Daniel Sada - Almost Never

Problem: the onerous amount of work … for the two women.

Counting the bills took so long that Demetrio’s thoughts turned to his and that ill-fated Mireya’s son; he imagined him healthy and with a respectable vocabulary by now. Yes, quite the talker. Yes, quite the walker — achoo! Naughty, for sure, but just then Renata exclaimed that it was so much money …

And Demetrio puffed out his chest, feeling quite stuck-up, and said only, “Yes, yes,” then stretched his neck up a bit farther.

Next they moved on to an issue of supreme importance: the date of the wedding. Doña Luisa said, “One moment,” and left then returned in a flash with a calendar in hand: let’s see. Closing the stationery store came up, as a factor in and of itself. So: the best would be to aim for a Saturday in October; naturally! though it could also be November, not December, so …

Speculations were skittish, for all three were tiptoeing around much too much, without any overpowering reason to do so.

In the end: the first Saturday in November. Agreement, obviously symptomatic. The fifth, yes, fifth of … Five was a lucky number. The wedding would be held in the morning. It would be a good idea for Demetrio to arrive a couple of days early, just in case anything unexpected should occur — or not?

The most important issues were apparently resolved. But the mother-in-law didn’t leave — damn it! Clearly that pest would not let her daughter talk to her future keeper: never! For Demetrio had said that he wouldn’t be returning to Sacramento before the wedding. His business there was demanding. The women pressed him for information on that subject, the reason for his diligence, why so busy.

And what Demetrio was inclined to reveal:

“It’s a pool hall. And it’s thriving.”

This slightly squelched the women’s jubilation. Imagine a pool hall as a black stain. A fomenter of daily dalliance. Disappointment, (almost) depravity. There was a partially aggrieved silence, noted by the future husband, and clearly revealed in the resigned droop of their heads: what a pity! However, he offered up one explanation that maybe … The pool hall thing is temporary, afterward I’ll invest in decent businesses. My mother also disapproves, but she understands my strategy. Such a sincere explanation deserved a partial pardon. The women lifted their heads, buoyed by the tiny ray of hope that shined through. To all appearances he’d strayed, though here they espied a timely corrective. Temporary perfidy: right? what was the time frame? Something like six months was a lie that could be believed. Renata believed it, and her mother, well, probably she did too. In fact, one must look at the positive side of pool halls: a business that underpinned what would be solid solvency. And Doña Luisa declared: I hope this pool hall thing is indeed temporary. And he nodded — in response? Let’s watch Demetrio’s hypocritical affirmative: what a notorious movement of his head! Then: upon seeing that the lady was not going to say, “Please, excuse me,” he decided that the moment had come for him to depart, he would return the following day for a visit (okay?). In any case, as he walked out and continued doggedly down the street, the following wove itself into his brain: he would not give up the pool hall because it made him a lot of money; with Renata (requested and granted) by his side, what did he care about his mother-in-law’s recriminations. Or rather: he would be the head honcho once he got married.

Therefore: his idea of starting a cathouse in Parras was as spurious as any fantasy. And what about other depraved enterprises that would make him a pile of money. He wanted to become as corrupt — why not? — as he could. He wanted to join forces as soon as possible with people in politics, so he could steal (in a nice way) with the full weight of the law behind him, and he told himself: Yes, I want to be corrupt, and wealthy, very wealthy later on. I want my relatives to respect me. Suddenly, there appeared in his ambulatory obfuscation Mireya’s son, his son, too, and all grown up. That bastard (fairly muscular) son confronted him. He grabbed the lapels of jacket x to upbraid him for having shirked his responsibility toward him before he was born, and what could Demetrio say, no way could he say that his mother was a whore, it would be too hurtful to state it so straightforwardly. Well, that gloomy idea soon fled his mind, only for the shining word “trapped” to appear, indeed, trapped by the green-eyed witch — beautiful? naturally she was very beautiful, as well as unsoiled, as well she should be. Trapped by decency, forever. And, although he was corrupt (in his own way), he would appear to society as a decent man for having married a decent woman; an ignorant woman, illiterate, quite unfortunate, but with marvelous moral principles — how does that sound? He soon dismissed such ideas, however, as if rejecting them as too fastidious, then felt like a proud king, a king who should now leave Sacramento: by bus, by train, any way he could, because he didn’t want to talk to his aunt Zulema, who without a doubt was going to harass him with a rosary of compromising questions. Toxic woman, already diminished by fate; and that’s when he thought of the pool hall. His business, understood as the vast idea of a truly free genius. Hence corruption came knocking, giving free rein to leisure, and — what should he do? A doubt, the robbery. Bah, no doubts, rather lethargy, a bow to the coming ease. His waxing lucky star, we repeat, kindled his aspirations. Perhaps so.

His son was still making appearances on the velvet ceiling of the train car, a dangling insinuation, graying. We should mention that it was a first-class carriage, and it was nighttime, and they were unreal scenarios, the shadows barely doing the trick. That son went wandering through the corridors when silence held sway, there to see the oversized proof (yes or no, between the brows), and he had no difficulty recognizing what he was seeking. And grabbing the lapels of the large gentleman’s jacket, he said: Just so you know, my mother has suffered a lot because of you. She’s had to go to bed with many men to make ends meet. Poor thing. She, who wanted to love you, but you abandoned her, and you suck . Then the supposed son disappeared, thank God. By the same token it must be said that Demetrio did not sleep well, because the son (almost like flashes of lightning) kept appearing, throwing gobs of spittle then disappearing with a devilish guffaw that continued to reverberate for a long time. Then a daughter made her appearance, the poor girl quite pretty, for who knows if Mireya had a boy or a girl. Anyway, the girl was also grown up and, very even tempered though quite feeble spirited, she sat down next to her father to tell him a few things that might have sounded indignant: Many times I’ve hidden and watched my mother making love with one or another of her clients. Without her noticing, I try to see, to learn. But the truth is I don’t learn much because she copulates very mechanically. She’s never fallen in love with anybody. She never speaks your name and when I see her crying I know it is because God took love away from her. Maybe also because she knows that nobody will ever truly love her. And, after saying that sort of verbose glob, the (grotesque) daughter began to vanish. So Demetrio — did he sleep? how could he get comfortable? He managed: for minute-long lapses. And he arrived in Parras in a daze. It was the afternoon. When the sun’s edges were almost gone. A swath of disturbances. A succession of last straws, all corrosive and infamous. Daughter and son: in relay: harrowing malice, enough to make one stagger. The whole time he wanted to douse the unreal and the ruthless (no to apparitions) (no to parleys), but he couldn’t.