dignity, changed his physical position and walked out of the plaza. He was watched critically, as well as with alarm: many saw; many whispered: now children and adults: more and more, while in the stationery store:
“Calm down, dear, calm yourself.”
“Yes, Mama, I will.”
“Now, please, tell me what he did to you.”
“He kissed me and then he licked the back of my right hand.”
“Scoouundrellll!”
Demetrio was able to walk with excessive slowness: his head down—darn right! repentant—no way! But it didn’t even occur to him for—what had he done wrong? Though through his confusion he had to admit: increasing black bile. And: What if I’d stolen a kiss from her lips? he thought. A naked kiss, a quickie …
The ignominious slap …
Spit?
What else?
No, don’t look back, just define it … An impassioned summation … A magicked end … A searing sentence, against him, to bury the death of love …
He came late. First off to rake over his complaints with his aunt, who, upon seeing him arrive such a wreck, offered him water, a jug; water she’d taken out of the well just a half hour before. She had no rolls, neither conchas nor plomos nor pelonas, just sliced bread: she took a loaf from her grocery store and—would you like a slice with some butter and jam? Such imprudence … No! No! Only water: ergo: Doña Zulema was all ears, though: you can well imagine the big guy’s verbal stammers … It was impossible for him to articulate anything coherent. Moreover: maybe she should have reduced him to tears, it would be good for him, but he was so macho … He preferred to keep stuttering as his red face got splotchy and his shaking continued unabated … Under the circumstances Doña Zulema waited for him to settle into the calm, but that: uh-oh …
Is it over? What did you do to her? What did she tell you? Were you disrespectful? Such likely questions would be the immobilized aunt’s foremost observations. Perhaps he was crying inside, for he silently shook his head and at one point brought his fist down upon the counter. Later, he uttered an explanatory sentence, as if with supreme effort: Renata got angry because I kissed the back of her hand! A moment later he added: She said she never wanted to see me again. Most dramatic of all was that Demetrio didn’t wait for Doña Zulema’s reproach but rather, feeling already very much like a scolded child, chose to shut himself into his room and lock the door, and there he remained until the following day. Based on what she could hear, he indulged in mad mutterings: perhaps a corrective soliloquy, incomprehensible to his aunt, who pressed her ear against the door more or less every half hour, and even then. Nor did she dare suggest he come eat supper. Respect overrode fear and, above all, ostentatious suffering. His aunt went to sleep perplexed because she’d heard only the bare bones. In fact, she would have liked to hear the unhappy conclusion: if there’d been a slap or whatnot … No spitting, because Renata was decent … Or—was there only verbal aggression? Venial, though categorical, words … Let’s proceed, then, to the following day: Demetrio left his room in a swoon—was he hungry? A guessing game: silence accompanying his aunt’s robotlike preparation of coffee and the frying of a couple of eggs. A depressing effort: he nibbled slowly. His head forcefully bowed, hence we can presume no glances passed between them, it would be futile to look at each other, better just to say, for example: May I have more café con leche, or to straightaway refer on the spot to … Not a word—understood?—: and after wiping his damned smooching mouth with the napkin, he rushed back to his room. Seclusion. Mumblings. Ideas that didn’t set things straight, though they did take root.
In the afternoon, after bathing neither in the cedar tub nor by the bucketful, though impeccably dressed, he gracefully betook himself to the trysting bench. He wanted to ask Renata for forgiveness, see if maybe. Doña Zulema, immediately and with investigative élan, followed him, closing the store behind her. She maintained a constant distance from each of the big guy’s quick steps: praying to God, all the time, that he wouldn’t turn around, wishing perhaps to gain clarity from the prayers she was sending up, not yet. And now the scene itself. Demetrio asked a child who was playing in the plaza to