Three Messages and a Warning - By Eduardo Jimenez Mayo Page 0,3
Isabel Aguirre
Translated by Rebecca Huerta
For my father, Emilio F. Aguirre Astudillo
What will you be when you are in the night
and at the end of the road?—Fernando Pessoa (Álvaro de Campos), Odes
You walk along a narrow, earthen path. In the distance you see the hills and cornfields. You have the impression of having been walking for quite a while. It must be six or seven in the afternoon, since the light is already very scarce. It is just the moment in which darkness will fall, but it is still day. In the distance, you perceive the festivities and uproar from the community of Huitzuco. It is the celebration of the Solemnity of All Saints. Many candles can be seen through the hustle and bustle. You perceive the smell of the food being served. They are dishes that you have not savored in years.
Suddenly, beside you, walks another person. You observe him for an instant and detect very familiar features in him. He is your uncle. You know this because you saw him once at the home of your grandparents; although, this is the first time you will be able to speak to him up close. He turns toward you. Until that moment, he seemed not to have noticed your presence. He looks at you with strangeness. Perhaps he does not recognize you for sure, but he seems to guess who you are, and he greets you:
“Hey . . . what are you doing here?”
“I came to participate in the festivities, and you?”
“Same here; this is when the town is happiest. It’s been years since I’ve seen it like this . . .”
“How long have you been coming back here to celebrate?”
“Coming back? About twenty years, I guess; and you?”
“It’s my first time . . . I was feeling a bit lonely out there . . .”
“Oh, don’t worry; we all feel bad after a while and long to come back here. You’ll get used to it.”
Your uncle falls silent and you follow his lead. You stop together at a place where the path ends. In the distance, you catch sight of some lights: some yellow paper lanterns have just been lit.
“Well, nephew, they are waiting for me. Stay here if you want; honestly, I won’t be long.”
“All right uncle,” you answer.
You see him move deep into the darkness and disappear into it. Time passes and he has yet to return. Moved by curiosity, you want to follow him down the path where you saw him disappear, but at that very moment someone behind you pronounces your name. You turn around and discover your Aunt Enedina.
“Good evening, aunt, I’m so happy you’ve come!”
“My dear nephew, who are you waiting for?”
“Uncle Juan. He told me he wouldn’t be long in coming back.”
“We buried Juan years ago. He was killed because he stole some cattle and slept with another man’s wife.”
“But I just spoke with him a little while ago; he was happy to be back in town.”
“You should come with me. This is a bad place to wait. There are many lost souls wandering about. Let’s go eat with the others.”
“Aunt Enedina . . . where are you?”
You continue walking along the narrow path. The turmoil of the crowds and the movement of the lanterns come into view, yet they appear to be disconnected. Finally, you realize that each light corresponds to an individual person.
You are there, looking for someone familiar. Suddenly, you see a light that is more intense than the others; a deep and profound one. You move closer. You discern among the shadows a few familiar faces: your Uncle Nicolás and Aunt Adela. They tell you that they have come from afar to greet you.
Suddenly, you see your father. It cannot be. You never have believed in such things. What things? Your little daughter Elvirita is there too . . . it’s impossible. Isn’t it? You know that it is, but you want to believe it is true because you can see her! She is standing right there in front of you. You run toward them, you want to embrace them, you want to talk with them; but you can’t. They take no notice of you, or perhaps they don’t want to see or hear you.
They have left only some offerings at the foot of your tomb, some fruit and a lit candle.
The Guest
Amparo Dávila
Translated by Anna Guercio
I’ll never forget the day he came to live with us. My husband brought him back from a trip.