Daniel Sada - Almost Never

“Look, son, if you end up marrying Renata and you decide to live elsewhere, I’m willing to speak with Doña Luisa. I can propose that we live together, either she can come live in my house or I can go live in hers; and instead of having two stores we’ll make one: school supplies and groceries — what do you think? both of them would grow.”

Spectacular idea, even more so because his aunt kept adding details, or plasters, if you wish, so that good fortune would stop and shine down upon their union, ah. Finally something solid — appealing?! instead of a solution that — would it still take long to come? Let’s see, the mere fact that she suggested something that sounded practical meant that decisive explanations would be forthcoming. That’s when Demetrio, in a semijocular tone, said:

“It wouldn’t be such a bad idea for me to go to Parras and try to persuade my mother to come live in Sacramento …”

Let’s examine this idea so we can elucidate with fair or foul efficiency what the betrothed was betting on, which he didn’t state at that moment but would if the conversation continued the following day, in the store — right? anyway … The sale of the house in Parras: a fortune — yes siree! Then the three ladies living here together: blessed progress: a whole network of aspirations that helped him espy an always straight path. Doña Luisa’s house was the largest, so the noble triad could be there: a convenient packing in — though for how many years? The last to die would be the winner: aha! All of this laid out with great tact. The store resounded with all that novelty. Further enhanced with elaborate decor (the three old ladies encouraging each other, day after day, and all the other fortuitous adventures): one sensible idea after another: either from the second mother or the apocryphal son: and: the real premise: the three old women strengthening their (gooey) family bonds, to allow for the other: love, no longer a battlefield! … by remote control! yes, yes! yeeeesss! of course! the only thing left was Renata’s opinion and then immediately to carry the idea to the next stage: the mother, that one, that Doña Luisa … with her whims and her wonts …

Let’s go without further delay to the bench, where, after having bathed like never before in the cedar tub, Demetrio now flaunted a satin shirt with tiny polka dots and brown canvas pants. Renata appeared in a diaphanous dress, orange to a fault and with yellowish-gray edges, the fabric — serge or silk? the thing was she looked so hot she seemed to be on fire. In a trice the handhold, decent as ever; and Demetrio and his full disclosure: his extraordinary proposition, elaborated; then the climax: that Doña Luisa and Doña Zulema would live together, Doña Telma as well, she in Parras — what do you think? because with the assets of all three … It was even possible that none of them would have to work: such lavish wealth — don’t you think? and forward-looking twists and turns, laborious and, of course, quite favorable for a fanciful and always reassuring (triple) flight, as he constantly added elements, until Renata, with a gasp, proclaimed:

“It’s not a bad idea, but it all depends on what my mother decides.”

“If she makes the right decision, we’ll be able to get married soon, I know.”

“I hope so.”

Upon hearing this last sentence, the suitor, already feeling like a husband-to-be, fell into a rapturous state: he lowered his head with sublime ecstasy, and, true to his nature as a bold transgressor, he also — just because — pressed his lips together to form a kissing horn, a bit like a mushroom in full bloom, and — bam! smack onto the back of Renata’s right hand: that most supreme kiss: supermeaty — wow! but in the absence of any saliva to seal the deal he stuck out the tip of his tongue and began to lick with supreme tenderness: the exploit of a pro who was putting his all on the line with this tenacious salivation. Renata watched this enraptured act in shock; she allowed it to continue, hoping that the caracoling tongue action would eventually peter out as it wound round and round; until she yanked her hand away and cried out in horror:

“I thought you were a gentleman … I never want to see you again.”

And off she ran to the stationery store. She was indignant, copiously tearful, like a little girl who’d seen a bogeyman, or somebody even worse. Fear: shooting rays, and her refuge: the arms of her angry and quaking mother. She had come out to meet her daughter as soon as she’d heard the piercing shriek. A sidewalk embrace. Many witnesses: all children. Now we turn to Demetrio, who was still sitting on the (trysting) bench, not understanding a darn thing, as he watched right in front of his eyes, almost like a thawing, the tawny embrace — for it was evening — of mother and daughter: indeed: a minute-long cry in arms; the orange-wrapped sobbing beauty, and then Doña Luisa, turning around, gave the big guy a furious look and spit this out:

“Go away, you scoundrel! You disrespected my daughter! Go away and never come back!”

But of course! and without understanding the extent of the damage done, Demetrio, with dignity, changed his physical position and walked out of the plaza. He was watched critically, as well as with alarm: many saw; many whispered: now children and adults: more and more, while in the stationery store:

“Calm down, dear, calm yourself.”

“Yes, Mama, I will.”

“Now, please, tell me what he did to you.”

“He kissed me and then he licked the back of my right hand.”

“Scoouundrellll!”

Demetrio was able to walk with excessive slowness: his head down — darn right! repentant — no way! But it didn’t even occur to him for — what had he done wrong? Though through his confusion he had to admit: increasing black bile. And: What if I’d stolen a kiss from her lips? he thought. A naked kiss, a quickie …

The ignominious slap …

Spit?

What else?

No, don’t look back, just define it … An impassioned summation … A magicked end … A searing sentence, against him, to bury the death of love …

He came late. First off to rake over his complaints with his aunt, who, upon seeing him arrive such a wreck, offered him water, a jug; water she’d taken out of the well just a half hour before. She had no rolls, neither conchas nor plomos nor pelonas, just sliced bread: she took a loaf from her grocery store and — would you like a slice with some butter and jam? Such imprudence … No! No! Only water: ergo: Doña Zulema was all ears, though: you can well imagine the big guy’s verbal stammers … It was impossible for him to articulate anything coherent. Moreover: maybe she should have reduced him to tears, it would be good for him, but he was so macho … He preferred to keep stuttering as his red face got splotchy and his shaking continued unabated … Under the circumstances Doña Zulema waited for him to settle into the calm, but that: uh-oh …

Is it over? What did you do to her? What did she tell you? Were you disrespectful? Such likely questions would be the immobilized aunt’s foremost observations. Perhaps he was crying inside, for he silently shook his head and at one point brought his fist down upon the counter. Later, he uttered an explanatory sentence, as if with supreme effort: Renata got angry because I kissed the back of her hand! A moment later he added: She said she never wanted to see me again. Most dramatic of all was that Demetrio didn’t wait for Doña Zulema’s reproach but rather, feeling already very much like a scolded child, chose to shut himself into his room and lock the door, and there he remained until the following day. Based on what she could hear, he indulged in mad mutterings: perhaps a corrective soliloquy, incomprehensible to his aunt, who pressed her ear against the door more or less every half hour, and even then. Nor did she dare suggest he come eat supper. Respect overrode fear and, above all, ostentatious suffering. His aunt went to sleep perplexed because she’d heard only the bare bones. In fact, she would have liked to hear the unhappy conclusion: if there’d been a slap or whatnot … No spitting, because Renata was decent … Or — was there only verbal aggression? Venial, though categorical, words … Let’s proceed, then, to the following day: Demetrio left his room in a swoon — was he hungry? A guessing game: silence accompanying his aunt’s robotlike preparation of coffee and the frying of a couple of eggs. A depressing effort: he nibbled slowly. His head forcefully bowed, hence we can presume no glances passed between them, it would be futile to look at each other, better just to say, for example: May I have more café con leche, or to straightaway refer on the spot to … Not a word — understood? — : and after wiping his damned smooching mouth with the napkin, he rushed back to his room. Seclusion. Mumblings. Ideas that didn’t set things straight, though they did take root.