or merely a roughshod philosophy born and bred and dead in the opacity of a small, almost unpopulated world, an—enough!, and—phew!, the guest (of sorts) understood grudgingly after consulting his wristwatch. It was eight p.m. So late! Horrors! And this: a watchword: get used to not enjoying what nights can bring: the relief of—socializing! damn, which was also the (spiritual) relaxation so necessary to make space for the doldrums of the day: no way! not here! and no way to order the peons to stay awake; an indication of future problems … with the boss—when he came? The radio was a consolation to help the newcomer relax, to listen in irremediable solitude to songs and news that really did seem more alien than ever, faraway clutter, which would no doubt become less and less appealing, though for now … Well—good night! and so let’s appreciate his urge to go and fiddle with the volume and tuning knobs. Salvation radio, night after night … the project of slowly falling asleep. A partial victory, in the end, but … In 1946 the only radio station that was broadcast nationally was XEW, the Voice of Latin America. However, there was no shortage of clamorous crackling and hissing that interfered to a point of ruining the original broadcast. An important thing to know because plenty of nights an English-language station would cross paths, then take over, and that’s what Demetrio suffered almost daily; we say “almost daily” because we are evaluating a stretch of time characterized by a fastidious routine. Nonetheless, clarifications are in order. Which is why we must find a temporal counterpoint. Therefore let us turn to Monclova, when Don Delfín and Demetrio were just coming to terms. The transcription should have fallen squarely into a notebook in which the new manager was writing down every step he would need to take once he got settled at the ranch; one of those, very important, was the list, with names (for social reasons) and addresses, of the eight butchers in Sabinas and the four in Nueva Rosita. The distribution of the butchered: one lamb per week, as well as three she-goats. Meat on the move. A sure sale, in any case. A lot of money to keep—where?, nowhere, therefore—in the suitcase? The shining advantage resided in Don Delfín’s coming to the ranch every week: on Fridays: an essential habit in order to, among other things, collect the cash from the weekly sales: that’s it: let’s repeat that this is an advantage because otherwise Demetrio’s mangy quarters would soon become an absurdity, to wit, a warehouse crammed with bills. Manifold futility at the mercy of an arbitrary windstorm—and what conjecture would become reality if a storm swept the bills away? The loneliness of the ranch lent itself to such imaginings, for already the utterly unusual was making incursions: fortunes flying over the desert: when? never?
The first time Demetrio went to Sabinas he asked Benigno to accompany him. He wanted to be sure not to lose his way along the supposed fifteen miles from one point to the other, for the moment he started the truck the peon warned him about the large number of forks off the main road, hence: Come with me. You can help me find the butchers. Unfortunately, Benigno didn’t remember the precise location of those establishments. It’s just that, trying to find your way in that urban muddle … In fact, the peon had been only four times to Sabinas and only once to Nueva Rosita … In 1946 Sabinas had a population of approximately thirty thousand inhabitants, whereas Nueva Rosita was a town of fifteen thousand, or perhaps fewer. But both places had spectacular commercial activity.
This work trip turned out to be a kind of holiday for both. So: Come. Do as I say. Let’s go. And yes, agreed. Yes, flat-out compliance, by virtue of the fact that both would benefit from a temporary disconnect—from what?—the monotony of the ranch, less longed for by Benigno, but the manager: how about it? A different environment; the world, culture—bah!, his presumptions had to be exaggerated …
Of course, before unpacking the knicking and knacking of selling and buying the meat, it’s worth sorting through the core of the sparse exchanges along the way: You might not want to learn anything about numbers, but you should realize that money gives you freedom of movement. Freedom of movement? More dependency, more anxiety, because numbers are limiting. A different kind of servitude, perhaps an even