had focused drunkenly on the long line of the horizon. An azure sky had joined the sapphire sea in a mocking display of beauty while hot tears had coursed down his cheeks.

The following day he had signed onto a freighter and for the next ten years had traveled the world aboard merchant ships. He probably would never have returned had it not been for the accident. A hoist had failed and a bale of Egyptian cotton had crashed down into the hold where his gang had been stowing cargo. Edgar's right leg had been crushed and he was left with a permanent limp that had retired him from the sea. During his time abroad he had done much and had many women. His youth and its disappointments seemed a small and distant part of a life now crowded with experience. His feelings for Maria had long since been locked into one of those musty memory closets that one seldom opens. He would have left her there and been safe from his long ago obsession had it not been for the accident. It was the realization that he was crippled for life which had reawakened the bitterness and turned him toward home.

Upon his return, he had found the hurt waiting for him. His first sight of the place had torn the scab from his emotions and set the old anger to festering. There had been a settlement after the accident. Edgar spent several seemingly idle weeks studying the place where he had grown up. Eventually, he had formulated a loose plan that with patience and money he'd been sure would eventually achieve his purpose. He'd thought often of the old Maltese proverb, Bil-flus taghmel triq il-bahar, with enough money one can build a road in the sea. He'd bought the small marina where foreign residents kept their yachts and small sailboats. The Marina had grown with the influx of tourists and by local standards Edgar had become a man of wealth. His was the only marine supply serving the small harbor and while he used the fishermen fairly, he felt no qualms about charging the yachtsmen dearly. He had then built a small tourist hostel and that had succeeded as well. His growing prosperity was in stark contrast to the fortunes of the rest of the village. The numbers of the Blue Finned Dorado, or Lampuka as the Maltese called this fish, had thinned. The fishing industry of the island had shrunk to a part-time, coastal business for the most part.

As Edgar was the village's main contact with tourists and outsiders, it had become a matter of some importance that the owners of businesses be on good terms with him. It was he who decided from whom a car would be rented. It was he who referred vacationing couples to the owners of summer flats for let. Edgar had gradually become the man to see for any foreigner or local in need of advice. He had even become a money lender for small loans that no proper bank would have approved. Through all of these developments Edgar had been scrupulously fair with the villagers. His cleverness at taking advantage of the outsiders was considered only just and praiseworthy. Now twenty five years had passed since his return and it was generally agreed by all that, even as a youngster, he had shown great promise. In fact, one would have been hard pressed to find a soul not claiming that they had long ago predicted his rise to importance.

During summer evenings, auto traffic was blocked off of favorite streets and all of island's towns and villages turned out for the passeggiata, or ritual stroll . Down the length of the quay and then back up the seafront boulevard they meandered. Men, women, old and young wandered along in a lazy circle, gossiping and enjoying the cooler air. It was also during these strolls that avaricious mothers made sure their eligible daughters paused on one pretext or another near the café table which Edgar had taken as his own. Year after year, he had displayed no more than a polite and passing interest in the young women paraded before him. Finally, the frustrated mothers had decided that perhaps whatever accident had befallen him had crippled more than his leg.

Edgar came back into the present with a sardonic smile and a disgusted shake of his head. Although he was invariably courteous and seemed to wear his status with an easy manner, Edgar secretly looked upon all of their attentiveness with scorn. He remembered all to well the lonely tears he had once shed here. Where had they all been back then? They had been filling their bellies at the wedding tables and singing Mario's a jolly good fellow. Well, there had not been a single tear since.

He stood with the aid of a gold knobbed cane and kicked his stiff leg into motion. His steady progress along the waterfront to his office at the hostel was punctuated by greetings and well wishes from any he met. A fisherman mending his nets, a group of women on a stoop across the way, a street vendor, they all had a good word for Edgar.

Glancing ahead, he suddenly saw something that quickened his pulse. The moment he had been waiting so long for had finally arrived. Waiting outside his door, hat in hand, was the burly form of the fisherman, Mario Zamut. Edgar had been expecting the man's visit for some time. He slowed his already moderate pace in order to savor the moment. Let the bastard stew, he thought.

Over all the years since his return, Edgar had only caught glimpses of Maria. During Carnival or on feast days, he might see her and then always on the arm of the pig who was now watching his approach. She would be fifty years old he estimated. That many years of village life invariably made an old woman of even the fairest. Work and thin living saw to that, but Maria had led a more privileged life and her beauty had survived. To Edgar's starved gaze, the mature Maria had become even more desirable than the sparkling girl had been. Each brief encounter had sent a new stab of jealousy through Edgar and instead of diminishing; his lust for her had grown with each passing year.

