Almost Never A Novel

7


In, out; in, out; in, out. Rhythmic movements, slow and increasingly lubricated. Mireya had proposed an innovative position: she’d get on all fours to give Demetrio more wiggle room, that’s right, for more commanding and prolonged wiggles, which also delayed ejaculation, causing pleasure to bubble up inside in a somehow more vehemently circulatory fashion. That was how they screwed and how they prolonged it. The bad part was not being able to kiss in that position, though they did enjoy a deliciously unparalleled slow pace that evoked a duet of moans of combined suffering and joy. The unfurling of the imagination: a creative surge that did not revert to directives. An effervescent scramble: yes and no, and a passing barely. Pleasure at the cost of precarious devastation, until Mireya proposed an even more tremendous game: fellatio, Do you want?—would be how it first was mentioned—Let’s! You can come in my mouth if you want. Demetrio agreed, believing he would thereby experience the heights of sexual love, to him so modern—may the fun come in any shape or form! as if both were finally on their way to reaching rock bottom. He stood on the bed, swaying unsteadily, while she on her knees began to encircle the agronomist’s gland with her tongue: deliberately suggestive. Then, in, out; in, out. A well-trained mouth. In classic fashion: a lot of saliva. Besmirched—down her front, conceptual? and so far away from any proper notion of decency. Nobody had ever done this to Demetrio, who for better or for worse experienced feelings of guilt. The idea of sin grew prodigious, even more so when Mireya, unexpectedly and with full oral penetration of said member, began to move from side to side as if denying everything, a maneuver that provoked Demetrio’s immediate and prodigious ejaculation. Well, well! Her sublime swallow, which intentionally left some semen adorning the dark circle of her mouth; something like a thick whitish glob rolled down her cheeks, and his exclamation: You look fine, woman, with that smeared on your skin. All she could do was smile with pride. It’s because I love you, she said. This was their gratification after so many weeks of absence. All good and fine. An outstanding experience! useful for a descent into normality, relaxed and breathy, silent, after such mutual, perhaps equitable, abuse … perhaps … What kind of double volley? Minutes later came their conversation, with an added dash of bashfulness. Sinful conversation, distended. They both seemed like caterpillars on the verge of transformation.

“So, my love, tell me why you haven’t been to see me.”

“I went to visit my mother over the Christmas holidays.”

“Why didn’t you let me know?”

“I didn’t have time. She sent me a telegram telling me she was sick and that I should come immediately. My father died five years ago, and she lives alone, and …”

“You aren’t lying to me, are you?”

“Why should I lie to you? What matters is that I’m here with you now.”

“Where does your mother live?”

“Far, far away.”

“Where?”

“In the south of the United States.”

“Hmm … You know, Demetrio, I’m falling more and more in love with you.”

“Me too.”

“By telling you this, that I’m in love with you, I’m really admitting that I don’t like this life in the brothel anymore. I want you to take me away from here.”

“Where? I’m living in a rooming house. Soon I’ll own my own house, though I haven’t yet saved enough money for the down payment. Right now, I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Get me out of this hellhole. I’m sick of being a slave to pleasure. I want to give myself to you, be faithful to you, have a family. I really will be a good wife and mother. I’ve never fallen in love before, Demetrio, but I have now, deeply. I love you. I love you madly!”

“Me too. Nobody has ever given me what you … Hmm … I promise to take you with me once I put the money down on the house. It won’t be long, I promise.”

“Really, promise?”

“I swear, and … hmm … I have to go now, but I’ll come tomorrow so we can keep doing what we always do.”

“Come back, my love, because it gets better every time.”

To top it off, a long expressive kiss, that is: lots of tongue and lip action. Oh, let’s just say that it became an enveloping spiral that aroused them anew and: a quick screw? Go for it! and, of course! an avid fellatio and other unusual positions in a mad and agitated dash, and let’s take this opportunity to mention one detail: these girls were rented by the hour, hence the countdown. Mireya and Demetrio had already been together for three. Already the largest outlay ever. The second hour was double; the third, triple. The madam had already informed the agronomist of these fees, and only once before had they breached the two-hour zone. Only once! and you can infer the intense calculations, as well as their effect on habitual action. Finally, painless payments, rather, the resulting coldheartedness. Confusing—also—for Demetrio, who began to glimpse an obstacle, an enormous and very black one, expanding like a doubt that was taking its sweet time to edge its way over the cliff; like a long tape that would never break no matter how far it was stretched. Thinking hard in the taxi … The trip and its sparks … he would need to spell out so many and such complicated explanations and plan everything once and for all, yes, but—where would it lead? For instance: the house. It was yet to be seen if the agronomist wanted to buy it in Oaxaca, or where the hell else …

Not in Parras.

Not in Sacramento.

Better to wait, though the storm would continue to gather if he kept seeing Mireya … Fed up with explaining. Solemnity makes a mess of things. It never weaves in well. Better to peek into the most elemental things: become a wisecracker, whatever it takes, because after days of conjecturing, humor prevents the other from ever really penetrating one’s own psyche. Humor is—would be?—a pleasant-enough defense, just misleading enough, in that it implies proximity while establishing distance. Life is—would be?—hilarious … This paradox must somehow be irrefutable … Intermittent and ambiguous reflections from one who didn’t, as a rule, flesh out ideas as they occurred to him, hence the most precarious one could be the most efficient. And now to the praxis: daily experimentation with Mireya. At first he called her Bambi, as if to say “beloved whore.” Demarcations: intentional banter, useful when she’d make her familiar demands: Hey, don’t call me Bambi, whereby he could respond: You should know that I’m a playful guy. I like to tease you, to make you feel how much I really love you. Then, if she asked him: How are things going with the house? he could take a different tack by saying: I’m thinking about buying a palace. You deserve nothing less—surely you must know that you have become a queen in my eyes? Harmless snares. Strategies buried under obtuse explanations of cause and effect. Nothing explicit, thus harmony by employing the same measures love does to protect itself against the tedium of certainty.

