would seem that Puritanism had unknown tentacles, arising from the most unexpected places, which had finally pinned him down and paralyzed him. He now saw that nobody he told about the incident of the kiss and the lick would take his side. Hence, to accept defeat, admit his mistake to the four winds, and thus avoid ever being squashed; and the admission of guilt—would it save him?, perhaps, but in the meantime distension to the point of obliteration, or as the chance to be dissipated to a point of satiety, and to elude his mother, once and for all, Demetrio ended the conversation like this: I’ll decide whether or not I should go to Renata. Now I need to take care of myself. Please don’t pressure me and don’t bring up this subject again. Because right now I’m going to Torreón. Just so you know, I’m going to sin! What? I’m starved for sex. I want to lose my head! I’m dying to … and … well … I’ll probably be back the day after tomorrow. Stunned, Doña Telma slowly lowered her head: “I understand him,” “I understand him,” “I have to understand him”—et cetera; she could repeat it to herself a hundred times, as if she were poking her breast with the point of a knife. A temporary setback—did she know that? And here we have the beginning of the skit: on the road, once and for all; the knot that almost came undone every time Demetrio placed his shoe on the gas pedal; the truck and the gasoline were his lively assistants that gave him a boost—right? another boost would be to whistle out of tune the whole way so he’d feel like a lad about to be initiated, for he was on his way to commit the greatest misdeed of his life, something like, let’s see: what if he hired two beautiful whores so they could take turns massaging him and doing him? That’s it, one would shower him with caresses while the other got on all fours—yes! and then the other way around, and that way, long-lasting sexual antics: the whole night, no matter how much it cost. When he arrived at a cathouse called Los Laureles—very costly—he immediately called two women over: one blonde and one brunette. However, the joint’s policy required that he order a drink before choosing. So, while he downed one shot after another Demetrio thoroughly planned his anticipated seclusion with the duo: step-by-step, assuming they agreed; at the same time, he’d be open to their suggestions, this or that change of position, more efficient arrangements, whereby nobody would feel at a disadvantage. They: concubines; they: sheaths with opinions as if they were mocking a simpleminded puppet, someone who found comfort elaborating a pleasing idyll only to grow weak before taking even the first step, because while they sat at the table he didn’t touch them once, a long way from an array of what could and should potentially be done: a thoughtful, lascivious, sinful trio, though for Cirila and Begoña, which is what they were called, what mattered was to get the client drunk as quickly as possible. Hence the mischief of shamelessly ordering mixed drinks they barely sipped, the trick made manifest: obvious to anybody who knows the ways of any cathouse, but he: how many straight shots of tequila did he have to imbibe before he became unbearable? Eight, nine at the most: an amount, once reached, that made him lose his balance, fall off the chair, and pick himself up with great difficulty, but once on his feet he said again: Let’s go to the room! I want the two of you at the same time. Oh, really? well, out with the bills already: ergo: the spender rendered unconscious, and next they called over the bouncer to drag him to the room of sin, the concubines following behind, amused and mocking. Slow motion once inside: a real fuss to undress somebody not used to drinking so much alcohol. In the end, the man couldn’t perform, not even half an erection could he muster. The worst part was that he’d paid in advance, an exorbitant fee, for these two cynics who, after seeing him impaired, called the bouncer back to have him thrown out on the street. They carried him as if he were a rag doll. A collapsed and futile mass, and: how could he drive the truck in his state? Demetrio had no choice but to ask