Carlos Fuentes - Happy Families

You didn’t say anything to him?

Yes. I said, “I’ll never leave you.”

Why, Cordelia? Please tell me why you’re going back to him. You’re under no obligation. Do you want to be punished for the mere fact of having loved me?

No, Leo. It’s that only his eyes remember how I was when I was young. He tells me that. “You stay with me because nobody but me remembers your youthful beauty. Only I have your young eyes in my old ones.”

SHE TOOK OFF HER YELLOW DRESS. She didn’t hear the barking of the yellow dog in the courtyard. She allowed him to caress her loose yellow hair for a long time. She planned never to come back.

Father Silvestre Sánchez cries out in vain, the mass of young people shouts weeps advances like a Roman legion in togas in sandals boots and totally Palacio miniskirts with the name and likeness of the fallen idol Daddy Juan printed on their backs singing and shouting the words to his songs

think twice before you go

when the lights go out

pretty girls don’t cry

it’s too late

I told you so

while Father Silvestre attempts in vain to counter the cacophony with the ancient music of the requiem

quiet children behave this is a religious service

dona eis domine

requiem aeternam

lux perpetua

now Daddy Juan’s coffin is in the open grave let me bless it before the gravediggers cover it in earth and then seal it carefully and the world is left in peace because you youngsters don’t want your idol to be eaten by dogs or worms, isn’t that right?

locked up in makesicko seedy

drowning in the shit of the cow the muck

fuckin with the nuts the gland

dancing to the mock the zooma

you’re divine Daddy Juan you carry God on your back Idol, even though you are God

anathema let it be anathema

Ana the ma-le tit be Ana

Ana Ledibee

if you love Daddy Juan so much respect the ceremony girls respect the remains and the girls advance uncontrollably in an avalanche crying shouting Daddy Juan don’t leave Daddy Juan let me toss you my panties, take my bra, here’s my Tampax, sainted god, sweet little daddy,

only Juan said Jesús is God

before Mateo or Lucas or Marco found the courage

Daddy Juan is God

Daddy Juan is like the sun three things in one thing light heat and star

Ana Theme

Daddy Juan came like a ray of light into our lives

Christ Jesus is effluence protection and erection

Daddy Juan was created established and projected

God is the word

The word is Daddy Juan

God is the shepherd the door the truth the resurrection

Daddy Juan guide us open us tell us resuscitate

the mob at the grave passes beers from hand to hand to mitigate grief and augment goodbye singing the songs of Daddy Juan and pushing Father Silvestre let me officiate in the name of God quiet crow here there’s no other God but Daddy Juan

here is Mexico Makesicko City here where they burned the feet of Cow the Muck where they stoned Mock the Zooma to death here the city was founded on water and rock and thorn and dust storms with glands and woven baskets the city of rock and roll perpetually at twelve on the Richter scale

here there’s no other savior father but our sweet Daddy Juan surrounded by loose earth and irate dust and mute cypresses and leaden sun daddy-oh daddy-oh

until they push Father Silvestre into the open grave of Daddy Juan and the mob of fifteen-year-olds in miniskirts screaming and singing at the grave grabs the shovels away from the gravediggers and begins to shovel dirt into the pit onto the body of Father Silvestre mute now though openmouthed lying faceup on the cedar coffin with a silver guitar instead of a crucifix

it serves you right to suffer the priest murmurs under shovelfuls of earth, you sought out suffering my lord Jesus Christ, our lord Daddy Juan

when the lights go out they turn out the lights

I’m ready sings Muddy Waters in honor of Daddy John and Father Silvestre murmurs in response

it’s too late stray cats we’re underneath it all ghosts appear in the grave of the mob everything in a box, trapped in the case

I won’t stand in your way make way for death Daddy Juan stray cats tollin bells for whom the bells toll for whom the belles toil for whom the balls roll for whom the blues roll and rock baby in a deep grave death is grave from womb to tomb from the cradle to the grave the cradle will rock and roll

when the lights go out Daddy Juan it serves you right to suffer

amen Father Silvestre pulvis eris et in pulvis reverteris

José Nicasio: Who was my daughter? I don’t know where to begin. We all descend from someone else. We all come from somewhere else. Even the Indians aren’t from here. Not even the Indians. They came from Asia millions of years ago. Nobody was here. That’s why it’s so wonderful to sit and watch nightfall from the steps of the ruins of Monte Albán. To tell yourself the mountains were always there, welcoming the sun every twilight as it lies down behind them, sending out the light of a pardonable rest. It shone on us all day. Now it disappears. Not behind but inside the mountains. The sun makes its bed in those hills. It lays down a pallet that we call “twilight.” Capricious sunset. It changes colors every nightfall. It’s intense red one time, misty blue the next, orange one afternoon, gray and old later. And this has been happening, José Nicasio, since before human beings appeared. Nature was without any need to be seen. It saw itself, in any case, and celebrated in solitude. The mountains of the Sierra Madre had no name then. Today do they know they are seen? Do they know that a man and a woman sat down one afternoon six months ago to watch the spectacle of nightfall in Monte Albán? How could I not understand, José Nicasio, that a young man and woman, two human beings, would remain there, insensible to schedules, enraptured by the spectacle. The mountains in silhouette. The sun fading. The valley already submerged in darkness. And the high vantage point of the ruins, the steps of the pyramid. How could I not understand. Two young people, a man and a woman, forget about schedules. They ignore the distant routine voices of the guards. It’s time to close up. It’s time to leave. The ruins will be closed off. . Do the kingdoms of the past close, José Nicasio? The eternal monuments of a race, do they have schedules? The builders of the pyramids, were their comings and goings checked? Look, José Nicasio, look how I’m trying to understand. I’m trying to know. I think I know that the old gods are the guardians of their temples. The gods don’t charge an entrance fee to their sacred places. Why would my daughter and you pay attention to the guard’s whistle, it’s time to go, the Monte Albán site is closing, it’s time to go back to the city of Oaxaca, to civilization, to the roof and the bed and the struggle and the shower that waits for us. Leave the site to the gods. At least at night the temple will belong only to them, not to the intruders, José Nicasio and Alessandra. Tell me, why were you there?

Señora Vanina: Thank you for your letter. I certainly didn’t expect so nice a gesture. Really so generous, Señora. In my solitude I don’t expect anyone to communicate with me. Approach me. Visit me. Imagine what it meant for me to receive your very kind letter. Thank you for giving me this opportunity to explain myself. I swear to you there was no need. What is, is. What was, is over now. Have you noticed how we Mexicans use that famous NOW? NOW it was all right. NOW it was time. NOW I grew tired of waiting. NOW I’ll leave here. NOW he died. Only that afternoon I told myself: NOW I’ve come back. NOW I can return to this place with different eyes after so long an absence. Return as if another man had gone to the place I went to, the land where I was born. Señora, how could I not be moved, agitated, Señora. .? When I was a boy in the village, I didn’t even know there was such a place. In the village, we spent our lives growing what we sold on market days in Tlacolula. Have you ever been there? We all worked very hard so nothing would be missing on Sundays and Thursdays, the market days. If you stop by there, you’ll see that nothing is missing. Cilantro, espazote leaf, tomatoes, sesame seeds, cheese, tree chilis, anchos, chipotles, guajillos, parsley and plantains, sapodilla fruit, melons, turkeys, even the famous edible grasshoppers of our country, everything the Lord Our God has given to Oaxaca so that we can gather the blessed fruits and take them to sell twice a week.