When he finally reached his steps, he was smiling. Mario Zamut opened the door for him and extended a thick arm to assist his climb. Edgar allowed the man he had so often thought of as 'the pig', to help him inside. He settled himself into the deep leather chair behind his desk. His caller stood, twisting his hat, waiting for the offer of a seat but Edgar merely looked at him inquisitively.

"So, Edgar, how are things?" the big fisherman finally blurted with a forced joviality.

"Mario Zamut, have we ever been friends?"

"Friends? What an odd question, Edgar. I've known you all your life."

"No one here knew me while I was away… but that is beside the point. My question was… have we ever been friends?"

"Well, no. Not close friends but…"

"Nor even distant ones. I would prefer that you address me formally…as Mr. Baldachino."

Edgar was pleased to observe the deep flush that rose out of the big fisherman's collar and suffused his countenance. He could imagine the acrid taste of the pride and anger that was being swallowed but he merely smiled into the man's red face and waited.

"Yes, well… Mr. Baldachino then." The big man choked out at last.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Zamut." Edgar asked smoothly.

"I have come with a proposition for you."

"And what might that be, Mr. Zamut?"

"You have been expanding your business interests. I wish to expand as well. I need larger boats to reach the deep water schools. I thought I might offer you a chance to join me in this business."

Edgar steepled his fingers and pretended to consider the proposal. Let the pig sweat just a while longer before I gut him, Edgar mused to himself. He finally could hold it in no longer and when he raised his eyes, he was laughing out loud.

"What is so funny?" the fisherman demanded angrily.

"You are."

Edgar observed Mario Zamut's balled fists and suddenly raised arms calmly.

"Go ahead. I'll have you locked away on charges. I am not one of your frightened crewmen. You can't bully your way out of the fix you are in, you big, hairy pig."

Despite his anger, the truth of Edgar's statement sank in. The meaty fists slowly unclenched and the man's huge shoulders slumped.

"You come here to sell me part of your business, eh? What business? All of your boats and your home are mortgaged to the hilt and three different banks are threatening foreclosure. Your nets are shot, two of your boats are no longer seaworthy and you have already pissed all of the money Maria's parents left her down this same hole. So, again I ask you, Mr. Zamut, what business?"

"Yes, it's all true. I should have known there would be no secrets in this shitty little place. A loan then? If I can just reach the big fish… I can turn this around and pay you with interest."

"You are a fool. The big fish are not offshore… they are on shore. Fishing is history. Tourism is the only viable industry left for the likes of us. Now here is my offer…

I will pay off all of your notes and I will take ownership of the house and boats and put them all in good order. You will work for me and you may continue to live in the house.

You will run the boats for me. One will take tours thru the Blue Grotto twice daily in season and the other two will take tourists out day fishing. I shall pay you forty percent of the net. It will either be that way or you will lose everything within the month."

As Mario Zamut slowly sifted through what he was being offered, he began to like it. He would still have a home. He would still be the captain of his crews. Perhaps this arrogant cripple was going to be his salvation after all

"Done." He said suddenly, "I can see you are a smart fellow, Mr. Baldachino. You won't regret this. I will make money for both of us."

"There is one other thing, Zamut….Your wife…Maria. She will have to come here to live. You may put it about that she has come to work as my maid."

"My wife? Are you mad? Impossible."

"Very well then. I believe we are finished here."

"Wait. Be reasonable. Maria would make a terrible maid for you any way. She has never worked with her hands. Also there would be talk. A married woman coming into a single man's home …even be it the home of a…well, they would still think the worst."

"You were about to say 'even be it the home of an impotent cripple'. Weren't you?"

"Look…Mr. Baldachino, I mean no disrespect but…"

"No. You are right. I am a cripple, though far from impotent. And yes, they will indeed talk and think the worst. Furthermore, they will be correct. If you send her to me… I will be fucking her. In her cunt, in her mouth and up her arse. I will be using her in any manner I please."

Mario Zamut's face took on a sickish pallor as Edgar's vile words beat at his ears.

"You must be mad."

"You will no longer be allowed to fuck her though." Edgar continued, "You will not even be allowed to touch or speak to her. She will still be yours in name only. In reality she will become my property and will stay here forever."

At a loss for words, the trapped man looked everywhere, other than at Edgar, as he wrestled with himself. If he went along with the fucking cripple's proposition, he might as well hang a sign around his neck that read 'cuckold'. The gimpy bastard smiling up at him from behind the desk wanted to brazenly put the horns on him for the whole village to see.

"Our business is done, Mr. Zamut. Either have Maria present herself here before eight this evening or the deal is off. Please show yourself out."

