Leopoldo Marechal - Adam Buenosayres

— Very long ago? asked Doña Consuelo.

— Let’s see. Wait, now. María Justa would’ve been ten, if memory serves. Now she’s twenty-eight. Figure it out.

— Eighteen years ago, Doña Martina calculated.

— That’s right, Doña Carmen assented. I can still see her! Just before she died, she made me swear by the Virgin of Candlemas I’d take care of her kids, especially María Justa, my godchild. The neighbours can tell you whether I did my duty.

— Oh, Doña Carmen! the other two women protested in unison. Everyone in the neighbourhood agrees. You’ve been like a mother to María Justa.

— Yes, yes, Doña Carmen admitted, finishing off the cold dregs of her coffee. But what about the others?

Doña Consuelo and Doña Martina didn’t know what to say.

— Bad eggs, grumbled Doña Carmen. Ever since they were kids. Just think about it: their father out at the bars, drowning his sorrows in cane liquor or whatever, and the little brats bumming around in the streets all the blessèd day long. Forget about discipline! Pointless. They just laughed in my face!

— Hmm! commented Doña Martina and Doña Consuelo.

— With Juan José, it doesn’t matter, insisted Doña Carmen. After all, he’s a man, and it’s up to him look out for himself. But the little ladies… Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t have taken it upon myself and paddled their bums with my slipper till they were red as tomatoes.

— Hmm! Doña Martina and Doña Consuelo intoned again, noncommital.

— But who was I? Doña Carmen argued. A Johnny-come-lately, like they say. And bein’ as the mother wasn’t there for them…

— Motherhood! Doña Martina and Doña Consuelo sighed in chorus.

Lost in memory, Doña Carmen muttered some unintelligible complaint.

— That’s how they turned out, she said at last. A real lot of gems! Phff! Juan José, he likes work, so long as it’s someone else doing it. Fritters away his day drinking mate . And at night, who know what he’s up to! Because he’s never short of shekels; they say he gambles, or worse. Márgara, she’s hopeless, a high-steeric , what with her fits and her endless aches and pains. And the Other One, the Other One!

— But María Justa… Doña Consuelo began to object.

— Yes, yes, admitted Doña Carmen. She’s the Cinderella type. I always told her, “Courage, my child, your mother is blessing you up there in Heaven.” But inside I was thinking, “The day I see the back of her going out that door in a bridal gown, I’m gonna get myself righteously squiffed.” But I never got the chance to!

— They did her dirty! protested Doña Martina. It wasn’t her fault that the Other One… Fiancés nowadays! Bah, why bother getting engaged?

But Doña Consuelo was out of the loop.

— Whose fiancé? she wanted to know, anxious and flustered.

— María Justa’s fiancé, Doña Martina clarified. Just imagine, standing her up like that, when her trousseau’s all ready and everything. All because the Other One…

— I see, said Doña Consuelo, not understanding a word.

Doña Carmen bowed her head as though burdened by a well-ripened sorrow.

— It had been going on for a long time, she began. When María Justa met that penpusher… a nice-looking boy and with good intentions, to be sure. But when it came time to act like a man, he turned out to be spineless. The day he broke the engagement, I gave him a darn good piece of my mind, and the lad turned every colour in the rainbow. Even Ciruja went after him in the yard, barking his head off — just about broke his chain, he tugged so hard. Because sometimes animals seem almost like Christians, even if they don’t have a soul.

Doña Carmen paused, in thrall to a great agitation, and her bony hand swatted at what must have been a swarm of painful images.

— Where was I? she asked at last.

— You were talking about when María Justa met the penpusher, Doña Consuelo reminded her eagerly.

— That’s right, Doña Carmen resumed. War broke out the day they met. It was Márgara who did her best to upset the applecart. If the betrothed pair talked together in the street, Márgara would say it was a scandal and the neighbours were already gossiping and the boy’s intentions weren’t honourable. If the boy came to the house, well, he was coming every night and he was a nuisance, and this, that, and the other. All out of jealousy, of course. Because no man came calling for her ; the wretch didn’t have so much as a dog bark at her.

— Isn’t it always the way! Doña Martina chimed in, her disgust on display. A dog in the manger!

— So, of course, Doña Consuelo ventured to break in, the penpusher got fed up and…

— No, no, interrupted Doña Martina. That wasn’t why!

— So why, then? asked Doña Consuelo, more baffled than ever.

— Let Doña Carmen tell the story, Doña Martina demurred cautiously.

But Doña Carmen was unexpectedly reticent.

— I don’t know if I should say… she whispered at last, with a furtive glance at the Three Necrophile Sisters-in-Law.

— But Doña Carmen! Doña Martina encouraged. The whole neighbourhood knows!

— How could they not know? Doña Carmen burst out. Yes, yes. María Justa had her trousseau all nicely done up. What lovely sheets! The hems all stitched by her own hand — she was an angel with the needle. Yes, like I was saying, they even had the wedding date fixed. Then all of a sudden, the Other One takes a wrong step…

— The Other One? asked Doña Consuelo, definitely disconcerted. What Other One?

— La Beba , whispered Doña Martina. The Babe, the youngest sister.

Doña Carmen glared at her.

— Don’t even mention her name in front of me, Doña Martina! she censured. Don’t mention her name in front her poor dead father! You know full well that the heartache she caused was what drove him to his grave. His youngest daughter, the apple of his eye!

— Yes, yes, responded Doña Martina, somewhat abashed. But who would have thought…?

— Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth! growled Doña Carmen. Knowing her as well as I did, I always had my suspicions. Good as gold at home, but a vixen once she was out the door. Good at dodging work, but fond of dance halls and luxury. And flighty as all get out — had to have everything she saw. Well, now she’ll have everything she wants.

— They say she’s got a car, furs, and diamonds the size of chickpeas, Doña Martina revealed.

The three old women set their cups on the floor. Doña Carmen and Doña Martina withdrew into themselves, apparently brooding dolefully. But Doña Consuelo still didn’t have a firm grip on the whole story.

— So that was enough to make the penpusher leave María Justa? she inquired.

Doña Carmen opened her half-closed eyes, looked long and hard at Doña Consuelo, and decided the poor thing must be quite gaga.

— The penpusher? she yawned. His parents put him up to it, but he was spineless. When dishonour strikes a family…

— Spineless, echoed Doña Martina.

Satisfied, illuminated now, Doña Consuelo seemed to pick up a thread that had slipped from her grasp up till now.

— The Other One! she said. Let her have her diamonds! I don’t give her very long. When her youth fades and there’s no one around to tell her, “knock ’em dead!”… Then she’ll see. God punishes without stick or whip.

The candlelight was growing dim again. The silence was absolute but for the spluttering wicks. The Three Crones began to nod gently, their eyelids drooping and mouths purring. Suddenly, just as Doña Carmen was dozing off, a high-pitched explosion of flatulence escaped her. Her two neighbours half-opened their eyes.