didn’t have a secondary school: maybe soon … who knows? A question of government policy, but did it really matter that much? So the discussion focused on Renata’s duties, the troublesome train trips twice monthly to that nearby city, alone and obliged, moreover, to lodge at some run-down hotel because there was only one train a day. Then the hardship of carrying all those purchases in the boat and the horse-drawn carriage. But she declared that she was ready to make such a sacrifice in order to help her mother. What an idiotic or understanding daughter! Anyway, they would ponder the consequences all in good time. For now, the future for her and that worldly woman was a diaphanous glimmer.
The harsh clarity of the possible.
Under so-called control.
Though …
“Where did you hide the letter?”
“I will never tell you, and please forgive me.”
This introductory dialogue was the first held between Doña Luisa and Renata when they finally found themselves alone. The rest of the gimmes and gotchas were some sort of increasingly heated verbal blather that didn’t particularly distress either of them. Rather, both remained perfectly composed after an exchange of quips that translated into a hearty embrace; an exchange of vows to share a none-too-easy life. Gratitude and support: their forces united, as if by merging two mournings you could create one amalgamated spirit. From the mother, stalwartness for the remainder of her days, a determination to rise above her affliction, though it wasn’t yet quite clear how; and, from the daughter, contingent mourning and its attendant longings. Demetrio’s visit would be a detonation, but there were months yet to go. Moreover, that visit, which embodied so much hope, still lacked solidity when viewed objectively; it was, as it were, a mere hint of courtship: cloudy, uncertain, and in this sense, maybe Demetrio would disappoint her. On the other hand, if said creature turned out to be the true angel of salvation, and (God first and foremost) brought about the longed-for wedding and all the rest of it, there was also the possibility that the mother would go to live with them. In any case, all in good time, and in the meantime, a modicum of relaxation; only a modicum because for several days nobody lifted a finger to set the stationery store in motion. A merited enjoyment of the meager funds to be had. Sad enjoyment and almost silent. Convenient silence. Renata’s scintillating strategy, for at a given moment she thought: If my mother insists on asking me about Demetrio, I will offer her the reassurance that she will never remain alone. And quite a lark to think of the three of them living in the same house, an idyllic and agreeable threesome anywhere in the world. Lest we forget: the wedding must come first. Future hyperboles that … who knows. A waxing and waning of efforts, stratagems, flutterings, resolve, all was yet to be seen … Et cetera. And an astute subtlety: Renata had rather poorly buried Demetrio’s two letters near the henhouse, tossing fistfuls of dirt on top, a merely superficial layer, hastily accomplished. That’s where she would bury everything that hailed from Oaxaca, or, more auspicious though also more complicated: at different spots around the vast domestic sphere. So here’s a better plan: the excavations must go deep. Her own labor, or hire someone … No! she: in charge; she: without hesitation and with a pick and a shovel; she and only she and nobody but she.
9
August. Holidays. One week of resounding hustle and bustle: the agronomist must steel himself for the vexatious voyage that would, undoubtedly, wreak havoc because, doing the math, his stay in Sacramento would last less than twenty-four hours. Figure three days to get there, and, come to think of it, to make matters worse, a further abbreviation of the tryst: one hour for sure, two at most, three—impossible! then when considering that vibrant stock of minutes, he had to infer that the this and the that would be discussed, beginning with the most basic: Will you be my sweetheart? scorchingly brusque, and in the wake of some such response he would know what to say and how to behave. Always chivalrous, needless to say, though if his feelings were reciprocated, which he already took for granted, what emotional trifles would work to bind Renata to him very, very tightly. More of that later. For now Demetrio was compelled to calibrate the speed of the stopovers; such sketchy ideas formed in what he