Edgar watched Zamut shuffle out. Once the door had closed, he made his way quickly to the window. He watched the beaten man's retreating back until it was lost to sight. Countless times he had imagined the scene that had just unfolded. He had always expected that this moment would be one of elation but there was only an emptiness in him. He was suddenly laughing aloud again. This time at himself… for all the time he had wasted hating such a pathetic creature as Zamut had turned out to be.

Edgar returned to the comfort of his chair and poured from the decanter of brandy on his desk. As he breathed in the fumes from the snifter, the antique cabinet clock in the corner chimed six in the evening. Edgar had seen no reason to reveal that he had already purchased Zamut's outstanding notes from the bank at a discount days earlier. He had taken over the man's property and had just finished stripping him of his pride. All that remained to Mario Zamut now were his honor and his woman. At some point during the next two hours he would either decide to trade both for mere survival or he would accept ruin. Edgar took a long, slow sip and settled back to watch the face of the old clock and enjoy his anticipation.

Barely and hour had passed when the door buzzer sounded. She had come. Edgar sat motionless at his desk, enjoying his triumph. He had indeed built his road in the sea of circumstance and now Maria had traveled it to his door. He wished he could have been inside her head while she had been taking all those steps from her door to his. He wondered what she was thinking at this moment as she waited for the man she had never noticed but who now held her fate in his hands. It was so wonderfully ironic that this woman who had consumed his thoughts for so long had yet to speak to him. What would her first words be? Would she cry and beg? Would she be angry and scornful?

He could, of course, forbid her to speak at all. As he sat, it dawned on him that all of his thoughts had been focused on arriving at this point. He had wanted to break the man, Mario Zamut and having done so, had found small satisfaction in the end. Never make the sauce until you have caught the fish, his old auntie had always told him. He had never really thought of what he would do with Maria once he had caught her. With his earlier declaration that he intended to fuck her… to use her shamefully, he had merely been driving verbal nails into Zamut's ears and heart. A full awareness of his absolute control now washed over him. Having caught his fish, he was free to make the sauce. He arose and limped to meet his prize.

Maria Zamut had listened in shock as her husband had broken down and informed her of the desperate plight they were in. She'd had no idea that they were on the verge of financial collapse. Mario had always handled their money and led her to believe that all was well. Maria was a bright and intelligent woman but she had followed the Maltese custom and had never inquired into her husband's business. She had awakened that morning, the respected, well to do wife of a strong man and in the blink of an eye her life was changed. She had watched her husband, sobbing, with his head in his hands, while she struggled with the reality of being destitute and homeless. It was on top of all of this that Mario had blurted out Edgar Baldachino's demand that she become his maid. His live in maid, no less.

She remembered years ago, hearing that the marina had been purchased by an orphan who had returned after having made his fortune abroad. She had been curious to see the prodigal son who had returned to be subject of so much gossip. Her first sight of the man had stirred no memories though. She had thought him handsome even with his stiff leg. She'd been sure that with his success Edgar Baldachino would marry well despite his handicap.

But Edgar Baldachino had not married. He had been socially reclusive, denying even the cleverest of the village women any chance to set a marriage snare. This had led to the gossip asserting that the man was impotent. Since he was obviously not gay it was the only explanation for his lack of interest in women. Maria had assumed it must be so but had given the matter little thought. With the passing of time she had occasionally seen him, sitting alone at his table outside the café. She had thought he must be very lonely and had felt sorry for him.

Now it seemed that, out of nowhere and for no reason, this lonely, crippled man, whom she had felt pity for, had decided to take control of their lives. She'd asked Mario to explain it all but he had refused to lift his head and look at her. At last she had decided that she would have to go and confront Edgar Baldachino herself if she were to have an answer.

So now Maria had been staring at his big oak door for what had seemed forever, waiting for it to open. It was at last swung wide and the man she had come to see was staring down at her fixedly. Wordlessly he turned from her, leaving the door open behind him. After the briefest hesitation she entered. Maria found him behind his desk with his eyes again searching hers intently. The silence and the intensity of the man's gaze flustered her and she felt compelled to lower her eyes from his. She was relieved when he finally spoke.

"Your husband sent you?"

"No. I came myself….To ask why you are doing this to us."

I have done nothing to you. You may thank your husband's stupidity for the fix you are in."

Perhaps it was better that she had come on her own, thought Edgar. It showed that she had spirit. Edgar decided that the time had come to take the measure of that spirit.

"Do you love your husband, Maria?"

"Yes. Of course I love him. He has been a good husband to me for thirty three years."

How was it possible, Edgar mused, that a brute like Mario Zamut had been good to her all those years. How could his Maria truly love such a pathetic example of a human being. Her words hardened his resolve.

