was unable—proof positive—to induce even a subtle erection. Nor did she particularly crave vivacious penetration. Hence the solution was to curl into cuddles from head to toe, extensive pathways for meandering hands that—onward! erred then found their way again. Anarchic displacements or, rather, trembling activity that slowly turned into very concrete circles drawn with index fingers on bellies, chests, arms, faces, and that’s all. Their sexes—no way!—rather to respect them, to pay homage to his impotence. The naked sacred attaining a higher ground, and thus three days were spent. Zulema closed the store on his suggestion. When we say “three days” we wish to emphasize the consistency of their routine, which included eating, sleeping, and talking, this last one wrapped in each other’s arms in bed: an ascendant life fitted onto a flat one, that is: always naked, with an ever-increasing tendency toward the detailed familiarity with such a plenitude of wrinkles, but also in their many or few achievements during the long years they had been passing through. So, the finishing touch, bodies for the long haul (now), as well as lives whose paths diverged like two branches growing from the same trunk. Essential trunk, blood: cousins, disgrace, penury, and the impossibility of knowing that never—never! God forbid! even when it was not unheard of for some family members to marry and have normal children. Anyway, holed up for three days during which the amusing—and fascinating—part was to watch Abelardo naked and using his cane to move around from here to there; of course she couldn’t laugh, for she was ecstatic, and he upon seeing her broad hips, her dropping flesh, likewise her breasts, like balls of socks, he had to hold back his urge to let out a giggle, a weak, sickly one, because on one of those afternoons he confessed to her that he hadn’t been feeling well for the last few months, and this certainly was quite crucial, for on the third night, while both were sleeping in perfect peace, she awoke around three in the morning after feeling that Abelardo’s body had grown quite cold. She touched him with her usual tenderness and was overwhelmed by terror; she shouted, shook, then placed her ear against his chest, and no, no beat. The aged gallant had died … Aaaaayyyyy … No matter, she tried to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, a kiss with consequences, and nothing—nothing! He showed no sign of gratitude. Then came Zulema’s subconscious howl hurled to the winds. Her closest neighbors were far away and in between were courtyards, orchards, thatch. So unless she immediately got dressed and went out to the street and screamed like a madwoman, disturbing all the sleep surrounding her, the best thing would be to await the dawn. In the other room … to attempt to doze in the other bed … She couldn’t. Poor thing! What unfortunate love! What a dire circumstance!
Subsequently, her neighbors were polite when … Herewith an et cetera that compressed the action: two-pronged assistance: prepare a wake; bring votives, candles, flowers (the most fragrant), from early till late in the day. The greatest difficulty lay in constructing a wood coffin and finding a spot in the graveyard to dig a grave. A collective, sweaty chore—indeed! so much so that the wake took place without a coffin. An old stranger covered with a sheet. An excess of prayers. Weeping? Only one, she, who didn’t want to hire mourners according to the custom. Zulema was quite afflicted. Her cries were genuine: arising from deep down inside—how could they not be! for her laments stirred up a thousand things. Just imagine her incisive question: what does God have against me? Fated to wait an entire lifetime for her one and only beloved and when finally he arrives at her house brimming with affection—plop!: death: the paradox. Still pending was for someone to inform Abelardo’s children and grandchildren of his demise, but the informing relative was not in Sacramento, and telephones and addresses—if he even knew them—never! So how? A quandary deferred … A quandary to address in stages, this dissemination of information, all in good time, for his children and grandchildren had ventured into far-flung corners of the Mexican territory, not all, just to be clear, but anyway; their desire was none other than to visit the grave of the eminent doctor. One of the sons ordered the construction of a pompous tomb. This was a matter of dignity, for it was not fair for a gentleman