The main cause of her lateness was her adorable niece, who had been born three months before, prematurely, just like Tita. The death of her mother affected Rosaura so deeply that it brought on the birth of her daughter and made nursing the child an impossibility. This time Tita couldn’t or wouldn’t take on the role of wet nurse, as she’d done with her nephew, and what’s more, she didn’t even try, perhaps because of the devastating experience she’d had when they took the child from her. Now she knew better than to establish such an intense relationship with a child who wasn’t her own.
She chose instead to provide Esperanza with the same diet Nacha had used with her when she was a tiny baby: gruels and teas.
She was baptized Esperanza at Tita’s request. Pedro had insisted that the child should be given the same name as Tita, Josefita. But Tita refused to hear of it. She didn’t want her name to influence the child’s destiny. It was enough that while giving birth to her, her mother had had a series of setbacks that forced John to perform an urgent operation that saved her life but made it impossible for her to get pregnant again.
John had explained to Tita that sometimes, because of abnormalities, the placenta does not just implant in the uterus, it sends roots down into it, so that when the baby is born, the placenta does not detach. It is so firmly attached that if an inexperienced person tried to help the mother and pulled on the placenta by yanking the umbilical cord, the whole uterus would come with it. Then it would be necessary to perform an emergency operation, removing the uterus and leaving the woman unable to become pregnant for the rest of her life.
Rosaura required surgery not because John lacked experience, but because he had no other way to loosen the placenta. And so Esperanza would be the only child, the youngest child, and, worst of all, a girl! Which meant, in the family tradition, that she was the one designated to care for her mother until the end of her days. Perhaps Esperanza sank roots in her mother’s womb because she knew beforehand what to expect in this world. Tita prayed that the idea of perpetuating this cruel tradition would not cross Rosaura’s mind.
To help keep that from happening, she didn’t want to give her any ideas with the name, so she pressed them day and night until they agreed to call her Esperanza.
But several coincidences suggested that this child’s fate would be similar to Tita’s; for example, out of sheer necessity she spent the greatest part of the day in the kitchen, since her mother couldn’t take care of her and her aunt could only take care of her in the kitchen, and with the gruels and the teas she was growing healthier among the tastes and smells of this warm, paradisical place.
That arrangement did not sit well with Rosaura, who felt that Tita was keeping the child away from her too much; once she had completely recovered from the operation, she asked that Esperanza be fed and brought back to her room to sleep, next to Rosaura’s bed where she belonged. But that command came too late, for by then the child was used to being in the kitchen and it wasn’t easy to get her out of it. She cried very, very loudly when she sensed that the warmth of the stove was no longer nearby, to such a point that Tita had to carry the stew she was cooking up to the bedroom, so they could fool the child, who was lulled to sleep by the smell and sensation of warmth from the pan Tita was using for cooking. Then Tita carried the enormous pan back to the kitchen and went on preparing the meal.
But today the child had outshone herself. Perhaps she sensed that her aunt was thinking of getting married and departing the ranch, leaving her behind all adrift, for all day long she never stopped crying. Tita ran up and down the stairs carrying pots of food from one end to the other. Finally it just had to happen: the pitcher went to the well once too often. Going down the stairs for the eighth time, Tita tripped and the pan full of mole for the champandongo rolled down the steps. And with it went four hours of hard work cutting and grinding ingredients.
Putting her hands to her head, Tita sat down on the step and tried to catch her breath. She had been up since five that morning to keep from hurrying, and it had all been for nothing. She would have to start over preparing the mole.
Pedro couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to speak to Tita, but seeing her on the stairs, apparently resting, he went over to try to convince her that she shouldn’t marry John.
“Tita, I want to say, I think your idea of marrying John is a terrible mistake. There’s still time, don’t make this mistake, please, don’t agree to the marriage!”
“Pedro, you’re hardly the one to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. When you were going to get married, I didn’t ask you not to do it, even though your wedding destroyed me. You have your life, now leave me in peace to have mine?”
