Swift as Desire Page 10

  Obviously, his primary target was Lucha. She was the one he fancied the most and also the one who worked closest to him. Going to work became a torment for Lucha. Not only was she going through the first months of her pregnancy with its accompanying nausea and vomiting, but she had to put up with don Pedro’s insinuations. She constantly felt his gaze on her breasts or her rear. Lucha didn’t know how to hide them any more. And to make matters worse, they were growing bigger every day because of her pregnancy. Which don Pedro didn’t seem to notice, the pregnancy that is, not her voluptuousness, of that he was acutely aware, regardless of the fact that Lucha was happily married. What’s more, her condition seemed to excite him. His attacks grew more vigorous every day. At first he had limited himself to brushing up against her, but gradually don Pedro began to rub her shoulders when she was sitting at her desk as he paced behind her. Flowers and chocolates started to appear on her desk with little notes, and finally he started baiting her with words. Sometimes after dictating a letter he would try to talk to her.

  “What’s wrong, Luchita, do you feel sick?”

  “No, señor.”

  “Well, you seem so serious with me.”

  “No, it’s not that, I just feel a bit under the weather.”

  “You see? Then you do feel sick. I really don’t know how that husband of yours can make a beautiful woman like you work.”

  “He doesn’t make me work. It was a personal decision.”

  “Well, if it was your own decision, it must have been forced by circumstances. No woman leaves her home and her children for pleasure.… Tell me, wouldn’t you rather be at home right now surrounded by comfort and lots of trinkets, instead of hanging around here listening to an old flirt like me?”

  Lucha had to think very carefully before she answered. If she agreed, don Pedro would take it as confirmation that she was forced to work by her circumstances, but if she said no, he might misinterpret it to mean that she loved to be in that office listening to an old man who, beyond being a flirt, was totally immoral. So Lucha simply shrugged her shoulders and left his office.

  But when she got back to her desk, her boss’s powerful words began to have an effect on her. She felt angry at Júbilo. Of course she would love to be at home enjoying her pregnancy and feeling clean and pure, instead of having to protect her belly from don Pedro’s obscene ogling. Those thoughts intensified her nausea, causing her to throw up in the ladies’ room.

  Júbilo, in turn, was also annoyed. The office was no longer a safe place for them. There was constant danger in the air and he didn’t know what to do. He felt totally impotent. He was doing everything he could to support his family with dignity. He already held down two jobs. If only there were thirty-six hours in a day instead of twenty-four he could find another. He was desperate to get his wife out of the office, but Lucha wouldn’t let him. At first she had been tempted to quit, but Júbilo and she had plans to buy a new house that was a little larger, with an extra bedroom for the new baby, and they needed her salary for that. So she decided to keep her job and stay as far away from don Pedro as possible. But that only made Júbilo angry at her, and it also made him less efficient at work, because he was constantly alert to what was going on between Lucha and don Pedro.

  JÚBILO WASN’T THE ONLY one who was worried. Uncertainty took hold of the office and drastically changed the personal and work relationships that had existed before don Pedro had arrived. Layoffs didn’t take long to occur and everyone feared for his head. The confidence that had reigned before began to disappear. The jokes and laughter faded away. Nobody felt free or confident enough to indulge in them anymore. The only one who could have changed the situation was Júbilo, but he was too preoccupied with his own concerns. The atmosphere grew worse day by day, hour by hour, until it reached a climax. Lucha was seven months pregnant and was taking a break with Lolita. Lucha’s unborn baby also decided to take advantage of the rest period by moving and stretching in her belly. Lolita was fascinated by the new shape of Lucha’s belly and, full of curiosity, she asked Lucha if she could feel the child’s movements. Lolita was an unmarried woman who had spent most of her life working in that office, and she was dying to rub the stomach of a pregnant woman. Of course, Lucha granted her dear friend’s request, and they were lost in their own world when don Pedro appeared and asked Lucha if he too could touch her stomach. He used the same reasons as Lolita, that he was very curious about feeling the unborn baby’s movements.

  Lucha was torn: she had no desire for this man to touch her, but she couldn’t think of a reason for denying him. If she refused him, she would seem rude since she was already allowing Lolita to touch her stomach. While Lucha ruminated on these thoughts, don Pedro took matters into his own hands. He removed Lolita’s hand and put his in its place. As he did so, he took advantage of the opportunity to brush Lucha’s breast. Lucha didn’t even have time to get angry, because at that very instant Júbilo arrived in a fury and forcefully tore don Pedro’s hand away.

  “I don’t want you to ever put your hand on my wife again,” declared Júbilo.

  “You are not in a position to give me orders,” retorted don Pedro.

  To which Júbilo responded by punching don Pedro squarely in the face. It was a powerful right hook, worthy of Kid Azteca. As don Pedro’s heavy body rolled down the stairs that Júbilo had only moments before hurriedly climbed, a dense silence hung in the air. No one could believe what had just happened. The friendly, the jovial, the attentive Júbilo, a friend to all, was picking a fight, and with none other than the boss, the hated and feared enemy of all. It goes without saying that everyone sided with Júbilo, but they had to hide the fact, as they held their breath. Reyes tried to help his boss rise from the floor, but his offer was refused.

