Chino knocked on the door to Anita's room. Anita's sister had gotten married and moved out the previous year, and her parents had been generous enough to allow him to move into her room. Anita's father had always approved of Chino, more than of Bernardo certainly, and as long as Chino behaved, he was assured of a place to stay.
Chino had no intention of misbehaving. He had lost his job at the factory and was working down by the docks, loading and unloading, but his salary was not enough for him to get another place.
"¿Quién es?" Anita asked.
"Chino," he answered.
"Come in."
He opened the door. Anita had apparently bathed after the dance, and she was sitting on her bed in a bathrobe, carefully working the tangles out of her wet hair.
"Are you crazy, Chino?" she asked. "If Papá knew you were in my room, he would be furious."
Chino sat down on the stool in front of her dressing table. "I found out why Rosalia cries," he said.
Anita stopped brushing her hair and stared at him. "It is serious, verdad?"
Chino looked at the floor. "Yes." Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Remember when she and Pepé were going together?"
Anita nodded, wrinkling her brow in puzzlement. "Sí."
"He..." Chino paused, unsure of how to phrase it delicately, and concluded that it was impossible. "She told Lucía that Pepé raped her."
He looked up when he heard Anita's hairbrush strike the floor. She had gone pale and he saw that her hands were shaking. "¡Ese cabrón!" she spat, clipping her vowels like an American in her fury.
Chino was shocked. Anita had never been precisely delicate in her language but he had never heard her swear before.
"I want him out of the Sharks," Anita said, her voice cold and precise. "I have never asked anything of you before, Chino, but I ask this now. Rosalia should never have to see him again."
"I spoke to him after the dance," Chino said. "He as much as admitted it. He's out. He was not very happy, but he thought better of challenging me."
Anita took a deep, shuddering breath. "Good. Thank you, Chino."
"I should go to my room now," he said softly. "Will you be all right?"
"Sí," she said, picking up her hairbrush. "Buenas noches, Chino."
"Buenas noches, Anita."
There was so much noise. It surrounded him, choked him. He no longer knew why he had let Bernardo convince him to be his lieutenant. He heard shouts and catcalls and then the deadly snick of a switchblade being extended, followed by another. Then Riff and Bernardo were fighting and he smelled the tang of blood and fear in the air when Riff caught Bernardo high in the arm with his switchblade.
And Riff was falling, blood staining his white tee-shirt, so very, very bright, much brighter than he had ever imagined. Then the Polack, Tony, darted forward, faster than he had ever seen anyone move before, and Bernardo fell, bloodied like Riff.
He heard a voice he hardly recognized as his scream "'Nardo!" and felt a feral, animal growl rise in his throat as he threw himself at Tony, knocking the other boy to the ground. Then the switchblade was in his hand and he stabbed Tony, again and again, all the fury and pain inside him driving him to frenzy. Blood covered them both, brilliant crimson and terrible, and he found joy in it and was afraid of himself.
Chino woke soaked with sweat, as usual. He legs were tangled in the sheets, and he fought mindlessly against the fabric for a few minutes before giving up and lying back against the pillow.
The nightmares had started a year ago. They were terrible, and always different, but they all shared a common theme: blood. He hated it, hated violence, but at the same time, a part of him loved it. That was what frightened him the most, that part of him that gloried in the blood and the kill.
And part of him hated Tony and Bernardo and Riff, for making him what he was now. The other part of him knew that no one else had made him into anything.
Action finally cornered Anita in the hall, at yet another uncomfortable dance. This time she would hear him out and then what would happen would happen.
Anita stared at him with defiance and fear in her eyes. "I told you to leave me alone!"
"Please, señorita, listen to me first," Action said, aware that there was pleading in his voice and feeling faintly disgusted with himself. Well, if it got her to listen to him, it would not matter.
"I am listening," Anita said, putting her hands on her hips. "Make it quick or I will call for Chino."
"Right." Action had rehearsed what he would say in his hear a thousand times over the past few years, more often since he had finally worked up the courage to beg forgiveness. "I know this probably don't matter to you much--"
Anita snorted and tossed her head. "Es verdad, norteamericano," she said contemptuously under her breath.
"Please," Action said. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry."
Anita stared at him, the anger and fear wiped from her face to be replaced by utter shock. "What?"
"I'm sorry," Action said again. It was easier this time.
"Sorry for what?" Anita asked suspiciously, her voice hard.
"Sorry for...for raping you," he said. "I -- I guess I was a bit crazy then."
"Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" Anita hissed.
"No," Action said. "I don't." He took a deep breath and moved on to the next part of his scenario. "Here," he said, holding out his closed fist.
Anita slowly held out her hand, palm up, and Action dropped his closed switchblade in her hand. "Show me," he said quietly.
Anita looked at him, then the switchblade. She stared at it for a long moment, then flipped the blade out with a hard snick. Looking up at Action, she laughed bitterly. "Very poetical," she said sarcastically. "I wouldn't have expected it of you."
He waited. Whatever she did, he knew he deserved it.
She switched the knife to her other hand and lashed out with her closed fist to strike him hard across the face. "Damn you!" she said.
Action brought his hand up to touch his cheek gently. She had caught him good, right across the cheekbone. There would probably be a bruise. Good.
"I've spent a lot of time thinking about that night," Anita said. "I told myself that it was your fault that Tony's dead--"
"It is," Action said.
"Shut up and listen to me! But I suppose it's as much my fault as yours. Either way, you took more from me than you could ever imagine. I suppose you didn't mean to, but you still did. I don't think I can forgive you for it, and I know I won't forget, but I can try not to hate you. Is that what you want?" She was crying now, her dark eyes glittering with angry tears.