“It’s because of just that decision, which I repent wholeheartedly, that I’m asking you to reconsider. You know quite well what the motive was that joined me to your sister, but it turned out to be a pointless act, it didn’t work, and now I think it would have been better to run away with you.”
“Well, you think so too late. Nothing can be done about it now. I entreat you, never bother me again for the rest of my life, and don’t ever dare to repeat what you’ve just said to me, my sister might hear it and we don’t need one more unhappy person in this house. Excuse me! . . . Ah, and let me suggest, next time you fall in love, don’t be such a coward?”
Picking up the pan angrily, Tita went into the kitchen. Between her muttering and shoving dishes around, she finished the mole; as it cooked, she went on with the preparation of the champandongo.
When the meat starts to brown, the chopped tomato is added, along with the citron, the walnuts, and the almonds, cut into small pieces.
The steam rising from the pan mingled with the heat given off by Tita’s body. The anger she felt within her acted like yeast on bread dough. She felt its rapid rising, flowing into every last recess of her body; like yeast in a small bowl, it spilled over to the outside, escaping in the form of steam through her ears, nose, and all her pores.
A small part of this boundless fury was caused by her discussion with Pedro, another part by her accidents and her work in the kitchen, and the largest part by something Rosaura had said a few days before. Tita, John, and Alex had been together in her sister’s bedroom. John had brought his son along on his medical call because the boy missed having Tita in the house and wanted to see her again. He stuck his face up to the cradle to see Esperanza and was struck by the girl’s beauty. Like all children his age, he didn’t have any secrets, and he declaimed:
“Papa, I want to get married too, just like you. With this little girl.”
They all laughed at that, but when Rosaura explained to Alex that he couldn’t because this little girl was destined to take care of her until the day she died, Tita felt her hair stand on end. Only Rosaura could have thought to perpetuate such an inhuman tradition.
If only Rosaura had burned her mouth to a crisp! And had never let those words leak out, those foul, filthy, frightful, repulsive, revolting, unreasonable words. Better to have swallowed them and kept them deep in her bowels until they were putrid and worm-eaten. If only she would live long enough to prevent her sister from carrying out such a dire intention.
She didn’t know why she had to think about such unpleasant things at a time like this, which was supposed to be the happiest time of her life, nor why she had to feel so irritable. Perhaps Pedro had infected her with his bad temper. Since they returned to the ranch and he found out that Tita was thinking of marrying John, he had been possessed by the furies. You couldn’t say so much as a word to him. He went out very early and rode around the ranch, his horse at a gallop. He returned at nightfall, just in time for supper, and shut himself in his room immediately afterward.
Nobody had an explanation for his behavior; some believed the thought of not having any more children hurt him deeply. Whatever it was, it seemed his rage dominated the thoughts and actions of everyone in the house. Tita was literally “like water for chocolate”-she was on the verge of boiling over. How irritable s
he was! Even the cooing she loved so much—the sound made by the doves she had reestablished under the roof of the house, a sound that had given her so much pleasure since her return—even that noise was annoying. She felt her head about to burst, like a kernel of popcorn. To prevent that from happening, she pressed both her hands against it hard. A timid tap on her shoulder made her jump; she felt an urge to punch whoever it was, surely someone who wanted to take up more of her time. What a surprise it was to see Chencha standing in front of her. The Chencha of old, smiling and happy. Never in her life had Tita been so delighted to see her, not even when Chencha had visited her in John’s house. As usual Chencha had dropped from the sky just when Tita needed her most.
It was amazing to see the recovery Chencha had made, after the state of misery and despair in which she had left.
