he had to wake her up, for this was the ideal moment to depart. She, still half asleep, ran her fingers through her hair and said she was ready to leave at once; of course she saw out of the corner of her eye that shiny suitcase: the evidence … don’t even ask … the money—finally! for if not—why the rush? hence, compressed wealth; hope stuffed into a rectangle that perhaps in the future would open, love—eh!—transformed. And the sudden prodding: Let’s go! Demetrio exclaimed, and then added quickly: This is all I’m taking with me. I don’t want to carry anything else. Let’s go! Mireya had a bag with long shoulder straps. Two changes of clothes. She had left behind her meager belongings just as Demetrio would leave his, and herein we see moderation at two in the afternoon. Anxious yet stealthy steps. Why pay the rent or anything else, for that matter! More than ever the street meant total freedom. It would seem—fortunately—that Doña Rolanda was doing something of great importance in the kitchen—her back to the stampede? which was executed, finally! The lovers immediately caught a taxi as if thereby gaining direct access to something that approached a miracle. Destination: any old hotel on the outskirts or, better, the one closest to the airfield. In a trice they found a run-down hostel, whose only advantage was its proximity: less than a mile away, walking distance first thing in the morning … Let us say they copulated that night. Urgent frenzy that felt like juvenile mischief. Then came their dawnrising and their flight.
13
“Mama, have you ever thought of selling this house and going to live in a city?”
“Is that what you would like to do?”
Two steaming mugs of café con leche awaited the slow delectation of Renata and Doña Luisa, though they, as if afflicted with tics, kept picking at the sweet rolls; most of the crumbs were ultimately ingested, though some remained strewn, like sown sediment, across the tablecloth. In the center of the table stood the basket full of said rolls: plomos, conchas, and pelonas. A warm afternoon repast weighed down with worries.
“It’s just that in the last three days not a single customer has entered the store. There are fewer and fewer people in Sacramento.”
By 1946—the year in which we find ourselves—Mexico was cobbling together the beginnings of systematic industrialization. The working class had emerged, and the exodus to the cities of people with vision had become a daily occurrence. Some areas, previously agricultural yet substantially populated, grew anarchically in a few brief years, as did those already dubbed urban. The phenomenon seemed unstoppable, even though many people still clung to the rural and, even more tightly, to small-town life. In Sacramento, as elsewhere in the region and the nation, hordes of workers flocked to nearby industrial centers, buckled down under rigid schedules, and came and went between their jobs and their quiet hamlets on a daily basis; others, perhaps the majority, resisted, for the simple reason that urban life would drive them mad. One could say that such a shift was akin to a purging, drop by drop: some choosing not to uproot themselves to seek their fortunes, preferring to wrestle with the inherent limitations of village life rather than get enmeshed in the alien concept of urbanization. Be that as it may, the march toward industrialization gave rise to endless job opportunities, and commercial diversification grew like a circulatory system of unpredictable proportions. In the cities and large towns, the demand for labor was outstripping supply. Manpower was in constant demand, but …
“Don’t forget how competitive things are in the city. It won’t be easy for us to get by.”
“It’s just that I think …”
“Remember, we have the only stationery store in Sacramento. It’s the first time people can buy school supplies for their children right here in town. You’ll see, our clientele will grow with time.”
One year or two: how much time does she want? And meanwhile, sales continued to plunge: whole weeks of utter idleness, standing patiently behind the counter without so much as the threat of a mother or child approaching. We should say that mother and daughter adhered to unswerving principles: they would never try to lure in a customer … Their counter was nothing but a table, like any other—an innovative concept? By the same token neither amused herself spinning in circles in the swivel chair designated for the one on duty. The establishment looked drab and forsaken;