“But instead of the Protestants getting what they hoped for — they’d imagined that the people of Paraíso would be disgusted and abandon their priest and church and go attend the Protestant ceremonies in the dreary shack they called a church, a long shed without a hint of style — but instead of that, the next morning, they got their houses stoned and their warehouses burnt to the ground, and they had to get out of Tabasco fast and for good, for they’d proved they were in league with the Devil, and Paraíso had no more use for them.
“So that’s the story of the Protestants in Paraíso. Those English folk were sure taught a lesson. The people of these parts don’t seem particularly religious, but they do know right from wrong when it comes down to it. Anyway, the English went to Vera Cruz and since what mattered most to them was making money and getting rich the easiest way they could, they were all baptized Catholics in a group ceremony and quit being Protestants to avoid all the problems it caused. And yes, one of their daughters did marry the son of the governor at that time. He’d once been a suitor of my mother. But that story ended right there, because my grandfather, who was a man of real principle, came across him at the Sarlat’s workplace doing something so outrageous to an Indian woman that he went straight to the man’s father, the governor, and laid a charge against him. But to my grandfather’s astonishment, all the governor said was, ‘If the bitches were made for that sort of thing, what’s it got to do with you Ulloa people? I don’t see what you’re so upset about.’ So my grandfather refused to have the man in the house ever again, because he didn’t want to be connected to that vile brood …”
Grandma continued with her story, but by now I was sinking into a profound sleep.
30 The Lizards
She came in without any fuss and, halting on the sidewalk in front of the grocery store, removed the basket from her head and put it on the ground. In a singsong voice she called out, “Get your smo-o-oked sea li-i-izards!” She was a handsome woman with two enormous braids dangling across her naked chest. “Fat, ju-u-uicy sea li-i-izards!” She put lots of vigor into the prolonged syllables, her phrasing falling into the musical cadences typical of the poor people of the coast.
The lizards had their snouts poking out of the basket. Their heads had been fastened to sticks that ran the length of their bodies and beyond the end of their tails and were secured inside the basket. The sticks had been used for turning the lizards during the barbecuing process over smoking embers of green wood.
“I ain’t got no tama-a-ales today. Today I got the fattest, ju-u-uiciest sea lizards you good folks ever seen.” She continued shouting, but her body remained motionless, her huge mouth wide open, and sailing out of it came the musical cries.
Doña Florinda Becerra, the owner of the grocery store, stepped out onto the street, with her old-fashioned weigh scales in her hand, and said, “What’s all this about tamales? This Indian woman’s never sold us tamales.”
The cries continued as if the store owner had not spoken. And as if there had been no Indian woman to speak about, Doña Florinda went back inside her store and perched on her high throne behind the high counter, visible to us all through the high windows of the storefront. But the rest of us stayed there, giving our opinions. Our conclusion was that, as far as we recalled, we’d never seen this woman selling tamales around here, or selling anything for that matter, though it was always possible in the hubbub of a market day she’d escaped our notice. But today was a regular Tuesday, with little of interest going on, so there was nothing to distract us from checking her out from top to toe. On Saturdays we didn’t have time to observe every Indian who came into town to sell something, and it was quite possible we’d overlooked her in the hustle and bustle of the market. But that possibility wouldn’t stand up for long. All we needed to do was ask any of the guys around town who liked to have sex with these Indian women, regardless of their cleanliness or even their willingness, since they were convinced such women had no sense of shame — well, their naked chests proved that point beyond a doubt — and no inclination to decline a bit of sport. This woman selling lizards was of impressive stature, and handsome with it, blessed with a huge pair of firm, round breasts. Her torso was shapely, her stomach flat and firm. No guy could have missed her. And the guys were all there today, eyeing her lasciviously, particularly the elderly owner of the hardware store, Don Epitacio de las Heras, along with the younger guys whom my classmates dreamed of marrying one day, plus a whole bunch of others, all savoring the sight and pondering what trick or bribe, what act of deceit or violence, would get her into bed with them fast. Dr. Andrade was dreaming, no doubt, that she would approach him in search of medical attention, Don Epitacio hoping she’d come into his store for something she needed, and the crowd of boys figuring that they’d wait for her on the outskirts of town, drag her down to the lonely riverbank, and, relying on the strength of their numbers, simply overpower her.
We began to circle around her merchandise. The lizards smelled delicious. They had been smoked with the wood of sweet-smelling fruit trees. They were a very good size and had plenty of flesh on them. They looked fresh and recently barbecued. There was nothing to beat them in terms of size and quality. Kids were sent, one after another, never two together, to ask her the price. She had showered herself in a perfume made from basil and her manner was as cool as her smell. She had priced her lizards exorbitantly high, at ten times the going rate, and nobody went over to her to buy one. But with every minute that passed, her lizards got more and more tempting. “But nobody buys one,” our collective voice seemed to say, “till she brings the price down.” She announced the virtues of her product with a convincing fervor, but her lizards were so appealing to the eyes we needed no convincing. They were covered in tough scales like crocodiles, but their snouts were as slender as coyotes’, suggesting that these marine animals still bore traces of their earlier lives on land, indications that they were midway between water and land animals, no more like fish than they were like snakes or alligators. Our temptation continued mounting with each passing moment. The lizards were getting fleshier, better smoked, fresher even, the more we stared at them. The woman stood there boldly upright, not kneeling down in front of her merchandise, as was the custom.
Meanwhile, the kids, who were out of school for the Christmas holidays, were sent back a second time to ask the price, but the woman didn’t bat an eyelid. She declined to reduce the price by a single penny. Time went by. And more time went by. Still she didn’t stop calling out her wares, standing there aloofly erect. Her lizards still looked delectable, the best we’d ever seen. Finally, when they started to look altogether irresistible, first one housewife, and then another, and then a third darted forward to buy her lizard-on-a-stick, till by the end of the day there wasn’t a decent household in Agustini that didn’t have one or even a pair of them in its kitchen. Though we’d held out for an incredibly long time, by the time the sun went down every housewife in town had finally been seduced by her wares. Only one lizard remained in her basket. Dr. Andrade sent a kid to ask her if she had any aches or pains she needed fixing, because he was available to treat her in his consulting rooms right then and there, letting her know he was an expert in women’s ailments, able to guarantee a woman would never have any children she didn’t want to. Don Epitacio sent his boys to tell her that if she needed to take home a tool or a padlock or a length of chain, he’d give it to her at a special discount. The gang of youths was already planning to use a car belonging to an uncle to ambush her on the highway. Then suddenly she startled us all by producing from somewhere a wide-brimmed hat and putting it on her head. Where it came from, nobody could say, because we’d had more than enough time to observe everything about her. Maybe it was made of jipijapa, a fiber as delicate as silk that allows a garment to be rolled up so tight it can be passed through the center of a wedding ring. She could have had it wrapped around her waist, inside her skirt. Then she let out a long, fierce whistle that echoed around the town, and went down to the side of the river with its rippling waters.