insecure, and in the end he realized that the cadence of his caresses on that saintly hand would set a pattern for him that would allow something important to come out of his mouth. He could, but—was he pretending? He could, he was strutting his stuff, as if he were writing a letter with careful calligraphy; and Renata, though gratified, clammed up even more. There were many limits to the fondling (the border: the wrist; the forearm: never!) as well as verbal limits (never speak about a kiss anywhere; never speak about nudity—right? even indirectly), a careful search through simplicity, a temerity that was simply boring. A slow burn, but effective. A dreadfully proper middle ground—right? For a long time even keeled and stellar, until a boy came to tell Renata that her mother had said her time was up. The abrupt ending was that ugly. Remember the reserves of decency: its benefits understood. Yet, the promise: tomorrow again, there—ah! at five in the afternoon. Agreed. And each to his or her own … downhill, we might say, for both had managed to see, if not a towering peak, at least a small romantic hillock, made unforgettable by the contact, which there certainly was, that premise of hands that love each other. For Demetrio, arriving at his aunt’s house was like arriving at a palace in penumbra, where a gray-haired woman, like a decrepit old housekeeper, came to greet him and insisted on embracing him because she saw him arrive almost with a spring in his step and almost smiling, and he, of course, resisted—leave me alone! don’t touch me!—for this was not the moment to receive a doddering clasp. Doña Zulema froze. She trembled when she said that dinner was ready. No doubt, the aunt’s diligence during her nephew’s last two visits was notable. The ostentatious hostess had, as was only proper, demoted the store to second place and had no qualms about closing it so that she could play the part of the accommodating cook: she prepared café con leche, bought their daily bread, made a stew, and, most significantly: kept the cord of her discretion tied, that is: her efforts to reel in her curiosity, so as not to ask questions about the progress of the courtship nor insist once and for all upon a full explanation of what had gone on in Oaxaca. Regarding this last bit, the most curious part was her nephew’s inexplicable zeal to hold on to the aforementioned suitcase: money? a pistol? what monstrous thing? Could be a question of self-inflicted punishment that resulted in the subtle affability Demetrio was beginning to value. No hint of reproach when the aforesaid decided to spend the entire night out. On the contrary, the tendering of a copy of the house key, the placing of great trust, and the longing for a celebratory embrace each time he returned. Perhaps Doña Zulema wished to see in that great big man the son she never had. Son-king or pampered prince, powerful though absentminded, or a struggling warrior, tender and somewhat inexperienced in everything. Nonetheless, during dinner it was Demetrio who aired a concern related to the future of his love affair:
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to go back to Parras or Oaxaca. I want to find work around here, but I don’t know where to look.”
“You really want to stay here?”
“Yes, because I want to be near Renata.”
“Listen, there’s a very rich gentleman in Monclova who owns, among other things, many ranches. Once in a while he comes here because he has a property near Sacramento that he’s neglected, according to what I’ve heard.”
“And you, how do you know him?”
“I’ve known him since we were children. He was a classmate of mine at school and he always stops by to visit me. He comes to my store for a refreshment, and we talk.”
“Was there ever anything between you?”
“I never wanted him. When we were young he tried, but he finally realized that we were better off as friends and, well, I agreed with him there. He married very well, he has eight children and a ton of grandchildren.”
“Sounds good! How can I get in touch with him?”
“I have his address in Monclova. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to pay him a visit. His name is Delfín Guajardo.”
“I’ll go tomorrow. That way I can also deposit most of my money in a bank there.”