Almost Never A Novel

40


His son was still making appearances on the velvet ceiling of the train car, a dangling insinuation, graying. We should mention that it was a first-class carriage, and it was nighttime, and they were unreal scenarios, the shadows barely doing the trick. That son went wandering through the corridors when silence held sway, there to see the oversized proof (yes or no, between the brows), and he had no difficulty recognizing what he was seeking. And grabbing the lapels of the large gentleman’s jacket, he said: Just so you know, my mother has suffered a lot because of you. She’s had to go to bed with many men to make ends meet. Poor thing. She, who wanted to love you, but you abandoned her, and you suck. Then the supposed son disappeared, thank God. By the same token it must be said that Demetrio did not sleep well, because the son (almost like flashes of lightning) kept appearing, throwing gobs of spittle then disappearing with a devilish guffaw that continued to reverberate for a long time. Then a daughter made her appearance, the poor girl quite pretty, for who knows if Mireya had a boy or a girl. Anyway, the girl was also grown up and, very even tempered though quite feeble spirited, she sat down next to her father to tell him a few things that might have sounded indignant: Many times I’ve hidden and watched my mother making love with one or another of her clients. Without her noticing, I try to see, to learn. But the truth is I don’t learn much because she copulates very mechanically. She’s never fallen in love with anybody. She never speaks your name and when I see her crying I know it is because God took love away from her. Maybe also because she knows that nobody will ever truly love her. And, after saying that sort of verbose glob, the (grotesque) daughter began to vanish. So Demetrio—did he sleep? how could he get comfortable? He managed: for minute-long lapses. And he arrived in Parras in a daze. It was the afternoon. When the sun’s edges were almost gone. A swath of disturbances. A succession of last straws, all corrosive and infamous. Daughter and son: in relay: harrowing malice, enough to make one stagger. The whole time he wanted to douse the unreal and the ruthless (no to apparitions) (no to parleys), but he couldn’t.

How to escape those wailing voices, or how to definitively bury what was by its very nature inanimate, that is, the judgment of his crimes? He would have to go to church, alone, a guileless devil who had no choice but to kneel for hours on end. Pray—how? or a convincing argument, what God had given him, that explosive trifle: eternal love. And: Lord, you have given me Renata, I want to have her with me till I die, so don’t let anything bad happen to us, I beg of you. Followed by the whizz-bang of the entreaty. Tomorrow, deeds of devotion—naturally! but now to the practical, the verification he sought. When he arrived home he at once saw that his mother was happy, for the servants she had recently hired were superindustrious: Amalia and María Fulgencia: a miracle, how cheerfully enterprising they were! The domestic sphere looked like a floating fantasy. This according to his mother, who was exaggerating to be sure. Doña Telma really was exaggerating because it wasn’t such a big deal, or maybe in her joy—was she spewing nonsense? Anyway, Demetrio decided to go to the pool hall so as not to hear more hyperbole, for now anyway—right? and he was tired. In any case he went that night: crowded pool hall, merrymaking, smoke, pestilence, money-spending vagrancy, that was what mattered. And Ángel and Aníbal fast and furious, well organized, come what may, they never missed a beat. Greetings. Ah. The outcome: the glory of careful bookkeeping, finally, in a still-dizzying atmosphere now devoid of people.

All on the up-and-up.

The employees: smart. God was now fondling him.

A robbery. No! Relief. Tranquility.

So the following morning Demetrio was obliged to go to church and offer thanks. Yes, as well as beg that Renata … et cetera.

Naturally the final pantomime would have to be exemplary.

How long to crawl on his knees and with his arms outstretched in the shape of a cross?

A good long while, you ass, someone from the next world might tell him with derision and aversion. We can, therefore, predict everything Demetrio did. Three laps on his knees around the nave of the church, inside, of course. A difficult act that—was it even worth it? His knees were bleeding: ow-ow-ow. He couldn’t walk quite right for three weeks. The slowness of his movements alarmed the servants, his mother, the employees of the pool hall, not to mention a vagrant or two, for nobody understood anything about optimal balance, a concept used by a circumspect curandero, and which Demetrio repeated everywhere. What! “optimal balance”—could it be flattery he swallowed whole?

