Daniel Sada - Almost Never

“Piedras Negras? What’s that?”

“It’s a gorgeous border city. You’ll soon see.”

Piedras Negras: a phonetic affront worth memorizing. Renata eagerly enunciated the pair of words repeatedly. As it happened, her relatives repeated the name later and imagined the distance between it and Sacramento: hence, an ideal occurrence: Piedras Negras, Piedras Negras, Piedras Negras, like posing a question that conjured up an infinity of answers. This happened in a big way during an episode we won’t even recount, for now let’s focus on something very concrete:

“And those tables arranged in a square bracket?” Demetrio couldn’t refrain from asking when he looked out the window onto the patio.

“That’s where the wedding feast will be.”

“There’ll be a meal?”

“Yes, at two in the afternoon on November fifth, after the Mass.”

“What will we eat?”

“It will be a surprise, but everything will be delicious, I promise you.”

“And the bridesmaids and …?”

“Don’t bother your head about any of it. You did your part by giving me all that money, and now you needn’t worry about a thing. We are taking care of all the details.”

“What time should I arrive at the church on the day itself?”

Let it be known that there was only one semi-impressive church in Sacramento.

“A few minutes before eleven in the morning.”

It could be that this crucial exchange of information was a way to say that Renata and Demetrio shouldn’t see each other again until their wedding day. This is how the big guy interpreted it, hence he anticipated the instructions his beloved was surely about to give him.

“The next time I see you will be in church. Over, forever, is this timid love that doesn’t suit either of us. Good-bye to love on the bench and love in the living room. Good-bye to immaculate bashfulness. We will now live a love with flying colors, with all kinds of kisses and all manner of touch. Soon you will see, my own dear wife!”

Fortuitous good-bye? Imaginative leisure as long as they didn’t see each other. A broad swath of hours like a spring stretched as far as it would go. Only a tight squeeze of the hand and a see-you-later: so: two ideas as one, almost-almost. Then: one more fantasy-filled day. A fluttering array of multicolored lights. Two faces in the clouds getting closer and closer to exchange a long and slippery kiss.

What luck! The wedding day itself dawned rainy — in November? who would believe it, or who thought that if it didn’t rain the marriage would have (no holds barred) a disagreeable destiny. To hell with such superstitions! They always get in the way.

The customers started arriving about one hour before the Mass and stayed to help. Figure about twenty, let’s say, counting by fours: soaking wet. The tears of the tempest looked like mere fluff dusting their clothes, a whitish sheen, accumulated shimmerings of light drops, more noticeable if the shirts and blouses hadn’t been white, lucky devils. Then came the relatives hailing from Nadadores and Lamadrid, and they were many. They filled the entrance hall in a flurried rush, almost a logjam, almost a gray mass — could it be a sheepfold full of forty fellows? If that wasn’t the exact number, we are definitely close, and so the following question becomes apt: would all these penned-in people be eating? If so, there wouldn’t be enough seats, wherein arose a problem, the need for restricting numbers when the time was ripe. Vigilance at the entryway — but how? A red-hot unforeseen … alas … At fifteen minutes to eleven the groom arrived with his mother and his aunt. The three were dressed in black, they looked like mourners, but you should know that the color black also symbolizes good fortune, especially if adorned with a flower, and here we evoke coquetry: he with a carnation on his lapel, and Doña Telma and Doña Zulema each with a yellow rose on her bodice. So, black elegance — unique, solemn, warranted … The real event was the arrival of the bride and the bridesmaids and groomsmen and Renata’s sisters with their husbands: a fragrant front, perfumes that swooned when pooled randomly together; an aggregation of nerves, uneven: rising, but then arrived the parish priest draped in green, with his red sextons, and now finally the wedding march began with no music, nor chorus nor anything at all, one had to imagine the sublime sounds of what could have been uplifting, for bringing the music of wind or strings to a parish church, that would have been really expensive. Demetrio didn’t care a whit if he walked to the altar holding his mother’s arm without even one strum of a guitar; he cared more about grabbing for good the green-eyed gal than about the rise and fall of any harmony whatsoever.

Even so, the march — ascendant, rhythmic, pompous, a bit dramatic or however you wish to interpret it. Let’s consider the altar as the symbol of limpid purity, full of glory — right? or something like it? Let’s imagine, therefore, a tremendous sacred heart, which was opening, in other words, let’s imagine something of the sort, even if it’s not true, ergo: the crystallization of love. Or rather: reaching the bosom of the bosom, but first Renata had to walk holding the arm of one of the groomsmen, a really ugly old guy. She was taking supernervous steps, much more so than Demetrio, who was barely watching where he stepped, instead turning often to look at his mother, whose face was full of hope, more than ever before, her eyebrows pitched as if wanting to form an arrow … What was she thinking about? We can venture to guess a logical longing: her daughters; the ones who lived in the United States; the ones who didn’t come; the ones who had to get to Parras and then travel to Sacramento: a real drag, not for them but for their gringo husbands, but, well, let’s say that for now we must turn our attention to the affected stride of those walking. And finally the bride and groom’s encounter at the most important moment of the prayer; the rest of the parading people found places along the two front benches, each one — such precision! — had their very own prie-dieu, as did the bride and groom.

We’re going to dispense with the various stages of the Mass and the agreeable duties performed by the bridesmaids and groomsmen so we can focus (a bit) on the sermon given by the four-eyed priest, who wished to show off his elucidation of a definitive union’s imponderables in a shrill voice. He mentioned the many children, if possible the founding of a battalion, or if we must point out without naming the fever the four-eyed man was alluding to, then let’s at least clarify the allusion, as follows: each holy lying-together should bring about a treasured issue. Yes, yes, he didn’t say it so crassly, but in a roundabout way, that’s what could be understood … He also spoke about comprehension, the sweet communication between the spouses, that at all times God would be taking notes, in other words — no shouting whatsoever! If you like, pure treacles of tenderness for all eternity. And you can guess the subsequent eulogies: a rosary of good things, apt and honeyed advice, if we can call it that.

When the meaningful Mass was over, the newlyweds were showered with a surfeit of dry rice. In the atrium: dual purity, purity in the sense that not even now wedded did they exchange even the tiniest of kisses, not anywhere. Renata didn’t want to; he did, for he felt happy and spontaneous. However — no! Understood! Understand, once and for all, the absolute freedom of privacy. Far from all the decorum, from the filthy familiar …

Not long now.

The honeymoon.

The escape.