Almost Never A Novel

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!