"You can save him." Edgar told her mildly.

At this, she raised her eyes again and looked searchingly into Edgar's.

"You have no need of a maid. What is it you want, Edgar Baldachino?"

"You."

His short answer clarified everything for Maria. Suddenly she understood what this odd man was after. It made no sense that he should desire a middle aged woman when he could have his pick of any young girl in the village, but then what obsession had ever been ruled by logic. Understanding all this did nothing to help their situation though. It suddenly occurred to Maria that if this crazy man wanted her badly enough to contrive such a confrontation, that it might be she who had the bargaining power.

"Perhaps we can come to some other agreement, Mr. Baldachino. I might be able to meet privately with you in Valletta from time to time."

"You are suggesting a secret affair, Mrs. Zamut?" Edgar's use of her married title was dripping with irony.

"Yes." She said quietly, a deep blush darkening her olive complexion.

"You are trying to haggle with me. How droll. It turns out that the Maria of my dreams is just another whore."

"If I am it is for love rather than money and it is your doing. An arrangement such as you propose will not save my husband. It would kill him. The ridicule would destroy him. He has too much pride."

"If he has so much pride, why has he allowed you to come here?"

"I did not ask him."

"Do you think he does not know where you are at this moment? Even now he is imagining you beneath me. Wondering if you are not enjoying having a fresh cock plunging into you."

"You are a sick man. I will tell him that I told you to go to hell! That I told you we would rather starve!"

Edgar only smiled at her outburst and stood up. Slowly he made his way to the window and cracked the blinds. He motioned for Maria to join him at the window. Joining him she saw that outside, along the boulevard, the passeggiata had begun. The street was crowded with strollers.

"If you leave now the gossip will start anyway. If you delay until the street is empty your proud husband will never believe that you spent three hours telling me to go to hell. For that matter, I don't doubt that some nosey biddy in a window across the way made note of you standing before my door for ten minutes. As someone recently observed to me …there are few secrets in this shitty little place."

Maria sank to the floor at Edgar's feet, her shoulder's shaking with her sobs.

"Please forgive us. I do not know what we have done to make you hate us so, but forgive me and help us. I beg it of you."

Edgar pulled his foot from her clasp and sat in a nearby chair. Her tears moved him but not in the way she was hoping. Her weeping had given him a strong erection. Edgar finally ordered her to dry her eyes. At one time he had craved the public humiliation of Mario Zamut… but he saw now that keeping the matter private might prove even more satisfying. He told her that as a favor to her he would save the pig she had married.

"Soon, I will summon your husband here by phone. He will escort you home. That should silence any wagging tongues. I will move him and the boats to the other end of the island and he will run the business from there. You may say goodbye to all your friends and assure them that he and I have a wonderful partnership. After the move is complete his silly face will have been saved. It will be up to him to explain why his wife no longer receives visitors."

At this last, Maria looked up at him questioningly.

"I will come for you and bring you back here in the still of night. You will remain within these walls thereafter."

His words had a tone of finality that left Maria numb. She was still on the floor before him, and now her head was bowed.

"Maria…"

She raised her eyes to find that he had extended his crippled leg and presented its foot to her. Taking in the lustrous, black leather, she realized what was desired of her. What choice did she have? Slowly she lowered her lips to the toe of his shoe and kissed it confirming her submission.

"Stand and remove your clothing."

As if in a trance, Maria removed her shoes and did as she was bid. Button by button, her blouse was undone and dropped. Her skirt and underwear followed and she stood nude before the man who had made himself her master.

"On your knees." Edgar commanded quietly.

As Maria sank to her knees she felt a strange emotion swallowing her. She knew she should feel nothing but hatred for the man in front of her. Against her will though, a subtle satisfaction was stealing over her. It was sending a tremor through her to know that this strong, devious man …this man that everyone had assumed was an impotent cripple….desired her above all others.

"Crawl over here between my thighs."

Maria went forward on hands and knees until her face met Edgar's crotch.

"Fish it out with your teeth and lips" he hissed.

As Maria's mouth struggled with his fly buttons Edgar pulled his cell phone from a pocket and dialed. He was smiling as he watched Maria's tongue delve into his open trousers while he counted the rings. On the twelfth a hoarse voice answered.

"Hello."

"Is that you, Mario? You sound terrible, old boy."

"Who is this?"

At that moment Edgar felt the hot wetness of her mouth engulf his prick.

"You don't recognize my voice. This is your friend… Edgar Baldachino. I have decided to improve upon my offer to you. Come over now. The door is unlocked. Your wife and I have something we want you to see."

Finis