Like Water for Chocolate Page 5

  She was really excited as she started to prepare the mole the day before the baptism. Pedro, hearing her from the living room, experienced a sensation that was new to him. The sound of the pans bumping against each other, the smell of the almonds browning in the griddle, the sound of Tita’s melodious voice, singing as she cooked, had kindled his sexual feelings. Just as lovers know the time for intimate relations is approaching from the closeness and smell of their beloved, or from the caresses exchanged in previous love play, so Pedro knew from those sounds and smells, especially the smell of browning sesame seeds, that there was a real culinary pleasure to come.

  The almond and sesame seeds are toasted in a griddle. The chiles anchos, with their membranes removed, are also toasted—lightly, so they don’t get bitter. This must be done in a separate frying pan, since a little lard is used. Afterward the toasted chiles are ground on a stone along with the almonds and sesame seeds.

  Tita, on her knees, was bent over the grinding stone, moving in a slow regular rhythm, grinding the almonds and sesame seeds.

  Under her blouse, her breasts moved freely, since she never wore a brassiere. Drops of sweat formed on her neck and ran down into the crease between her firm round breasts.

  Pedro couldn’t resist the smells from the kitchen and was heading toward them. But he stopped stock-still in the doorway, transfixed by the sight of Tita in that erotic posture.

  Tita looked up without stopping her grinding and her eyes met Pedro’s. At once their passionate glances fused so perfectly that whoever saw them would have seen but a single look, a single rhythmic and sensual motion, a single trembling breath, a single desire.

  They stayed in this amorous ecstasy until Pedro lowered his eyes and stared steadily at Tita’s breasts. She stopped grinding, straightened up, and proudly lifted her chest so Pedro could see it better. His scrutiny changed their relationship forever. After that penetrating look that saw through clothes, nothing would ever be the same. Tita knew through her own flesh how fire transforms the elements, how a lump of corn flour is changed into a tortilla, how a soul that hasn’t been warmed by the fire of love is lifeless, like a useless ball of corn flour. In a few moments’ time, Pedro had transformed Tita’s breasts from chaste to experienced flesh, without even touching them.

  If it hadn’t been for Chencha walking in, back from buying some chiles anchos, who knows what would have happened between Pedro and Tita; perhaps Pedro would have ended up tirelessly caressing the breasts Tita offered him, but unfortunately that was not to be. Pedro pretended he’d come in for a glass of lime water with sage, quickly got it, and left the kitchen.

  With shaking hands, Tita tried to go on preparing the mole as if nothing had happened.

  When the almonds and sesame seeds have been thoroughly ground, mix them with the stock in which the turkey was cooked and add salt to taste. Grind the cloves, cinnamon, anise, and pepper, in a mortar, adding the roll last, after frying it in lard with chopped onion and garlic.

  Next combine this mixture with the wine and blend well.

  While she was grinding the spices, Chencha tried in vain to capture Tita’s interest. But as much as she exaggerated the events she had witnessed in the plaza, describing in bloody detail the violent battles that had taken place in the village, Tita showed no more than a flicker of interest.

  Today she couldn’t keep her mind on anything other than the emotions she had just experienced. Besides, Tita knew perfectly well what Chencha was up to with these stories. Since she wasn’t a girl to be frightened by stories of La Llorona, the witch who sucks little children’s blood, or the boogeyman, or other scary stories, Chencha was trying to frighten her with stories of hangings, shootings, dismemberments, decapitations, and even sacrifices in which the victim’s heart was cut out—in the heat of battle! On some other occasion she might have enjoyed getting carried away by Chencha’s ridiculous story, and wound up believing her lies, even the one where Pancho Villa removes his enemies’ bloody hearts so he can devour them, but not today.