His mother tended to him daily. Nighttime ministrations were even more supercareful, for she used miniature cotton compresses and other secondary dressings. Luck before ingenuity. Treatments very early in the morning and very late at night and very who-knows-what. Nonetheless, slowness, gentleness. So-called love and so-called relief. Relief from suffering. So the scabs would form as soon as possible, the solution. Herewith we have the mother: a fly-by-night curandera, quite devoted, even, poor thing, breaking a sweat. Everything subjected to a “now we’ve got it,” which was working. That inexperienced petitioner was quite put out, however, by this stooping compliance. That ferrule discipline. And three weeks went by and still the big guy was walking awkwardly, you should have seen him half bent over every time he walked from the house to the pool hall and vice versa and nowhere else; limping sickly was the price he paid for things to go superwell. Because the pool hall, well, although it used to open at four p.m., later they decided to open at one, and Ángel, Aníbal, and Demetrio studied the possibility of opening at ten a.m. and closing at midnight—every day!, except Sundays, that is, for one mustn’t forget, not ever, the weekly Sabbath … So, here comes the reason!: how to deal with all the customers who came at all hours of the day! Many young bucks planted themselves at the door of the pool hall awaiting the happy opening, as if it were a grocery store; a whole hour ahead of time, believe it or not. And the spectacle of idlers eager to hit a few balls, to the sonorous sounds of shooting … No way around it! one day they simply had to open at ten a.m., and from then on …

Nose to grindstone! And … what about a raise? A small one. An all-too-subtle percentage that—damn!: crumbs. Well, now you have him: Demetrio was unremitting: his face was getting harder, as wealthy people’s faces do: handsome, interesting, self-sufficient, his two eyebrows like two triumphal arches and his mouth squeezed more tightly into a ball: signs of ceaseless success, a form of disdain, an attitude of thinking of himself as the cat’s meow. Much later there would be, let us call it, a “visualization” of the employees’ merits: those! tush!, so honorable. And, from a different angle, since things were going so swimmingly—money by the cartload, a gift from God, rolling in the dough, day in and day out—he foresaw the possibility of investing in new businesses, maybe even citified ones, the urban brought to the small town, but which ones, which one: a dive—exciting! unique! that space envisaged so long ago. Oh, out with it: a cathouse with beautiful whores, good lighting, and rooms in the back. Ambition. Like the ones in Oaxaca: good old Presunción and the other, La Entretenida; also, with guards, but not aggressive ones: everything tending toward discretion, not like in Torreón, where he came within a foot of losing his life; no, not that, rather a joint that one would want to go to, to patronize … Oh, still a hazy dream. Though …

If he talked to the mayor. Invest fifty-fifty …

Partners worthy of something supersalacious … Still limping slightly, Demetrio made his way to the town hall. By hook or by crook he would get an appointment with Píndaro Macías. And he did. There to lay out his plans, dotting all the dirty i’s and crossing all the t’s. The mayor listened attentively to his diligent description of this seedy world. So many details, but the mayor, smiling stintingly, said, “No!”

Emphatically, it would seem. The “no” reverberated loudly.

Because Parras was not ready for such a radical change. People would rise up, first against him, then against Demetrio.

But even such well-established perversity: no!

Parras would have to grow to triple or quadruple its size for such a place not to be seen in a bad light.

And another stream of reasons for the rejection, though Demetrio would also be interested in starting up some other kind of business. More corrupt, less corrupt … Let’s talk … Another time …

Demetrio left the mayor’s office with a thunderous suite of ideas. Going into business with this mayor, hmm, better to become his good friend. Tactics piled on top of tactics. Perfidious and subtle utilization, and, of course, after, after …

Another meeting—when?

A difficult, because delicate, step.

Now it’s time to shrink time, for good news was going to flow like a wafting breeze (a weightless one), which is to say, nothing terrible was happening that would delay the multiple manifestations of a thousand and one simple situations. Nothing black, nor murky nor gray, hence whiteness, if you like, in all that he had to suffer or surfeit, made everything, therefore, turn out like never before. The mountains of money at the pool hall; for better or for worse each week the cash register filled to overflowing, and at home such remarkable pleasure: each day harmony more deeply entrenched, like a rosy and benevolent blob, something as normal as the sun shining large, or the sky clearing all about, or sweet aromas rising from who-knows-where, or when everything we see inspires us.

