Daniel Sada - Almost Never

She didn’t even offer them something to eat. Didn’t even mention the subject.

Could Demetrio’s bony hands with their flamenco flourishes have soothed her?

No!

His aunt then embarked on a second discursive romp. She began talking about the family tree. Recounting those who had died and those whose whereabouts were unknown.

And bathing? It was getting late. Pressure. A brief lapse getting briefer whereby each minute became a stigma with meaning, not to mention the squeezed seconds: ticking: throbbing, a range of rudeness, more than one raised eyebrow between the guests. And the filth? More, then. And the redolence of the threads of their garments. And what about the wedding? A calamity, the only option was to wash in cold water. Alas, mention has already been made of the unseasonably chilly air. A shivering bath … The last to wash was the agronomist. Anyway, they were late and wouldn’t arrive in time for the service, better, at least. Such a predictable ritual … Let’s go straight away to the party outdoors, the mother, aunt, and son together … He, proudly wearing a fairly wrinkled gray suit, though of high quality … There simply hadn’t been time to press it. We have to take into account the jammed suitcase, packed with such haste in Oaxaca. The same goes for the mother and her pink dress — flamboyant: due to her haste in Parras: let’s proceed, it doesn’t matter anyway; the aunt was another story, with her well-pressed deep blue dress … The bride was a niece in her twenties, her belly six months gone and showing. The party would be held in the playground of the local primary school.

Dust …

As long as there’s dancing …

A dusty orchestra, and dusty beauties.

A crush of crinoline: encountered upon arrival. For Demetrio the sight of such concealing garments was regrettable. Harshly corseted women. Exasperating uniformity. Only the beauties’ waspish waists could be seen. No asses or legs — quite a pity! because, where’s the excitement? Busts, yes: though: no striking cleavage. Faces, yes: and what faces they were! Green eyes aplenty, enormous: most of the women were like cats: though a few dogs with brown eyes; a donkey or two, not even worth mentioning; one or another fox … let’s see … plenty of these in most milieus: and: now, yes: delight for the sake of diversity. So many women for so few men. And they kept arriving: in droves, really! and the men?: here and there. All to the advantage of Demetrio, who was recalling the moment he entered the Presunción brothel, yonder, that is to say, at the other end of the earth: in Oaxaca, oh, all those randy asses, who, compared with these Sacramento dolls, were hardly worth remembering. Moreover, one could conjecture that these beauties — so fair and so varied, glimpsed fleetingly and from afar — held the promise of many a hearty stew, each and every feature, but more of that later, hmm … Now for the most evident, the many eyes, and their honeyed looks above all … Perhaps up close Demetrio would find, if he decided to scrutinize closely, one or another telling detail: this one would make a good chorizo con huevos; that one was the queen of any of hundreds of pork dishes, and so on, but then came one: a goddess emergent, oh, and upon her his eyes settled — oh my! he couldn’t stop staring at her, no, not even when the bride and groom arrived. Distractions? Not for him; for the others, perhaps. Unto himself: She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. He espied the striking green of her eyes from thirty feet away. A vague moan escaped his lips, accompanied by a slight quivering thereof, and the muttering of syllables: and: his aunt and mother caught a glimpse of his hidden indiscretion. They spoke to him.

Some claim that when one person stares at another, the other will finally stare back: thus it came to pass between them; a magnet or — who knows what! (whose plan?) — the green: the setting, and the bodies passing back and forth between them: furtive interruptions, but no real distractions, because of the focus and the commitment between she who had just arrived and Demetrio, wow!: a honing in, to such an extent that her parents, who stood with her, had words for her. Her mother nudged her arm, as did his mother over here. Here, not a word passed, but there, father and mother whispered and wagged index fingers. Now they were both obliged to look elsewhere, although their bond had already postulated a “hence,” referent to when the newlyweds initiated the dancing … Which didn’t take long — thank goodness! anon! along with all the lauding and applause … As a result, it was as if an invisible machine suspended in midair were moving x number of males in pursuit of seated females. In the end there arose a musical dynamic that consisted of holding waists and taking steps. Eighteen couples — giving it their all! The movements were quite corny, waltzing, which would have looked even cornier if viewed from the top of any tree: a changing — and pretentious? — flower, or something of the sort, whatever occurs to you. Couple number nineteen was missing. Let’s watch Demetrio ask the aforementioned woman to dance. The parents looked him up and down, from head to toe. His wrinkled suit at night — consider the advantage of the dim lighting — wouldn’t matter even when they did notice, perhaps later. Anyway. Couple number nineteen’s steps were discreet: he was quite tall (almost six feet) and she rather short (what would you call five foot two?). Be that as it may, they never took their eyes off each other; moreover, and because of their somewhat awkward steps, they were continually bumping into other couples. Sorry here, sorry there, and sorry yonder. Their dancing deteriorated as they sidled over to the edge of the dance floor, which didn’t matter because first and foremost they had to introduce themselves: he took the initiative: his name, where he was from, his profession, his reason for being in Sacramento, and the unrivaled privilege of being face-to-face with a ranchera goddess … No, how could he use such an inaccurate adjective; he must remain cool …

And on they went. They danced four rounds.

Vigilant parents. No problems observed. His enormous bony hands made no mischief.

Before leading her back to her seat, he asked for her address so that he could write to her, from Oaxaca! The answer was a cinch: General Delivery, Sacramento, Coahuila. He carried no pen, so consigned it, effortlessly, to memory. Then came her name: Renata Melgarejo. Difficult. What a hodgepodge of a family name! Her given name: a bit odd, though sonorous. True, Mireya’s was more vivacious, but it was a whore’s name, whereas this one — how could he think of her? Decent: a bit; indecent: no, not that! Re-na-ta as opposed to Mi-re-ya. Purity tending toward impurity … Better not to think such filthy thoughts. Better to think about the sanctity therein, in her sweeter than sweet demeanor and her body, oh, like a wildflower …

“I will write you twice a month. You are enchanting.” He used the familiar “ tú ” form of address.

“We just met and already so familiar?”

“I’m sorry — oh boy! It’s just that I’m from the city … Please, forgive me.”

“When you return, if you return, I’ll allow it.”

A fleeting association: Mireya never made a fuss about that, in fact, she never made any fuss at all.

“Of course I’ll come back. I promise you. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life and, I presume, the kindest. It would be a great honor for me to see you again soon.”

“You have a way with words. I like what you’ve said, and I must confess, I’d like to hear more.”

In the face of such fair rusticity, the agronomist could not possibly use the base language that he used with Mireya, perhaps eventually, but who knows when.