That night in bed we made love carefully, to not disturb her mother, and when we finished a cool breeze blew in through the window. The breeze felt good against our sweaty bodies.
“Cielo,” she whispered. “I want to make a home for us.”
I didn't say anything.
“In two years, cielo. I want to make our baby.”
“In two years?”
“In two years I finish the dentistry classes. Mi amor, I want to make a home for us in La Guajira.”
She held me tighter and kissed me. “But your heart is still of stone.” She kissed me again and put her head on my chest.
“What will be his name?” I said finally.
“Our baby is a boy?” She looked up at me. She was smiling.
“He will be.”
“What name do you like?”
“What name is strong?”
“I like Geronimo. Me gusta Geronimo.”
“In my country Geronimo was a great Indian warrior.”
“But do you like it?”
“Es raro y fuerte. It is both rare and strong.”
“But do you like it?”
“I like it very much.”
“Geronimo sera un Guajiro, un hombre de verdad de verdad. He will have fear of nobody and nothing nor death even.”
“You will be a very fine mother for him,” I said.
“En serio, mi amor? Do you mean it?”
“In seriousness. I mean it.”
“Te amo,” she said and she held me very close. “Te amo muchisimo.”
That is a strong name indeed. A man cannot become strong without a strong name like Geronimo.
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