No signs remained of the trauma she had suffered. The man who had managed to erase them was standing at her side, with a huge honest smile on his face. From a distance, Tita could tell she was dealing with a decent, quiet man; though Chencha didn’t let him open his mouth any farther than to say “Jesus Martinez at your service.” After that, Chencha monopolized the conversation completely, as usual, and broke a speed record bringing Tita up to date on the events in her life:
Jesus had been her first sweetheart, and he had never forgotten her. Chencha’s folks had been flatly opposed to their romance, and he never would have known where to find her if it hadn’t been for Chencha’s going back to the village and his coming to see her. It didn’t matter to him that Chencha wasn’t a virgin; he married her right away. Now that Mama Elena was dead, they were coming to the ranch together, with the idea of starting a new life and having lots of children and being very happy for ever and ever. . . .
Chencha stopped for breath since she was turning purple and Tita took advantage of the interruption to tell her—not talking as fast as her, but nearly—how pleased she was that she had returned to the ranch; tomorrow they would discuss the terms of Jesus’s employment, today John was coming to ask for her hand, pretty soon she’d be married, but she still hadn’t finished the supper. Could Chencha take over so she could take a cool, soothing bath and be presentable when John arrived, any minute now?
Chencha promptly took charge, practically throwing Tita out of the kitchen. She could make champandongo, she said, with her eyes closed and her hands tied.
After the meat has been cooked and drained, the next step is to fry the tortillas in oil, lightly, so they don’t get hard. In the dish destined for the oven, spread a layer of cream so the other ingredients don’t stick, a layer of tortillas, and over these a layer of the ground meat mixture, and finally the mole, covering it with the sliced cheese, and the cream. Repeat this process as many times as necessary until the pan is filled. Put the pan in the oven and bake until the cheese melts and the tortillas are softened. Serve with rice and beans.
What peace of mind it gave Tita to know that Chencha was in the kitchen. Now all she had to worry about was getting herself ready. She swept across the patio like a gust of wind to start to bathe. She could count only as much as ten minutes to bathe and get dressed, put on perfume, and do her hair adequately. She was in such a hurry that she didn’t even see Pedro, at the far end of the patio, kicking stones.
Tita stripped off her clothes, got into the shower, and let the cold water fall on her. What a relief! With her eyes closed, her senses were more acute, so she could feel each drop of cold water that ran down her body She felt her nipples grow hard as stone when the water touched them. Another stream of water ran down her back and curved like a waterfall over the round thrust of her buttocks, flowing down her firm legs to her feet. Little by little, her bad mood was passing, and her headache was going away. Suddenly the water started to feel warmer and it kept getting warmer and warmer until it began to burn her skin. This sometimes happened when it was hot outside, after the powerful rays of the sun had been heating the water in the tank all day, but this wasn’t possible now since, first of all, it wasn’t summer and second, it was starting to get dark. Alarmed, she opened her eyes, afraid that the bathroom was on fire again, and what did she see on the other side of the planks but Pedro, watching her intently.
The way Pedro’s eyes were shining, it was impossible not to see them in the shadows, the way two tiny drops of dew, hidden in the weeds, can’t remain unnoticed when they are struck by the first rays of the sun. Damn Pedro’s eyes! Damn the carpenter who rebuilt the bathroom so it was just like the previous one, with spaces between each and every board. When Tita saw that Pedro was approaching her, with lust in his eyes, she went running out of the bathroom, throwing her clothes on any which way. As fast as she could, she ran to her room and shut the door.
She barely had time to finish getting dressed, before Chencha came to announce that John had just arrived and was waiting in the living room.
