the main plaza (the central and grandiose plaza, and the only one); disheartened, wishing to hide, he decided not to find out what was going on just a little ways away; yes, as bad as it seemed, he considered giving up, postponing the visit till the following day and going first to Monclova to buy some clothes that fit, something more presentable, because in Sacramento you could probably find nothing but cowboy pants. Hence a whole day wasted going there and back. His course of action was clear. He had only to take a quick look at himself … How embarrassing … Especially because he had noticed nothing upon leaving Parras. Nobody had poked fun at him during the trip … Nonetheless—here it was! a gathering scandal that he alone could stanch … The problems were the trousers, the bright glimpses of sock, less noticeable was the shirt’s roominess. In any case, he turned upon himself the most severe self-criticism and—what could he do! He’d have to return to Doña Zulema’s house. An unpleasant retreat: ceaseless ugly jeers—was he required to ask for forgiveness? From anyone in particular? Sorry, sir, sorry, ma’am—nobody? That is, nobody confronted him up close, just as nobody approached him as he left for Monclova early the next morning … Jeers from afar, but a nuisance nonetheless … True, he was no longer carrying the bouquet of lilies, only the vexing valise. Perhaps the fault-finding multitudes believed that he wouldn’t show his face there again, but …
A radical difference.
Extravagance on a Thursday afternoon.
Elegance can be intimidating if viewed in detail. The outfit as well as the overall effect, the heat notwithstanding; hence, quite conspicuous, for nobody in Sacramento ever dressed like that.
Demetrio went irresolutely toward his destination, but weak thoughts arose, one by one. To begin with, he had to make several stops. He placed the bouquet of lilies and the suitcase down in the dust of the street so he could remove a white handkerchief from the outside pocket of his jacket and delicately wipe off trickles of sweat: face, neck, and hands, and this thankless task awakened doubts, one of which was whether or not he should present himself sweaty to Renata—how sweaty were the hairs on his chest … covered though they were? Very, because his personal rivulet was tickling him under there. Even his hair, so well groomed, would soon come undone: irremediably dissolute head, deserving of some distant chortle that he may hear later … nor did he have a comb handy to put the humid chaos to rights … and his elegant appearance (in principle) was getting complicated … But he could not put off meeting his sweetheart another day. We will see, therefore, his stubborn lunacy, his audacity in the face of the worst possible censure. In his defense a great excuse he hoped he would not need to assemble on the spur of the moment. Anyway, he was already fleshing it out. The idea was that elegance was a pretense in a village where it was as uncommon as a swanky new car. And he reached the trysting bench and did not sit down. His (sweaty) elegance precluded him from hurling even one cry into the air, not so much as a whistle, much less shouting out the name of his beloved and telling her, moreover, that he had arrived on a whim. To wait, then, standing up: obstinate, tall, silent, flamboyant (he had to be). It was five in the afternoon and there in the constricted space of the stationery store Demetrio descried Renata’s subtle figure: she was conducting business; likewise, the buxom figure of her mother, who was moving her lips—uncontrollably? Was she speaking … or was it all just futile action? Renata abruptly stepped out into the street. She was not gussied up, and one could surmise her astonishment from her somewhat stalking step. She drew nearer and—the last straw! words scattered on the ground, her words, for after glancing at him fleetingly, she lowered her head and:
“I’m very happy you’ve come, but I can’t see you now. I am not presentable. Come tomorrow at the same time, if you can.”
Once this blarney was over, she turned on her heel and ran away. Her mother was waiting with her hands on her waist as if to say: Well done! He was left standing with outstretched arms: the bouquet of lilies: void, useless, tomorrow another one. Bah! the amorous proposal snapped back as if it had