more hours until his date with Renata … Only three more … Now only two … Then to bathe in the cedar tub. The mother and aunt took advantage of those interludes to interrogate him, but his refusal, as we know, the dancing hands, oscillating. To never speak, not even when he was wrapping a towel around himself, not even when he was decked out as an impeccable dandy, not even when he was perfumed. In short, he wanted everything he discussed with Renata to remain secret—but what about us—what did they talk about in the yellow living room? About children, the ones God gives us; about how life would be in Parras, which was like an oasis, with such good weather; how they’d go on excursions in the outlying areas, in the pickup, what else, for he had bought a very good one, and they even talked about politics, that all politicians were a bunch of thieves, without exception; those public servants, were they helpful, once in a while, but, be careful! you should never trust them. They also touched on several trivial subjects, like fashion, like India ink, in 1948, its multiple uses, the latest craze in Sacramento, and still growing; what’s more, they spoke about local customs, how people act in one place versus another. Renata also asserted that she was a woman of action—really? but Demetrio, one day, couldn’t resist saying something like this to her:
“I don’t know if I should bring this up, but I’ve dreamed about you naked many times.”
“Me too.”
“What?”
“In many positions, as if you were posing for photographs.”
“What did you feel?”
“Look, the truth is I don’t want to talk about it. It will just confuse me. Once we get married and receive God’s blessing, then we can talk about all kinds of things related to being naked.”
The truth is, they talked about the wedding, how Demetrio would send her money for the wedding dress; how she would arrange for the bridesmaid and groomsman pairs, de lazo, de ramo, and de arras; how he would come back in April to fasten everything that needed to be fastened, to wit: fastidious formalities; but it wouldn’t be a very ostentatious wedding—would it? what for? And then came what they both dreaded: time to say good-bye. A cold good-bye indoors, in the living room. An eloquent pressing of hands, and nothing more, how awful. To also say good-bye to Doña Luisa. How polite! Everything to smooth the way, step by step. Now we’ll reveal a question Renata asked her mother on one of those days.
“Hey, Mama, why did you put our wedding off for a year?”
And the inelegant response:
“Because I want Demetrio to suffer. My goal is for him to love you even more, and to understand that a woman like you is worth a hundred of any other. Let the scoundrel pay.”
36
The first (long, celebratory) kiss after the wedding would hopefully be on Renata’s marvelous lips, those two little round sausages, ah. Then let’s imagine all the prohibitions, every detail spelled out on the train: frenetically: in blurts. We could say that it was a question of verbal regression, clamorous, on Demetrio’s part, which gave too much importance to the embrace that the green-eyed gal definitely refused to give him. He had nothing to lose—or did he? Finally Demetrio came out with something he thought Doña Telma would like to hear. I didn’t talk to you because I didn’t want to hear from Doña Zulema at all. I don’t want any advice from you, either. If that’s what you’re going to give me, not even one little bit, so I’d rather keep quiet. Whereby we see the mother listening, until she got fed up. The big guy was fed up, too. The list of restrictions was too long and irksome, but to give her opinion on anything—humph! not on her life! Rather, she stifled herself, the good lady didn’t utter so much as an ahem, and thus they traveled for hours, lulled by the train’s seeing and sawing. Until Demetrio himself, in contradiction to his fed-uppedness, asked his mother for her opinion, one, the first, because he was very frustrated, he had been going down a path full of confusion that had led him to offer her the ring. A bond forged in darkness—right? There was no retreat, because then—what manner of man would that make him! You’re trapped, all that’s left for you now is to feel fresh when you reach the peak of