Almost Never A Novel

33


No, no, innocent displays of impudence just wouldn’t do, something like wholeheartedly shouting out his beloved’s name from the bench until he saw her emerge quite dignified from her house to meet her beloved, or bringing a fairly showy bouquet of flowers and lifting them up and holding them aloft for a quarter of an hour, or a bit longer. Let’s just suppose Demetrio stretched his arms up as high as possible to show off that cumbersome bundle: you can judge for yourself what a sacrifice, what a show of repentance, but the former as well as the latter were ruled out. Better to come up with a single amorous maneuver: the most prudent one: send a messenger boy with a note, something like this written on a piece of paper: I beg you a thousand times to forgive me for having licked the back of your hand. Also ruled out. What’s the point of humiliating oneself if every humiliation is still an extravagance. Another option would be for him to sit on the bench for hours and hours until Renata came out dressed to the nines. When Doña Zulema made the “hours and hours” suggestion, Doña Telma pointed her index finger at her as if the beginning of the correct answer were about to be divulged; Demetrio, in the meantime, looked surprised. The trio had been speculating about possibilities for how the suitor would present himself, something that would be touching, but above all discreet, no blatant displays, and, well, right when the “hours and hours” idea came up, Doña Telma shot a mischievous glance at her son, then proposed the following:

“It wouldn’t be such a bad idea for you to spend the night on the bench, in the event that Renata doesn’t come out to see you … You shouldn’t call to her or write anything, just arrive and settle yourself in. You’ll see, your silence will be your triumph … What’s more, it would be good for you to bring your suitcase as if to say that you plan to stay there until she comes to you, even if it takes one or two days, and nights, or more. Just remember, if you send her a message you’ll spoil everything.”

Obedience—just like that? without a hint of recomposing. Hrumph, sleeping outside wasn’t that bad, although … In 1948 in Sacramento there was only one policeman, and he had a pistol but no uniform; a sixty-something señor who wore a cowboy hat instead of the official cap. A fetid cubicle, fifteen by fifteen, located in back of the council house, had been used only twice as a jail cell, when the then-fifty-something señor recruited four volunteer deputies to trammel just one prisoner in said cubicle. We bring up these two incidents because both times the confinement lasted one night and was due to a minor infraction: spending the night on the bench in the plaza. Both were outlanders who couldn’t find anywhere better to sleep and had planned to leave at the break of day. A crime, though—which one? This was brought up by Doña Zulema, who went on to say that for ten years nobody had been incarcerated, not even for more weighty infractions. So, Demetrio need not be concerned about sleeping in the spot previously suggested. He might be reprimanded by the policeman (now in his sixties), but that’s all. A reprimand without consequence—right? a tenuous prohibition, that’s all; moreover, Sacramento was so peaceful that the only dubious deed could be the commotion the bees made when they built their hives, to wit: a stinging attack if some birdbrain dared venture near where they labored. Such was Doña Zulema’s hyperbole, wishing (in addition) to make herself agreeable. Bear in mind the look in her eyes, just like in Doña Telma’s, which was to push Demetrio to “not think so much, just do it,” because he—oof!—with his yeses and his nos … It’s just that, how long would he have to stay on the bench? And he wouldn’t be able to change his clothes, or bathe … Then: would they bring him food?

“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:

Dear Demetrio:

I am sending you this note because you must come to my house accompanied by one of your relatives before I can see you. My mother wants to meet you and find out a lot more about you. Remember, you insulted me when you licked my hand, kissing it first. As you must have realized, I was very offended. So, if you want to continue our courtship we must formalize it. That means, in case you need an explanation, that it must have a clear goal, but for that to happen you must ask me and my mother for our forgiveness. The family member who comes with you must also show remorse. Our relationship has to change, it must be leading to something that is good for both you and me, as well as my family and yours. If you don’t do what I ask, it would be better for us not to see each other. What I mean is that there’s no point in continuing our romance on the bench, instead of here inside the house where my mother can witness everything we do. This has to happen soon. Think about this carefully, your decision is very important for me.

Renata.

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 f*cking 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.