Juan Rulfo - Pedro Páramo

“We still have the matter of the Fregosos. We’ll let that ride. Right now I’m all wrapped up in my honeymoon.”

This town is filled with echoes. It’s like they were trapped behind the walls, or beneath the cobblestones. When you walk you feel like someone’s behind you, stepping in your footsteps.

You hear rustlings. And people laughing. Laughter that sounds used up. And voices worn away by the years. Sounds like that. But I think the day will come when those sounds fade away.”

That was what Damiana Cisneros was telling me as we walked through the town.

“There was a time when night after night I could hear the sounds of a fiesta. I could hear the noise clear out at the Media Luna. I would walk into town to see what the uproar was about, and this is what I would see: just what we’re seeing now. Nothing. No one. The streets as empty as they are now.

“Then I didn’t hear anything anymore. You know, you can get worn out celebrating. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when it ended.

“Yes,” Damiana Cisneros repeated. “This town is filled with echoes. I’m not afraid anymore.

I hear the dogs howling, and I let them howl. And on windy days I see the wind blowing leaves from the trees, when anyone can see that there aren’t any trees here. There must have been once. Otherwise, where do the leaves come from?

“And the worst of all is when you hear people talking and the voices seem to be coming through a crack, and yet so clear you can recognize who’s speaking. In fact, just now as I was coming here I happened upon a wake. I stopped to recite the Lord’s Prayer. And while I was praying, one woman stepped away from the others and came toward me and said, ‘Damiana! Pray for me, Damiana!’

“Her rebozo fell away from her face and I recognized my sister Sixtina.

“‘What are you doing here?’ I asked her.

“Then she ran back and hid among the other women.

“In case you didn’t know, my sister Sixtina died when I was twelve years old. She was the oldest. There were sixteen of us, so you can figure how long she’s been dead. And look at her now, still wandering through the field. So don’t be afraid if you hear newer echoes, Juan Preciado.”

Was it my mother who told you I was coming?” I asked.

“No. And by the way, whatever happened to your mother?”

“She died,” I replied. . “Died? What of?”

I don’t really know. Sadness, maybe. She sighed a lot.”

“That’s bad. Every sigh is like a drop of your life being swallowed up. Well, so she’s dead.”

“Yes. I thought maybe you knew.”

“Why would I know? I haven’t heard a thing from her in years.”

“Then how did you know about me?”

Damiana did not answer.

“Are you alive, Damiana? Tell me, Damiana!”

Suddenly I was alone in those empty streets. Through the windows of roofless houses you could see the tough stems of tall weeds. And meager thatch revealing crumbling adobe.

“Damiana!” I called. “Damiana Cisneros!”

The echo replied: ”… ana… neros!… ana… neros!”

I heard dogs barking, as if I had roused them. I saw a man crossing the street.

“Hey, you!” I called.

“Hey, you!” came back my own voice.

And as if they were just around the next corner, I heard two women talking:

“Well, look who’s coming toward us. Isn’t that Filoteo Are-chiga?”

“The very one. Pretend you don’t see him.”

“Even better, let’s leave. And if he walks after us, it means he wants something of one of us. Which one of us do you think he’s following?”

“It must be you.”

“Well, I figure it’s you he wants.”

“Oh, we don’t have to run anymore. He stopped back on the corner.”

“Then it wasn’t either of us. You see?”

“But what if it had been? What then?”

“Don’t get ideas.”

“It’s a good thing he didn’t. Everyone says that he’s the one who gets the girls for don Pedro. Which just missed being us.”

“Is that right? Well, I don’t want to have anything to do with that old man.”

“We better go.”

“Yes, let’s. Let’s go home.”

Night. Long after midnight. And the voices:

“I’m telling you that if we have a good corn crop this year I’ll be able to pay you. But if we lose it, well, you’ll just have to wait.”

“I’m not pushing you. You know I’ve been patient with you. But it’s not your land. You’ve been working land that’s not yours. So where are you going to get the money to pay me?”

“And who says the land isn’t mine?”

“I heard you sold it to Pedro Paramo.”

“I haven’t been anywhere near him. The land’s still mine.”

“That’s what you say. But everyone is saying it’s his.”

“Just let them say that to me.”

“Look, Galileo, just between the two of us, in confidence, I like you a lot. After all, you’re my sister’s husband. And I never heard anyone say you don’t treat her well. But don’t try to tell me you didn’t sell the land.”

“I do tell you, I haven’t sold it to anyone.”

“Well, it belongs to Pedro Paramo. I know that’s how he means it to be. Didn’t don Fulgor come see you?”

“No.”

“Then you can be sure he’ll be here tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, some day soon.”

“Then one of us will die, but he’s not going to get his way on this.”

“Rest in peace, Amen, dear brother-in-law. Just in case.”

“I’ll be around, you’ll see. Don’t worry about me. My mother tanned my hide enough to make me good and tough.”

“Till tomorrow, then. Tell Felicitas that I won’t be to dinner tonight. I wouldn’t want to have to say later, ‘I was with him the night before he died.’”

“We’ll save something for you in case you change your mind at the last minute.”

Receding footsteps sounded to the jingle of spurs.

Tomorrow morning at dawn you’re coming with me, Chona. I have the team hitched up.”

“And what if my father has a fit and dies? As old as he is… I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him because of me. I’m the only one he has to see that he takes care of himself. There’s no one else. Why are you in such a hurry to steal me from him? Wait just a little longer. It won’t be long till he dies.”

“That’s what you told me last year. You even taunted me for not being willing to take a chance, and from what you said then, you were fed up with everything. I’ve harnessed the mules and they’re ready. Are you coming with me?”

“Let me think about it.”

“Chona! You don’t know how much I want you. I can’t stand it any longer, Chona. One way or another, you’re coming with me.”

“I need to think about it. Try to understand. We have to wait until he dies. It won’t be long now. Then I’ll go with you and we won’t have to run away.”

“You told me that, too, a year ago.”

“And so?”

“Chona, I had to hire the mules. They’re ready. They’re just waiting for you. Let him get along on his own. You’re pretty. You’re young. Some old woman will come look after him.

There’s more than enough kind souls to go around.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

“I can’t. It hurts me, you know that. But he is my father.”

“Then there’s nothing more to say. I’ll go see Juliana, she’s crazy about me.”

“Fine. I won’t tell you not to.”

“Then you don’t want to see me tomorrow?”

“No. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

Sounds. Voices. Murmurs. Distant singing: My sweetheart gave me a

lace-bordered handkerchief to dry my tears… High voices. As if it were women singing.