by Daniel Sada
“I drove it here so we can take it to Piedras Negras for our honeymoon.”
“Piedras Negras? What’s that?”
“It’s a gorgeous border city. You’ll soon see.”
Piedras Negras: a phonetic affront worth memorizing. Renata eagerly enunciated the pair of words repeatedly. As it happened, her relatives repeated the name later and imagined the distance between it and Sacramento: hence, an ideal occurrence: Piedras Negras, Piedras Negras, Piedras Negras, like posing a question that conjured up an infinity of answers. This happened in a big way during an episode we won’t even recount, for now let’s focus on something very concrete:
“And those tables arranged in a square bracket?” Demetrio couldn’t refrain from asking when he looked out the window onto the patio.
“That’s where the wedding feast will be.”
“There’ll be a meal?”
“Yes, at two in the afternoon on November fifth, after the Mass.”
“What will we eat?”
“It will be a surprise, but everything will be delicious, I promise you.”
“And the bridesmaids and … ?”
“Don’t bother your head about any of it. You did your part by giving me all that money, and now you needn’t worry about a thing. We are taking care of all the details.”
“What time should I arrive at the church on the day itself?”
Let it be known that there was only one semi-impressive church in Sacramento.
“A few minutes before eleven in the morning.”
It could be that this crucial exchange of information was a way to say that Renata and Demetrio shouldn’t see each other again until their wedding day. This is how the big guy interpreted it, hence he anticipated the instructions his beloved was surely about to give him.
“The next time I see you will be in church. Over, forever, is this timid love that doesn’t suit either of us. Good-bye to love on the bench and love in the living room. Good-bye to immaculate bashfulness. We will now live a love with flying colors, with all kinds of kisses and all manner of touch. Soon you will see, my own dear wife!”
Fortuitous good-bye? Imaginative leisure as long as they didn’t see each other. A broad swath of hours like a spring stretched as far as it would go. Only a tight squeeze of the hand and a see-you-later: so: two ideas as one, almost-almost. Then: one more fantasy-filled day. A fluttering array of multicolored lights. Two faces in the clouds getting closer and closer to exchange a long and slippery kiss.
44
What luck! The wedding day itself dawned rainy—in November? who would believe it, or who thought that if it didn’t rain the marriage would have (no holds barred) a disagreeable destiny. To hell with such superstitions! They always get in the way.
The customers started arriving about one hour before the Mass and stayed to help. Figure about twenty, let’s say, counting by fours: soaking wet. The tears of the tempest looked like mere fluff dusting their clothes, a whitish sheen, accumulated shimmerings of light drops, more noticeable if the shirts and blouses hadn’t been white, lucky devils. Then came the relatives hailing from Nadadores and Lamadrid, and they were many. They filled the entrance hall in a flurried rush, almost a logjam, almost a gray mass—could it be a sheepfold full of forty fellows? If that wasn’t the exact number, we are definitely close, and so the following question becomes apt: would all these penned-in people be eating? If so, there wouldn’t be enough seats, wherein arose a problem, the need for restricting numbers when the time was ripe. Vigilance at the entryway—but how? A red-hot unforeseen … alas … At fifteen minutes to eleven the groom arrived with his mother and his aunt. The three were dressed in black, they looked like mourners, but you should know that the color black also symbolizes good fortune, especially if adorned with a flower, and here we evoke coquetry: he with a carnation on his lapel, and Doña Telma and Doña Zulema each with a yellow rose on her bodice. So, black elegance—unique, solemn, warranted … The real event was the arrival of the bride and the bridesmaids and groomsmen and Renata’s sisters with their husbands: a fragrant front, perfumes that swooned when pooled randomly together; an aggregation of nerves, uneven: rising, but then arrived the parish priest draped in green, with his red sextons, and now finally the wedding march began with no music, nor chorus nor anything at all, one had to imagine the sublime sounds of what could have been uplifting, for bringing the music of wind or strings to a parish church, that would have been really expensive. Demetrio didn’t care a whit if he walked to the altar holding his mother’s arm without even one strum of a guitar; he cared more about grabbing for good the green-eyed gal than about the rise and fall of any harmony whatsoever.
45
Even so, the march—ascendant, rhythmic, pompous, a bit dramatic or however you wish to interpret it. Let’s consider the altar as the symbol of limpid purity, full of glory—right? or something like it? Let’s imagine, therefore, a tremendous sacred heart, which was opening, in other words, let’s imagine something of the sort, even if it’s not true, ergo: the crystallization of love. Or rather: reaching the bosom of the bosom, but first Renata had to walk holding the arm of one of the groomsmen, a really ugly old guy. She was taking supernervous steps, much more so than Demetrio, who was barely watching where he stepped, instead turning often to look at his mother, whose face was full of hope, more than ever before, her eyebrows pitched as if wanting to form an arrow … What was she thinking about? We can venture to guess a logical longing: her daughters; the ones who lived in the United States; the ones who didn’t come; the ones who had to get to Parras and then travel to Sacramento: a real drag, not for them but for their gringo husbands, but, well, let’s say that for now we must turn our attention to the affected stride of those walking. And finally the bride and groom’s encounter at the most important moment of the prayer; the rest of the parading people found places along the two front benches, each one—such precision!—had their very own prie-dieu, as did the bride and groom.
