Almost Never: A Novel (30 page)

“I don’t think it will take Renata long to show. You’ll soon see,” Doña Telma said.

And now, yes: obedience—just like that? It was the following day in the afternoon that Demetrio—suitcase in hand—walked toward the trysting bench. There he brought his silent veneration, his sweet resentment, to magnify what would be, in the end, forced humility. In fact, he didn’t sit but rather partially reclined, wishing to feel the hardness as if he were lounging in a pretend hammock. He made not the slightest gesture toward Renata’s house, or rather the stationery store, where people came and went (not many, not even that), and hopefully the green-eyed gal would soon notice him … Others did. The sixty-something policeman did, that sharp observer simply shaking his head back and forth … We must add that the policeman continued to shake his head on several occasions and every so often. That is, he paced back and forth through the town center without straying far from his object, for he suspected the stranger had decided to sleep right there where he’d already found repose. True, a reprimand, evidently quite respectful, would not be uncalled for, but he would have to wait until later at night to see if yes or if no. And he insistently remained: with foreseeable consequences. Well, his sweetheart simply didn’t show. Stubbornness, dignity. In a roundabout way the policeman had found out about the possible romance, just a bit and nothing more, and anyway the outlander was not wholly unknown to him, but it was the first time the one under consideration had settled down in the spot in question with his suitcase … If at least his beloved appeared at that moment—at nine-something at night? Perhaps. And thus the minutes passed and nothing or just the same, and so the man with the cowboy hat turned to said spot to address the problem with a mere warning or the mere threat of jail … However, at that very moment the outlander got up and began to walk toward Renata’s house. Pursuit and premonition, said in both ways: pursuit from the side—right?, when he heard footfalls? and the other, frontal: Demetrio saw a light on in the house’s largest window. Renata and her mother appeared from the waist up: maneuvering? let’s wait and see. So he left the suitcase on the bench and, cautiously and slightly bent over, took a few steps forward. The darkness outside was almost formidable whereas on the other side of the window … better to put it like this: Demetrio could see the señora writing down on a piece of pink paper what the señorita seemed to be dictating to her. Amendments: lowly propositions: postponements, that’s for sure, because the definitive version was yet to be and—of course! as it seemed certain that mother and daughter would remain long at their task, the suitor would be visually entertained, though, well, we’d like to say that he had the good sense to position himself to one side of the window, spreading himself thin against the wall so he’d (almost) not be seen, for as it happened the women suddenly looked over at the bench. Oh: the discretion of their detections: their nervous inertia, let’s say they saw very little. Their attention was focused on what Demetrio already interpreted as a missive meant for him, and which would surely be given to him the following day. An optimistic interpretation—naturally!, and … no, he wasn’t sleepy; so he heard words, even two full sentences about love, forgiveness, or a more relaxed new beginning—hopefully! If he heard what he so strongly desired he would be able to sleep more peacefully, but unfortunately they kept the volume low. What a pity! And right there where Demetrio was standing, uh-oh, the policeman came up to him. A disturbance: which provoked a “shh!” An immediate shifting to one side, over there, please, over there; the ideal place would be under a tree in the plaza, that’s what the now peculiar delinquent proposed so they could speak freely. No need to record here his allegation. Nor did it take long at all, because Demetrio took a bill out of his billfold, one of high denomination, which when seen by the policeman under what managed to reach them of the street lighting—why yes!, oh boy! the fix, permission to spend the night on the bench, as long as—hold on!—it was only for one night, with the understanding that if he stayed a second one the payoff would be double, and then no jail and, for God’s sake—why complicate matters? Inevitable rural corruption, born of necessity. Corrupt policeman. Corrupt Sacramento—right? Now’s a good time, therefore, to sum things up: mother and daughter were redacting until past midnight whereas Demetrio was overcome with sleepiness at about ten p.m. Never in his life had he slept on a bench in a plaza, but if we consider that his sacrifice should be exemplary, like a calvary, because of his supreme love … Fortitude. Dignity. The proof of a passion like no other … The suitor awoke with the first rays of sun. He was hungry, but … the lucky wait … The pink paper would arrive, and he was not mistaken. After two more hours on that unyielding bench, a messenger boy came to give him the delicate item, folded and sealed in a pink envelope. The flavor in hand. A colorful reading. Marvelous handwriting, and the content: herewith:

