“Wake up, woman! I want to turn this thing around.”
“Ahh … At this hour? … Ugh! Why don’t you tell me about it tomorrow?”
“It’s urgent, you have to hear me out!”
The other half, the good one, shifted sleepily in bed, pulled up the blanket, then said:
“Tomorrow is Monday … Mmm … We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“I’d rather talk now than work tomorrow.”
“Oh! … I was having such a lovely dream … Don’t ruin it for me … Mmm … bye-bye!”
There was nothing for the wide-awake one to do but go and switch on the bedroom light, but she didn’t stop there, she poked her twin in the ribs, though playfully, until Gloria finally rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed.
“Let’s celebrate!”
“Celebrate what?”
“Do you remember that a long time ago we agreed that what was yours was mine and vice versa, that our sameness must be safeguarded?”
“Yes … How could I forget what keeps us together?”
“Oh, please, don’t you see, I regret trying to break our bond.”
Gloria stood up without saying a word, then walked to the bathroom to wash her face and quickly comb her hair. She returned, still half asleep, mumbling under her breath, she also adept at non sequiturs.
“It’s past one, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, I have no interest in looking at a watch.”
“Aren’t you cold?”
“No, and I don’t plan to be … But tell me: what’s wrong with you?”
“How can you ask? You forced me to wake up.”
“Forgive me, my darling sister! But … the wedding …”
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“What I’m going to say is that there isn’t going to be any wedding …”
“What?”
And with this “what?” she upended the foolish promise of a rosy future that only ever belonged to the realm of the imagination, to the many-flavored kisses that sublimate in order to distort, and to those soft beginnings that gradually harden. Because in the long run, love would cease to be what dreams dictate and turn instead into insipid bread, intrepid monotony, and in the end and forevermore: subjugated love.
The natural ease of recent days would anyway peter out all on its own, because the effusive man, once satisfied and settled down, would set aside the maelstrom of affection to make room for more pressing concerns of money and work, of hardships and obligations, such as: the goats hanging from the roof grating, and the pigs, too: the stakebed truck, the huge restaurant, and then love would become inferred. In fact, and here’s the worst part: it would no longer be possible to sew: to consider it a business: good heavens, no! because it would be unbecoming for the so-called better halves to compete with each other.
Love with a man of his ilk would at first be cheerfully single-minded and at last, the same old servitude …
No!
An about-face!
While her twin was explaining: Gloria shuddered, but not from emotion: from disbelief; she had already been planning in her now grubby mind an ironic outcome, a tremendous hoax: engulfing and refined, but she waited till the other had used up all her reserves and been rendered too weak to make a single insipid remark about salvaging their broken harmony: that ancient unity — and what a unity it was — tainted by the Devil.
Constitución, weary of disclosing her motives, was trying to be very prudent when she said:
“I hope you agree that we should go on living as we did before …”
Gloria broke out laughing and said sarcastically:
“No way, not that!”
“What? … You don’t …? Why not?”
“Of course I do, woman! but let it be said that with ranchers we never shall wed.”
“Never? … Well, I suppose you’re right.”
“Only with Prince Charmings.”
“Where do they come from? Where are they?”
“Seems they do exist … No, they couldn’t.”
Magnificent and similar roars of laughter erupted under the electric light — in the small hours of the morning — which they both decided to switch off so they could light candles: the usual toast?
Of course! To a sensible solution! To pure — and miraculous — joy!
Instant recovery by cleansing with alcohol the toxic sludge they’d been carrying around inside their souls. They looked eagerly for the Club 45, but, bad luck, there wasn’t a single drop left, they’d polished it off the last time, when they’d brutishly agreed to share the rancher: that delirious drunken bout with bloodshot oculi; and at that time of night, no way, they’d never find even grain alcohol; but, wait, they had bottles of perfume in the bathroom: dense effluvia and aromatic substances made of crushed flowers and eucalyptus bark, yes, that’s it, why not!? all they had to do was dilute it a little, and they’d get tipsy just imagining what was in store for them, though:
“No, it’ll be bad for us. Our happiness doesn’t have to come so cheap.”
“That’s fine, I’m okay with just putting on some music and dancing.”
So it was — pipe dreams, half-closed eyes to match the flame-lit ambience, like two mischievous girls, they took out every candle they could find, and—cumbia music: weaving and heaving: one record after another — both of them, winged, trying new steps, which didn’t work so well because the rhythm was different, until they collapsed at dawn, and lying there on the floor they planned next Sunday’s final episode. In essence, it consisted of telling the doomed man the truth, and when the supposed fiancée remembered how he was dressed when he asked for her hand: she burst out laughing and prodded the other to do likewise. The truth, above all, in a single stroke — that they were two rather than one — but with a particular twist … It didn’t take them long to figure out how, and once they had, they fell asleep where they lay … As we shall soon see, they didn’t need to make plans, because …
/
The bus arrived in Ocampo at a quarter to three in the afternoon: a little earlier than usuaclass="underline" on Sundays, it normally arrives at three on the dot. The beau was riding up front: perfumed to a noxious extent and decked out in green, with his hair parted down the middle, to perfection: in his own way, he called attention to himself. He descended like a king, flowers in his left hand and a gift decorated with a curlicue bow with spikes in his right. He looked from side to side with his bullish eyes as if to say to anyone who dared deride him: “I bet you wish you were me.” Today, his ambition: to walk through those dusty streets as if treading on clouds, and yes: he briefly gave that impression, even if despite himself: he couldn’t hide his cowboy stride no matter how he spiffed himself up.
Usually, to fortify himself, he had a couple of sodas at a small grocery store, whose owner he knew and who, without being too forthcoming, always conveyed a warm welcome. This time was different:
“Welcome! You look so elegant today. What a surprise.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Without waiting for his customer to order, the chubby grocer placed two grape sodas on the counter.
“Why the suit, if I may be so bold as to ask?”
“I’m going to wed a local belle. You must know her, none other than Constitución Gamal, the seamstress. Anyway, just to be clear, we’re not getting married today, even though that’d be my preference, no, I’ve still got to bide my time, chew on my cud for a stretch, that is, what I mean is, there’ll be no wedding for several months … The important thing is, she gave me her word last week, and today is a special day for the two of us … There was, you know, a verbal commitment.” The perfumed man took a huge gulp of his soda and continued enthusiastically. “We’ve been courting for some time now, a little over a year, and to be perfectly frank with you, it was mighty hard for me to decide to ask for her hand, well, you know how it is, you have to figure out the best way to win her over. That’s why I went all the way to Monterrey to buy this suit. I want my woman to see me at my very best. Maybe next week I won’t wear it, because with all this dust it’ll get dirty.”