Like Water for Chocolate Read online

  Then Gertrudis was tempted to appeal to her sister, but her common sense stopped her. She could not disturb Tita and Pedro in any way at this time, perhaps the most critical moment of their lives.

  Tita was slowly walking between the fruit trees in the garden, its smell of orange blossoms mingling with the jasmine scent always given off by her body. Pedro, at her side, was holding her arm tenderly.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to decide what to do first.”

  “And have you decided?”

  “No.”

  “I think it would be good for you to know before you make a decision that for me, having a child with you is the best stroke of luck, and to enjoy it the way we should, I would like to go far away from here with you.”

  “We can’t think only of ourselves, there are also Rosaura and Esperanza to consider. What’s going to happen to them?”

  Pedro couldn’t answer. He hadn’t thought of them until now, and to be honest he didn’t want to hurt them, nor stop seeing his little girl. He had to have a solution fair to all of them. He would have to find one. At least there was one thing certain, Tita would not leave the ranch with John Brown.

  A noise behind them made them jump. Someone was coming up behind them. Pedro dropped Tita’s arm and turned his head furtively to see who it was. It was Pulque, who had gotten tired of listening to Gertrudis shouting in the kitchen and was looking for a better place to get some sleep. Anyway, they decided to postpone their conversation until another time. There were too many people all around the house; it was risky to talk about such private matters.

  In the kitchen, Gertrudis wasn’t having much success getting Sergeant Trevino to fix the syrup the way she wanted, no matter how many orders she gave him. She was sorry she had ever entrusted Trevino with such an important mission; when she had asked a group of rebels who knew how much a pound was and he had fired back the answer that a pound was 460 grams and a pint was a quarter of a liter, she thought he knew a lot about cooking, but he didn’t.

  In fact, this was the first time Trevino had ever failed in something with which she had entrusted him. She remembered one occasion when he had had to uncover a spy who had infiltrated the troop.

  A prostitute who was the spy’s mistress had learned of his activities, and before she could denounce him, he had gunned her down cold-bloodedly. Gertrudis was returning from taking a bath in the river and found her in the throes of death. The prostitute managed to gasp out a clue to identifying him. The traitor had a red mole shaped like a spider between his legs.

  Gertrudis couldn’t ask to inspect all the men in the troop, since not only could that be taken the wrong way, but the traitor could get suspicious and flee before they got to him. So she entrusted the mission to Trevino. Even for him it was no easy task. What they’d think about him was worse than what they’d think about her if he went prying into the crotches of all the men in the troop. So the patient Trevino waited until they got to Saltillo.

  The minute they got to town he took on the job of going to every single brothel and gaining the confidence of every single prostitute, using who knew what kind of arts. But the main thing was that Trevino always treated them like ladies, he made them feel like queens. He was gallant and cultivated; he recited verses and poems while making love to them. Not a one had escaped his clutches, and they were all ready to work for the revolution.

  In that way, with the help of his friends the whores, it didn’t take more than three days to uncover the traitor and set a trap for him. The traitor went into a room in the whorehouse with a peroxide blonde named “Husky-Voice.” Trevino was waiting behind the door. Trevino kicked the door shut and then, in an unprecedented display of violence, he killed the traitor, by beating him to death. When there was no more life left in him, Trevino cut off his testicles with a knife.

  When Gertrudis asked him why he had murdered him so brutally and not simply dispatched him with a bullet, he replied that it had been an act of revenge. Years ago, a man who had a red mole in the shape of a spider between his legs had raped his mother and his sister. The latter had confessed before dying. So by doing this Trevino had restored the honor of his family. It was the only savage act Trevino committed in his life; except for that, he was refined and elegant, even in killing. He always did it with perfect dignity. After the capture of the spy, Trevino kept his reputation as a great womanizer. Which was not far from the truth; yet Gertrudis was ever the love of his life. He tried for months to conquer her—without success but never losing hope —until Gertrudis found Juan again. Then he realized that he had lost her forever. Now he was only her watchdog, protecting her flanks, not letting her out of sight for a second.

