Daniel Sada - Almost Never

And, off we go!

Enthusiasm never before seen: Demetrio was so eager he forgot the dross: sex for hire: the carrion of spectral silhouettism: blurred flesh: brutalizing pleasure: enough already! He left it all behind. Vomiting. Suffocation. And then, sacred love: Renata’s green eyes observing him from afar … Decency awaiting. His thrashings: part of vile prehistory, as is agronomy. The nature of (past) ugliness that he could spit out like so much chaff, and et cetera.

Right?

Another lapse? Another attack?

To hell with it!

Another future, then.

For Demetrio, December was a month of arduous work. Much was accomplished as if by dint of magic, because, well, we’ll mention only three things he dealt with: in less than a week he found a large locale to let, located in the heart of Parras, right on Ramos Arizpe, the town’s main thoroughfare; second, and related, was the hiring of two young men quite eager to work (for all of which his mother confidently forked out hefty sums); third was the most troublesome: the purchases, the trips to Monterrey in his pickup (now with a staked bed), in which Demetrio brought back three very fine billiards tables packed in thick cardboard — strategically flattened — as well as an abundance of billiards paraphernalia: cues, cue holders, cue supports, cue balls, timers, chalk, counters, lamps, boards: and imagine the trips necessary to purchase the dozens of little knickknacks. Then: dominoes tables, tons of chairs, two (long) wooden benches. The whole business was ready two days before New Year’s Eve for the inauguration (God willing) the first week of January 1948. By the way, we’ll mention that mother and son celebrated Christmas and New Year’s Eve dinner euphorically (and with a plethora of victuals, a lot of foolish nonsense). Doña Telma received epistolary best wishes from her faraway daughters: Merry Christmas and … tra-la-la … It would have been fantastic if they could have come to Parras for the holidays: but, impossible!; but, thanks: that word was written in two telegrams sent to Seattle and to Reno; but (once again), well, they were thinking of her and that should be enough to make the señora cry with happiness.

Exuberant start to the year. A new and dandy life — hopefully! The inauguration was held on January 7. A huge crowd of future deadbeat gamers attended. It’s probably better not to think about how much tolerance was needed to allow all those haughty maidens and matrons to attend the event; the women would not play, not then, not ever, because it was frowned upon, but, hey! this was a local social event, full of splendor and general approbation. Therefore, it was packed. And, moving on to a different role for the prurient, it’s worth pointing out what you’ve probably already figured: the primordial rule: there would be no gambling, no, none of that: make-believe at the service of gentle evening recreation. Let’s mention the hours of operation: from four in the afternoon till ten at night. Finally, the mayor was responsible for taking the first shot, he missed, but … the apology and then the rejoicing. Then the stentorian toast, and onward with sinful fascination! it’s about time; many signed up to play in the midst of the racket; the women left once this got under way. However, ten at night: that’s all: remember! The most important part of the whole affair would take place in the following few days. They queued up, along almost half a block, to play. The first to get in wouldn’t ever want to vacate their tables. So we have to consider the numerous challengers. He who lost, left: and, back in line … outside? Some played and others didn’t; or, to be precise, there was always dominoes, though: a queue formed for that, too, a much shorter one, foolish challengers, about which: well, of course! we must point out that most of the clients were there for the billiards: a novelty: ergo: carambole rather than bravado or “La Bamba”; whereby Demetrio soon realized that he should buy three more billiards tables in Monterrey. A weekend shopping trip. He went with his two young assistants. However: what about dominoes, in abeyance, and now we must picture him for real: after the three new tables arrived, the big guy had to get rid of the tables and folding chairs destined for dominoes. As a result: only pool tables! better! more prosperity! As far as the rest is concerned, let’s note the added attraction of the sale of cold drinks, no alcohol, no, not that.

In the midst of this unparalleled merrymaking at the beginning of the year, Doña Telma carried out her household chores with much more enthusiasm than ever before; she cleaned deeply, things that may have seemed insignificant, like each and every leaf of the potted plants. May all dust disappear completely: how many hours a day did it take her? or, how many orders did she have to give her two servants before they fell in step behind her enthusiasm? Her cleaning perfectionism was consonant with her state of grace.

Because she saw herself as an admonishing spirit who was giving her son a lifesaving solution that would hopefully hold for years, Doña Telma strove daily to bring out the shine in her own environment, matching the abundant drive of her son, who came home every night both exhausted and jubilant, full of ideas so brilliant they seemed preposterous, even if any attempt to carry them out would have to be somehow or other elaborated. More and more flashes of genius pouring into an endless spiraling eddy. Unstoppable progress, therefore, as well as money and enlightenment. The mother’s triumph resided in her conviction that Demetrio would live by her side for, hmm, and just when she started thinking about lustrums and decades, a letter landed in her hands, or rather, the lump of a letter: addressee: Demetrio Sordo, and sender: Renata Melgarejo.

Breaking one spell with another, when viewed from a different angle, led to a problematic detour, considering that Demetrio was already on his way and to suddenly stop: a whiff of love — could it be? causing momentary dis-ease, or a favorable concern to which he should give full sway.

After fondling it for nearly three minutes, Doña Telma decided to peruse all that prolix passion. A tentative trespass, however, when it came to opening it. Hesitant or eager or pressingly perverse or tantalizingly slow, and how to proceed without messing things up. Egipto Cavazos, her servant, gave her a useful suggestion, recommending that she use steam to avoid damaging the seal. The need for delicacy in the operation was obvious; so Egipto offered to attend to this detail, and, well, we can imagine his dexterity, not to mention his presumption: I’ll do it very well. Don’t worry. Likewise the subsequent resealing, which also had to be precise — of course! but also secret … In Mexico around the beginning of 1948, there appeared a stamp that said Express Delivery and another that said Ordinary Delivery. The latter, which had existed before, though without the degrading adjective, was what the new stamp wanted to distinguish itself from, though the distinction went unnoticed, for there was none, hence the term “express delivery” was nothing more than a pretense people mostly ignored. In reality there was a difference of less than two or three weeks between one kind of delivery and the other, depending on the distance from the point of origin. In this case Renata used the new service, which was supposed to be faster but wasn’t, for the letter had taken almost two months: from Sacramento to Parras! that is — within the same state! We can imagine the journey: once the letter arrived in Saltillo — this is a guess — it was brought to a halt, perhaps a bureaucratic one, in order to give priority to the most urgent. Nevertheless, a delay of almost two months! Why? Imagine if Renata had sent it by ordinary post, how long would it have taken? One month longer at least? Conclusion: mail service was a nightmare. The so-called ordinary assumed neglect, a leaving-for-later, or merely a dead calm, or outright indifference; as for the express delivery, it was the same — wasn’t it? or maybe acting very deliberately, or imagining the postal workers watching the (ordinary) letters pile up for days in the semidarkness and feeling quite smug about not rushing around, or worse: viewed as a work of found art, or something of the sort. All we have to do is look (with a magnifying glass) at the date it was sent … Ah … We said “with a magnifying glass” because Doña Telma used one but understood little. The handwriting was so bad it looked more like irresponsible scribbles, way-too-small and illegible letters that seemed to have been written in haste and with a whole host of inhibitions. The señora, however, was able to follow a certain amount of logic through the capricious combination of several key words, such as “marriage,” “love,” “loyalty,” “forgiveness,” “children,” “kisses,” “lick,” “mistake,” “come,” “Sacramento,” “I love,” “Renata,” “Demetrio,” “happiness,” and therein potential good fortune.