  “Nothing happened. I just slipped. Get back to work!”

  Don Pedro stood up, shook off the dust, removed his handkerchief from his pocket to stanch the blood dripping from his mouth, and headed for his office. As soon as he closed the door behind him he began to plot his revenge. He had always been a poor loser and this was the second time Júbilo had defeated him. What bothered him most was that he had been made to look foolish. He could never forgive that. His injured mouth hurt, but not nearly as much as his wounded pride.

  Júbilo had just signed his death warrant in the office, but he didn’t care. He felt he had done the right thing. All that remained now was to convince Lucha to submit her resignation along with his. But Lucha felt that it was better to calm down and to think things through clearly. They were in no position to be unemployed, especially if it was to be both of them.

  For this and other reasons, the surprise birthday party they had organized for Lolita was ruined. They had planned to present her with a cake and sing the customary birthday song. The party didn’t turn out to be as much fun as previous occasions. Everyone missed Júbilo’s jokes and laughter. Neither he nor anyone else in the office was in a mood for joking that day. For there to be laughter, an atmosphere of confidence is necessary, and this was rapidly dwindling away in the Telegraph Office. Reyes struggled more than ever to enliven the gathering, but the most he was able to do was raise a chuckle from his fellow workers. Nevertheless, it was enough to provide an opportunity for a photograph to be taken.

  LLUVIA LOOKED AT THE photograph carefully. She had no doubt that her mother was pregnant. The signs were obvious. She noticed that her mother had her hands on her belly as if trying to protect the creature within from some imminent danger. She turned the photo over and confirmed that it had been taken in 1946. Two years before Lluvia had been born. There must be some mistake. The photograph suggested that her mother had gone through a third pregnancy. It wasn’t possible. It seemed strange that for so many years no one would have mentioned it, especially her mother. Doña Luz María Lascuráin didn’t lie. Lying was one of the most condemned forms of behavior in their home. It was shocking to discover that her mother had broken the moral code by which the family had always lived. But aft
er a little thought, she decided that perhaps her mother hadn’t lied so much as hidden information.

  And her father? What was his reason for keeping quiet? Why would he keep the birth of his child a secret? Maybe the pregnancy hadn’t reached term and the birth in question had never occurred. In any case, there was no justification for their having hidden it this way. And what about Raúl? He had been eight at the time, and that wasn’t so little. If another child had been born, Raúl would surely remember it. But what if he didn’t? What if he, like she herself, knew nothing about it? But then she thought to herself it was most likely that Raúl did know about it and had not said anything because of his overprotective nature. That attitude of her brother’s had always bothered Lluvia. He thought of her as a weak, helpless child that he had to take care of, as if she were incapable of defending herself. Lluvia was tired of still being treated like the baby sister. Why had everyone conspired to hide this information from her? More than deceived and betrayed, she felt angry.

  Chapter 7

  I WONDER HOW MUCH time passed between the moment God said “Let there be light” and the appearance of light? Sometimes, the mere difference of a single second between one event and another can be enough to turn our lives around one hundred and eighty degrees.

  When does love turn into hate? How is that point reached? What unleashes such a transformation? Do there have to be continuously repeated insults or assaults, or can just one isolated incident be destructive enough to end a loving relationship?

  In architecture, houses can crumble away little by little over the course of years; or they can be demolished in the blink of an eye by a powerful explosion. Cities and neighborhoods can be gradually transformed by time; or they can be devastated in an instant, in the few seconds that an earthquake lasts. A human being can go into a slow decline; or an unexpected bullet can erase him from the world in an instant.

  Similarly, deep inside us, the opinion we have of a person can grow over the years; or it can decline in a flash. Words of encouragement can bolster our own self-confidence; or wounding or insulting words can destroy it. And others close to us can make us better people; or they can continually erode our self-esteem. Sometimes a single word, just one, is enough to wipe out years of psychoanalysis. So, each time I go to visit my mother, I have developed the habit of preparing myself by building up barriers to protect me from her negative words, her resentment, and her distrust.

  “Hola, m’hijita, ¿cómo estás?”

  “Bien, mamita, ¿y tú?”

  “I’m okay, I suppose, you know I’m never free from suffering, but let’s not talk about me. Let me look at you. It’s been so long since you’ve come to see me.… Ay m’hijita, just look how skinny you are! I’ve told you before, I don’t want you killing yourself taking care of your father. What you need is a rest, go to the beach, sit in the sun. If I were you, I would check him into a place where they would take good care of him, then at least you could live a normal life. You look worn out, exhausted, and I’m sure it must be hard for your children to have so many people in the house. It’s not fair.…”

  “It’s not fair to send papá to an institution either. I’ve already told you …”

  “Okay, okay, let’s not argue. I won’t meddle in your life. I’m just telling you what I think.… Oh, and by the way, how is Perla?”