  On the battlefield, he was one of her finest soldiers, but in the kitchen he wasn’t good for very much. Still it would grieve Gertrudis to throw him out since Trevino was very emotional, and when she reprimanded him for anything he always took to drink. So she had no choice, she had to face up to her mistake in choosing him and try to make the best of it. Cautiously, the two of them read over the infernal recipe, step by step, trying to make sense of it.

  “‘If the syrup is to be clarified, as it must be to sweeten liquors, after the previous procedures have been completed, tilt the pot or saucepan containing the syrup, let stand, and decant, or in other words, pour off as carefully as possible to separate the syrup from the sediment.’”

  The recipe did not explain what the ball stage was, so Gertrudis ordered the sergeant to search for the answer in a huge cookbook that was in the storeroom.

  Trevino was making a real effort to find the information they needed, but in fact he barely knew how to read; his finger slowly followed the words, as an impatient Gertrudis looked on.

  “‘Candy syrup has many degrees of cooking: soft thread stage, firm thread stage, soft pearl stage, firm pearl stage, blowing stage, pouring stage, solidifying stage, and caramelizing stage, soft ball stage . . .’”

  “Finally! Here’s soft ball stage, General!”

  “Let’s see, bring it here! You’ve been driving me crazy.”

  Gertrudis read the instructions to her sergeant, quickly, in a loud voice:

  “‘To test if the syrup is at the soft ball stage, moisten your fingers in a glass or jug of cold water and pick up some syrup, immediately dipping them back into the water. If the syrup forms a soft ball when it cools but handles like a paste, it is cooked to the soft ball stage.’ Understand?”

  “Yes, at least I think so, my general.”

  “You’d better, because if you don’t I swear I’ll have you shot!”

  At last, Gertrudis had managed to gather all the information she’d been seeking; only one thing was left now and that was for the sergeant to do a good job making the syrup—then she could finally eat the fritters she craved so much.

  Trevino was very much aware of the threat hanging over his head if he made a mistake while cooking for his superior; he completed his mission, despite his inexperience.

  They were both ecstatic. Trevino was the happiest. He brought Tita a fritter himself, carried it up to her room on orders from Gertrudis to get Tita’s stamp of approval. Tita hadn’t come down for lunch and had spent the afternoon in bed. Trevino entered her bedroom and set the fritter down on a little table Tita used for just such occasions, when she ate there rather than in the dining room. She was grateful for his attentiveness and congratulated him, since the fritter really was delicious. Trevino said he was sorry Tita was indisposed; he would have been delighted to ask her to dance at the party being held on the patio to say good-bye to General Gertrudis. Tita assured him she would be delighted to dance with him, if she decided to come down to the party. Trevino withdrew quickly to go brag to the troops about what Tita had said.

  As soon as the sergeant was gone, Tita lay down on her bed again. She had no desire to be anywhere else; her belly was too swollen, and she couldn’t sit for very long.

  Tita thought of the many times she had germin
ated kernels or seeds of rice, beans, or alfalfa, without giving any thought to how it felt for them to grow and change form so radically. Now she admired the way they opened their skin and allowed the water to penetrate them fully, until they were split asunder to make way for new life. She imagined the pride they felt as the tip of the first root emerged from inside of them, the humility with which they accepted the loss of their previous form, the bravery with which they showed the world their new leaves. Tita would love to be a simple seed, not to have to explain to anyone what was growing inside her, to show her fertile belly to the world without laying herself open to society’s disapproval. Seeds didn’t have that kind of problem, they didn’t have a mother to be afraid of or a fear of those who would judge them. Tita no longer had a mother but she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that any minute some awful punishment was going to descend on her from the great beyond, courtesy of Mama Elena. That was a familiar feeling; it was like the fear she felt when she was cooking and didn’t follow a recipe to the letter. She was always sure when she did it that Mama Elena would find out and, instead of congratulating her on her creativity, give her a terrible tongue-lashing for disobeying the rules. But she couldn’t resist the temptation to violate the oh-so-rigid rules her mother imposed in the kitchen . . . and in life.

