Carlos Fuentes - Happy Families

“That’s exactly why.” Félix smiled with something like a distant star in his eyes. “I like to attempt what’s most difficult.”

“Oh my,” Mayalde said in a quiet voice as she touched Félix’s hand. “It must come from God.”

She had a desire, too, just like Father Benito.

“Why ‘oh my’?” Félix smiled. “What comes from God?”

“Bad thoughts.” Mayalde looked up.

When Father Benito went down to the village to give extreme unction to the baker, Mayalde had already given her virtue to Félix. The baker took a long time to die, and the young couple could love at their leisure, hidden behind the altar of the Peacemaker. The ecclesiastical vestments served as a soft bed, and the persistent odor of incense excited them both — him because it was exotic, her because it was customary, both because it was sacrilegious.

“Don’t you feel very secluded here?”

“What do you mean? Why?”

“This is like the roof of the world.”

“You managed to get up here, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. There’s another world away from here.”

“What’s there?”

“The ocean, for example. Haven’t you ever been to the ocean?”

She shook her head.

“Do you know what color the ocean is? I’d like to take you away with me.”

“The priest says water doesn’t have a color.”

“He doesn’t know anything. Or he’s deceiving you. The ocean is blue. Do you know why?”

She shook her head again.

“Because it reflects the sky.”

“You have a pretty way of talking. I don’t know if it’s true. I’ve never seen the ocean.”

He kissed Mayalde, holding her head with both hands. Then she said:

“Once I wanted to get away from life. Then you came.”

2. The one who arrived at nightfall was Father Benito Mazón. He struggled up the hill, panting in the rain, his wolf’s eyes more uneasy than ever. He had delayed his return. He wanted to give every opportunity to the young couple. He had endured the tolerance one offered him by giving back his own intolerance. He returned armed with an indifference that had fallen into the trap of his crude bitterness. The parishioners require a sacrament; they find it repugnant that he is the one who gives it to them, and he knows they have no choice.

He returned late because in the village he had spoken amiably with the civil and military authorities. One was amazed at so much courtesy in someone as dry and arrogant as Father Mazón.

Father Mazón, walking back, looks again at the desolation of the ash-colored volcano, compares it again to being abandoned by God, and would like to see things clearly, not with these clouded eyes. .

The man of God arrived and took off his straw hat, revealing towcolored hair. Water ran down his cloak of corn leaves.

He looked coldly but without suspicion at the couple. “How’s that leg doing?”

“Better, Father.”

“When are you leaving us?”

“Whenever you say. I won’t stay a minute longer than you want. I’m grateful for your hospitality.”

“Ah, but first you put it to the test.”

Félix couldn’t avoid a smile. “Your hospitality exceeds my expectations.”

The priest let the water run down his cloak and said to Mayalde without looking at her: “What are you waiting for?”

She came to remove his improvised raincoat.

“She’s an obedient girl,” the priest said severely.

She didn’t say anything.

“Go on, prepare supper.”

They ate without speaking, and when the table was cleared, Father Benito Mazón asked Félix Camberos if he was a student or a mountaineer.

“Well,” Félix said with a laugh, “a person can be both things.”

But the priest insisted: “A student?”

“Not a very good one.” Félix modulated his smile.

“Everyone chooses their life. Look at Mayalde. She’s mad to become a nun. I assure you it’s true, by the nails of Christ.”

This caused great hilarity in the priest, indifference in the young man, and stupefaction in the girl.

“Father, don’t say falsehoods. It’s a sin.”

“Ah,” Mazón said in surprise. “Are you rebelling, little girl? Don’t you want to go to a convent to get away from me?”

She didn’t say anything, but Father Mazón was already on the track that one knows.

“Well, I swear to you, your rebellion won’t last very long. And do you know why? Because you’re submissive. Submissive in your soul. Submissive to men. Because submission is stronger in you than rebellion.”

Felix intervened. “But affection is stronger than submission or rebellion, don’t you agree?”

“Of course, young man. Here you can prove it. In this house there is only love. .” The priest paused and toyed with the blue and white Talavera cup he always had with him, supposedly to keep from forgetting his humble origins, before he raised his wolfish eyes. “Haven’t you proved that yet, boy?”

“I think I have.” Félix decided on irony to counteract the priest’s snares.

“Wasn’t it enough for you?”

“Affection is a good thing,” said Félix. “But you need knowledge, too.”

The priest smiled sourly. “You’re a student, aren’t you?”

“A student and a mountaineer, as I told you.”

“Do you think you know a great deal?”

“I try to learn. I know that I know very little.”

“I know God.”

Abruptly, the priest rose to his feet. “I am on intimate terms with God.”

“And what does God tell you, Father?” Félix continued in an agreeable tone.

“That the devil comes into houses by the back door.”

“You invited me in through the front door,” Félix responded with exacting harshness.

“Because I did not know you were going to steal the host from my temple.”

“Father.” Félix also stood, though he had no answer that wasn’t a lie. “You have to control yourself if you want to be respected.”

“I don’t control myself or respect myself—”

“Father.” Mayalde approached him. “It’s time you went to bed. You’re tired.”

“You put me to bed, girl. Undress me and sing me to sleep. Prove that you love me.”

He said it as if he wanted to transform his wolf’s eyes into the eyes of a lamb. Félix circled the dining room chair as if that piece of furniture gave him balance or checked, like a barrier, his desire to break the chair over the priest’s head.

“Father, restrain yourself, please.”

“Restrain myself?” Father Mazón replied with a nasal growl. “Up here? In this wilderness? Here where nothing grows? You come here to ask me to restrain myself? Has anyone shown restraint with me? Do you understand me? What do you think the knowledge is that you’re so proud of, student?”

“It’s what you people have denied all your life,” exclaimed Félix.

“I’m going to explain to you the only thing worth knowing,” the priest replied, letting his arms drop. “I come from a family in which each member hurt the others in one way or another. Then, repentant, each one hurt himself.” He looked at the student with savage intensity. “Each one constructed his own prison. Each one, my father, my mother, especially my sisters, we beat ourselves in our bedrooms until we bled. Then, together again, we sang praises to Mary, the only woman conceived without sin. Do you hear me, Señor Don University Wise Man? I’m talking to you about a mystery. I’m talking to you about faith. I’m telling you that faith is true even if it’s absurd.”

The priest held his own head as if to stabilize a body that had a tendency to race away. “The Virgin Mary, the only sweet, protective, and pure woman in the corrupt harem of Mother Eve. The only one!”