We’re going to dispense with the various stages of the Mass and the agreeable duties performed by the bridesmaids and groomsmen so we can focus (a bit) on the sermon given by the four-eyed priest, who wished to show off his elucidation of a definitive union’s imponderables in a shrill voice. He mentioned the many children, if possible the founding of a battalion, or if we must point out without naming the fever the four-eyed man was alluding to, then let’s at least clarify the allusion, as follows: each holy lying-together should bring about a treasured issue. Yes, yes, he didn’t say it so crassly, but in a roundabout way, that’s what could be understood … He also spoke about comprehension, the sweet communication between the spouses, that at all times God would be taking notes, in other words—no shouting whatsoever! If you like, pure treacles of tenderness for all eternity. And you can guess the subsequent eulogies: a rosary of good things, apt and honeyed advice, if we can call it that.
When the meaningful Mass was over, the newlyweds were showered with a surfeit of dry rice. In the atrium: dual purity, purity in the sense that not even now wedded did they exchange even the tiniest of kisses, not anywhere. Renata didn’t want to; he did, for he felt happy and spontaneous. However—no! Understood! Understand, once and for all, the absolute freedom of privacy. Far from all the decorum, from the filthy familiar …
Not long now.
The honeymoon.
The escape.
The release.
May it be a long kiss without any applause.
In the face of Renata’s refusal, Demetrio—not a chance!—passed his right hand over his typical impeccably groomed groom’s hair, that is, all the hair combed back.
Patience—a toast!, more patience.
46
The food posed no problem. No reason it should when all was said and done. In the end people flowed naturally to the feast that would be offered, as announced, in the courtyard. One bridesmaid and one groomsman were in charge of letting everyone in: a steamy responsibility requiring supine tolerance—
why them? Could be they were the first to have responded, yes, with a (timid) raising of an arm in response to the question—who? let’s see, two index fingers, as we must consider the fact that Renata’s sisters, their husbands, Doña Luisa, and Demetrio’s mother and second mother deserved a respite; the chores passed to others, in their entirety, after the main event (such a thorny achievement); the crucial part over, and the chairs, oh, we must say that the most important chairs and tables were for, yes—huh? we’ve already named them, and, well, the rest of the guests—how can we put it?: may the melee begin; those who arrived first and got a seat, and the rest left standing. Or rather: who told the last ones to arrive so late? In the end there were about fifty people without seats for the banquet. How unfortunate, such dining distress! once and for all let’s say it; the distress of watching and watching and waiting for one, two, maybe more speeches, the groom, one of the groomsmen, some of the mothers. But there was none of that, damn it. Just a large measure of noise (a continuous stream of trivialities) throughout the peaceable meal: the rustle of cutlery and dishes: sustained. And, taking advantage of the lapse while the chewing lasted, let’s mention that the marrying chaplain was not invited, perhaps the fact that he charged a fee for the Mass justified the slight. A hefty sum that actually did cause sorrow.
Apart from that we must say in all honesty that a lamb and a pig had been slaughtered the previous day. Even the blood of both was used to make the broth for the soup, that is (ahem), with the incomparable additions of onion and cilantro and guapillas and oregano. Numerous soup bowls, and so, soup spoons sui generis and pounds of the aforementioned garnishes. Dessert: dulce de leche candies, which were ordered a few days before. Here we will be more specific: they were dulce de leche cones (a bit messy … and there were even some left over), and it could be said that they were the most popular traditional sweets in Sacramento.
If we could look through a lens that would magnify this whole radius of people, we would train our sights with mordant delight on the changing expressions of the newlyweds, for the most part frowning, then a bit happier, also hesitant, all quite a sight. It seemed like the groom wanted to leave already and the bride, on the sly, told him to wait—how to attenuate such words, few and sharp? So he brought himself up short, quickly recovering his rigid equanimity. Worth mentioning that those waiting on the tables were an ad hoc combination of kin in the first and second degree, because the closer ones didn’t: not the sisters, their husbands, the two widows, nor the aunt, who’d been awarded the role of second mother; of course: those already mentioned: unscathed the whole banquet through. Monarchs for a few hours. And as far as the others went: their duty was to quickly find things: glasses, plates, cutlery, those necessities that run out one at a time.