The reinforcement of decency. The girl’s mother could finally observe from close up the lack of groping. Or, rather, a kiss on the mouth—never! nor on the cheek. Or, rather, to hurtle into marriage, ask for her hand, a ring, a wedding date: ascent, or merely the turn to the horizontal so that Demetrio could get a glimpse at the details of the script: all fucking must result in children, whence the supremely obvious was derived: having to work like a dog to support such a large, sacrosanct! pack, because that’s the way things were. Sex with responsibility. Sex with a gush that brings forth fruit, in the name of a peace that must always remain muffled. Too many binding fetters, or rather, one had to gauge it in some other way: a paid prostitute in perpetuity, in order to attain the guaranteed benefit of sex and an almost improbable serenity. As well as the joy of the children—beautiful? green-eyed? always smiling?, hopefully! To put everything on the line, believing the witchcraft would be forever beneficial. A sharp turn. Path. Light. An all-embracing formula. No more lascivious confusion. No more offal. Demetrio stroked the pink page as if he were caressing with delight the skin of that beauty in order to absorb it, as if he could glue it onto his spirit. Annealed eternal love. Adherence and release. The truth was that Renata was pushing him toward a defining sentiment that would lead him onto the right path.

The sanctity of sex—abiding? Yes, yes, yes: relief, spaciousness.

And now (ahem)—why didn’t Renata come out in person to tell him what she had written? Could she have saved herself the long vigil, because—how many versions of that very brief mes-sage did she draft with her mother? The handwriting was unbelievable in its perfection, but—what for? for if they’d spoken on the bench they could have abounded in dozens of details. Plans, subtle revisions, and a grope here or there as well, sidelong and almost without meaning to. Bah, but she, as usual, had to play hard to get. She gave herself too many airs—her mother’s advice—all to give him to understand that the acme of true love was still far away. More and more scrambling up steep escarpments. The air more and more rarefied but healthful nonetheless …

It was advantageous that Doña Telma was in Sacramento. She, as well as his aunt Zulema, would be overjoyed after reading the pink page.

Therefore, a conclusion in pantomime. Not another night spent on the bench, for the proof of his love had been long and monomaniacal, maybe even mature, if that’s what we’re going for—or what else?

All that followed had a touch of the ridiculous about it. Demetrio had to show the blessed letter to those women who were waiting eagerly to hear tell of his adventure in the plaza; however, before anything else, he said he was very hungry. So first came the rectifying assault on whatever was edible and easily dished up. Bread alone, no beans, no nothing, so: a cold plateful, though filling. No, the big guy shouldn’t care about anything other than quickly extricating himself from his stomach’s necessities and, chewing four rolls, two
pelonas,
and two
conchas,
poorly and in great haste, all he could say with his mouth full was:
Here’s what Renata wrote me. Read it!
The truth was, it was a true delight to pull that all-important sheet out of the pink envelope, unfold it, and: let’s see: two bespectacled readers, their heads almost knocking against each other. Doña Zulema was the one who read it out loud in a sarcastic tone. She must have found happiness amusing.

