not before ascertaining that Mireya was completely unconscious.
The aforesaid should also be considered in light of other details: once they were filled full of sandwiches (two each), and traditional sweets (three each), they swallowed the sleeping pills as planned. Mireya took two: the prescribed dose, according to Demetrio. And he, well, he only pretended to ingest his. He did not swallow what she did. Rather, he held the pills on his tongue, tolerating the bitterness as well as he could or, more precisely, until he saw his sex goddess asleep. Eight or nine minutes passed, a lapse filled with disagreeable disintegration, a matter of discipline, until finally—out, out, you tiny yellow pills!: remove them and place them in his shirt pocket and all set and remain calm, had to, because when he asked the ticket inspector how long it would be before they got to the next station, he heard him whisper, an hour more or less, God willing … So, an hour of intellectual proliferation. The fading of the Oaxacan chapters. What had been a plethora and might never be repeated. Nevertheless, the almost outstanding future: to live with a whore—what?!—besides building her a house and continuing to struggle for a happiness that, how could it ever be; a heroic feat, indeed, such a red-hot entanglement everlasting and so to do one’s duty, comply! Comply for years with the crass obligation of screwing consistently, and when their old age came upon them, to what end alas. Moreover, the kid? What would become of him? Ugh! Nervously awaiting the birth to see a resemblance, if any: his eyes, her mouth; his nose, her eyebrows, or some other less obvious physiological repartition, that, yes, ultimately, or maybe nothing, and then what? Mellifluous life … A growing doubt … Little certainty that mattered … Not that, absolutely not, right? It was not in Demetrio’s interest to do something so far removed from his sentimental convictions. Nevertheless, he began to caress the hair of the sleeping, defeated woman, as if he were petting a cat, and it was palpable that in the depths of that lascivious soul there resided a spirit filled with goodness. The occult part of an occult faith that can reach great heights. Perhaps hidden within was the lushest honesty, but the scoria … so many layers of depravity … sex that refines eternal vibrations … So no, flat-out, no, right? To leave her there asleep would not be tragic but rather the natural upshot of a steamy transaction. For his part, he hoped Mireya would arrive safely in Saltillo. Certainly finding herself in a bind—indeed—she wouldn’t be so foolish as to not find a job as a first-rate whore. Dignity, pure and marvelous, right? Even Demetrio had faith that she would become a queen overnight, an unparalleled goddess of pleasure, in whatever house of prostitution she found. With such a body … In fact, and viewing things from a different angle, the moment she awoke, her lover wouldn’t be there, but she still had four headcheese sandwiches, six dulce de leche candies, and four bags of candied peanuts, as well as a surprise of some consequence: a big wad of bills. Demetrio, before detraining at the next station, will have carefully placed the aforementioned wad in her bra. Therewith, we reach an appropriate place to tie things up.
And now we can open, unfurl …
He waited at the top of the stairs, money-filled suitcase in hand. Lights were visible in the nocturnal distance: a forlorn hamlet. His arrival, like attrition. At that station, virtually virtual, seven people descended, among them Demetrio, who once his feet touched the ground quickened his pace without planning his route in the slightest. There was a flicker as of embers in the distance and a bright gas lamp in the station … In 1946 only 40 percent of the country had permanent electric lighting … Here, therefore, none: not even a shy sixty-watt bulb, only (and perhaps to the agronomist’s benefit) the merest glimmer: a flame cipher, or barely a brushstroke: such weaknesses everywhere, all the more reason to fling himself headlong into the hazard of the haphazard. Quickly now, propelled forward by the dread of Mireya perking up and pursuing him in a panic: a futile pursuit through the darkness, fruitless clamors; and Demetrio’s tentative advance, wishing only to secure for himself an enveloping and beneficent silence. One thing he knew: not to return to the station, where the brunette might be lying in