Carlos Fuentes - The Years With Laura Diaz

The presence of the young lovers in her house was enough to gladden Laura Díaz’s heart, and she opened her arms to the couple — they had a right to happiness now and not after twenty years of violence and unhappiness, as had been the case with Laura and Jorge, or with Basilio Baltazar and Pilar Méndez (now reunited as Jorge and Laura could never have dreamed of being, since destiny can’t succeed twice in turning a tragedy into a happy ending).

The third Santiago and Lourdes for all these reasons had all the rights in the world, in the eyes of Laura Díaz. The boy, whom she’d never met before, given Danton’s stubborn rancor and his wife’s arrogance, now told her about himself, told her he knew and admired her, because, he said, he was going into his first year of law school and didn’t have the artistic talent of either his grandmother or his uncle Santiago, who’d died so young …

“That painting of the couple looking at each other, is it his?”

“Yes.”

“What a great talent, Grandmother.”

“Yes.”

He didn’t sing his own virtues, but Lourdes told Laura one night while she was preparing dinner — saffron rice and drumsticks — Santiago is a tough guy, a real man, considering how young he is, Doña Laura, nothing fazes him … at one point I thought I’d just be a burden to him, given his career, and especially given his relations with his parents, but you should have seen, Doña Laura, how firmly Santiago faced up to them and made me feel that he needed me, that instead of a burden I was someone he could lean on, that he respected me.

They’d met at the school dances Santiago liked more than the parties organized by his parents and his parents’ friends, where everything was about exclusivity and only children of “well-known families” were invited. But at the school dances, social barriers fell and buddies studying the same subjects could meet regardless of their wealth or their family connections. Along with the boys came girlfriends, sisters, and the odd maiden aunt — the tradition of “chaperons” wouldn’t die …

Danton approved of those gatherings. Lasting friendships were made in school, and even though your mother’d prefer that you went to parties only with people of our class, if you notice, son, the people who govern us never come from the upper classes, they develop at the bottom or in the middle class, and it’s important for you to know them when you can help them, because one day, I assure you, they’ll help you. In Danton’s eyes, poor friends could be a good investment.

“Mexico is a country open to talent, Santiago. Don’t forget that.”

In his first year at law school, Santiago met Lourdes. She was in nursing school and came from Puerto Escondido, a beach town on the Oaxaca coast where her parents had a modest hotel with the best temazcal in the region, she said.

“What’s that?”

“A steam bath with fragrant herbs that cleanses you of all toxins.”

“I think that’s just what I need. When are you going to invite me?”

“Whenever you like.”

“Sounds good.”

Together they went to Puerto Escondido and they fell in love there, facing the Pacific, which meets the steep bluffs along a treacherously sandy, sweet beach, but in fact it’s an abyss where anyone can quickly lose his footing, with no support to withstand the swift currents, which caught Santiago and dragged him, more in anguish than in danger, until Lourdes dove into the water, hooked an arm around the boy’s neck, swam with her free arm, helping him to get to shore, and there, exhausted but excited, they exchanged their first kiss.

“You tell me that with your voice trembling,” said Laura.

“It’s that I’m afraid, Doña Laura.”

“Forget the don a. You make me older than I am.”

“Okay, Laura. ”

“Afraid of what?”

“Santiago’s papa is a very hard man, Laura, he won’t put up with anything he himself hasn’t ordered, he becomes like a panther, and it’s something terrifying.”

“He’s not as fierce as you think, that little cat. He roars and scares you until you roar back and put him in his place.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I do, my dear. I do. Don’t you worry.”

The creep actually went down to Puerto Escondido, Grandmother, usually he sends one of his thugs to scare people, but this time he went himself in his private plane to see Lourdes’ family and tell them not to get any big ideas, this thing with his son was nothing but a rebellious, spoiled brat’s adventure, he asked them to explain that to their daughter, that Santiago shouldn’t fool her, she should be careful, he might make her pregnant and then walk out on her, but pregnant or not he was going to walk out on her.

“Your son has never said anything like that to us,” said Lourdes’ father.

“Well, I’m saying it, and I’m the one who gives the orders.”

“I would like to hear it from your son.”

“He can’t speak for himself. He’s just a confused kid.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t be stubborn, Mr. Alfaro. Don’t be stubborn. I’m not playing around. How much do you want?”

Face to face with Santiago, Danton did not treat him as a “confused kid.” He simply presented “reality” to him. He was an only child since unfortunately his mother couldn’t have a second child, which would have killed her, Santiago was her dream, her cherished filial love, but he, Danton, as a father, had to be more severe and objective, couldn’t afford the luxury of sentimentality.

“You’re going to inherit my fortune. It’s wonderful you’re studying law, though I’d suggest some postgraduate work in economics and business administration in the United States. It’s only natural that a father would like to have his son carry on in his place, and I’m sure you won’t fail me. Neither me nor your mother, who adores you.”

She was a woman whose beauty had evaporated—“like the dew,” she herself was in the habit of saying. Magdalena Ayub de López-Díaz, until the high noon of her life, kept the attractions that so seduced Danton during those Sundays at the Jockey Club: her obvious defects — unbroken eyebrows, prominent nose, square jaw — in counterpoint to her Arab princess eyes, dreamy, velvety, with their olive eloquence under their glossy lids, provocative, like a hidden sex. By contrast, most of the marriageable young ladies of that period, pretty but all too “decent,” left the nuns’ school as if someone had stamped a nihil obstat on a secret part of their body and elevated it to the public category of “face.” A knee, an elbow, or an ankle could serve as models for the sweet, acceptable, insipid faces of the Sacred Heart schoolgirls whom their beaux called “chicks” (a corruption of “chic”). Their features, joked the young Danton, were useful but faded.

Magdalena Ayub—“my dream,” Danton called her when he courted her — was different. She was, besides, the mother of the third Santiago, whose birth instantly erased forever the remains of the youthful charms of Don Danton’s lady wife. She was weighed down by the sentence of the doctors: one more child would kill you, ma’am. She kept her unbroken eyebrows and her hips widened.

Santiago grew up with that stigma: I almost killed my mother when I was born, and I have destroyed any chance of life for possible sisters or brothers. But Danton turned guilt into obligation. Santiago, being an only child, having almost torn away his mother’s life to have his own, now had to do the right thing. Danton asked nothing special from his son: he had to study, graduate, marry a girl of his own class, add to the family fortune, ensure the survival of the species.