All that followed had a touch of haste about it, or rather, of jostling, because all three wanted to talk at once. A jumble of quaint emotings within which the word “marriage” rang out most frequently. It’s true the ladies were enticed by other good words, but the glint of the main one did not dim no matter how much garrulity was spewed. Demetrio could only listen to them and feel flustered, because their chatter seemed to be oozing out at a rhythm as swift as it was dissonant, leaving no room at all for a “listen, in my opinion” from him. If it was Demetrio’s arduous task to keep track of that senile pandemonium, it would have been even graver for him to impose any measure, even more so when at a certain point Doña Telma asserted that the three of them would go to Renata’s house that very afternoon. Clues in the message revealed the need for prompt action, and any delay would complicate further what already promised to be a true torment, because, let’s take a look: just how long and how mollifying would be the explanatory episode that would precede the request for her hand. Then the
yes
or the
no
with the
buts,
perhaps absurd, or who knows what surprises Doña Luisa had in store for them. As for the big guy himself, suffice it to say that he wandered about in a daze. He hadn’t slept well on that bench, so all this shared rejoicing seemed like a fantasy of cartoon figures who refused to keep still: their sheer drive, their sheer agreement as to who would bathe first and who next in the cedar tub; Demetrio, last, for he was the least important person on this occasion. In fact, his presence wasn’t strictly necessary, or he could play the part of the dejected puppet, whereas they, supporting each other to the hilt, would carry the thread of the apologies that would lead to the highly desired result that Renata would marry him: he would then act out the unsurpassed role of presenting the engagement ring to his fiancée. A silent act—understood?—so optimal.

Demetrio sat at some remove from the kitchen table and watched with derision as the ladies made decisions without even consulting him, somnolent as he was: his approval, his disapproval, his glee, his anger. Nothing. Already a puppet. A wimp: affable or resigned? Yes, a rag doll when it suited him, for he would end up with his part to play at the moment of truth, on stage he’d let her rip, the element of surprise: emotive, most definitely. For now, reserve—the inverse! So, let them be: go right ahead, do as you wish! and … of course … so immersed in their activities, so full of themselves, so—what could he say to them? Go for it, believe what you will!? In the meantime he figured he should bathe as he never had before and dress up as he never had before; a suit and tie—right? A new hairdo: combed all the way back without a part down the middle—why? A ton of pomade—more than ever! What a notion and then … Now let’s turn to the picturesque: three slow and winsome pedestrians, not indifferent to the eminent gawkers on the street: a bit perplexed or a bit like statues trying to figure out … The way to the event: where does it lead? better to follow the trio because soon they will disappear: a pleasant dash into … It was a question of falling in behind them: some did. But they came to a halt at a bench in the plaza, we can guess which one. And the conjectures on the side: oh: how many would deduce that the hand of Doña Luisa Tirado’s daughter was at stake, she who would get naked and have children after she got married. Such a pity! The radiant flower was departing. A dark vision, but logical, and ultimately diaphanous, for soon other appetizing flowers would bloom and then others and others and so on. The natural had drifted too far away to think naturally, as the world turned on its axis without pausing for even a second. And the sequel to the transformations, with their wake of defeats and victories that were not now nor ever would be so definitive. To go and go and know without knowing for certain. For now, the crass picturesque: observed. The trio did not sit down on the usual bench. The big guy appeared to be telling a boy to let them know that … And Doña Luisa and her relic emerged from the stationery store. Timid and nonplussed, they approached the bench. We must say, the aroma of perfume permeating the skin and clothes of the trio had already spread into a wide radius around them. They dragged along yards of scent, which now ravaged the mother and daughter, and—phew! or could it be that they, who looked so poorly clad compared to the trio, decided to keep their noses in the air and that’s why the flowery aroma became noxious to them. Be that as it may, whether fortitude forged from surprise or plain old woe or something even worse, Doña Luisa exclaimed:
All three of you are welcome, but you will have to wait here because my daughter and I have to make ourselves presentable. Not for more than half an hour, and then it will be our pleasure to welcome you into our home.
They waited almost three hours. The two bathed as serenely as could be, and not before they had first counted up their day’s receipts. We must also take into account the slow pace at which they adorned themselves with fripperies and the preparation of a laborious tea. Also their art of table arranging, the placing of their least dinged pewterware. And other such trifles.