Let us leave the anomalous lovebirds to their romps and pass in haste to Sacramento. Demetrio’s first letter was in Renata’s hands. A messenger boy, a mere child, brought it to her at noon, he being one of six local lads (about ten or eleven years old) in the employ of the post office. Doña Luisa Tirado watched the delivery of the missive from the kitchen. Theoretically, she kept cooking. She didn’t want to appear nosy. She wasn’t one to interrogate from afar. She didn’t move, but her nerves … Howsoever that may be, let us try to imagine the daughter’s mad dash: to find a place to hide; surely this the result of reflexive modesty, the desire to read unhindered. In her excitement she found a spot near the chicken coop, where she planned to bury the letter. First, the gradations of emotion provoked by perusing praise heaped on praise. Moreover, she appreciated the penmanship.

She savored it slowly.

The ample light falling on the sheets for an almost chromatic celebration. The ink as illuminating as the words. But the enchantment was broken when Renata saw her mother approaching with remarkably long strides. Busybody. Confrontation. Abusive … clearly no way to avoid the looming avalanche, because when she was still several paces away the doña brazenly asked: What does he say? When is he coming? We must read the letter together. That was the moment her daughter turned her back. She blushed, and, of course, the glimmer of a tear appeared in the corner of her left eye, a residue, to tell the truth. More questions ensued now from closer up, much more euphonic; utter nonsense. Moreover, let us note the dear lady’s trembling fingers upon one of the bare shoulders of she who expressed what was all too well justified: What you’re doing is totally unfair, Mama! It’s mine, and mine alone. I’m going to tell Papa! Her mother removed her hand. The nerves of our impetuous fox showed signs of deterioration, nerves that clenched for a few seconds of silence only to reveal, finally, the all-powerful defense: Your father supports me in everything. You have no choice. You must let me read the letter! Resistance and cries: two weapons she used to hold the sheets, with brazen pressure, against her breast: Renata withdrew; if only we could hear without prejudice her whimpering and her no! no! no! Needless to say there was dismay on the part of her mother, who finally said she only wanted to know the date the nonpareil suitor would come.

She still had a lot to read. So … we can infer … perhaps in the last paragraph … let’s see …

May the information soon arrive!

The response: Please. Let me read it alone, then I’ll tell you.

And the mother’s (now sympathetic) retreat.

The thing was that once she’d finished reading the letter: no, there was no mention of a date. Renata’s laments lasted a good long time, time enough to bury the letter and go moaning to her mother to inform her that no, no date … et cetera … Such a confusing medley of emotions, of defeat, when all was said and done. Renata’s contrite postscript to Doña Luisa was frugal, of course! and now the counterargument was useful:

“You see!? You never know with these outlanders.”

And other similar ones. More warnings mixed with further speculation.

“Don’t you dare complain about me to Pascual! You’ll only complicate things for yourself!”

Don Pascual had recently been quite down in the dumps, ailing. He had twice traveled in his truck to Cuatro Ciénegas to consult with the only doctor there, for in Sacramento there was none. Alas, what a nuisance! Twenty-six miles between the two towns. What’s important to mention here is that the doctor prescribed an array of medicines, all quite strong, to be bought at the local pharmacy, owned by said doctor. But since Don Pascual refused to repose for even one hour during the day, despite his copious sweats and swoons, by two weeks later his condition had worsened. In the face of such fatigue he had almost asked for, he should clearly be spared the importunity of all that impending romantic nonsense, a profuse letter, delirium, longing …

Nonsense?

Or not?

Fortunately Demetrio’s second letter arrived ten bitter days later. A rigorous half page, though one that brought joy and a date: I will visit you on August 15. Damn it, the hottest time of year. The trek through March, April, May, June, July, and then two weeks more still to come. Then another sentence, the necessary subordinate: the fumbling excuse: My annual vacation begins on August 12 and I have only one week.

Renata’s quick glimpse: three days to get here, three to return, one day in Sacramento. Demetrio would stay at Doña Zulema’s house. Summing it all up was easy: If he’s interested in me he’ll make the sacrifice. Nonetheless, a doubt, or rather, the future pirouettes of a doubt: will he really come? The situation presupposed an infinity of pirouettes, and to calm herself down, Renata, without giving it a second thought, informed Doña Luisa of the date, that the wait had indeed been worth it, or in any case—what to do? what to think? Now the old fox had her chance to play the part of the composed counselor:

“Write to him immediately. Tell him you will expect him, but don’t be effusive with your emotions. Be friendly but cool. Don’t reassure him. He’ll like that. You’ll see, it will make him more interested.”

Talk about busybodies … In Oaxaca the training proceeded apace: in, out; in, out; in, out. And what about Mireya’s fellatios: go for it! give it to me! on a daily basis, except Mondays, as we already know. The mechanics of peaking in pursuit of new peaks.

What was new was that Demetrio, caught in the undertow, had learned to lick her *oris. Oh, such ideal reciprocity! His record was fifteen minutes, doing only that. What’s more: he was constantly checking his watch while he licked away.