Swift as Desire (11 page)

The lessons had the added benefit of a very pleasant musical background, because since his youth don Júbilo
had grown accustomed to listening to the radio to fall asleep. His favorite station was 790 AM, which was devoted to nostalgic music. And so the best romantic boleros of all time would reach the adjoining room, which had been transformed into the Morse code classroom, via the radio lying next to don Júbilo’s bed. This arrangement would create in Lluvia the conditioned reflex of listening to music while beginning to transmit messages.

In order to become a telegraph operator, one needed above all a good memory, since words were transmitted letter by letter and had to be memorized as they were received until a word was formed. Then the word had to be written down while one continued to listen to the rest of the message. It was a very strange and difficult thing to do, because of the delayed time frame, to always stay just behind the incoming message. Converting a signal into words was very difficult and tiring for the ears. A transmitting operator was said to have “good writing” when his messages were characterized by distinct, pronounced sounds, which made them easier to comprehend. But there were people who had terrible “writing” and used very loose sounds. This was the case for Lluvia, Aurorita, and Nati. The only one who had good writing was Reyes, but that was completely understandable; after all, he had been a telegraph operator for four decades. Despite not having transmitted for many years, he was able to get back up to speed in just a few hours. In contrast, don Júbilo’s women were totally lost. They confused dots and
dashes, mixed up sounds, or translated incorrectly. In short, they were a disaster, but they meant well.

In order to master the telegraph they were going to need many more hours, many more days, many more years, but in three weeks they had learned enough to understand don Júbilo’s first words.

It was a memorable moment. Lluvia had asked Reyes and don Chucho to be present. She also invited Lolita, another close friend, who had spent her life working as a secretary in the Telegraph Office. Everyone arrived punctually. Already present in the house were Lluvia, her children Federico and Perla, and the nurses, Aurorita and Nati. Don Júbilo didn’t suspect a thing until he learned that don Chucho was there. Then he guessed that something had to be going on for his friend to be there with him instead of at the hospital taking care of his wife. Of course, he never imagined the enormous surprise that awaited him. When his granddaughter Perla placed a portable computer and a telegraph transmitter on his legs, don Júbilo’s face lit up. No one who witnessed that moment will ever forget the glorious smile that broke out on his face when his fingers felt the transmitter. There was no need to explain anything, he knew exactly why they had bought it and he didn’t need any coaxing. Timidly, but firmly, he sent his first message. It was for his daughter Lluvia.

“
Gracias, hijita.
I love you very much,” he tapped.

Lluvia’s eyes filled with tears. To her father’s surprise, she took the transmitter and responded in Morse code.

“Me too,
chiquito
,” she answered.

Don Júbilo opened his eyes as wide as he could. His daughter knew Morse code! That was a surprise indeed. And it only got better when he found out that his other two women did too. Aurorita and Nati wanted their turn and each tapped out a message in Morse code that she loved him too. The unmistakable sound of the telegraph filled don Júbilo’s room with joy. It was a very emotional moment. Lolita shed more tears than she had on that sad day in 1992 when Mexico’s telegraph service died. She had been present at the ceremony at the Telegraph Office during which the telegraph was irrevocably retired as a means of communication. The telegraph operator who had the honor of transmitting the final message added, at his own initiative, “
Adiós
, my dear Morse,
adiós
.”

Lolita had cried out of sadness on that occasion, but now she was crying with happiness. Tears had bid the telegraph farewell, now tears were welcoming it back. When Federico, who believed he knew his grandfather better than anyone else and who was aware that Júbilo didn’t like to show his feelings in front of others, saw tears in the old man’s eyes, he decided to interrupt the emotion of the moment with a short, but very precise, explanation of how the computer program worked. Federico and his grandfather had a great relationship. Lluvia’s children were don Júbilo’s favorite grandchildren, in contrast to his relationship with Raúl’s three children, which was more distant. Raúl had moved abroad at a young age and only returned to Mexico with his children
for vacations, and lately, not even then. The children were already married and had children of their own. Their lives were established outside the country, and they didn’t visit their Mexican family as often as their relatives desired. Don Júbilo maintained contact with the other side of his family only through letters and telephone calls. On the other hand, he had been there when Lluvia’s children were born, had helped them take their first steps, had played with them until they were all exhausted. He had taught them how to ride a bicycle, to spin tops and shoot marbles, and, since Lluvia’s divorce, he had been like a second father to them: an understanding and loving father, who had guided them through adolescence, had taught them how to drive, had lent them his car when they needed it, and who never gave advice unless they asked for it, because he completely respected his grandchildren’s individuality. Given this background, it wasn’t hard to see why Perla and Federico adored their grandfather and were very upset by his illness.

