in themselves full of (almost spiraling) exaggerations expressed in poorly constructed sentences. Let’s add, as a final touch, that the few who remained in the courtyard—by that time the banquet was already waning—were the uncles who, in the company of the aunts, were waiting to see what … It was said, after jousting with several ideas, that the next day the nuptial cortege would leave for Piedras Negras. It was obvious that the blue truck, driven by Demetrio, would lead the way, with the still-virgin bride by Demetrio’s side. Behind would follow seven trucks: sentimental and important relatives, including Doña Luisa, who, naturally, would be the one to shed the most tears due to the departure, ah, of her last daughter. Surely the other relatives would shed a tear or two, but it was yet to be seen how many. Picture it: pickups, driving along, lasting aggravation all the way to Piedras Negras. An excessively long way with paved bits in 1949, especially near towns, but the most difficult stretches were miles of dirt road, not graded as they should be. Or rather: clouds of dust, let’s imagine them (an arousing oddity), which made the convoy quite conspicuous. Anyway, it must be said that they all agreed to leave Doña Luisa’s house very early the next morning so as to arrive in Piedras Negras before the sun went down. Correct, highly correct—yes? and now for the worst: Renata and Demetrio would not sleep together: the eventual breaking of the bond (now for the last and vague almost-never). A quick good-bye. This last-minute disappointing delay. A few hours. Time’s most lonely ones. In fact, the moment came to watch the scene when the newlyweds had to separate without wanting to: they did so slowly: an unlocking of hands, oh. And tomorrow the solution: tomorrow, yes!
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Suitcases in the bed of the blue pickup: only Renata’s and Demetrio’s, because the relatives would return to Sacramento as soon as they said good-bye to the green-eyed gal at the hotel in Piedras Negras. Clearly each truck would carry its own extra can of gasoline (as usual), and the simple task of filling eight such cylinders took time. More than two hours, to be precise. Let’s also add that there was a skinny man whose hair stood on end by the name of Manuel Soto Pizarro, who sold fuel informally and had a tank on the outskirts of Sacramento, one that was almost always full of the precious liquid because he almost always had very few sales, but when this ensemble journey came about: oh, my: what a windfall, for he got sold out. And this, then, is what followed: the caravan moving with proper slowness toward the border. A caravan led by Demetrio’s truck: impetuous modernity. A caravan seen off by a crowd of people of all ages, a true swarm staged in the main plaza, among which Doña Zulema and Doña Telma were seen, showing up momentarily and bidding an effusive good-bye. Squashed bodies: theirs, who at the last minute declined to make the trip … So futile, as well as an unforgettable hassle, for sure. Was that whole melodramatic course of events even worth it—no! too much lavish groaning. Better to think of Demetrio being happy with that rural lass, who was, among other things, skilled at culinary concoctions, and on to other issues, an omission that was also fortunate, no (grim, grown-up) guesswork there. Immediately crass would be the seven hours there and seven hours back, at the very least. The worst would be traveling (back) at night, onerous and, of course, sheer exhaustion would evoke bad thoughts. Hmm, just to think about those considerate relatives making the sacrifice for no reason—well! What Doña Telma did instead was say good-bye to Doña Zulema with a heartfelt hug. Both knew they might never see each other again. Returning alone to Parras: the mother, by train, yes, now for the imminent tedium, also the uncertainty of her intuition that whatever would befall her would not be so horrible. The good part is that Doña Telma would soon see if everything there was in order; she would have to pray the whole way for it to be so. In fact, when she left Sacramento she knew that a new chapter in her life had begun. Something reductive and red. The seed of a precursory idea, yet to see how it would germinate …
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Seesawing, constant shiftings, wishes cut short, a sudden braking and a sudden brutal