  “Fine, mamita, she’s got her novio …”

  “Ay, m’hijita, that really worries me! You’re so distracted by your papá you’re not even aware of the huge problem you’re facing there. If your daughter gets all hot and bothered and ends up making the wrong decision, her tears will never stop! You really ought to talk to her. I don’t like it at all. They’ve been novios for so many years, and they’re still not married. Look, at the last party where we were all together, I don’t know if you noticed, but they didn’t care one bit that all the rest of us were around. They just went on holding hands and kissing each other and, mira, m’hijita, let me tell you, when novios don’t care about others seeing them, well, you’d better watch out!”

  “Ay, mamá, leave them alone. Let them live their own lives.”

  “No, I’m not going to butt in, I already told you, I’m not going to interfere in anybody’s life.”

  “Good!”

  “What I will say is that I’m very worried, because men, all of them, listen to me now, never think about anything except filth, they’re all a bunch of pigs.…”

  IT’S TIME TO REINFORCE the walls, to brick myself in, to raise the protective barriers! I knew by heart the speech that was to follow: Men! They’re all the same. They don’t think about anything except screwing anyone who happens to go near them, whether it’s a neighbor, a servant, or their son’s wife. Men are disgusting pigs who feed on garbage and will even screw a rat.… I don’t know what men my mother is talking about. As far as I know she only had one boyfriend, and she married him. And as hard as I try, I can’t remember a single shred of my father’s personality that could fit her description. On the contrary, I remember him washing dishes, standing in line to buy fresh tortillas, stuck in the kitchen on Sundays preparing cochinita pibil, that delicious roast pork from his native Yucatán, and all the while watching over Raúl and me. I never caught him casting a libidinous glance at a neighbor or a servant or anyone else. If he ever did, he took care to do it far from home. But I am not going to argue with my mother. Rather than make any comment, I prefer to raise my eyebrows, which can be interpreted in a thousand different ways, and to change the subject to avoid further argument.

  “Oye, mamita, how is Raúl?”

  “Bien. I spoke with him yesterday on the phone and he asked me about your papá. I told him that your father is very sick and he agrees that you should put him in a home.”

  “Instead of giving you his opinion, he should call papá more often.”

  “What are you talking about?! You know how busy he is. And you, instead of speaking ill of your brother, you should thank him for sending you money to pay for the nurses. If it weren’t for that, just imagine what a disaster it would be! That’s why I say you should …”

  “Mamá, I already told you, I’m not going to put papá anywhere. It’s no trouble for me, just the opposite.…”

  “Well, that’s your choice, just don’t come running to me later when you get sick or when Perla wants to leave home.…”

  “Mamá. ¡Por favor!”

  “Sí, m’hijita, like I told you, I don’t want to interfere with your decisions, but I think having your papá in your house is causing you a lot of problems, and really, I don’t know why you insist so on defending him! Look how life has turned out! The daughter he never wanted to be born is the one who is defending him so much now.…”

  “Why do you say that, mamá?”

  “Because that’s how it was. For your information, your papá wanted me to have an abortion when I got pregnant with you.…”

  I surrender. There is no way to leave my mother’s house unscathed. She always manages to hit me with something that takes me by surprise, that hurts me. I don’t know if what my mother has just said is true. If it is, my father must have had his reasons. What does it matter to me now?! She’s not going to be able to use that to convince me that my father doesn’t love me. There hasn’t been a single moment in my life when I ever felt he didn’t love me. And now that I think about it, if I were a man and if I had married my mother, maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to have children with her either. At any rate, I’m not about to play her game, no, I’m going to chart my own course.

  “BY THE WAY, SPEAKING of papá, he asked me to tell you that he wanted to talk to you.…”

  “Mira, m’hijita, I’ve told you a thousand times, I don’t have anything to talk to him about. I left all that behind a long time ago.”

  “Yes, I guess you did the same with this photograph.”

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Lolita gave it to me. Who were you pregnant with in this photo, mamá?”

&
nbsp; “She went to see your father?”

  “Yes, but you haven’t answered me. Who were you expecting?”

  “You, of course, who do you think? Just look how many of these people are dead now! Juanito, Lalo, and Quique are already dead.… I think Pepito is too…but let’s stop talking about these people you don’t even know. Tell me, how is Federico, has he put on any more weight?”

  “No, mamá, he’s as skinny as ever, but tell me, why didn’t you ever tell me that you and papá had had another baby?”

  “Did your father tell you about him?”

  “No.”

  “Hmmm! Then was it that nosy Lolita? She’s such a gossip, and she was always in love with your father. She’ll say anything to cause trouble, that must be why she gave you this photograph. How interesting that she should choose precisely this one!”

  “Why would this photo cause trouble? What’s wrong with it?”

  “Look, Ambar, that’s exactly why you and I always end up arguing. You’re just like your father, always putting words in other people’s mouths, always trying to guess what one is thinking.… I don’t have anything to hide, and if I did, well, it would be my own business. Children don’t have to know everything about their parents, there’s no need for that. Look, tell me, would you like it if your children interrogated you about why you got divorced? Have you told them all of your reasons? No, right? Then who are you to come to my house and judge me?!”