Don Júbilo listened attentively to his grandson as he caressed the telegraph machine with trembling hands, as if it were the most precious object he’d ever possessed. When Federico finished his detailed explanation of the operation of the computer program, don Júbilo used the transmitter to speak.

“This opens up a world of possibilities for me. Thank you all very much.”

“Thank you? What do you mean,
compadre?
We’re planning to take advantage of your daughter’s investment.
We’re going to put you to work as a letter writer in the Plaza de Santo Domingo.”

Don Júbilo let out a laugh such as Lluvia hadn’t heard in a very long time.

“Did you know that your
papá
, sometimes, whenever he was really low on money—”

“Which means, all the time!” interrupted don Júbilo via telegraph.

“No, seriously, he worked in the Plaza de Santo Domingo for a while, writing love letters, and you can’t imagine how successful he was at it …”

“Well, yes, but all jobs must end sometime. In those days I could see and speak and move around …”

“You can’t see, but you sure do know what you’re holding. Just look how you’re handling that machine.”

Everyone laughed and marveled that don Júbilo, despite not having used a telegraph transmitter in many years, could communicate without the least difficulty.

“
¡Qué bárbaro eres ’mano!
You’re a great man! Not even I could handle the telegraph that easily,” interjected his friend Reyes.

“What do you mean, ‘not even I’? Do you think you’re a better telegraph operator than I am?”

“Forget about him, Jubián! See how conceited he’s become? It’s because he takes less pills than the rest of us.”

“That’s not true, Chucho, you take less than I do.”

“Me!? What’s the matter with you!? I take pills for my high blood pressure, my digestion, my heart, and my asthma!”

“There you go! I take six pills. Two more than you.”

“Don’t fight, boys. As always, I’ve got you all beat.”

“Very funny! With the life my Lucha gave you, anybody else would have had every illness in the book!”

“Maybe so,
chiquito
, but I chose her and put up with her, didn’t I? There’s some merit in that. If the two of you had looked for a woman as complicated, you would now both be beating me with your illnesses.…”

Lluvia, Perla, Federico, Aurorita, and Nati listened to their laughter, but didn’t join in right away, because they couldn’t yet follow the rhythm of telegraph communication. They had to wait for the message to appear in writing on the monitor before they could react. But despite the lag between their laughter and that of the others, they all enjoyed themselves equally. Lluvia was delighted to see her father “speaking,” participating, captivating the others with his anecdotes again.

Through the computer, Lluvia learned about a joke that her father had played on Reyes years before, which had nearly given him a heart attack. For many years, they worked alone in a receiving office for Petróleos Mexicanos. Don Júbilo covered the day shift, and Reyes, the night shift. The job wasn’t difficult, but it was very lonely. Júbilo missed his friends at the Telegraph Office. In the new position there was no one to talk to, or to tell stories. So he and Reyes established their own way to have fun. They would play jokes on each other. Practical jokes, silly jokes, innocent jokes, all kinds: the idea was to enjoy their work as much as possible.

