An excerpt from Chapter 6: The Voice of an Angel
Unused to noises in her house, Traf woke when she heard her shower turning on. Jumping out of bed, she threw on a pair of jeans and tossed a shirt over her shoulders, leaving it unbuttoned as she padded to the kitchen to make coffee. She checked the clock hanging over her refrigerator. Six. Early riser.
Flicking on the glaring overhead bulb, she started water boiling on the stove, then set the table with two coffee cups, two bowls, and a large platter of fresh fruit.
Deciding to turn on the radio, she walked to the living room and found the blanket sitting folded on one end of the sofa; the pillow stacked on top. She’d just turned to go back to the kitchen when the bathroom door opened, and out stepped Betty wrapped in a towel.
Va-va-va-voom. Traf gulped, drooling over a delicious vision of peaches and cream skin, honey blonde curls, and big blue eyes. The towel clutched around her left a tantalizing glimpse of plump thigh below. Above, two perfect mounds of luscious flesh met in a tantalizing cleavage.
Betty clutched the towel, startled. Her eyes drank in Traf’s unbuttoned shirt and white bra, lingering on her flat stomach and defined abs. “Oh,” she squeaked. She blinked. “Um, can I borrow a pair of panties? I hate putting dirty ones back on after I shower.”
Traf swallowed. “Uh, okay, sure. I’ll go get you some.” She picked up the blanket and pillow and retreated to the safety of her bedroom. Throwing herself down on the bed, she stared at the ceiling.
Oh, my god. I knew she was pretty, but I had no idea she was a goddess. Traf thought about her drawer full of boxers and military briefs. With a sudden flash of inspiration, from under her bed she pulled the box of panties she’d been collecting. In one corner sitting alone as she dithered over including it in her final count, she found the still folded pair stolen from a rich girl’s small suitcase left at the side of the road. She hurried back to the living room with the scrap of white cotton edged in lace clutched in one hand.
Betty was nowhere in sight. “Where are you?”
“In here.” Traf followed the voice to the kitchen where she found Betty sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in the same blouse and skirt she’d worn the day before.
Spirit dampened, Traf tossed her the panties. “Maybe these will do. My cousin left them behind when she visited.”
Betty caught them and held them up. “Oh, they’re so pretty, and handmade, too. Look at those tiny stitches, and the lacework! They might be tight, but I can’t resist trying.” Then, to Traf’s utter delight and amazement, she stood up from the table, slipped first one bare foot through a leg hole, then the other, and pulled the panties up and under her pleated skirt. She wiggled her bottom as she tugged them all the way up.
Traf bit her tongue.
Betty smoothed her skirt down over her hips. “Oh, they feel different.” She sat down in her chair, then winced. “Ooh, that’s quite a wedgie.” She lifted one hip and tugged. “I better get back to my room and pick up some underwear before too long.” She giggled. “That’s the most action I’ve gotten all year.”
Traf laughed, her voice ragged, as she tried not to think of what kind of action, and where on Betty it hadn’t occurred. I can show you some… She took a couple of deep breaths as she poured the coffee. “I can take you back any time you wish.” She took four cubes of sugar and plopped them into her cup.
“Actually,” Betty took one cube, then stirred, “I have always wanted to do something. I’d like to watch the sun both rise and set over the Atlantic on the same day.” She looked out the window at the lightening sky. “Sunrise is in,” she checked her watch, “sixteen minutes.”
“It only takes five to walk down to the beach from here. Finish your coffee first.”
Ten minutes later they walked the sandy shore until they reached the same spot Traf’s Troublemakers used for campfires. They sat beside each other on the cool sand and waited.
The lazy morning rose, taking its time shaking off the shadows of sleep. Long moments lingered as clouds lining the horizon turned pearlescent. Unmarred by a breeze, the deep water reflected them in lavender before the hue turned rosy. Even the waves whispered as the first shimmer of blinding gold flickered at the water’s edge, tickling the horizon. The world hushed as every living thing within this moment held their collective breath.
The sun shimmied, shivered, and started shining as its arc rose higher. Halfway up, it doubled its brilliance, changing the water before it into a golden road that almost reached the beach where the two women sat in awed silence.
And then it rose, marking the start of another day. Noises resumed; voices called greetings in the street, sea birds squawked, and they heard dozens of hooves trotting down a road as a farmer moved his cows from one field to another to graze. Traf rose to her feet and offered Betty a hand.
