matter of extraordinary circumstances … No, because she has very strong opinions, she is way too obsessed with the rules she has made; so he could slip her some money that would change her attitude … No, but … maybe … I don’t know … it’s a matter of finding out how much she would want, though I’m sure she would agree for you to stay with me for a few days, two, three … I really don’t know; so she would go in person and ask her … No, not that, definitely not. The escalating propositions had surely reached their peak, whether out of exhaustion or the curtness of the agronomist’s replies, but what Mireya did manage to descry was the image of a narrow path and the course she had to take. Possibilities would pop up along the way … The remarkable part of this whole hullabaloo was that she hadn’t had to mention to her lover that … well, let’s see … The following is what was tacit: she wasn’t pregnant but she could drop that categorical fallacy on Demetrio and, depending on his reaction, set things straight and—set him straight! which would be … well, let’s see … set it straight? The pending invention, as a last resort. An entire artful tale that she wove when she was alone, and here we have it (let’s see): it starts from the (truthful) idea that at that dive, Presunción, prostitutes were not allowed to get pregnant; if they did, they got thrown out; if ever there arose the bizarre circumstance of somebody getting married, Madam and her bodyguards, even the entire brothel, would attend the wedding (a flowery falsehood), so such a celebration—civil, of course! for obvious reasons—no, no wedding in Oaxaca, though perhaps a neighboring village … thus concludes the improbable; Mireya, however, still counted on a barbaric fallback (a falsehood that bears fruit): if Mireya got pregnant and the stud effected a foolish escape, the bodyguards would pursue him and give him a thrashing, but not before soliciting assistance from the police: sooner or later, but effective nonetheless; that is: Demetrio beaten up, and even—why not?—castrated: indeed! poor thing! not that; tell him—what for? keep it in case there was some fervent refusal, or if Demetrio stopped coming to the brothel, then—indeed!—the search would be extensive, as she said. Anyway, this murky fantasy was confessed in detail to Luz Irene, who knew for certain what she had already intuited: Mireya was no fool, nor was she a pushover. Never! And the brunette’s consummate charm was revealed without restraint. If only we could see the way she swayed as she walked … Two such delectable days in the brothel and outside her room. She wanted to be seen by one and all. As if that was what she needed! Two days, and then on the third …
Mireya arrived at the rooming house at nine at night. Demetrio was there.
First the confrontation with Doña Rolanda.
No, she couldn’t come in, because she was a stranger, but: I’ll tell Mr. Demetrio that you want to see him. Wait here outside.
Demetrio arrived frightened, confused, and for good reason. They held a long conversation outside.
Problems. Rejection. More problems.
Mireya had no choice other than to tell him about Madam and her bodyguards (those we’ve met), the beating (to be avoided, by any means necessary), and even the Oaxacan police force. Could it be that bad?
In the face of such a staggering description Demetrio had no choice but to speak to Doña Rolanda. He was bursting with fear. The situation was (to tell the truth) one of force majeure. Wait for me out here. I won’t be long.
A discussion with the lady of the rigid notions … useless to try to persuade her. But when he showed her the fluttering bill: a bauble in a light, uplifted hand …
Aah!
And only for a few days …
Ooh!
The lovers lounged in the room whose foremost novelty was the improved odor. It just might have been the first time any two beings had practiced the act of screwing there: within the confines of rented respectability, where there was an abundance of saintly idols made of clay and porcelain, and a picture of The Last Supper. One must, in this respect, mention guilt. For as soon as the two locked themselves in the room, Doña Rolanda knocked on the door. She was carrying a large bag. In it she would place all those figurines who were, to her mind,