  Pedro’s look had revived her faith in his love for her. For months she’d been tormented by the thought that Pedro had lied to her on his wedding day, that he’d told her he loved her just so she wouldn’t suffer, or that as time went on, he really had grown to love Rosaura. These doubts started when he suddenly, inexplicably, stopped raving about her cooking. Crushed, Tita took elaborate pains to cook better meals each day. In despair, at night—after she had knit a little section of bedspread, of course—she would invent new recipes, hoping to repair the connection that flowed between them through the food she prepared. Her finest recipes date from this period of suffering.

  Just as a poet plays with words, Tita juggled ingredients and quantities at will, obtaining phenomenal results, and all for nothing: her best efforts were in vain. She couldn’t drag a single word of appreciation out of Pedro’s mouth. What she didn’t know was that Mama Elena had “asked” Pedro to stop praising the meals, on the grounds that it made Rosaura feel insecure, when she was fat and misshapen because of her pregnancy, to have to listen to him compliment Tita in the guise of praising the delicious food she cooked.

  How alone Tita felt during this period. How she missed Nacha! She hated them all, including Pedro. She was convinced she would never love anyone again as long as she lived. But it all melted away when she held Rosaura’s son in her hands.

  It had been a cold March morning. She was in the henhouse gathering the just-laid eggs to fix them for breakfast. Some of the eggs were still warm, so she put them in her blouse, next to her skin, to relieve her constant chill, which had gradually been getting worse. She got up before everyone else as usual.

  But today she’d gotten up a half hour earlier than usual, to pack a suitcase with Gertrudis’ clothes. Nicholas was making a trip to round up some cattle, and she planned to ask him to please take the suitcase to her sister. Of course, she had to hide all this from her mother. Tita wanted to send the clothes because she couldn’t get the idea that Gertrudis was still naked out of her head. Not, of course, because of her sister’s work in a bordertown brothel; rather, because Tita knew she hadn’t taken any clothes with her.

  She thrust at Nicholas the suitcase of clothes and an envelope bearing the address of the den where he might find Gertrudis, and she went back to her chores.

  Soon she heard Pedro getting the carriage ready. Strange that he was doing that so early. But she saw from the sunlight that it was already late, that packing up some of Gertrudis’ past along with her clothes, had taken longer than she had imagined. It hadn’t been easy to fit into the suitcase the day the three of them made their First Communion. The veil, the prayerbook, the photo taken outside the church all fit in pretty well, but not the taste of the tamales and atole Nacha had made, which they had eaten afterward with their friends and families. The little colored apricot pits had gone in, but not their laughter when they played with them in the schoolyard, nor Jovita their teacher, the swing, the smell of her bedroom or of freshly whipped chocolate. Luckily, Mama Elena’s scoldings and spankings hadn’t fit in either; Tita had slammed the suitcase shut before they could sneak in.

  Just as she got to the patio, Pedro began calling her desperately. He had to go to Eagle Pass for Dr. Brown, the family doctor, and he hadn’t been able to find her anywhere. Rosaura had felt the first pains of labor.

  Pedro asked Tita to please take care of her while he was gone.

  Tita was the only one who could do it. No one else was left in the house. Mama Elena and Chencha had gone to the market to buy supplies for the baby, who was due any minute; they didn’t want to lack any of the things that are indispensable at such a time. They hadn’t been able to go earlier, because it had been too dangerous after the federal troops had occupied the village. They didn’t know when they left that the baby would arrive so soon, for just as they left Rosaura had gone into labor.

  Tita had no choice but to go to her sister’s bedside, hoping it wouldn’t be for long.

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nbsp; She didn’t have the least interest in seeing the little boy, girl, whatever.

  She hadn’t anticipated Pedro getting captured by the federales and summarily detained from getting the doctor, or Mama Elena and Chencha being unable to return because of shooting breaking out in the village that forced them to take refuge with the Lobos; so it turned out she was the only one present at the birth of her nephew. She! She alone!