“Thanks, I’m a little stiff.” When Traf raised an eyebrow, she explained. “I’m the wrong shape for your sofa. First my legs fell asleep when I draped them over the arm. Then I cramped while trying to stay curled up. I tried sleeping on my back with my knees bent, which worked until I turned over and fell on the floor. I just pulled the blanket and pillow down and slept there.”
Traf’s eyebrows creased. “I’m so sorry. I’m a terrible host.” She looked out at the early morning sea. “Red sky at morning, sailor’s take warning. Red sky at night is the sailor’s delight.” She grinned at Betty. “Looks like it’s going to be a wonderful day. Do you want me to show you more of the island, or have you had enough of me?”
Betty cocked her head to one side and placed a finger to her temple. “Hm, sit alone in my room or go down to the communal area to watch old TV reruns, or hang out with you and see even more fascinating stuff?” She kicked up a little sand. “Guess I’ll go back to my room.”
“Oh,” Traf’s stomach dropped.
“Go back to my room and pick up some underwear that doesn’t get so personal!” Betty laughed with relief when Traf grinned. “What other clothes might a girl need when spending a day on Terceira?”
Within the hour, they were driving back to base for Betty to pack for the rest of the weekend. “And don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the couch, and you can have my bed. But that way we can catch the first morning mass on Sunday. And we’ll probably eat out tonight.” Traf teased. “I’ve got plenty of towels, but you might want to pack a nightgown.”
While she did that, Traf returned the van to the auto barn and re-checked it for another thirty-six hours. Twenty minutes later, swinging by the single officer’s dorm, she spotted Betty dressed in hip-hugger jeans and rainbow spiral tie-dyed t-shirt covered by a blue-jeans jacket with bright, colorful patches from many places. Over her hair, she wore a faded blue bandana tied behind her neck. “Hop in, hippie lady.”
Betty bounced into the car, throwing her guitar and small bag into the back seat. “I live in San Francisco, remember? These are my going to church clothes.” She laughed at Traf’s obvious surprise. “No, just kidding. I don’t wear these to church, but I do wear them everywhere else.” She stuck her legs out to show sturdy boots. “But nothing protects your feet like regulation wear.”
“I hear that. Let’s go stash your stuff and I’ll pack lunch. Then how’d you like to see steam rising from the volcano?”
“What? It’s a live volcano?” Betty’s face flashed into fascination. “I heard it was dormant.”
“Oh, it sleeps beneath us, but we know it lives by its sulfurous breath.”
By ten they were driving inland across bumpy roads, some no bigger than trails. They wound by and through fields separated by slabs of pockmarked volcanic rock built along property lines. Following a signpost shaped like an arrow, Traf took an unexpected turn.
“Golf course?” Betty laughed. “That I didn’t expect out here.”
“Golf course, restaurant, and casino.”
“Casino?”
“There are some slot machines you can play at certain hours. They may take bets on sporting events.” She rounded a curve and a long expanse of manicured green lawn appeared. “See, over there.” They drove by and, except for a golf cart putting along the course, it seemed empty. “It’s early. By mid-afternoon the place will be full.”
They drove past it up into rising hillside pastures. An occasional farmhouse would dot the landscape, with two or three others built close to it. “Families have been raising cows and goats out here for generations.” She pointed in the distance to a group of large animals spread out and grazing. “Those are bulls. They live out here from autumn until spring, then are rounded up and brought into the corrals. They’re carted off to the villages who pay to have them run in the streets.”
“I remember you told me. I’d love to see that.”
“You will. I promised I’d take you to the Lajes fiesta and that starts next weekend. Too bad you didn’t get your three-day pass for that weekend.”
“Yeah. Maybe I can swap a shift with another nurse. I’ll check into it. What day will I want off?”
Traf considered. “Well, I heard they’re running twice in Lajes this year. One will be the afternoon of the first Monday in October, but the celebration will end with another on Saturday. Both will be good, but the best bulls will be the last ones.”
“Then I’ll make sure I have Saturday, the eleventh off.” Betty made a mental note. She looked around at the grove of trees they’d entered. “Where are we going?”
“Here.” Traf pulled the van off the road onto a flat grassy area. “There’s an old volcanic steam vent over here. We call it the Algar do Carvão, or the Dark Cavern.” She walked along a rocky wooded path until emerging in a large opening. She put out an arm to stop Betty from going around.