  She stayed there resting for quite a while, lying on the bed; she only got up when she heard Pedro singing a love song beneath her window. Tita sprang to the window and threw it open. How could Pedro dare to be so brazen! As soon as she saw him, she knew the answer. She could tell at a glance he was roaring drunk. Juan, standing next to him, was accompanying him on the guitar.

  Tita was in a panic; she hoped that Rosaura was already asleep—if she wasn’t, there was going to be trouble!

  A furious Mama Elena came into her room and said to her:

  “See what you’ve done now? You and Pedro are shameless. If you don’t want blood to flow in this house, go where you can’t do any harm to anybody, before it’s too late.”

  “The one who should be going is you. I’m tired of your tormenting me. Leave me in peace once and for all!”

  “Not until you behave like a good woman, or a decent one at least!”

  “What do you mean, decent? Like you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s just what I’m doing! Or didn’t you have an illicit child?”

  “You will be condemned to hell for talking to me like this!”

  “No more than you!”

  “Shut your mouth! Who do you think you are?”

  “I know who I am! A person who has a perfect right to live her life as she pleases. Once and for all, leave me alone; I won’t put up with you! I hate you, I’ve always hated you!”

  Tita had said the magic words that would make Mama Elena disappear forever. The imposing figure of her mother began to shrink until it became no more than a tiny light. As the ghost faded away, a sense of relief grew inside Tita’s body. The inflammation in her belly and the pain in her breasts began to subside. The muscles at the center of her body relaxed, loosing a violent menstrual flow.

  This discharge, so many days late, relieved all her pains. She gave a deep peaceful sigh. She wasn’t pregnant.

  But her problems weren’t over. The little light, all that was left of Mama Elena’s image, began to spin feverishly.

  It went through the window and shot out onto the patio, like a firecracker out of control. Pedro, drunk as he was, didn’t realize the danger. Cheerfully crooning “Estrellita” by Manuel M. Ponce, he stood under Tita’s window surrounded by some rebels who were as drunk as he was. Gertrudis and Juan didn’t see the danger approaching either. They were dancing like a pair of lovestruck teenagers by the glow of one of the many oil lamps set up on the patio to light up the party. The firecracker moved fast, approaching Pedro, whirling crazily, with enough violence to make the lamp closest to him explode into a thousand pieces. The oil quickly spread the flames onto Pedro’s face and body.

  Tita, who was taking measures to cope with her menstruation, heard the pandemonium set off by Pedro’s accident. She rushed to the window, opened it, and saw Pedro running across the patio, like a human torch. Then, Gertrudis caught up with him, tearing the skirt from her dress, wrapping it around him, and knocking him to the ground.

  Tita didn’t know how she got down the stairs, but in less than twenty seconds she was at Pedro’s side. As she arrived, Gertrudis was removing his smoldering clothes. Pedro was howling in pain. He had burns over his whole body. Several men carefully lifted him between them to carry him to his bedroom. Tita, holding Pedro’s unburnt hand, refused to leave his side. As they went up the stairs, Rosaura opened her bedroom door.

  She noticed the smell of burnt feathers immediately. She went to the stairs, intending to go down and see what was happening, and there she found the group carrying Pedro, with him at the center in a cloud of smoke. Tita, at his side, was weeping uncontrollably. Rosaura’s first impulse was to run and help her husband. Tita tried to let go of Pedro’s hand so that Rosaura could get closer to him, but Pedro, between moans, cried out to her, addressing her familiarly for the first time:

  “Tita, don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

  “No, Pedro, I won’t.”

  Tita took Pedro’s hand again. For a moment Rosaura and Tita looked at each other challengingly. Then Rosaura understood that there was nothing for her to do here, and she went back to her room and locked the door behind her. She didn’t come back out for a week.

  Since Tita didn’t want to leave Pedro’s side, she commanded Chencha to bring her lots of egg whites beaten with oil and finely grated raw potatoes. Those were the best ways she knew to deal with burns. The egg whites are applied very gently to the injured area, and reapplied each time the preparation dries. After this, plasters made of grated raw potatoes should be applied to reduce the inflammation and relieve the pain.

