Almost Never A Novel

49


Glorious, exuberant, incredible arrival. The trucks were parked along the width of the country hotel, strategically placed. An event that was—inimitable? The cream-colored building in question was two stories high, though fairly imposing. An outstretched building. Modernity in the countryside, for Piedras Negras was still about two miles away. That is, the circulating air mussed the hair. Well—why did Demetrio choose this place? Had he been here before? According to what the newlyweds discussed on the way, they were going somewhere far away from any city thicket. Supposedly they would find something somewhat like paradise, and they found it and very evident it was … Demetrio’s lucky star, et cetera … Now let’s watch the crucial scene: the big guy got out of the truck, tucked in his shirt, and went in to request a room for himself and his wife. This action was watched by the accompanying kin, who were no longer sitting and waiting but rather had placed their feet on the ground (heads like pennants), including Doña Luisa, who began to cry a little.

Renata was the only one who remained seated. She didn’t want to get out. Instead, she cracked her knuckles, so anxious was she for her husband to get a room. Meanwhile she thought: Will it hurt when he sticks it in, or the opposite? A few minutes later she thought: This very day I will lose my virginity. And a little later: My mother never told me anything about the sexual act. Everything will be new for me. Finally, about fifteen minutes later, Demetrio sauntered out and made a gesture with his hands—what did he want? Yes, they should unload the suitcases, there was a room, a beautiful one overlooking the road and the tilled fields beyond. And Renata got out and offered to help. She raised her hand to say good-bye to her gawking kin, who nevertheless didn’t leave, who watched as she entered the building behind Demetrio, who was carrying everything. Outside, the remnants of stoicism. So many gentlemen, so many ladies, all with long faces. Some with more tears than others. A frenetic gathering. It’s just that Renata was on the verge of losing … that’s already been said—and what would it be like? What kind of wild dumping inside—a lot? Not to even think about the cruelest of the cruel. Perhaps first there would be a more sentimental wave good-bye. In fact, the cry spread; cries in the open air; many, of many. A few of those outside were just smoking and staring. Others, farther away, were smoothing out the shapeless dirt. Otherwise: motel, depravity, the dusk that colors and discolors, here and there … Then: if you like, imagine the naked heat: minutes, attrition, more and more. Though first Renata had something to do. Imagine the nature of the wait. Then it happened. After they’d settled into the room, Renata said to Demetrio: Wait a minute. She walked over to the window and opened the curtains wide. In front of her was the array of trucks and the relatives posted next to them. It was getting late. Renata lifted her hand and began to move it from side to side; those below, watching, mimicked her. A total, grandiose good-bye. You should have seen the people crying as they moved their arms. More and more movement over here and over there, until the trucks started to depart. A reluctant row—perhaps?—: slow going, and once everybody had left, Renata kept waving good-bye: indefatigable oscillation of her arm that Demetrio observed from a chair. When supposedly nobody was left to say good-bye to, this deduced from the distance of the motors, the anxious wife closed the curtain and now finally …

In the semidarkness they approached each other: thoroughly cautious and with no bluff possible. Finally, Renata and Demetrio: profiles on the prowl. First came the proximity of their mouths, close, closer, bonding. With God’s blessing the sin was diminished; oh-so-vigilant God: his tall staff prevailed—yes or no?: and see and feel the soft approach. And when the kiss came: what fine and discreet movements!: lips sliding along lips: a long, agreeable affair. From there the holding of hands and, without ungluing above, the arms, such mischief, agile caresses over here and over there, until there came the pressing of one to the other. To hell, finally, with all that ancient suffering!, though … They had difficulty getting settled standing up because Demetrio was very tall and she wasn’t. So they sat on the edge of the bed—careful!—without ungluing their lips. It seemed like a necessary bond, the salivation they were giving each other intentionally, so mature. A question of silent loving. That first kiss, after such a long sacrifice, tasted to them like pure sublime lust: endlessly slippery, almost. It was like climbing the tallest mountain in the world. Sin—contorted sin! The sensation of pleasure that can never fully console, so just as they were (so dependent on the long kiss that just kept going) they began to get undressed. A juggling act, somewhat deficient, and no, they couldn’t. They had to stop kissing in order to fully undress. Garment by garment: a spectacle. Once they were totally naked they threw themselves on the bed: yes, more comfortable—right? And they were getting to know their naked selves, as well they should. The green-eyed gal’s breasts—this is just one example—were two erect expressive oranges. And so both their detailed inspections went and, in fact, so many years dreaming about the nakedness and now the shape of things: the operative, as well as that bush thereabouts. Will we neglect the most delicious part? Demetrio would seek the inaugural screw: engine-sex, anxiety-sex. The delectable goal they both longed for. Renata made her debut and without saying a word opened her legs: offered, won. The truth is, neither spoke, though they did think: he moved slowly until finally there was an (adequate) encounter between the hole and the member: the final juncture: the sex that begins, that spreads, that expands. However, the difficulty of the insertion. The battle: the ripping penetration. She began to shout like a woman half mad, but still she begged for more flesh to wound her. Blood, in consequence. Increasing passion. Pleasure that soon finds amplitude. And the discreet movements were mutual, achieving a better rhythm, and:

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Sex that bewitches, nourishes, lasts. Committed sex. Sex: a routine thing. Sex: convention.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Ecstasy-sex. Sinking-in-sex. Sex that shapes. Sex that sparkles.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Truth-sex. Bouquet-sex of radiant flowers. Behavior-sex. Vaccine-sex. Sex that knocks down all obstacles. Though: each time they did it would they have to wait for their issue to arrive? Or what was that all about?

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Perhaps some kind of affective penitence would come about. May all the problems that had to be pushed away end up breaking apart. No! No! No! Fear. Horror. Invasion-sex. Skillful-sex. Delirium-sex. Mania-sex. Formal sex. Sex that prostrates, crushes, cleanses, alters, conquers.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Sheer relief.

Daniel Sada was born in Mexicali, Mexico, in 1953, and died on November 18, 2011, in Mexico City. Considered by many as the boldest and most innovative writer in Spanish of his generation, he has published eight volumes of short stories, nine novels, and three volumes of poetry. His works have been translated into English, German, French, Dutch, Finnish, Bulgarian, and Portuguese. He has been awarded numerous prizes, including the Herralde Prize for his novel Almost Never. Just hours before he died, he was awarded Mexico’s most prestigious literary award, the National Prize for Arts and Sciences for Literature.

Katherine Silver is an award-winning translator of Spanish and Latin American literature. Some of her most recent translations include works by Horacio Castellanos Moya and César Aira. She is the codirector of the Banff International Literary Translation Centre in Canada and lives in Berkeley, California.



The text of Almost Never is set in ITC Century. Book design by Connie Kuhnz. Composition by BookMobile Design and Publishing Services, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Manufactured by Versa on acid-free 30 percent postconsumer wastepaper.