Swift as Desire Page 7

  The night Júbilo had won the bet with don Pedro, however, Lucha believed that moment had finally arrived and was immediately consumed by an obsession to spend all the money at once, but Júbilo prevented her from doing so, and this became the reason behind their first fight. Lucha lightly berated her husband, complaining that he never noticed all the things they had to do without, and Júbilo replied that he did indeed notice and that was precisely why they needed to save all the money they had. That way, they would sooner be able to buy a decent house as close as possible to Lucha’s family, so she could stop missing her former life so much.

  So one of them looked at a solution over the short term and the other, over the long term. One looked for a palliative for their problems and the other, permanent relief. Finally, after a long argument, they reached a compromise. Júbilo agreed to let Lucha buy a pair of slips and a shawl; and Lucha promised not to touch the rest of the money.

  The opportunity to buy something new made Lucha very happy. One could even go so far as to say that the purchase of that shawl literally changed her life. She discovered an article of clothing that was truly not only useful but beautiful. From that moment forward, the shawl became an indispensable accessory to her attire. With her new shawl over her shoulders, Lucha walked tall. She felt like a different woman. It was the first time since getting married that she had shopped for clothes. She was so excited that on her way home, she stopped to buy some candles at another stand in the market. On the counter was a jar of chiles in vinegar, and another filled with olives. The smell of the olives filled the air. Lucha couldn’t resist buying some: she had an irresistible urge to taste them. It had been months since she’d had an olive. And now, when the craving was so strong, was the time to buy them. She asked the merchant for 100 grams. But when she opened her purse to pay, she realized her money had evaporated. She had enough to pay for the candles, but not for the olives. Lucha fruitlessly tried to make up the difference by counting up the few centavos she had left in her purse, and in that instant don Pedro entered the store. He immediately understood the embarrassing situation in which Lucha found herself and, without thinking twice, extracted from his wallet the coins that were needed to complete the purchase, and put them on the counter, saying:

  “Allow me, por favor.”

  Lucha turned her head to confront a face full of evil, a face which, even when wearing its best smile, was unable to appear kind, and which belonged to none other than the man against whom her husband had won the bet. Lucha delicately, but firmly, refused the coins and replied:

  “No. You are very kind, but there’s no need for you to bother. I’ll come back later and pay.”

  “A woman as beautiful as you doesn’t deserve to be out walking in the rain. Please accept my humble assistance.”

  “Again, I thank you, but that is not necessary. It’s no problem for me to go home and come back again, since I drove here, I didn’t walk here in the rain.”

  “Well, at any rate, it doesn’t seem right for you to have to make two trips. Please do not offend me, three centavos are not so important that they will rob anyone of sleep. Grant me the honor of helping you in some small way.”

  Don Pedro took Lucha’s right hand and kissed it lightly, effectively ending the discussion. Lucha didn’t know what to do. It was obvious this man had never accepted no for an answer, and since her craving for the olives had grown even stronger, she chose to say a hurried gracias, collect her purchases, and leave the stall with the feeling that she had just done something wrong. She had not liked at all the satisfied smile that appeared on don Pedro’s face when she accepted his money. She didn’t know to what to attribute it. She was unaware that don Pedro had just discovered Júbilo’s Achilles’ heel and now knew exactly where to attack him.

  The olives didn’t taste as good as Lucha had expected. Her stomach churned, twisted, and trembled. On the one hand, she felt the disagreeable sensation that she had just done something wrong. On the other, she felt enormous satisfaction at having allowed herself a small pleasure. It was a strange new feeling. Lucha didn’t know how to assimilate what was going on inside her. She felt ashamed, as if she had somehow failed Júbilo. As if she had opened the door of her home to the devil himself. As if Júbilo and she were on the brink of danger, about to face something terrible and unknown. It was a premonition that unsettled and agitated her, provoking a nausea quite unlike anything she had experienced before. It reminded her of the way she had felt the day she met Júbilo, but this was quite different. On that earlier occasion the tickling in her stomach had been very agreeable. She had trembled, yes, but more from pleasure than from anything else. It had seemed like the response of a drum that someone has just struck. Her stomach had been shaken up for a while by the strong vibrations. But now the real difference was that unlike the first time, when her stomach had been in tune with the loving energy Júbilo had sent her, this time she was responding to something hidden, dark, unknown, denied, but which was there, ready and waiting to shake her completely, to make her resonate with fury, to connect her with its black sun, with its dark light.

  Lucha felt that this unknown energy had taken control of her soul. She couldn’t get out of her mind the unpleasant sensation that don Pedro’s lips had produced as they brushed against her hand. It made her sick just to think about it. That kiss had made her feel like a sinner. As if from that moment she had lost her innocence forever. As if she could never get back to who she had been. Trying to calm down, she went to the telegraph office. She wanted to hear Júbilo’s healing laughter. She wanted to feel clean. She wanted to erase that disagreeable feeling and she could only do so in the company of her husband. When she was with him everything looked brighter.