  In the hours she spent by her sister’s side she learned more than in all the years she’d studied in the village school. She denounced all her teachers and her mama for never having told her how to deliver a baby. What good did it do her now to know the names of the planets and Carreno’s manual from A to Z if her sister was practically dead and she couldn’t help her. Rosaura had gained sixty-five pounds during her pregnancy, which made the labor to deliver her first child even more difficult. Even allowing for her sister’s excessive bulk, Tita noticed that Rosaura’s body was extraordinarily swollen. First her feet swelled up, then her face and hands. Tita wiped the sweat from her brow and tried to revive her but Rosaura didn’t even seem to hear her.

  Tita had seen some animals being born, but those experiences didn’t help with this birth. She had been only a spectator on those occasions. The animals knew everything they had to do, whereas she knew nothing. She had prepared sheets, hot water, and sterilized scissors. She knew she had to cut the umbilical cord, but she didn’t know how, or when, nor to what length. She knew there was a series of little things she had to do for the baby as soon as it entered this world, but she didn’t know what they were. The only thing she knew was that first it had to be born, any moment now! Tita peeked between her sister’s legs repeatedly, but nothing. Nothing but a tunnel, dark, silent, deep. Kneeling and facing Rosaura, Tita made an urgent request to Nacha to enlighten her at this time.

  If Nacha could tell her recipes in the kitchen, she should also be able to help in this emergency. Somebody up there had better attend to Rosaura, because there was nobody down here to do so.

  She didn’t know how long she knelt in prayer, but when she pried her eyes open, the dark tunnel of a moment before had been transformed into a red river, an erupting volcano, a rending of paper. Her sister’s flesh opened to make way for life. Tita would never forget that sound, or the way her nephew’s head had emerged, triumphant in his struggle for life. It was not a beautiful head; indeed, it was shaped like a cone of brown sugar because of the pressure his bones had been under for so many hours. But to Tita it seemed the most beautiful head she’d ever seen.

  The baby’s cries filled all the empty space in Tita’s heart. She realized that she was feeling a new love: for life, for this child, for Pedro, even for the sister she had despised for so long. She took the child in her hands, carried him to Rosaura, and they wept together for a while, holding the child. She knew exactly what to do for the baby afterward from the instructions Nacha whispered in her ear: cut the umbilical cord, in the right place at the right time, clean him with sweet almond oil, bind the navel, and finally dress him. No problem, she knew how to put on the undershirt, and the shirt, the swaddling band around his belly, the diaper, the flannel to cover his legs, the little jacket, the socks and shoes, and last of all a soft wrap to keep his hands crossed on his chest so he wouldn’t scratch his face. When Mama Elena and Chencha finally arrived home that night with the Lobos, they all admired the professional job Tita had done. Wrapped up like a taco, the baby was sleeping peacefully.

  Pedro made it back with Dr. Brown the next day, after the federales set him free. His return was a relief to all of them.

  They had feared for his life. Now their only worry was Rosaura’s health, since she was still swollen and was very weak. Dr. Brown examined her thoroughly. That was when they discovered how dangerous the birth had been. According to the doctor, Rosaura had suffered an attack of eclampsia that could have killed her. He was amazed that Tita had been able to assist at the birth so calmly and deliberately, and under such unfavorable conditions. Well, who knows what really excited his admiration, whether it was just the way Tita had delivered the baby by herself, with no experience, or how the toothy little girl he remembered had become a beautiful woman without his having noticed.

  No woman had attracted him since the death of his wife five years before. The pain of losing her, practically as a newlywed, had made him impervious to love all these years. What a strange sensation he felt when he looked at Tita. A tingling sensation ran through his body, rousing and quickening his sleeping senses. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. How lovely her teeth seemed now, assuming their true proportion within the perfect harmony of delicate features that formed her face.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Mama Elena’s voice.

  “Doctor, won’t it be too much trouble for you to come here twice a day until my daughter is out of danger?”

  “Certainly not! First, it’s my duty, and second it’s a pleasure to visit your lovely home.”

  It was fortunate indeed that Mama Elena was so worried about Rosaura’s health that she didn’t see the way John Brown’s eyes lit up with admiration when he looked at Tita, because if she had, she never would have opened the door of her home to him so confidently.

