Juan Rulfo - Pedro Páramo

“Then tomorrow I want you to go and ask for Lola’s hand.”

“What makes you think she’d have me? I’m an old man.”

“You’ll ask her for me. After all, she’s not without her charms. Tell her I’m very much in love with her. Ask her if she likes the idea. And on the way, ask Father Renteria to make the arrangements. How much money can you get together?”

“Not a centavo, don Pedro.”

“Well, promise him something. Tell him the minute I have any money, I’ll pay him. I’m pretty sure he won’t stand in the way. Do it tomorrow. Early.”

“And what about Aldrete?

“What does Aldrete have to do with anything? You told me about the Preciado women, and the Fregosos and the Guzmans. So what’s this about Aldrete?”

“It’s the matter of the boundaries. He’s been putting up fences, and now he wants us to put up the last part in order to establish the property lines.”

“Leave that for later. You’re not to worry about fences. There ’re not going to be any fences. The land’s not to be divided up. Think about that, Fulgor, but don’t tell anyone just yet. For now, first thing, set it up with Lola. Sure you won’t sit down?”

“I will, don Pedro. God’s truth, I’m beginning to like working with you.”

“You string Lola a line, and tell her I love her. That’s important. It’s true, Sedano, I do love her. Because of her eyes, you know? You do that first thing in the morning. And I’ll relieve you of some of your administrative duties. You can leave the Media Luna to me.”

I wonder where in hell the boy learned those tricks, Fulgor Sedano thought on his second trip to the Media Luna. I never expected anything from him. “He’s worthless,” my old patron don Lucas used to say. “A born weakling.” And I couldn’t argue. “When I die, Fulgor, you look for another job.”

“I will, don Lucas.”

“I tell you, Fulgor, I tried sending him to the seminary, hoping that at least he would have enough to eat and could look after his mother when I’m no longer here. But he didn’t even stick with that.”

“You deserve better, don Lucas.”

“Don’t count on him for anything, not even to care for me when I’m old. He’s turned out bad, Fulgor, and that’s that.”

“That’s a real shame, don Lucas.” And now this. If the Media Luna hadn’t meant so much to him, he’d never have called on Miguel. He’d have left without contacting him. But he loved that land: the barren hills that had been worked year in and year out and still accepted the plow, giving more every year…. Beloved Media Luna… And each new addition, like Enmedio’s land: “Come to me, sweetheart.” He could see it, as easy as if it were already done. And what does a woman matter, after all. “Damn right!” he said, slapping the whip against his leg as he walked through the main door of the hacienda.

It had been easy enough to gull Dolores. Her eyes shone and her face showed her discomposure.

“Forgive me for blushing, don Fulgor. I can’t believe don Pedro ever noticed me.”

“He can’t sleep for thinking about you.”

“But he has so many to choose from. There are so many pretty girls in Comala. What will they say when they find out?”

“He thinks of no one but you, Dolores. Nobody but you.”

“You give me the shivers, don Fulgor. I never dreamed…”

“It’s because he’s a man of so few words. Don Lucas Paramo, may he rest in peace, actually told him you weren’t good enough for him. So out of obedience he kept his silence.

But now his father’s gone, there’s nothing to stand in the way. It was his first decision — although I’ve been slow to carry it out because of all the things I had to do. We’ll set the wedding tor day after tomorrow. How does that suit you?”

“Isn’t that awfully soon? I don’t have anything ready. I’ll need time to get my trousseau together. I’ll want to write my sister. No, I’ll send her a letter by messenger. But no matter what, I won’t be ready before the eighth of April. Today is the first. Yes, the earliest would be the eighth. Ask him to wait just a few short days longer.”

“He wishes it were this minute. If it’s just a matter of your wedding dress, we’ll provide that. Don Pedro’s dear dead mother would want you to have hers. It’s a family custom.”

“But there’s another reason I want those extra days. It’s a woman’s matter, you know.

Oh! I’m so embarrassed to say this, don Fulgor. My face must be a hundred colors. But it’s my time of the month. Oh, I’m so ashamed.”

“What does that have to do with it? Marriage isn’t a question of your time or not your time.

It’s a matter of loving each other. When you have that, nothing else matters.”

“But you don’t understand what I’m saying, don Fulgor.”

“I understand. The wedding will be day after tomorrow.”

And he left her with arms outstretched, begging for one week, just one week.

I mustn’t forget to tell don Pedro — God, that Pedro’s a sharp boy! — I mustn’t forget to tell him, remember to tell the judge to put the property in joint ownership. Don’t forget, now, Fulgor, to tell him first thing tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Dolores was running to the kitchen with a water jug to set water to boil.

“I’ll have to try to bring it on sooner. This very night. But whatever I do, it will still last three days. There’s no way around it. But oh, I’m so happy. So happy! Thank you, God, for giving me don Pedro.” And then she added. “Even if later he does get tired of me.”

I’ve asked her, and she’s for it. The priest wants sixty pesos to overlook the matter of the banns. I told him he’d get it in due time. He says he needs it to fix the altar, and that his dining room table is on its last legs. I promised that we’d send him a new table. He says you never come to mass. I promised him you would. And since your grandmother died, he says, no one over here has tithed. I told him not to worry. He’ll go along.”

“You didn’t ask for a little advance from Dolores?”

“No, patron. I didn’t dare. That’s the truth. She was so happy I didn’t want to dim her enthusiasm.”

“What a baby you are.”

A baby he says? Me, with all my fifty-five years? Look at him, just beginning to live, and me only a few steps from the grave. “I didn’t want to spoil her happiness.”

“In spite of everything, you’re still a kid.”

“Anything you say, patron.”

“Next week, I want you to go over to see Aldrete. Tell him to check his fences. He’s on Media Luna land.”

“He did a good job measuring the boundary lines. I can vouch for that.”

“Well, tell him he made a mistake. That he didn’t figure right. If necessary, tear down the fences.”

“And the law?”

“What law, Fulgor? From now on, we’re the law. Do you have any hardasses working on the Media Luna?”

“Well, there’s one or two.”

“Send them over to do business with Aldrete. You draw up a complaint accusing him of squatting on our land, or whatever occurs to you. And remind him that Lucas Paramo is dead.

And that from now on he’ll be dealing with me.”

There were only a few clouds in the still-blue sky. Higher up, air was stirring but down below it was still and hot.

Again he knocked with the butt of the whip, if only to assert his presence, since he knew by now that no one would open until Pedro Paramo fancied. Seeing the black bows above the door, he thought: Those ribbons look pretty; one for each.

At that moment the door opened, and he stepped inside.

“Come in, Fulgor. Did you take care of Toribio Aldrete?”

“That job’s done, patron.”