Daniel Sada - Almost Never

For a while the apologies continued to proliferate, so much so that the main point got murky; stagnation formed a kind of lagoon. In fact, Doña Telma and Doña Zulema finally began to recite their rehearsed speeches, in turns, with such precision that it could (truly) barely be believed; they were outstanding, agile, though without the slightest emotional charge, without pleasantries, and that’s why Doña Luisa stopped them short: I accept your apologies, but it should never happen again … Now, the one who should apologize is Demetrio, don’t you think? It’s up to him. They threw the big guy a curveball; he was staring at the skilled craftsmanship of the floor tiles and after hearing himself alluded to, said, Me? and then, Oh, yes! whereat: I offer the biggest and most complete apology. My intention, when I kissed Renata’s hand, was sincerely affectionate, a tender kiss full of integrity. If I licked her skin it was because I thought of it as an act of devotion. At no moment did it occur to me that I was disrespecting her. So, I repeat my apology. Doña Luisa smiled (smugly) and Renata did too, following her lead. This is where everything should pause. Then, like an undertow, the lady’s apology, with resounding composure: I also ask you to forgive me, Demetrio, for what I said to you. I was desperate. Congratulations.

Nevertheless, the thorniest part remained: the brave act of … Well, aunt and mother turned their vulturelike scowls upon Demetrio; so did Renata; not to mention Doña Luisa. They were waiting for him to come out with what all this had been aiming at: asking for her hand with cloying ardor, all he had to do was utter one well-sequestered sentence to that effect, and they would buoy up the request, elaborating point by point what it would mean for Renata to live by Demetrio’s side: the understanding, the affection, the peace, the secure economic foundation; but, well, feeling the pressure from the eyes upon him, the agronomist spoke like a good-natured person with common sense: The purpose of our visit is (ahem) to request Renata’s hand. I want her to be my wife before God and the law. And the cornered fool pulled out the box that contained the engagement ring; he didn’t open it, or rather: he walked around with it. Just imagine the gamboling up and down — how awful! Nonetheless, Doña Luisa, quite severe, threw a dart:

“What do you have to offer my daughter?”

“I have a lot of money. I have a very prosperous business in Parras. Moreover, I love her with all my heart. She will find that I am a man who is willing to make great sacrifices to guarantee her happiness and comfort. For me Renata is a goddess that deserves constant veneration. I’ll give her everything she needs!”

The previous truth-telling paragraph paved the way for his aunt and mother to enhance the petition by assigning Demetrio attributes: a good man (and rising!): a very hard worker and unflagging and with a respectability proven by a thousand small things, and good natured, with a smile perpetually hovering over his lips, prudent, and, to top it off, endowed with a spirit of progress and more progress. Or, in other words: the best of the best, no holds barred. And hence their exordium continued until dilution threatened, because Doña Luisa lifted her finger, she wanted to speak, they didn’t let her, such was the onrush of wonders, and, at a certain moment, raising her voice excessively, Renata’s mother uttered this:

“Okay, my daughter can be Demetrio’s wife after one year has passed. I give my word.”

“What?”

“Just as you heard. Wait one year. My reason is that I still need Renata’s help getting the stationery store off the ground. Around this time next year we will plan the wedding here in Sacramento.”

A long time.

A long time to perfectly preserve an illusion. Twelve months of an enlarged enigma, a superconceit, unbreakable, let’s say, that would nurture the steeliest desire. In any case there was a perfect fit: the ring, the offering; Renata, slipping it on; slipping onto her ring finger — yay! perfect. The symbolic yoking that was neither applauded nor commented upon. The trio still insisted that the wait be shortened, but Doña Luisa shook her head, girlishly, and held her ground with a little tantrum, stamping her feet in several ways. No matter: they’d won: the gratification of knowing and feeling that Renata was already Demetrio’s wife, kind of, realizing that from then on there would be a new member of the family, a long-lasting (fresh, fine-looking) flower who already seemed delighted to consider herself a wife from then on. For his part, Demetrio wanted to celebrate by giving her a hug, a decent embrace, not too juicy, but — get a grip! if they did that they would lose so much, such humiliation, so: a show of fortitude, as if they were corroding each other, theoretically; desire so corroded it was on the verge of no longer existing, so: celebrate: never! The trio was leaving, not another word to say: the good-byes, hasty, all for the best: that’s all, so little. But Renata (boldly) told her future husband: Today I’ll expect you at five in the afternoon, not on the bench but here in the house. Knock on the door, that one there, an index finger indicating which, the clear sign: knock on the door they leave by. And the trio left, trying to find a spring in their steps, but no luck. It’s just that a whole year of emotional propriety, what was already purified to purify it even more, candor and gabbing, Demetrio also understood that the billiards business would shine with success — hopefully! by that date, twelve months later, so much security, and in the meantime it wouldn’t be long for truly domestic love and to sit down confidently in a very randy (and deplorable) way in the living room armchair. Renata had given him instructions: an exciting come-hither, that’s how Demetrio probably embellished the invitation his wife had extended. He would return obediently, perhaps a kiss inside the house, one on the cheek, now, yes, but with no licking. Well, let’s turn to the trajectory where silence won out over mutterings, although Demetrio heard one sentence, very loud and it doesn’t matter who said it: No way! Now you’re trapped. He, trapped? Renata was trapped, just like him: an image of a large jail cell, subject to growth or shrinkage …

Better for us to accompany into eccentric seclusion the big guy, who when observed carefully appeared to be feverish, for at the end of the day he was able to avoid the two-woman-strong dog pack that was surely spewing endless advice. Therefore, when he arrived, violence, door slamming … A room for him alone; yes: his wish, to think to his heart’s content, for a while.

So — trapped?

Let’s not even think about their reaction, and they didn’t dare knock on the door … well, there was all that merry to-do about the wedding …

But — trapped?

Demetrio’s ideas spun in an orbit, recalling all his girlfriends as if he were watching a parade of miniatures; miniature-girls; each one, without exception, he’d done nothing more than kiss on the mouth; charm in sepia tones, perhaps, nothing worth harvesting from the past; lost loves that never involved nudity, and upon uttering that word he remembered Mireya, an unbridled fever of carnal lust; soaring sex, so rarefied, just to imagine it; everything seen through the eye of a heron who could barely shake its wings. The woman who possibly bore his child and was wantonly lost on night x; the same woman who once in a while appeared in his dreams laughing at him, calling him “poor imbecile,” what you missed out on, love like this and like that: sex as well as understanding and infinite tenderness: what more do you want, you jerk. And if Demetrio had allowed himself to be trapped by Mireya? Let’s see — what did being trapped or feeling trapped consist of? The truth is that Mireya went from being a total whore to an awesome saint. Struggling saint. Mothering saint. Sexual saint, embossed upon the always-changing great beyond. Oh, most holy Mireya, gone who-knows-where.