  Tita spent the whole night dispensing these home remedies.

  While she applied the potato plaster, she studied Pedro’s beloved face. There was no sign of his bushy eyebrows and his long eyelashes. His square chin was now an oval from the swelling. It didn’t matter to Tita if he was left with scars, but it might to Pedro. How could she prevent scarring? Nacha gave her the answer, just as Morning Light had previously given it to her: in a case like this the best remedy was the bark of the tepezcohuite tree, which must be placed on Pedro. Tita went running out onto the patio; even though it was very late at night, she got Nicholas up and told him to get this bark, from the best brujo in the region. It was almost daybreak before she managed to soothe Pedro’s pain a little, so that he was able to fall asleep for a moment. She took advantage of this opportunity to go out to say good-bye to Gertrudis, since she had been hearing movements and voices outside for quite a while, as the men in her troop saddled up their horses to get ready to go.

  Gertrudis spoke with Tita for a long time, saying she was sorry she could not stay and help Tita in this misfortune, but her orders were to attack Zacatecas. Gertrudis thanked her sister for the happy moments she had spent with her, advised her not to give up the battle for Pedro, and before departing gave her a recipe the prostitutes use so they don’t get pregnant: after having intimate relations, use a douche of boiled water with a few drops of vinegar. Juan came up and interrupted this conversation to tell Gertrudis it was time to leave.

  Juan gave Tita a powerful embrace and told her to convey to Pedro his best wishes for his recovery. Tita and Gertrudis embraced each other, full of emotion. Gertrudis got onto her horse and rode away. She wasn’t riding alone—she carried her childhood beside her, in the cream fritters she had enclosed in a jar in her saddlebag.

  Tita watched them go with tears in her eyes. Chencha did too, but unlike Tita’s, hers were tears of joy. At last she’d get a rest!

  When Tita was going back into the house, she heard Chencha scream:

  “No! It can’t be! They’re coming back already.”

  In fact, it di
d look like someone from the troops was returning to the ranch, but it was hard to see who because of the dust the horses had raised as they left.

  Straining her eyes, Tita was thrilled to see John’s cart. He was back already. When she saw it, Tita felt completely confused. She didn’t know what she was going to do or what she was going to tell him. Part of her felt an enormous joy at seeing him, but another part felt terrible at having to call off their engagement. John approached her with a huge bouquet of flowers. He embraced her warmly, but when he kissed her, he knew that something had changed inside of Tita.

  TO BE CONTINUED . . .

  Next month’s recipe:

  Beans with Chile Tezcucana-style

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  November

  Beans with Chile

  Tezcucana-style

  INGREDIENTS:

  beans

  pork

  pork rinds

  chiles anchos

  onion

  grated cheese

  lettuce

  avocado

  radishes

  chiles tornachiles

  olives

  PREPARATION:

  First the beans have to be boiled with baking soda, and then washed and boiled again with pieces of pork and pork rind.

  Putting the beans on to cook was the first thing Tita did when she got up at five in the morning.

  Today she was expecting guests for dinner, John and his Aunt Mary, who had come from Pennsylvania just to attend John and Tita’s wedding. Aunt Mary was anxious to meet her favorite nephew’s fiancee and had not been able to because the timing was so unfortunate, with the state of Pedro’s health. They had waited a week for him to recover before making a formal visit. Worried as Tita was, she could not cancel the meeting she owed to John’s aunt, who was eighty years old and had traveled so far just to meet her. To give a good dinner to Aunt Mary was the least Tita could do for John and the old dear, but she had nothing to offer them except the announcement that she wasn’t going to marry John. She felt completely empty, like a platter that held only crumbs, all that was left of a marvelous pastry. She looked for food in the pantry, but it was conspicuous by its absence; there really wasn’t a thing. Gertrudis’s visit to the ranch had laid waste to the larder. The only thing left in the granary, other than corn to make some tasty tortillas, was some rice and beans. But with a little imagination and a full heart one can always prepare a decent meal. A menu of rice, plantains, and beans Tezcucana-style isn’t half bad.