day before. And the second: I am no longer a child you can scold. Now I think I shouldn’t live with you. You didn’t let me sleep, damn it. In the face of such a harsh accusation, the poor woman had to beg forgiveness and place the bundle back where it came from, with a mere: I only ask that you always please tell me the truth, otherwise you know how upset I’ll be. The son was well acquainted with his mother’s latent and convoluted paranoia. It was one of the reasons Demetrio had fled the bosom of his family and gone as far away as possible in the first place. Also, his father when alive was a snarling man, insufferably vexatious. Anyway, let’s now say that the mother went to sleep, whereas no matter how hard the son tried, he couldn’t drop off.
Why live in perpetual stupidity? Stupid to return to Parras. Stupid illusion. For if he had foreseen the changes wrought by her widowhood, or by her beleaguered solitude, above all by the loneliness of village life, no—it’s now been proven—people don’t change, they pretend to, but in general there are never any seriously surprising alterations; people don a variety of masks, feints of pleasing transformations, but … No, Parras, no. Perhaps Saltillo, Monclova, Monterrey, Torreón. No small towns, because they are insane hellholes, and—where could he go once and for all? To a jumbled metropolis, which ultimately might be the most accommodating: to feel anonymous and free, to have the opportunity to botch things up an unlimited number of times and not be reproached by a single soul: respect or indifference? Whatever it was, but—yes!—peace within reach: and: from deeper down: Demetrio had not foreseen the dilemma of deceiving his mother, of convincing her of—what the deuce? Understanding—structural? Bah! Mere crumbs of understanding, residues of what for. Indirect rebukes, not that either! Nonetheless, what good would his insomnia reveal to him: nothing but an unfettering, or idle clarity about what he had already supposed: leave, leave, lose himself, recuperate, and that’s when Renata’s image rose before him: saintly companion—for better or for worse? That immaculate beauty finally faded at dawn because slumber descended wholly unconcerned by what had just transpired, and seeing that her son had yet to emerge from his room, Doña Telma resisted acting imprudently and did not awaken him. Let breakfast get cold—no problem! A change, yes, though next … that same old level, a cutting comment that could be interpreted as a reproach … No, nothing thorny came up … Respect or indifference? Caution, a steady ascent … Around noon, conversation and food. The son announced to his mother that the very next day he would travel to Sacramento to see his sweetheart, that this was surely the best tonic for his nerves …
“Will you return?”
“I don’t know.”
“I promise, you won’t hear any more scolding from me. Again, I beg you to forgive me …”
“Don’t say anything, Mother. Soon I’ll figure out what I need to do.”
“If you want, I’ll hold on to your money. I think you are taking a huge risk by carrying it around in that suitcase. You really shouldn’t.”
“I’m taking all my money with me. I don’t care. I want to live near my sweetheart. I want to get married soon.”
“But you don’t have a job. If you don’t start working, that money will pour through your hands like water.”
“That’s my business. I don’t want you to ever scold me again.”
Separation. Choice. The rest of the day mother and son exchanged nary a word. Demetrio took a stroll around Parras. He needed to feel alone in order to think things backward and forward. The bad part of that tree-lined town was the paucity of restaurants and cafés, and not a single spot that was even remotely depraved; rather, the tacit aspect of the tranquility: more sacred relief than you could shake a stick at: three small plazas with cute benches and well-scrubbed kiosks. Streets made for the most primary of pleasures. Sights and sounds like extra decorations that made (and make) the seeing and the feeling seem haggard. Nevertheless, to stroll without faith, take a seat in some spot, and slowly slowly convince himself that this was not for him, that such a small-minded world would ultimately fill him with supreme disgust; it would be like consciously shrinking himself in order to quickly attain the philosophical outlook of an old geezer; it was to remain uncontaminated, at least not