Conquistadora by Esmeralda Santiago

groves, and vineyards, the forlorn countryside had vast stretches of uncultivated land that had reverted to weeds and grasses.
    After their walks around the city or following their rides outside its gates, Ramón, Inocente, and Ana returned to the nearly empty house to bathe and rest. A local woman delivered meals, served, and cleaned, then left them alone as candles sputtered into translucent puddles. When church bells rang eleven, Ana went into the bedroom and changed into her nightgown. At quarter past the hour Ramón walked in. Or Inocente.
    She hadn’t thought she was really marrying Ramón
and
Inocente after their first teasing conversation when they met. The subject didn’t come up again, but within a few days of her wedding, Ana realized that she was wife to both men. At first, in the dark, one twin felt much like the other, spoke like the other, made love with the same impatience as the other. Neither man liked to be touched more than necessary, as if her wandering fingers were an invasion. They were courteous, called her sweet names, but neither man seemed to be entirely present when he made love, as if he were thinking of someone else the whole time. Within a week, she could tell who was Ramón, who Inocente. Ramón talked during the entire sex act as if he needed to hear his own voice in order to get aroused. Inocente was silent, stretched her arms over her head, pressed them against the pillows so that she couldn’t move them, opened her thighs with his knees, and rocked back and forth above her. They resisted her attempts to change the man-on-top, woman-on-bottom position. Both assumed that she would not, should not, enjoy lovemaking. They both grunted as they peaked, then dropped to the side and were insensible until the next morning. She often lay in bed after they’d fallen asleep, missing Elena.
    When she first realized that the twins were sharing her, Ana was furious. Who did they think they were? Who did they think she was? Other than in their selfishness in bed, however, Ramón and Inocente behaved like men in love. They were attentive, made sure that she was comfortable and safe, complimented her lavishly, brought her flowers and presents, and were in every other way devoted. She’d worked hard to win them, and wanted to believe that they loved her. Why wouldn’t they both fall in love with her at the same time, and why wouldn’t they find a way for both of them to have her?
    She had to be patient. She’d persuaded them that conventional lives were for other people and they embraced her ideas to the fullest.But no one must ever know. Not Elena, who expected to marry Inocente. Not doña Leonor, who always addressed her sons as if they were one person. Not don Eugenio, who was so impressed by Ana’s forebears that he encouraged Ramón to marry her. And certainly not Padre Cipriano, who heard her breathless, abridged confessions every Saturday at three in the sweltering confessional of the gold-domed Catedral de Cádiz.
    Ramón, Inocente, and Ana sailed first to the Canary Islands, where their Marítima Argoso Marín schooner,
Antares
, had to pick up cargo and more passengers. Ana watched impatiently from the deck as stevedores loaded barrels and canvas-wrapped bundles. On the fourth day, three horses were led up the ramp and, with much effort, persuaded into the hold. That afternoon, soldiers in full regalia embarked, and their commander had each man call out his name and rank to ascertain that everyone was accounted for. Once he was satisfied, the captain ordered that the
Antares
push off the dock, raise the sails, and begin its journey across the Atlantic. Ana had a moment of terror when land disappeared from sight, even though she’d imagined this voyage for years. The ship was a speck in the immeasurable sea beneath an infinite sky, with no beacons to indicate how far they’d come or how much farther they had to go. She felt between time and space, floating between lives.
    The
Antares
was