  Júbilo was delighted with her unexpected visit. The smile on his face made Lucha momentarily forget her worries. Júbilo’s shining eyes instantly had the same effect on her as the sun’s rays in which she used to luxuriate in the garden of her parents’ house when she wanted to purify her soul. She felt like her old self again, clean, pure, light. Júbilo asked her to wait for a few minutes while he finished attending to a lady customer. It was close to lunchtime and he wanted to go home with her. Lucha agreed with pleasure and stepped away from the counter to allow her husband to work in peace.

  The lady in question was a stallholder from the market who was going through the same thing Lucha had just suffered: she didn’t have enough money to pay for the telegram she needed to send. Lucha’s eyes filled with tears and she turned toward the street so Júbilo wouldn’t notice. But it wasn’t necessary, because her husband, with characteristic generosity, was so focused on solving the lady’s problem that he had eyes only for what he was writing. He had suggested that she allow him to rewrite the message so that she could afford the cost of the telegram. The original telegram read: “I know that I owe you money and I have not been able to pay you. But however, I need ten boxes of tomato. I beg you to send them. As soon as I have sold them I will pay you for everything.” After Júbilo’s intervention, the message read like this: “I have made a good deal. With the sale of ten boxes of tomatoes, I can repay everything I owe you. Please send them urgently.” The message was reduced by eighteen words and in the process Júbilo had not only corrected her grammar and spelling but also ensured that the humble woman really would receive the tomatoes.

  The problem was that this gave Lucha time to be alone with her thoughts again and to dwell on what had happened at the market. She blamed it all on her lack of money. If she had had sufficient funds, she wouldn’t have had to accept don Pedro’s offer of help. Financial constraints caused all kind of embarrassments. Right now, this poor woman, with whom she completely identified, was suffering because of a lack of money, just as she had been at the market. She didn’t like experiencing poverty, being exposed to it. It made her feel vulnerable and helpless. It terrified her to be dependent on a poor man. The world was made for the rich. Poor people had no opportunities. Now she understood why the Mexican Revoluti
on had happened. Being poor was horrible. And if it hadn’t been for accompanying Júbilo all over the country, she could never have imagined the conditions under which thousands of Mexicans were living. She knew Europe better than she knew her own country, and it hurt her now to discover its misery. Eating a bowl of soup at home takes money. Producing the fruits of the earth costs money. Traveling takes money. Building a house requires money. Installing telegraph lines takes money. Communicating with loved ones means money. And when a woman depends on someone else to get money, she can’t make her own decisions. He who pays, rules. Those with money determine what, when, and how much a peasant eats. What kind of corn he plants. Even when the chickens should lay their eggs! It didn’t seem fair to Lucha that one had to pay to send a telegram. That someone else could control contact between people; that only those who could pay for it could use a form of communicating that should belong to everyone. All this was bothering Lucha, and many other things, because she wasn’t accustomed to anyone telling her what to do with her life. The only thing that made her happy again was that Júbilo had just finished helping the stallholder and they could now go home.

  Being close to Júbilo was an immediate comfort. By his side, all her problems disappeared, there were no insurmountable obstacles. Júblio had that gift. Lack of money immediately became unimportant. He didn’t need cash to caress his wife’s hand, to look into her eyes, to kiss her passionately, and to enjoy his erection. As soon as they got home they rushed into the bedroom to make wild love. Lucha was in the process of enjoying the way Júbilo’s penis caressed her as never before, so she was greatly surprised when he brusquely separated from her.

  “You feel different, Lucha. You’re not the same.”

  Lucha’s heart nearly stopped. She felt she had been found out. She didn’t know how, but she suspected that Júbilo already knew that she had accepted three centavos from don Pedro. She averted her eyes so Júbilo wouldn’t see her bewilderment, and she rapidly began to search for a believable excuse, but she only managed to stammer:

  “Different? How?”

  Júbilo didn’t answer her. Instead he touched her belly with the palm of his hand and studied it. Suddenly he let out a loud laugh that filled the whole room.

  “You’re pregnant, mi amor! You’re pregnant!”

  He began to cover her with kisses. Lucha was stunned. It was true that her period was a week late, but since it was only such a short time she hadn’t thought anything about it.

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  “I felt it. I can’t explain it, but you have a different energy.”

  It was the first time Lucha had heard anything like that. She knew Júbilo had especially sensitive hands, but she couldn’t imagine his powers extended that far. Yet she wanted to believe him. It wasn’t that implausible. And once she thought about it a little, she decided in fact it was more than likely. Perhaps you could compare it to the way, by putting one hand on a patient’s stomach and tapping gently on it with the other, a doctor can make a diagnosis from the way the sound echoes off the internal organs. It was possible that Júbilo could hear the way her womb echoed.

  Lucha stopped doubting him, and immediately accepted that she was indeed pregnant. She had to believe it. That was the only explanation for the dizziness and nausea she had felt when don Pedro had kissed her hand. It was the only thing that made sense. And seen from that perspective, what she had done didn’t seem so wrong. A pregnant woman’s craving was sufficient excuse to salve her conscience. After all, if she hadn’t satisfied that craving, she would have risked her baby being born with a face like an olive. With tears in her eyes, she hugged Júbilo and together they celebrated the wonderful news, unaware that fate had already chosen them as victims of misfortune.

