The river had burst its banks. I walked home, dodging its roaring violence. Going past the bakery, somebody tall and paunchy grabbed me by the waist and lifted me off the ground, without giving me a chance to let out even a howl of alarm or scream for help or run for my life.
A fat hand over my mouth stopped me from calling out. I’d no idea what was happening. I recall only the basement of the bakery, a ridiculous tugging, the hands of the man searching through my clothes, my screams once his hands got busy with something other than my mouth, my feet slipping in the wet flour, the crash of his body against me when he fell against a table with the flour on it. And then the secondary school teacher came in and let out a shout when he saw what was going on.
“Cut that out!”
The man let me go.
“Can’t you see she’s just a kid? What’s gotten into you? I know you’ve probably only got flour for brains, but what about your heart? Tell Delmira you’re sorry.”
“I thought it was her mother,” the man answered, stuttering, by now at quite a distance from me.
“Are you blind as well as stupid? And what’s with you other guys?” It was then I saw the rest of the bakers who surrounded us, dressed in white, naked to the waist, their eyes wide, as they stood in the middle of the cloud of light. I also realized that my school blouse was open and I fastened it, pulling down the vest that the man had forced upward. To my dismay I had peed myself with fright and my panties were soaked. “This is outrageous, you guys. Outrageous! Come here, girl.”
He took me by the hand and, without letting it go, accompanied me up the stairs that I had no recollection of coming down. Outside, the town was still suffering the after-effects of the turbulent downpour. People were pouring out bucketfuls of water from their patios and placing sacks of salt at the doors of their houses. They cursed me as I went by, without my realizing that they blamed Grandma for this torrential storm. I felt they were insulting me for what had just happened at the bakery, as if my conduct required their rebukes. My legs were all a-dither and my breathing disjointed. The teacher still hung on to my hand. This friend of the Indians had taken responsibility for me, rescuing me from something terrible, something I could not even imagine. For one moment I felt extreme shame before him. He had seen me with all my clothes disordered, while that disgusting hand was humiliating me with its gropings. Indifferent to my distress, almost carrying me along and not allowing me the breather that my condition might seem to require, he hurried me along like a graceful skein of silk, through the streets of Agustini, straight to the bandstand in the park, where he invited me to have an ice cream. He sat down in front of me to eat his ice. He had ordered me a double lemon.
“If you want to cry,” he said, sitting there, “you can, Delmira. You have my permission. If anybody asks what happened to you, I’ll cover for you. Invent what you like, that you stumbled and fell, that the river nearly carried you away. Anything you like.”
I didn’t speak. The ice cream was working wonders, as was the attentive glance of the teacher. Ice cream and attention were putting me back together. Of the innumerable ice creams I had gobbled down in the course of my life, none had had this effect. And never before had I seen a look like that of the teacher, so warm, so trustworthy that it inspired in me a peaceful confidence.
“Don’t speak if you don’t want. But if you feel like it, bawl your head off.”
“I’ve nothing to cry about,” I said in a self-collected tone.
“Wow, what are you made of, kid? Don’t you feel anything?”
“Of course I feel things. But I’m not stupid. I stop feeling them, if they feel nasty. Anyway, I like to be tough. Only tough girls like me can outlast bony women.”
The teacher laughed. “You’ve got flour on your back. Let me dust it off.”
“I’ve also got dripping-wet socks,” I thought and after a second added out loud, “I’d better go home and change, but …”
“You want to go?”
I shook my head. He got up and with a few gentle pats knocked the flour out of my hair and my clothing. He looked down at my feet.
“Your socks will soon dry out. I know, we’ll get another ice cream, we’ll sit on a bench in the park, you can take off your shoes and socks, and you can tell me the story of your life. How about it?”
He didn’t wait for my reply. He ordered two more ices, paid for them, and made me a sign to follow him. We sat under a solid shelter and looked at the church.
“So?”
“So what?”
“You’re just finishing your primary education. What plans do you have now?”
“My grandmother wants to send me to Puebla to learn things she could have taught me here herself. It makes me want to puke, just to think about taking classes in cooking and embroidery and knitting. What’s the point?”
“You have friends at school?”
“You’ve got to be kidding! The girls in my class have their heads full of sawdust. There’s not one of them even remotely like a human being, not a single one. Can you believe it? All they talk about is getting married, about boyfriends, what their house is going to be like, how many kids they’re going to have, if they want their first kid to be a boy or a girl, where they’re going to go for their honeymoon.”
“Why don’t you come to the secondary school with me? Do you like math?”
“I can do math faster than the nuns can.”
“Well, that’s not saying a lot. Do you like to read?”
“It’s what I like best. I read while the nuns are making a mess of explaining how to do sums.”
“What books do you read?”
“Those in the study at home. My uncle Gustavo’s old books. The Treasure of Youth. The Adventures of William. The Three Musketeers. Rocambole and Jules Verne. Les Miserables …”
“Which do you prefer, Around the World in Eighty Days or Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde?”
“Doctor Jekyll.”
“Sherlock Holmes or Robin Hood?”
“I’m not sure. Robin Hood, I guess.”
“Anybody else in your class like to read?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“You’re going to come to the secondary school and study with me.”
“You’ve got to be crazy. My grandmother wouldn’t dream of allowing it.”
“Father Lima owes me a few favors. He’ll make sure you come to my school. Your grandmother isn’t going to say no to him. And not to Gustavo either, because he’s sure to approve. Afterward you can go study for your university entrance in the city. Then you’ll go to the university, finish your degree there, and you’ll be ready to take on the world. How does that sound?”
“I don’t know … well, yes … I like it a lot.”
The sound of his voice pleased me better and better. I liked him more each moment that passed. He was a seductive fellow, ugly and skinny but with a definite appeal, a snake charmer, a pied piper. He was much wittier than China Jack and far more intelligent.
“I’ve a dream that my uncle Gustavo would take me away with him to the city as soon as I finish my primary schooling, and I’d get my high school education there …”