The Maid

I stepped into the living room and found a Hispanic woman, probably in her forties, pushing a cart into the room. As she entered, I was just able to notice a guard closing the door behind her.

“Hola, señorita. Seré tu doncella. Mi nombre es Nadia.”

I understood only part of what she said, but at least knew her name.

“Hello, Nadia, do you speak English?”

“Little English, señorita. I have food and pants and, um, camisas for you.”

“And coffee!” I say, spotting the container of grounds on her cart.

“Sí, coffee,” she said, placing it on the counter as she began moving some food to the fridge.

**** for my caffeine fix, I pulled the coffee maker from the cupboard and set to work. By the time I had my scalding hot cup of joe, Nadia had deposited some clothing in the dresser and collected my pajamas. She was placing a stack of books, a notebook, and a pack of pens on the table.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Señor Dalí said you needed them.”

“Nice of him to explain why,” I said flippantly.

“Señorita! Tú… I-I give you know, you are nice to Señor Dalí, he certain you okay. You bad, you no like your choice.”

“Right…. Oh one more thing, were you the one to change my clothes when I got here?”

{if ateateSelena==true}She took a deep breath before answering, “Sí, your dress had… mancha de sangre y tu boca… your mouth, también. I clean you and pull libélula… insect from your hair. Your dress is in your room.”{else}“Sí, I clean you and pull libélula… insect from your hair. Your dress is in your room.”{endif}

Nadia headed for the door and, while I didn't think that I'd be able to sneak out after her, I did want to get a look at my surroundings.