later, another, because she couldn’t be away for, say, twenty minutes straight. Because her mother would reproach her if … Or rather: she left and came, and each time it took her a while to return to her task. Two and a half days to complete the concise composition, which will be summarized briefly as follows: Demetrio would be informed of Don Pascual’s sidewalk demise; likewise, the period of mourning: three months of forced circumspection, with some easing by August. Renata used other words that surely pointed in the same direction. At the end were three semiromantic sentences: It would be wonderful for me if you came to Sacramento. I need you now more than ever. But I have no choice. All I can do is wait till August. And the radiant name—Renata Melgarejo—at the bottom of the page. The first letter she’d ever written was ready. But would Demetrio be able to read her handwriting? and if he couldn’t? and if he could only sort of? She was not deft at the calligraphic arts—would practice help? We’d do better to highlight her emotional reserve. She wrote as if still listening to her mother’s advice.
Here commences the give-and-take of a fraught conversation. A full-fledged family reunion. The first one to be held in the calm following the theatrics enacted at the graveside. Some spark would light up as they poured forth their ideas; the dining room had enough chairs for everybody: daughters, husbands, and Doña Luisa, who tried to talk about her future, in little bursts and a barely audible voice, poorly projected, which was understandable, considering her grief. The grief of a worldly woman who no longer had the energy of her better days, so that now—could she hope for a new life … with her daughter Renata as her sole domestic ally? At first she made mention of the eternal gratitude she owed her husband for the huge house she would count on forever: a prodigious appendage she could one day sell, though such extreme measures were not yet necessary, thanks to the large safe: this the bequest closest at hand. The difficulty: access, the combination to the lock unknown … no, never! it would be a waste of time … A secret Don Pascual carried with him to the grave. Such a pity! Alas! Though to view the predicament from a happier vantage, there was really no cause for lament. One of the sons-in-law, the brightest of the bunch, suggested they carry the safe to the roof and hurl it down onto the small patch of concrete in the courtyard, and then repeat as many times as necessary. The latch would have to give—it simply had to! A feat for the following day. There were more than enough hands, that is to say there were eight brawny men, all smashing … So—let’s at it! right? Sons-in-law in action—all together now!—that’s when they discovered a cement staircase; yes, with laudable foresight Don Pascual had had it built just six months before; it was narrow and had no banisters, for easy access: only sixteen stairs from the ground to the roof. Therefore the act of carrying the load up the stairs (beginning early in the day), then hurling it, and nothing, and again, and … Of course! Just imagine the sweating, the grunts and groans, the effort, each more lackluster than the last. On the ninth try—finally! The latch—yay! and out spilled the bills—yay! Everybody started counting. The evidence indicated that there was not enough for mother and daughter to live ad infinitum with a modicum of ease, or that there was just enough to invest in a modest enterprise: a restaurant: no! a grocery store, hmm, tick this off as one option; an inn, but for whom, the town had no tourism? Let’s attend another family gathering held late in the afternoon, with chorizo and egg tacos topped with lettuce and tomatoes, indeed, and crowned (each to one’s own liking) with a guajillo-citrus salsa. In the dining room, ensconced in a comforting cloud of oily odors, they continued to flirt with their fates. They had to come up with a business that would require neither too much toil nor lasting tedium. And they would all have to agree. Perhaps a full stomach would help: how about a stationery store? Not bad, though the understanding was that Renata would be the one to travel to Monclova for the merchandise, exclusively and comprehensively for the primary school, for Sacramento still