Finally, and thanks to God, the party was coming to an end and the worst part began: the swath of precious embraces, the most annoying being the personal comments, for those offering congratulations felt they had the right to also offer advice to the man and the woman, both inexperienced in affective matters, which nobody ever knows anything about; tolerate, with a half smile, the outpourings, in themselves full of (almost spiraling) exaggerations expressed in poorly constructed sentences. Let’s add, as a final touch, that the few who remained in the courtyard—by that time the banquet was already waning—were the uncles who, in the company of the aunts, were waiting to see what … It was said, after jousting with several ideas, that the next day the nuptial cortege would leave for Piedras Negras. It was obvious that the blue truck, driven by Demetrio, would lead the way, with the still-virgin bride by Demetrio’s side. Behind would follow seven trucks: sentimental and important relatives, including Doña Luisa, who, naturally, would be the one to shed the most tears due to the departure, ah, of her last daughter. Surely the other relatives would shed a tear or two, but it was yet to be seen how many. Picture it: pickups, driving along, lasting aggravation all the way to Piedras Negras. An excessively long way with paved bits in 1949, especially near towns, but the most difficult stretches were miles of dirt road, not graded as they should be. Or rather: clouds of dust, let’s imagine them (an arousing oddity), which made the convoy quite conspicuous. Anyway, it must be said that they all agreed to leave Doña Luisa’s house very early the next morning so as to arrive in Piedras Negras before the sun went down. Correct, highly correct—yes? and now for the worst: Renata and Demetrio would not sleep together: the eventual breaking of the bond (now for the last and vague almost-never). A quick good-bye. This last-minute disappointing delay. A few hours. Time’s most lonely ones. In fact, the moment came to watch the scene when the newlyweds had to separate without wanting to: they did so slowly: an unlocking of hands, oh. And tomorrow the solution: tomorrow, yes!
47
Suitcases in the bed of the blue pickup: only Renata’s and Demetrio’s, because the relatives would return to Sacramento as soon as they said good-bye to the green-eyed gal at the hotel in Piedras Negras. Clearly each truck would carry its own extra can of gasoline (as usual), and the simple task of filling eight such cylinders took time. More than two hours, to be precise. Let’s also add that there was a skinny man whose hair stood on end by the name of Manuel Soto Pizarro, who sold fuel informally and had a tank on the outskirts of Sacramento, one that was almost always full of the precious liquid because he almost always had very few sales, but when this ensemble journey came about: oh, my: what a windfall, for he got sold out. And this, then, is what followed: the caravan moving with proper slowness toward the border. A caravan led by Demetrio’s truck: impetuous modernity. A caravan seen off by a crowd of people of all ages, a true swarm staged in the main plaza, among which Doña Zulema and Doña Telma were seen, showing up momentarily and bidding an effusive good-bye. Squashed bodies: theirs, who at the last minute declined to make the trip … So futile, as well as an unforgettable hassle, for sure. Was that whole melodramatic course of events even worth it—no! too much lavish groaning. Better to think of Demetrio being happy with that rural lass, who was, among other things, skilled at culinary concoctions, and on to other issues, an omission that was also fortunate, no (grim, grown-up) guesswork there. Immediately crass would be the seven hours there and seven hours back, at the very least. The worst would be traveling (back) at night, onerous and, of course, sheer exhaustion would evoke bad thoughts. Hmm, just to think about those considerate relatives making the sacrifice for no reason—well! What Doña Telma did instead was say good-bye to Doña Zulema with a heartfelt hug. Both knew they might never see each other again. Returning alone to Parras: the mother, by train, yes, now for the imminent tedium, also the uncertainty of her intuition that whatever would befall her would not be so horrible. The good part is that Doña Telma would soon see if everything there was in order; she would have to pray the whole way for it to be so. In fact, when she left Sacramento she knew that a new chapter in her life had begun. Something reductive and red. The seed of a precursory idea, yet to see how it would germinate …
48
Seesawing, constant shiftings, wishes cut short, a sudden braking and a sudden brutal acceleration. Thus the pace. Let’s call them “capitular jumps,” which made the trip one of constant renewal (so to speak) from one surprise to the next.
Renata, feeling like a very tender wife, wanted to cling to Demetrio’s arm. We could say that he drove with one hand, the skillful devil, believe it or not. He freed himself from her grip only to change gears: One moment, many one moments, and she allowed him the moment.
There were lapses in their conversation, which, if they could be drawn, would be shaped like protuberances, something that rose oblong, and oblong descended, the peak being two or three vigorous sentences, then a waning, for the emotions seemed to have a high degree of ephemeral intensity and … the silence lasted … and new waves, new protuberances and … Out of everything they talked about during the trip, we will highlight the following:
“Listen, my love,” Demetrio began, “I need to tell you something.”
“What? Dearest. Tell me,” said his beloved.
“When we move to Parras, we’ll have our own room in my mother’s house.”
“We are going to live with your mother?”
“For a little while. I figure about two months.”
“What about our privacy?”
“Our room is very private, and my mother is very discreet, more than you can ever imagine. In addition, I am making so much money at the pool hall that we will soon have an enormous house on the outskirts of Parras. I can even promise you that.”
“I will go wherever you take me. But I want privacy. A lot of privacy.”
“Really?”
“Yes, yes. Don’t forget that.”
Demetrio turned and planted a solid kiss on her cheek. Explosive surprise. She wiped off the bit of saliva left by the furtive smear: her fingers were trembling.
“Don’t do that again. Wait till we get to the hotel in Piedras Negras.”