  Chapter 5

  DON JÚBILO WOKE UP PANTING. For the last few days he had been having a recurring nightmare. He was diving at the bottom of the ocean, without an oxygen tank, but breathing as if he had one. His movements were slow and rhythmic. The water was warm and pleasant—a few brightly colored fish accompanied him as he swam. A soft light allowed him to see into the distance. Suddenly, he heard a murmur of voices, followed by laughter. The sounds were coming from the surface. Júbilo lifted his head and observed the bright sunlight filtering through the water, making it sparkle. At that moment, for no apparent reason, he recognized where he was. It was the place where he had first learned to swim. He recognized the waters as those that had washed over the beach in front of his parents’ house so long ago. Júbilo was certain of it. And the laughter he heard in the distance belonged to his grandmother, Itzel; his mother, doña Jesusa; and his father, don Librado. Júbilo wanted to join the group to share in their laughter. He tried to swim ashore and get out of the water, but his feet were anchored in the sand. Try as he might he couldn’t move them. Then he started to shout, but no one could hear him. The sounds that came out of his mouth were trapped in air bubbles, but when they reached the surface and burst, no sound was released. Júbilo was growing desperate. He shouted louder and louder, but things only got worse. Water began to enter his lungs, he began to drown, and nobody could help him. Fortunately, this time his daughter Lluvia had arrived to awaken him.

  “Papi, your friends are here. What’s the matter? Did you have a bad dream?”

  Don Júbilo nodded his head. For a month now he had been practically unable to speak. He had to make enormous efforts for a few tentative sounds to issue from his mouth, but they were unfortunately totally incomprehensible to those who heard them.

  Faced with this situation, Lluvia had immediately begun to search for a telegraph machine. The first place she went to had once been a telegraph office, but when she asked about a transmitter they nearly laughed at her. The telegraph transmitter, as such, had disappeared years ago and no one knew where she could find one. Then it occurred to her that perhaps she might be able to find one at Lagunilla, the flea market, but after several fruitless visits she gave up. She had no choice but to focus her search on antiques shops. She had to visit quite a few, both in the capital and in the provinces, before she found one at last.

  When she finally had the telegraph transmitter she immediately wanted to show it to her father, but then she hesitated. She didn’t want to do anything that might upset him. As soon as her father saw it, he would surely want to use it, and it might turn out to be very frustrating for him to send messages that no one could understand. Her children then informed her that a software program existed that allowed one to enter information into the computer via a telegraph transmitter, in Morse code, instead of through a regular keyboard. The computer would then “translate” the information from the telegraph into spoken words and display them on the monitor. That way everyone would be able to understand what her papá was “saying.” Lluvia thought it was an amazing invention and she had immediately ordered a copy, but it would take nearly three weeks to arrive by mail. So as not to waste any time, she decided to learn to use the telegraph machine herself in the meantime, or at least to take a basic course that would allow her to understand without the computer the first words her father would “speak.” The first person she asked for help was don Chucho, her father’s childhood friend. But unfortunately he was unable to help, because his wife had had a stroke and had to be hospitalized.

  Next she called Reyes, her father’s old friend from work, to see if he could teach her Morse code. Aurorita, her father’s nurse, was also eager to learn: she didn’t want to be left behind. She had been don Júbilo’s nurse long enough to have formed a solid, affectionate relationship with him. Over the years don Júbilo had become her close friend, her confidant, her adviser. Thanks to his wise advice Aurorita had learned how to handle the crises in her marriage better, to laugh at her problems, and to look at life positively. She was so grateful to don Júbilo that she would do anything she could to somehow repay the affection and support he had selflessly bestowed on her. So now Aurorita devoted the same attention and interest to Reyes’s less
ons in Morse code as she did to reading to don Júbilo, taking him out for strolls in his wheelchair, massaging his limbs, and feeding him.

  The third member of the group of students was Natalia, the night nurse, whom everyone affectionately called Nati. She attended to don Júbilo during the night shift and just like Aurorita she had established a warm relationship with him. So much so that sometimes Lluvia was awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of laughter coming from her father’s room, even though she slept with her door closed. Don Júbilo’s jokes flew twenty-four hours a day, and Nati’s fresh laugh celebrated them with unmatched enthusiasm. She was the best companion for his sleepless nights. She had a wonderful sense of humor and a truly unique capacity for tenderness. She was a short, round woman who had adopted don Júbilo just as if he were a small child: changing his diapers, giving him baths, and lulling him to sleep by softly singing his favorite boleros and maternally caressing his forehead.

  Nati and Aurorita were important members of the trio of “don Júbilo’s women” who now desperately missed his comforting words, his advice, and his stories. Don Júbilo’s vocal cords, unbearably tense because of the medicines for his Parkinson’s disease, had stiffened like steel bars that imprisoned his words inside him. So Lluvia, Nati, and Aurorita anxiously awaited the moment those words would be liberated from the prison that kept them knotted in his throat.