infected, by the unknown, or to cling to a few fixed ideas that had to be neutralized with neutral ingredients, never anything perturbing; it was the nonemancipation and the nonaudacity and, most of all, the senility of it all, of his soul, for example. Perhaps a fettered spirit. A young spirit whose flight had reached no higher than a hummingbird’s: to wit: to peck only at the known, at what was most obvious, and from there thoughts that zigzag toward the margins, to find therein more excitement: a desire that must not be, how could it be, and till when. Demetrio experienced more excitement on his train ride to Sacramento. He couldn’t, however, escape the rigid circle he had drawn for himself, unintentionally, in which, somehow or other, he now found himself trapped.
Trapped. Never!
Why?
Nevertheless, as he approached that other negligible place, swathed in the grandiose image of his saintly sweetheart, he thought about countless entrances and exits. Once Renata was his wife, she would be his unconditionally and would accompany him wherever he wanted and whenever he wanted … et cetera. The promise of a slave brimming with affection, flowing with honey, drowning in honey … Well, well! Let us watch Demetrio with suitcase in hand: a bigger one, which his mother lent him. Inside, of course his compressed banknotes; on top of them, two changes of clothes; two pairs of pants, one belonging to his father, which his mother had hemmed for him; she stayed up late at the task. Let us also watch Doña Telma’s alacrity, her handiwork, punctuated by bouts of tears; she dared not say a word about her son’s pending and inopportune departure. Cut, now, to the following morning. A chilly farewell, no kiss, and complete relief for him (here an ellipsis) on the boat crossing the river. An exceptional reception. There in her grocery store, like a perennial thinker, elbows resting on countertop and palm propping up her chin, Doña Zulema watched the rectangular vista that was her perpetual panorama: a frame that contained two walnut trees swaying slightly: this the background; closer up: a crumbling adobe wall; even closer: the dirt road along which people who almost never greeted her walked. Then her nephew appeared in the rectangular door frame. The aperture: a miracle—finally! Doña Zulema—credulous? Yes, she roused herself and stepped outside. The shadow of an embrace: almost. What’s going on? I never expected to see you at this time of year. And he: Well, here I am. Next scene: close up the shop and converse all evening and into the night. No, that last part, no, because the nephew was anxious to see Renata before nightfall. Doña Zulema—for a change—told him she would make him something to eat. Oh how splendid! Sudden hospitality after so much prior neglect. What a lark! And in the meantime he would wash by the bucketful, without caring if the water was cold, hot, or warm. Two events, if looked at carefully, that could be seen as joyous raptures: two promising predicaments, but as we can’t see, we can only read—what elucidation remains! Happy tension—in black and white? Heavens! So let’s place them side by side at the table. We’ll stand ten feet away: just for fun? That would be fantastic …
A plate with four flour tortillas filled with refried beans, a mortar full of green salsa, and placed a bit farther away (strategically?), a steaming cup of café con leche. Grandstanding? Well, the hospitality was quite ostentatious, considering that before … remember? Very nearly bashful, stuttering summaries of the reasons for his presence. New and rather ghastly lies, and when cracks began to show, which they did, Doña Zulema had some elbow room to pose a hefty number of questions … Which meant there would be no time to be exacting, perhaps later, maybe tomorrow, but the most essential things, in plain view, could not linger on the tip of the tongue.
“Forgive me for saying something that you may find disagreeable: that shirt you’re wearing is way too big on the sides and in back, and those pants are too short; your socks show too much. The fact is, you look awful.”
That is, the father was fatter than but not as tall as Demetrio. And his mother’s needlework was poor.
“I don’t care. I’ll explain everything later.”
“But you’re going to see your sweetheart.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t care. I must see her, period.”
Wow! So he came from Parras dressed like that. Datum now added.