The Day of the Moon (12 page)

“He was next to you?” Her aunt brought Isadora back to what she wanted to tell.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And we just looked at each other. It was very strange.”

Isadora stopped speaking; she was tracing an invisible picture on the seat of the chair with her finger. Brígida was silent, but she showed the girl that she was waiting.

“Then he took my hand and held it.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. I left it there. I liked the feeling of his hand.”

Isadora was on the brink of telling her aunt what had happened next, but decided to keep it a secret. She did not tell of how Jerónimo moved so close to her that she felt the heat of his body and that parts of his body throbbed. She hid from Brígida that she, too, had edged as close to him as possible, and that she had allowed him to put his fingers between her thighs. She yearned to tell her aunt that she had slid her hands downward on him and that, as she cupped her hand over the mound it discovered, she had felt something move.

Brígida sighed, stood, then walked over to the photographs. She absent-mindedly traced her finger over one of them, thinking of something else. Then she looked over at Isadora.

“What's the matter,
Tía
?”

“You know, Isadora, there are certain things that are forbidden.”

The girl stiffened, thinking that her aunt had read her thoughts, that her secret was not a secret, after all.

“
Tía
, are you going to tell Papá what I've just told you?”

“No.”

“Going to the
barranca
is forbidden for me, isn't it?”

“No.”

Isadora's apprehension was quickly turning into impatience; her aunt seemed now to be saying only one word. She was beginning to regret having told her about the incident, when Brígida returned to her place next to Isadora.

“What I mean is that we are forbidden to love certain people.”

“Are you saying that I shouldn't love Jerónimo?”

“No.”

There it was again! Isadora wanted more; she wanted her aunt to speak out what she meant.

“What are you saying,
Tía?”

“I am saying that you are forbidden to love him. I am saying at the same time that even when a woman is forbidden to love someone, it doesn't mean that she
should
not love, or that she
will
not love.”

Isadora cocked her head to one side and closed her eyes, trying to decipher the fine distinctions being made by her aunt. It was muddled and too complicated for her. Brígida's riddle scared her, especially because she sensed that her aunt was talking about herself.

“
Tía
, have you ever done something that was forbidden?”

“Yes.”

Isadora felt elated at hearing her aunt's affirmation. Although she did not know what she had done, it explained why she now spent her life as she did. She decided that she loved
Tía
Brígida more now that she knew that she had done something that others forbade.

As the summer passed, Isadora mulled over her aunt's words, trying to unravel their meaning. During that time, she and
Jerónimo were together almost constantly, until the autumn of that year, when her father told her that she must go away to study. On that day, Isadora went to her room and sat in the dark until she was certain that her father had gone to bed. Then she made her way to Brígida, who was waiting for her.

Isadora did not say anything to her aunt. Instead she sat on the floor next to her and put her head in her lap, where she stayed for a long while. She cried, but she did it quietly, as she felt her aunt's hands on her head.

“Your father has seen you with the boy.”

Brígida's words astounded Isadora; they were precise, certain, without doubt. The girl raised her head to look at her aunt.

“Did he tell you?”

“We never speak. You know that.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Why else would he send you away? He loves you above all things, you know.”

“If he loves me, why is he sending me away?”

“Because he's afraid of what you and the Rarámuri boy will do, and this is stronger in him than his love for you.”

Isadora put her head back on Brígida's lap. She was considering, trying to understand what it was that her father feared. She, too, felt afraid, but for this she knew the reason: She did not want to be away from
Tía
Brígida, or Ursula, or the Santiago family. She would have to think more, and maybe she would be able to make out why this was happening to her.

Isadora Betancourt's four years at the convent school went by quickly. During the first weeks, when she was homesick and lonely, she disliked everything and missed Casa Miraflores intensely, but soon she made friends among her fellow students and the nuns. After that, she enjoyed being a student. She also liked the girls' joking and pastimes, and she threw herself into the fun.

Her time at school was shortened by summer breaks, when she returned to Hacienda Miraflores. She enjoyed those times spent
riding through the
llano,
watching the men at work, meeting her father's associates. She would pass most of the early evenings in the kitchen with Ursula, helping her organize meals and doing other chores. At those times the two women chatted, laughed, and told each other the news of the day. After dinner, Isadora would find her way to Brígida's room.

When her first year at school had ended, Isadora came home eager to see Jerónimo and his brothers, as well as Celestino and Narcisa. But no matter how much she searched for him, she could rarely find him, and whenever she did see him, he would stop whatever he was doing to go somewhere else. Isadora soon became convinced that he was avoiding her, that he did not want to see her.

Isadora did not understand Jerónimo's behavior until she realized that it was because her father almost always watched her—that he was by her side whenever she left the house, keeping his eyes on her. She knew that El Rarámuri was the target of Flavio's vigilance. That was why Jerónimo kept away. Isadora then pretended to have forgotten him during those years at school.

On the day her father came for her at the end of her studies, Isadora was nervous. She had grown used to being away from his sharp eyes and questions. But most of all, she was tense because she knew that he had plans for her, including marriage. She was not surprised when he broached the subject almost as soon as they were in the car heading home. Although he tried to sound casual, Isadora knew that her father was preparing her for the match that he would make.

As they spoke, Isadora looked at the desert unfolding on each side of the road, but Flavio's questions made her think of men and women mating. She remembered her experiences with Jerónimo: touching, caressing, but no more than that. She had wanted more, and she knew that he had felt the same desire, but they had never gone beyond what their hands touched. They had never even kissed.