In their office, they received messages from various oil wells. It was a large enough space to accommodate the enormous wireless receivers. But because the room was so big, it was very cold. The only people who occupied it were don Júbilo and Reyes. In the winter months, Reyes would use an electric heater, because the drop in temperature was unbearable for him. During the day, Júbilo had the advantage that the sun warmed the space a little; he could even sit outside in the sun at times, unlike Reyes. One night in December, in the middle of the
posada
season, Reyes arrived at work and turned on his heater as usual. He curled up in a chair to get warm. Shortly, he heard a series of loud explosions. He jumped out of his chair with his hair standing on end. His first thought was that the telegraph receivers had blown up. But when he went to investigate, he discovered that Júbilo had tied a package of firecrackers to the heater, and they had been set off when their fuses were ignited by the glowing heater. The following day, Reyes paid Júbilo back…and good. He simply called Lucha on the telephone and asked if she knew where Júbilo was, since he hadn’t come to work in a week.

An eruption of laughter suspended all conversation around don Júbilo’s bed for a few moments. Everyone knew how violent doña Lucha could get when she got mad and they could all imagine how it had gone for don Júbilo. When the laughter subsided a little, Lolita told them about one of the jokes that had been played at the Telegraph Office.

“Do you remember when they nailed Chuchito’s desk drawer shut and he just kept pulling and pulling on it?”

“What about the time we rubbed carbon paper all over don Pedro’s telephone?”

Unexpectedly, the laughter faded as don Júbilo grew serious. Lolita signaled with her hand for everyone to be quiet, and Reyes quickly changed the subject.

“
¡Sí, qué bárbaros!
I don’t know how we dared, but the best was one day when Lolita had a huge pile of papers on her desk and I hid behind a nearby pillar. Then I took a fan and directed it at her without her seeing me. The papers flew off her desk and Lolita got up to chase them. She checked the window to make sure it was shut securely, and went back to her desk. Then I blew on her again …”

“
Sí, hombre
, don’t go saying that you blew on her, because Lolita was always so proper.”

Everyone laughed again except don Júbilo. Lluvia noticed this. Something had happened. Her father’s good mood had vanished.

“Who was this don Pedro, Lolita?” Lluvia asked her father’s friend as she walked her to the door.

“A guy that your father never liked, that is, really, none of us liked him. Well, darling, I must leave, because it’s late.”

Lolita was usually very talkative and she always stood at the door to chat for a while before she left. In fact, it was usually difficult to get her to stop talking, so the fact that she had left in such a hurry left Lluvia even more
intrigued than she already was. If Lolita didn’t want to talk about don Pedro, it meant something fishy had happened. Lluvia was dying to find out what it was, but it would have to wait for another day, because now, more than anything, she desperately needed to relax in a hot bath. It had been a day of intense emotions.

Water, her favorite element, exercised a magical power over Lluvia. It relaxed her instantly. Floating like a corpse, she was usually able to reach a deep calm in seconds, but this time she couldn’t. She tried to concentrate on the look of happiness on her father’s face when he had accepted the telegraph machine, but her mind kept drifting back to his serious, sad look after don Pedro’s name was mentioned. A look she had never seen for herself until now: it had left her very unsettled. That afternoon, she had glimpsed that same look in a photograph that Lolita had brought as a gift for her father. It was an old photograph. From the group of telegraph workers, Lluvia could pick out Lolita, without the glasses she now wore, as well as don Chucho with hair, Reyes without gray hair or a belly, her father in perfect use of all his faculties, and her mother proudly displaying her pregnancy. It was a quiet photograph. Somber.

The group seemed to be celebrating a birthday or similar occasion, but from the sad expression on her father’s face, she could tell he was not at all happy. Something was troubling him, causing him pain. Next to him stood her mother, beautiful, as always. Her father was holding her around the waist, but despite their physical
closeness, Lluvia perceived an abyss between them. On the back of the photo was the date it had been taken, September 1946. Two years before she was born.

She figured her mother was about five or six months pregnant in the photograph. As she was about to use her fingers to count the months and calculate the due date, Lluvia realized that all this time she had been unconsciously tapping the fingers of her hand, as if she were sending telegraphic signals. She was thrilled to find that her hands practiced automatically. If she kept this up, in no time at all she would be as swift as her father at transmitting messages. She was distracted for an instant, concentrating on her hands and reflecting on the movement her busy fingers were making in the bathwater. She was particularly intrigued when she noticed that the more movements she made, the more waves were generated. She concluded that the number of times that something happened was very significant.