  Right now the doctor didn’t seem a problem to Mama Elena; her only worry was that Rosaura didn’t have any milk.

  Fortunately they found a wet nurse in the village whom they hired to nurse the baby. One of Nacha’s relatives, she had just had her eighth child and was grateful for the honor of feeding Mama Elena’s grandson. For a month she performed marvelously; then one morning, while on her way to the village to visit her family, she was struck by a stray bullet from a battle between the rebels and the federales and was mortally wounded. One of her relatives arrived at the ranch to bring them the news, just as Tita and Chencha were combining all the ingredients for the mole in a large earthenware pan.

  That is the final step, which is done when all the ingredients have been ground as indicated in the recipe. Combine them in a large pan, add the cut up turkey, the chocolate, and sugar to taste. As soon as the mixture thickens, remove it from the heat.

  Tita finished preparing the mole alone, since the minute she heard the news, Chencha left for the village to try to find another nurse for Tita’s nephew. She returned that evening without success. The baby was crying angrily. They tried giving him cow’s milk, but he rejected it. Then Tita tried giving him tea, as Nacha had done for her, but it was no use: the child rejected that, too. It occurred to Tita that if she put on the rebozo that Lupita the wet nurse had left behind, its familiar smell might soothe the baby; it had just the opposite effect, and he cried even harder, because its smell told him he was going to be fed and he couldn’t understand why there was this delay. He was frantically trying to find the milk in Tita’s breasts. If there was one thing Tita couldn’t resist, it was a hungry person asking for food. But she had none to give. It was sheer torture. When she couldn’t stand it a moment longer, she pulled open her blouse and offered the baby her breast. She knew it was completely dry, but at least it would act as a pacifier and keep him occupied while she decided what to do to appease his hunger.

  The baby clamped desperately onto the nipple and he sucked and he sucked. When she saw the boy’s face slowly grow peaceful and when she heard the way he was swallowing, she began to suspect that something extraordinary had happened. Was it possible that she was feeding the baby? She removed the boy from her breast: a thin stream of milk sprayed out. Tita could not understand it. It wasn’t possible for an unmarried woman to have milk, short of a supernatural act, unheard of in these times. When the child realized he’d been separated from his meal, he started to wail again. Immediately Tita let him take her breast, until his hunger was completely satisfied and he was sleeping peacefully, like a saint. She was so absorbed in her contemplation of the child that she didn’t notice Pedro coming into the kitchen. At this moment, Tita looked like Ceres herself, goddess of plenty.

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nbsp; Pedro wasn’t surprised in the least, nor did he need an explanation. Smiling delightedly he went over to them, bent down, and kissed Tita on the forehead. Tita took the child, now satisfied, from her breast. Then Pedro’s eyes beheld a sight he had only glimpsed before through her clothing: Tita’s breasts.

  Tita tried to cover herself with her blouse. Pedro helped her in silence, with great tenderness. As he did, a succession of conflicting emotions took hold of them: love, desire, tenderness, lust, shame . . . fear of discovery. The sound of Mama Elena’s footsteps on the wooden floor warned them of the danger in time. Tita finished adjusting her blouse properly and Pedro moved away from her as Mama Elena came into the kitchen. When she opened the kitchen door, she didn’t see anything that wasn’t socially acceptable—nothing to make her worry.

  Still, there was something in the air, she could smell it, and she sharpened her senses to try to figure out what was troubling her.

  “Tita, how is the child? Did you manage to get him to eat something?”

  “Yes, Mami, he took some tea and fell asleep.”

  “Thank God! Then Pedro, why aren’t you taking the child to his mother? Children shouldn’t be away from their mothers.”

  Pedro left with the child in his arms, while Mama Elena carefully observed Tita, who had a sparkle in her eye that Mama Elena didn’t like at all.

  “Is the chocolate atole ready for your sister?”

  “Yes, Mami.”

  “Give it to me so I can take it to her, she needs to drink it day and night so her milk will come in.”