some kind of foil, or also into a knot that was only kind of untied; the beneficial sensation of being in control, translated into a quarrel with oneself, ongoing, although Demetrio had discovered during his many trips to Sabinas and Nueva Rosita that there were brothels in both places, in that region they were called congales or zumbidos: to wit: cathouses, almost clandestine (better), but till then—we are at the beginning of December—he had not had the nerve to pay any a visit, among other reasons because hooking up with a whore meant a sleepless night for sure, for those houses, according to what he had been told, opened their doors only after ten at night, and the return trip to La Mena, and the early morning chores the next day … Nevertheless, the person in question didn’t realize that the peons themselves would forgive him a slight excess of this kind, only for the obvious reason that seeing him so saintly, so single, so single-mindedly devoted to the comings and the goings—making sales! as well as his apprenticeship, though only as the hoister, of the slaughter of the animals, the slitting of throats, the skinning (also selling), the bringing to pasture (more and more), and the keeping quiet; as well as his connection—a counterbalance—to civilization through the radio and its songs, night after night: a soothing softness even if it was distressing. It was Benigno who told him he should go to the congales to appease his bachelor longings; for his part, he wouldn’t breathe a word to the boss; he should go, let off some steam, whenever he liked, for as manager, he was getting results never seen before: he was taking a lot of initiative selling meat and hides: quite pleasing progress, all noted by Don Delfín when he received the weekly take. But Demetrio resisted any disparity. On the contrary: what he needed to do was purify himself to avoid confusion. Once, he confessed to Benigno that whores scared him; he even admitted that a long time ago he had fallen in love with one and that such foolishness had ended badly, for he was no longer able to distinguish between a good woman and a bad—where, then, could one find the truth about love? That since then he had had filthy ideas, which led to the terribly shameful. What he did not confess to the peon was that he had a saintly sweetheart in Sacramento—why spill out the private? For his part, keeping that secret made him feel more blessed, more energetic, even though he had made no effort to go visit she who would certainly be his lifelong wife.
Reserve. Silence. No revelations of anything subconscious. Careful: keep the light to himself, and for that very reason (come what may) create an air of suspicion. And in the meantime: in, out; in, out; the corporeal pillow; nocturnal depravity transferred to an always future figuration: Renata in full ecstasy offering up words of gratitude. Hopefully! So many sentences he invented and placed inside that candied mouth … But Demetrio was fooling himself—or was he? For lately he’d shown stamina: let’s imagine him as a lecherous robot, placing the pillow on the bed every night and: aye aye! taking off his underpants and trousers, and, to put it prudishly, he didn’t always flail around like mad until the white band of streamlined snot appeared … How disgusting! Filth. A tumult in his conscience … Surely Bartola noticed his besmirchings when she washed his few washables; in fact, yes, hence the peon’s coercive words—as already stated—: again mentioning the congales that were there to be visited: temporary relief—why ever not! However, we must make room for an onanistic upheaval: one night Demetrio decided to place the pillow on top of himself. He had to try a new position if only for a change. To see if it would be more effective. The movements were more difficult, that’s true, that bit of exasperating distress led to—or so he fancied—it starting to rain: a miracle! and the rain got heavier. Sublime unexpected storm: and yes: the heat fled headlong, so abruptly, and likewise winter arrived—maybe because the big guy put the pillow on top of himself? So it was: let’s just accept it. There may have been other causes, but …
And Demetrio, as if bewitched, and because in his present state he couldn’t ejaculate, chose to go to a congal in Sabinas. He went during the week, to wit: he