And the days passed with no apparent sadness: spring—how joyous!, and summer—how peaceful! Add to that the truth about accretion: the charm of knowing that money makes even the most unpleasant things charming and that the servants Amalia and María Fulgencia, as well as the employees Ángel and Aníbal, had not lodged a single complaint for months, not the slightest, nothing, how fortunate, confound it. We’re doing very well, Demetrio commented to his mother with a surfeit of cynicism, and they said, cheers! clinking together their mugs filled with café con leche. It is perhaps fitting here to say that at that time Mayor Píndaro Macías occasionally frequented the pool hall, he played his games, and he lost over and again, but his leisure time—how delightful! He was not good at billiards because he had little practice hitting the ball; just consider all his responsibilities as municipal leader … completely overburdened. Nevertheless, the frequency increased, not so much to play, but rather … What if he managed to do some crooked business with … ? Persuasion one small step at a time, persuasion recognized immediately by the successful man, then later ascertained, when the mayor told the big guy (straight out) that he wanted to talk to him in a relaxed and leisurely fashion, in his office, alone, about business, tantalizing demons, more and more suspect. Demetrio went out of inertia and listlessly listened to the lengthy proposals. Improvised twists and always unprecedented expectations for business deals that were not totally transparent. Surely he tired of listening, but as soon as he had a chance to respond, he was arrogant and almost smug when he exclaimed:

“I’d like to do business with you, but only after I get married. My wedding will be on the first Saturday in November. I will be gone from Parras for around three weeks, so we should talk around the beginning of 1950.”

“Where will you have your wedding?”

“In Sacramento, Coahuila. A much smaller town than Parras, very close to Monclova. It will be a simple affair. But if you’d like to come, please …”

“No, no, I just wanted to know where the wedding will be. No, thank you, I cannot go, I don’t have time.”

“Anyway, I want you to know I’m interested in working with you, but …”

“That’s fine, it’s not far off.”

“I just want to say that you can go to the pool hall whenever you like. I will leave instructions that you not be charged.”

“Well, well. Thank you!”

“If that’s all, and with your permission, I will take my leave.”

Office intrigue upon his departure: spying bureaucrats watching Demetrio’s every move (not limping, luckily). They thought this alliance with the mayor quite peculiar. His second time there and—how many more? And if ghoulish plans were afoot—how bad? Let’s end this with a less assonant dread. Disparate, rough hewn, something that was beginning to get tangled in the shadows, little by little, imbroglios of maggoty folk, nothing more. Because Demetrio’s reputation was already the subject of much comment. His business, the pool hall, it was all like some new and grandiose wave. A local harm evocative of My Lord Jesus or Sainted Virgin, and growing and voluminous and what kind of business was it anyway—would he close it? Did he and the mayor make a deal—or not? or was it an arduous diatribe—or what?

Better to say that the date for mother and son to go to Sacramento was approaching. For the first time they would drive in the blue pickup belonging to … They would arrive with pomp, surely. Airs, more airs of unbridled solvency. In that same vehicle the newlyweds would go on their honeymoon to Piedras Negras. An event that had already taken on a well-defined hue. Nevertheless, doubt lingered in the background, for no matter how honest and competent the two servants and the two employees were, it was risky to turn home and pool hall over to them, trust blindly, as well as give them money for … That’s why Demetrio took precautions and paid the mayor a visit (unannounced). A favor. Whatever it would cost—their first business deal? Friendship comes first—doesn’t it? That he hire eight policemen, four at each site, in shifts, to guard both properties while they were gone. Moreover: what was the daily rate? Calculations. Pencil to paper. The mayor had fun adding and subtracting, then erasing, then he wrote anew with greater resolve, and then, finally, the total, eloquence itself: advance payment of the full amount for at least three weeks, to avoid misunderstandings. The following day the money delivered. It wasn’t so much. But yes: men in uniform would keep watch night and day over the appointed places … And to inform the honest employees about the surveillance—understandable!? It was the prudent thing to do, given what had happened to them.

The date was approaching.

The jitters …

Happiness conceived of as the painstaking paring of an exquisite idea.

On the way through Monclova, Demetrio had to buy a black suit …

For now: they readied the trousseau: so much spread out on the truck bed, such elaborate packing, and yes: mother and son left one week ahead of time. Doña Telma, intentionally annoying, pressured the big guy to settle whatever he had to settle and …

Rattling and, finally, happy trails.