Almost Never A Novel

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.