“Careful. It’s just over there, a big opening in the ground. Kind of hard to see from here, because of the plants. We’ll creep up closer but stay behind me and watch your step.” She crept forward until she spotted the wooden planks laid down by explorers. “We’ve known about the cave forever, but it’s a long way down and very, very dark down there. A few years ago, someone rigged a pulley chair on a rope, and they’ve been using that to get in and map out the place. I hear talk they want to run some electric lights down there and see what it’s like, but until now it’s just been flashlights, and portable lanterns.” She walked Betty over to a roped off edge of wooden planks. “It’s usually chained here, but it’s down in the cave so someone must be working down there.” She turned to go. “There’s another entrance, but it’s a long tunnel and I don’t like being in enclosed places…”
“♪Ave Maria…♫”
The voice of an angel rose around them, from the ground, the air, the grass, and trees.
“♪Ave, ave dominus
“Dominus tecum♫
Neither woman spoke, both staring at each other to see if they were hearing the same thing. They were. A man’s tenor voice grew even stronger, strident, more powerful.
“♪Benedicta tu in mulieribus
“Et benedictus
“Et Benedictus fructus ventris
“Ventris tuae, Jesus.
“Ave Mari…a ♫”
“It’s the “Hail Mary” prayer,” Betty said in wonder. “I recognize the Latin.”
Traf nodded her head. “But who’s singing, and where?” The voice seemed to hover in the tree clearing, coming from nowhere and everywhere. She searched the dense foliage but saw no one.
“♪Ave Maria Mater Dei. ♫”
She sat down cross-legged on the wooden platform, not going anywhere. Betty joined her. They listened together to the supernatural performance, captivated body and soul. The majesty of sound grew, expanding hearts, minds, and souls.
“♪Et in hora mortis nostrae, Ave Mar…i…a ♫” The last note, sustained for a long moment, faded away.
“Amen,” whispered Betty. “Wow. That was…” She sighed, speechless.
“Yes,” Traf agreed. “Yes, it was.” She nodded at the rope pulley as it squeaked to life. “Let’s wait and see who comes up.”
The mechanism began winding the chain around a post. From the darkness below emerged a small wooden box, open on two sides and supported on either end by the same heavy chain. With a hand on either side, legs dangling over, sat a tall, portly figure, bearded face raised up to greet the sun.
“Balduíno!” Startled at hearing his name, he jumped and almost fell from the platform. “Hold on!” Traf yelled. “It’s only me.” She waved. He relaxed and waved back, steadying the box as it creaked up the final distance. She reached out a hand to help him guide the chair onto the platform. He stood up and walked out, giving Traf a big bear hug.
“You scared me!” He squeezed a little extra hard before letting go to lock up the chair. He stopped and turned to look at the two young women. “Unless you want to go down and see for yourself what’s down there?”
“Hell no,” said Betty, not waiting for a translation and stepping backward.
Traf shook her head, and he clicked the lock closed. “Balduíno, was that you, singing?”
The big man blushed bright red. “Oh, you heard that?” He cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, that was me.” He shrugged. “I had a dream once that I did that, climbed down into the cave to sing Ave Maria, and this morning I felt brave enough. Isaac knows a guy who knows a guy that works with the explorer’s club. He got me a copy of the key, but I’ve got to give it back this afternoon. It was now or never.”
“Forget the key.” Traf put her hand on Balduíno’s shoulder. “Man, that was incredible. There’s no one else on this island with a voice like that. Why aren’t you performing in your own theater?”
“Long story, I’ll tell it to you over dinner one night.”
“How about tonight? Betty and I,” she stopped, translated, received a nod of agreement, and continued, “will come to the restaurant tonight and then go see your show.”
Her old friend smiled. “Isaac will be pleased. Come at eight. That’s when we grab our dinner before the busy Saturday nights begin. Then you’ll have an hour to yourselves before the first show starts at nine thirty.” He started up the trail, calling back, “See you then,” before disappearing from sight.
“Okay, ready to go?”
“You act as if nothing extraordinary just happened here.” Betty followed her the same way Balduíno went before them.
“And you,” Traf called back with a laughing grin, “act like miracles don’t happen all around us all the time.” She winked. “Today we were graced with true beauty. What a thrill, eh?”
“A thrill…” mused Betty. “We have such different uses for the same words.”
