“I’m very glad you have come, but I cannot visit with you. I am not presentable. Come tomorrow at the same time, if you can.”
“Yes, I can, my love … See you tomorrow.”
Scripted? Recycled? The same excuse as the other time he showed up like that; the exact words; a play or a movie: oh! from then on Demetrio had to dispel any hint of surprise. It was nonsense, unless he wanted to hear some pretentious prattle … Which wouldn’t be bad … But wouldn’t be good … To begin with: a warning, or, on the contrary, a beefing up of intransigence, though without ruling out that the third time would be different: the extraordinary beauty might not show up; she might tell him through the messenger boy that he should stop courting her … In that case! so as not to run an experiment using smoke and mirrors, plagued by conjectures and paradox, it behooves us to add here a second scene from a different angle, but with Demetrio in a similar position: left hand touching the back of the bench, standing—of course! without turning his head in either direction, he told a messenger boy that blahblahblah … Before Renata’s resplendent entrance (hopefully she won’t be long, thought her suitor), we can report that he now wore an olive-green lamé shirt and gray astrakhan pants; likewise we’ll add that he had taken a three-hour bath (one hour longer than the day before) in the comfort of that cedar tub, and he knew word for word what he would say to his beloved. Now with the spoken phrasing partially specified, we can fully recount one part of the conversation they held as they sat contentedly on the bench and sucked the words from each other’s lips. We will dispense with the explanation Demetrio gave (let’s imagine her interjections as chatty questions) as to why he’d quit his job: here goes: the limitations of ranch life; the unbelievable amount of work; the impossibility of writing letters; the blocks, yes, the lack of ideas, even though, in Sabinas and Nueva Rosita, there were post offices, but the “overwhelming obstacle”: the open and professed indolence—made obsolete by doubt? Anyway, we can deduce the plethora of questions: her gravitas, her turn now, how much she suffered because she’d heard nothing from him, and—herewith the essential!, because now we are at the most important part, maybe a bit before, but …
“Renata, my love, in addition to the pleasure seeing you gives me, because I truly love you, one of the reasons for this visit is to tell you that I have saved a large amount of money and I’m thinking of investing in a business here in Sacramento.”
“You want to come live here?”
“Yes, because I want to see you every day … That way it will be easier for me to lead you to the altar.”
For the first time Renata lifted her face and looked straight into her lover’s eyes: blessed splendor: and: a dubious pleasure that began to gain boldness and confidence. To look at each other, to know each other: enormous green eyes: feminine magnetism mingling with tiny brown eyes, very virile, and thereby the subtle amalgam of visual ecstasy and the fluttering of lids that accentuated the connection and the tightening of the sensual knot and all the time Demetrio, underhandedly, caressing (clawing) that divine hand: the steely left, for the pulsations were so strong they could be felt even in that hasty caress (bad, good; bad, good), which was soon joined to the verbal, when her jumbled words emerged:
“Demetrio, I don’t want you to live here.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to get away from my mother, just like my sisters did when they got married.”
“What will your mother do on her own?”
“God only knows.”
“I’d venture to guess that she won’t let you marry me.”
“Here in town we have many relatives once or twice removed. There are others throughout the region … Somebody will look after her.”
“You think she’ll want to live with relatives?”
“We’ve already talked about it, but she still hasn’t agreed.”
“I guess she won’t let you get married as long as she’s alive.”
“So it seems. She doesn’t like you because she knows the day will come when you will ask me to marry you.”
“And what do you say?”
“I love her and I love you … To tell you the truth, I don’t know what to do.”
“I think it’s better to have a plan that would make her