She couldn’t go receive him immediately, since the table still hadn’t been laid. Before putting down the tablecloth, it’s necessary to protect the table with a table cover, so that the glasses and dishes don’t make any noise when they strike it. It should be a white baize one, so the whiteness of the tablecloth is intensified. Tita gently slid it across an enormous table that seated twenty people, one that was only used on occasions like this. She was trying not to make any noise, not even to breathe, so she could hear what Rosaura, Pedro, and John were saying in the living room. The dining and living rooms were separated by a long hall; the only sound that came to Tita was the low murmur of men’s voices, Pedro and John’s, but she could tell from the tone of their voices that they were arguing. Instead of waiting for matters to develop, she moved quickly to put the plates, the plate covers, the glasses, the saltcellars, and the knifeholders in their proper places on the table. Without pausing, she put the candles under the platewarmers that would hold the first, middle, and main courses and left them sitting ready on the sideboard. She ran to the kitchen for the Bordeaux wine that she had left in a bain-marie. Bordeaux wines should be taken from the wine cellar several hours in advance and put in a warm spot so the gentle warming develops the flavor, but since Tita had forgotten to take it out on time, she was forced to resort to this artificial method. The only thing remaining was to place a small basket of flowers in the center of the table—but in order to preserve the natural freshness of the flowers, they should not be arranged until just before the guests are to be seated, so Tita assigned that task to Chencha; hurriedly, at least as much as her starched dress allowed, she made her way to the living room.
The first sight that presented itself when she opened the door was Pedro and John in heated discussion about the political situation of the country. It appeared that the two of them had forgotten the most elementary rules of good manners, which tell us that at a social gathering one does not bring up the subject of personalities, sad topics or unfortunate facts, religion, or politics. Tita’s entrance stopped the discussion and forced them to try to begin a conversation in a more amicable tone.
In this tense atmosphere, John advanced his petition for Tita’s hand. Pedro, as the man of the house, sullenly gave his approval. They started to work out the details. When they tried to fix the date for the wedding, Tita learned of John’s desire to delay it for a while so he could make a trip to the northern part of the United States to bring back his only living aunt, whom he wanted to attend the ceremony. This presented a serious problem for Tita: she wanted to get away from the ranch—and the proximity of Pedro—as quickly as possible.
To formalize their engagement, John handed Tita a beautiful diamond ring. Tita looked at it for a long time, shining on her finger. The glints of light it gave off reminded her of the gleam in Pedro’s eyes a short time ago, when he was watching her naked, and a poem that Nacha had taught her as a child came into her head:
The sun lights up a drop of dew
The drop of dew soon dries
You are the light of my eyes, my eyes
I’m brought to life by you . . .<
br />
Rosaura was moved by the tears in her sister’s eyes, taking them for tears of joy, and she felt a slight lifting of the guilt she sometimes suffered for having married Tita’s sweetheart. Then, quite enthused, she poured them each a glass of champagne and called for a toast, to the happiness of the engaged couple. When all four of them gathered together in the center of the living room to drink the toast, Pedro clinked his glass so violently against the others’ that it broke into a thousand pieces and their champagne was splashed onto their clothes and faces.
It was a blessing that Chencha appeared at this very moment, amid the reigning confusion, and pronounced those magical words supper is served. That announcement restored the calm and the good cheer that the occasion warranted but that they had been on the point of losing. When the talk turns to eating, a subject of the greatest importance, only fools and sick men don’t give it the attention it deserves. And, that not being the case here, in a fine mood, they all made their way to the dining room.
During supper everything went very smoothly, thanks to the graceful intervention Chencha provided while serving. The meal wasn’t as delicious as on some other occasions, perhaps because of the bad temper Tita was in while she prepared it, but neither could you say it wasn’t pleasant. Champandongo is a dish with such a refined flavor that no temper can be bad enough to ruin its enjoyment. When they had finished, Tita walked John to the door and there gave him a big farewell kiss. John was thinking of leaving the following day, so that he could come back as soon as possible.
Returning to the kitchen, Tita thanked Chencha for the great help she’d been and then sent her to clean the room and the mattress she would be using with her husband Jesus. Before getting into bed, they had to make sure they wouldn’t discover the undesirable presence of bedbugs in their room. The last servant who had slept there had left it infested with those little creatures and Tita had not been able to disinfect it because of the hard work that followed the birth of Rosaura’s daughter.
Like Water for Chocolate Page 10