Carlos Fuentes - Happy Families

Next time order cognac.

That night I reproached Cristóbal for his infidelity. He laughed at me. My conclusions were false, he said. Priscila was the wife of our friend José Miguel Barradas. She simply came over to give him a message from José Miguel. And why didn’t the vulgar cow come back to say goodbye to me? Cristóbal laughed, as usual. To provoke you, he said, to make you jealous. Yes, I said, you have to have friends who are very married who don’t want to trade their husband for yours. This amused Cristóbal very much. He made passionate love to me again, and again he disarmed me.

And your friend Priscila? Surely you saw each other again.

She’s a fat, cynical pig. When I mentioned it to her at a cocktail party, she said, “I think being the only woman who can love your husband is a supreme act of egotism.”

What did you say?

One husband’s as good as another, as far as you’re concerned. Be happy with what you already have, fatso.

And then?

We pulled each other’s hair. It happens in the best circles.

And Cristóbal?

I’m telling you, he made passionate love to me and disarmed me. I’m a poor dumb cow.

As the song says, the one you like so much, “Let’s fall in love, why shouldn’t we fall in love?”

It was at first sight, Leo. Do you have to wait for second sight to take the first step?

“Let our hearts discover—”

Little by little. Condemned to discover the truth a little at a time. What we should have known from the beginning, before we set sail. At least find out if there are lifeboats. Is love fated to be the Titanic of one’s life?

Did you see the movie? The only surprise is that the ship sinks. I mean, if you had known then what you know now, would you have given up on love?

Forget it. Okay, novelty is not only exciting, it also blinds. Hah, as if I didn’t know, a publicity executive.

“We were not made for each other.” A variation on the lyric. Cristóbal was exceptional. He’s become familiar.

I tell you, his successes bore me. I’d like to see what face he’ll put on if he fails. Of course, he’ll never admit defeat. Other people fail. He never does. Oh well. I observe him and tell myself I prefer doing something and making a mistake than not doing anything and having passive successes, like an oyster on the ocean floor until it’s pulled up for someone to eat. Perhaps this is what happened to him, and naturally, he would never admit it. He counted on me, on my complicity or passivity or erotic need, who knows. The fact is he acts, knowing he can count on me. Imagine the shame of it. He talks and lets me know I’m the force that sustains him.

Mother Earth, let’s say.

A damn domestic Coatlicué, the mama goddess with her skirt of snakes waiting for the macho Mexican adventurer. Bah, this whole game of statues wears me out, Leo, we’re always turning into stone idols, household idols, with no adventure, no illusion, not even danger, not even. . I don’t know. I feel imprisoned by the mistaken loyalty of continuing a failed relationship. I’m bored with this.

No, Lavinia. Please go on. Just think that with any man, love is like inspiration. Nothing but hard work.

You talk the way they do in one of your soap operas.

That’s what I live on, Lavinia.

And the inheritance from your aunt Lucila Casares.

That’s true. My aunt in heaven peeks out to watch me enjoy myself.

What was the lady like, your aunt Lucila?

Watch my soap The Sweethearts. She’s the protagonist.

That vulgar old woman sighing for her adolescent loves?

The same. All I did was transcribe what she said in her diary.

And the little boyfriend from Acapulco, who was he?

I don’t know. She calls him Manuel, that’s all.

A reject. A guy without will.

Do you even watch my soaps?

I don’t. My maids tell me about them. This Manolo is vulgar, he’s cursi.

Well, our Spanish word cursi comes from “courtesy” and from “curtsy.” Being well bred.

Then I prefer being a savage, Leo.

Just go outside. But never forget that love is hard work.

With any man?

Yes. With him. With Cristóbal.

Or with you?

With me, too.

Even though the days go by, one after the other, always the same, an endless procession until one day your life is only a little sand at the bottom of a bottle tossed into the sea?

Yes.

Isn’t there anything to do?

Yes. Change the game all the time. It’s the only way to hold on to a man.

Is that why I have you?

Yes. Do the same with Cristóbal. Constantly change the game. You’ve let yourself fall into the very routine you reproach him for. You’re too faithful, too passive, pining for the first moment of love. You have to realize it won’t come back. Invent some new first moments.

Ah, are you saying that for yourself?

You have me forever. With me, you don’t need any tricks of love or fate. You’ll never be able to leave me.

Are you, beside everything else, my best friend?

I think so, Lavinia. As long as you remember this: There’s nothing more seductive than a friend. You know all his secrets, what he likes, what he dislikes. That’s why you shouldn’t tell your friends everything.

What does friendship have to do with happiness? In any case, what does love have to do with happiness?

Don’t look for a definitive answer to anything. Don’t keep asking yourself where we’re going. Let yourself go, Lavinia. We’ve spent five years loving each other.

It never should have happened.

Our love?

Never.

Your marriage?

Yes. It was inevitable.

Believe that, Lavinia. Continue with Cristóbal. I swear that our being the lovers we are depends on it. Be faithful to your husband.

Faithful?

In the deepest sense. Continue with him faithfully so you and I can always love each other in secret, with the excitement of the first hour.

Poor Cristóbal. . I don’t know. I don’t know if. .

Don’t finish the sentence, Lavinia. You and I don’t need to finish sentences.

It was a mistake for us to meet.

Suspension points. .

Forget it. .

The girl went to the cemetery with the pistol that belonged to her papa who

abused her the pistol was blacker and harder than her father’s cock

I hope he understood that after the

girl put a bullet through her head and then

(just like in the movies)

stood up revived

(just like daffy duck road runner the crazy bird and tom the cat who falls from a skyscraper smashes into a mountain is folded into an accordion is flattened into a tortilla is shit on and always revives resumes his usual form pursues pursues pursues the mouse jerry)

just like in the movies

to tell him what’s up you old prick you thought I wasn’t capable of

killing myself killing myself

look at me dead and learn your lesson daddy and don’t punish your

little girl because she broke the vase and hung from the towel rack

and don’t fight anymore papa and mama because then papa comes in

with smoke coming from his nostrils and drool from his mouth to take his revenge

on me for his argument with mama

don’t fight anymore because I swear I’ll throw myself off the roof

don’t make me desperate anymore daddymommy do you think I’m made of wood?

I touch my skin I pinch myself I feel don’t you know that I feel?

there are four hundred of us kids who kill ourselves every year in the Rep Mex