This thought made her think hard about her father. There were so many questions that she wanted to ask him about her mother,
and about what it was like when they first lay together. No matter how much she tried, Isadora could not imagine her father and mother coupling, and so she longed to ask him about it, but she was too afraid.

During her last year at school, sex had been the favorite topic among the girls. They waited until the lights were turned out in the dormitory, then they jumped from their cots and gathered, heads under blankets, to giggle and talk about what a man does to a woman on the night of their wedding. Some of the girls had heard terrible things, like the one of the man whose private part was so long and hard that when he inserted it into the bride, he nearly ripped her apart. Others told stories they had heard from older sisters and friends who had married.

Isadora joined her roommates most of the times, but never had anything to say; she only listened. She wondered about Jerónimo and what it would be like if he were to do such things to her. Isadora usually put this thought aside, knowing that loving Jerónimo was forbidden—not only by her father but by all of the people she knew. This reflection then turned her mind to her father, and why he had remained alone after her mother died. Isadora also had had questions about Brígida. Why had she never married? Had anyone ever touched
her
body or kissed
her
mouth? As the car sped toward Hacienda Miraflores, Isadora thought of these things, deciding that, unlike
Tía
Brígida, she would have to marry. And since that was inescapable, she would have to face whatever came with it.

On the night of her birthday fiesta, Isadora danced with the young man who would become her husband. She felt nothing for him. She thought only of Jerónimo. But she pretended to the others and even to herself, thinking that if she could pretend once, she could do it again. She tried to put Jerónimo out of her mind. But that night, when Isadora was in bed, she wanted Jerónimo. She even dreamed that they were together in a cave, arms and legs entangled.

Isadora's wedding did not take place until Don Flavio had a house built and furnished for her; he chose a place close to the main house. Once the project was completed, he set the date for her to marry. The ceremony took place in 1931, when she was nineteen years old. She felt neither joy nor sadness; there was only a strange sensation that clung to her stomach and throat. She decided not to have anything to do with the preparations, allowing her father to make all the arrangements, to decide who would be invited and what would be the entertainment.

During those months, Isadora spent her time writing letters to school friends and chatting with Ursula in the kitchen. Sometimes she sat gazing out of a window, her eyes blank and her body listless. At other times she rode through the
llano,
but she did this without the exhilaration that she had once experienced. It was as if she were searching the vast plain for something, for someone who never appeared.

On one of those days Isadora, lost in thought, let her horse slow to a canter, then to a walk, until it stopped, content to munch on a clump of grass. She had not even noticed that she had come to a standstill when she was startled out of her absorption by the clopping of hooves. Twisting in the saddle, she saw her father approaching on his horse. He reined in brusquely, making her own mount spin around nervously, pawing at the ground.

“Hija,
I've been looking for you.”

Isadora stared at him without answering. A distance had been growing between them since she had agreed to marry Eloy Pardo. It was a separation that even she could not explain, and she no longer felt the affection for her father that she had when she was a child. Somehow, that had slipped away. In its place was a shadow, something that deepened and widened each time he approached her, spoke to her, looked at her. It was a sensation that was like fear, she told herself, an apprehension that gripped her nerves and made her head ache. Now, realizing that he had taken the time to ride out to meet her, the feeling became more intense, and she tried to
guess what had brought him to her. Something important had happened.

“What's wrong, Papá?”

“Wrong? Nothing. What makes you think that?”

Flavio smiled, but his smile was strained. He, too, had sensed the gap that was widening between Isadora and himself, and it made him irritable: Brígida might be influencing her. And it was because of this fear that he had decided to speak to her. Taking the bridle of Isadora's horse, he dismounted and helped her to do the same. Then he walked her over to a clump of trees, where they sat down. The sun was beginning to slope downward, smearing the western sky with lavender and orange streaks.

“It's hard for a father to speak to his daughter as I must, Isadora. The truth is, however, that since you don't have a mother—and it's a mother that should do this—it is my responsibility.”

“If you're going to explain how babies are made, don't bother, Papá. That's what schoolgirls gossip about when the nuns are out of the room.”

Isadora heard her voice; it was harsh and sarcastic, and it surprised her. She looked at her father and, even though the brim of his hat shaded his eyes, she saw that he was momentarily stunned.

“Oh? And do they gossip about how they like to keep their legs clamped shut when they're supposed to open them to their husbands?”

Now it was his turn to be taken aback, by his own words. When he heard himself he felt a rush of embarrassment, especially when he saw Isadora's mouth fall open. But it was too late for him to retreat, so he went on because this was the very conversation he had wanted to have with her. The fact that it had unexpectedly taken a crude, raw turn only helped him come out with his concern.

“You're a woman now, Isadora, and it's your obligation to allow your husband to do what is his responsibility. That's why women are put in this world, and that's what you're going to do! You must not resist, do you understand me?”

Isadora did not respond, but disgust was evident all over her face. Flavio perceived this, and his voice escalated, rasping like falling gravel. He was no longer held back by politeness, modesty, or even consideration for his daughter. Flavio felt himself dragged backwards by bitter memory, reminding him that he had forced himself on a woman. Moved by these thoughts, he struck abruptly at the other canker that had secretly corroded his soul.

“Have you ever had relations with another woman?” Flavio's voice was filled with bitterness as he relived his anguish on discovering that Velia Carmelita and Brígida were lovers. Even more than outrage and jealousy, he now felt suffocated by an overwhelming anger, which he could not and would never recognize for what it was: envy. He did realize now what he had ignored before: His wife had loved Brígida and not him. After all these years, Flavio still felt the humiliation.

Isadora got to her feet but did not take her eyes off her father's face. She was quiet for a while before she answered.