"It's more than I hoped for," Action said softly. "Thank you."
"I do not want your gratitude," Anita said scornfully, as if it were an obscenity. "You will never speak to me again." She dropped his switchblade, closed once more, and pushed past him back into the gym.
Action heard her say "Vámonos a casa, Chino," in a voice that spoke exhaustion. He bent down to pick up his knife and felt worse than before. Anita did not deserve any of this. No one did.
Chino woke instantly when someone opened the door to his room. He had not survived so long by being a light sleeper. It was Anita, clad in a nightgown that was more demure than he would have imagined her nightgowns to be, if he had spent any time imagining her nightgowns.
"Anita? Is something wrong?" he whispered, sitting up.
"No, nothing's wrong," she said, coming and sitting on the bed next to him and laying her hand on his shoulder. She had taken a bath, and her hair hung damp and straight around her face.
"What are you doing?" he said, already feeling a hot blush rise in his cheeks. "Your parents--"
"--Will not hear us," Anita said. "I was lonely and I thought of you."
Very flattering, he was sure, but there was something about her words that rang false. "Anita!" he said, as her hand slid down his chest. He removed it, suddenly very aware that he was wearing nothing at all under the sheets. "Tell me what is wrong."
Anita tilted her head to one side. "Nothing is wrong," she said. "Is there something wrong with a girl wanting a little fun?"
Chino caught her wrists to keep her from touching him. "Yes," he said after a moment. "When the girl is you and the fun is me, there is something wrong. What are you really doing, Anita?"
"You can let go of me now," Anita said with a wry twist of her mouth. "I'll be good."
He released her wrists, and, true to her word, she folded her hands in her lap.
"You've always been the clever one, Chino. I, I am just a dumb Puerto Rican broad with big hair and no future, but you...well, you'll get out of here. I know you will."
The moonlight glinted off her tears and Chino forgot everything else but her pain. "No," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him. "No, Anita. You're smart and beautiful and the most wonderful girl I know. You're too good not to get out."
"No puedo," Anita said, sobbing into his shoulder. "¡Por Dios, Chino! ¡Soy nada! ¡Sólo un poco más de una puta!" Nothing. Little better than a whore.
"Anita!" he said, shocked. "Don't say that!"
"Why not?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him. "You've seen them -- Ramón and José and all the others I hardly remember. The only difference between me and a whore is that she is paid!"
"Why do you do it, then?" he asked softly.
"Because I thought that if I did it willingly I would forget that it was done to me in anger," Anita said calmly. "I was wrong."
Chino felt a sick anger rise in him along with the desire to kill that he feared so much. "Who?"
"It doesn't matter," Anita said. "He hates himself enough for me."
Chino thought, remembering the dances, remembering who alone among the Jets had tried to talk to Anita, remembering the tired way she had asked him to take her home after being out in the hall with...Action.
"It was Action," he said.
"Yes." Anita looked at him again. "Don't do anything stupid. He doesn't matter." She reached out to cup his face with her hand. "Make love to me, Chino."
"Anita--" was all he could say before she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him, softly and sweetly, and it was like nothing he had ever imagined.
"Don't talk, do," she said, kissing his forehead, his jaw, his throat.
And although he knew they were probably doing it for the wrong reasons, he did.
"You look happy today," Maria said as she and Anita tidied up the bridal shop to go home.
Anita paused, smiled, and said, "I suppose I am."
"That is good," Maria said, smiling back. She was still wearing black for Tony, although Anita suspected that now it was more of a statement of resentment towards everyone involved. "You have not been happy for a long time."
"No," said Anita. "I have not."
"Well, what is the secret?" Maria asked, growing impatient, and Anita saw a glimpse of the long-ago Maria in her suddenly eager face.
"You will not like it," Anita warned.
"Do I have to shake it out of you?" Maria asked, stamping her foot lightly.
"I and Chino -- we, well, you know," Anita said after a moment. "He's definitely fine."
"As fine as 'Nardo was?" Maria asked, mocking. "That murderer? How could you, Anita?"
"I do not know," Anita said gently, although Maria's words twisted like a knife. "Perhaps the same way you could with Tony, after he killed your brother."
"That was different!" Maria said, her face stricken.
"No," Anita said. "It was the same."
"You loved 'Nardo!" Maria said. "You can't--"
"I did love 'Nardo, but he is dead and I can," Anita said. "Go home, Maria. I'll finish in here."
Maria looked at her with suspicion, but grabbed her coat and left.
What had Anita meant, it was the same? It was not the same! Tony had made a mistake. Bernardo, well, Bernardo had been her brother, but he had had as much hate in him as any American. Maria had known as soon as she saw him again in America what would happen. He was a boy who courted death.
Tony, on the other hand, had been a good boy. He had been trying so hard to leave the streets, until Riff dragged him back. There was no justice in his death!
No justice in 'Nardo's death, either, a voice in the back of Maria's mind reminded her. Chino had been like a brother to him. It was no surprise that he had wanted to avenge 'Nardo's death.
No! She hated Chino. She had been ready to kill him that night, with 'Nardo's gun. He would have deserved it.
As Chino had been ready to kill Tony? the voice said.
Maria ran upstairs to her room and threw herself on the bed and wept. She no longer knew what she felt. Anita had forgiven Tony, forgiven him for killing 'Nardo, because Maria loved him. And now Anita loved Chino, Maria was sure of it, and she owed it to Anita to try to forgive Chino.
Yes, she would talk to Chino in the morning and try to understand and forgive. For Anita.
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