“Norberto will inherit his father’s company.”
“Then don’t all of his expenses depend on someone else too?” Encarnación replies, peevish.
Perla turns away from the mirror and her fingers still. “Do not be contrarian. You know exactly what I mean. I want Norberto to like me. Please behave,” she says.
The anxious pitch of her voice has an effect on Encarnación, who quickly rises from the bed where she’s been sitting and wraps her arms around Perla. “I will. Don’t worry, I will.”
—
Norberto and Rómulo visit them twice for an informal evening of warm chocolate and sweet breads. In the port, everyone drinks coffee in the evenings—the question “Did you drink yet?” always implies coffee—but their family believes chocolate is more dignified. Though there are those stubborn, unsophisticated folk who would rather dole out atole. And, of course, the riffraff exalts pulque as a beverage fit for breakfast and supper. Thus, twice Perla sits with her gaze fixed on her hands, smiling demurely, as her aunt distributes the pastries and the gentlemen praise the skills of the cook. Afterward, they venture for a walk around the plaza.
—
The next time the gentlemen come to the house it is as part of a larger gathering of friends. The evening is designed to showcase Perla’s talents at the piano. She does wonderfully with her first and second pieces, and the applause is enthusiastic. When she plays the third melody, her sister joins her in song.
Encarnación sings with a sweet, lively voice and her vivacious face seems to shine brighter than the chandelier above their heads. When the applause comes, it is thunderous. Perla wonders if the audience is applauding for the both of them, or for Encarnación alone.
The days succeed one another after that, with more visits from Norberto, who usually arrives in the company of Rómulo or another one of his friends. While they sip their chocolate, Perla smiles demurely, each gesture calculated. Encarnación has no airs and no arts; each of hergestures is open and vigorous. Although Encarnación does her best not to laugh too loudly, not to dominate a conversation, more than once Perla must chide her sister after the gentlemen have departed.
But then, Encarnación will not be married, will not have to take up the mantle of wife and hostess of a grand house. She will tend to their parents, and one day, when they are gone, she will become a maiden aunt, much like Crésida, who will watch over the younger members of the family. Perla supposes that considering this, it is acceptable to let Encarnación chortle and play at youth a little longer. Responsibility will soon rest upon her shoulders, just like duties of a different sort will be assigned to Perla.
—
At night, in bed, Perla goes over the events of the day. If Norberto has visited them, she recalls his words, reconstructs his smiles in the dark. If she has not seen him that day, she imagines where he will have gone in the evening, tries to trace his route in her mind.
Perla had not thought much of love before meeting Norberto. Her parents’ marriage is cordial, but it was an arranged match, not a union born of passion. Marriage to Norberto, however, would be a true delight. Not only a merger of fortunes, but the perfect symmetry of two lovely young people who fancy each other.
There are many inconsequential details that betray his affection: the way she has caught him staring at her across the table, the flattering words he has bestowed upon her when they meet, his soft kiss upon her hand. The previous week he came to their aunt’s house with a volume of poems under his arm and recited the most beautiful sonnets with the excuse, of course, of lending them his book of Amado Nervo.
He has yet to pass his arm around her waist or steal a kiss from her lips, which is to be expected, since this is a man from a good family and not a brute from the streets who might ply a silly servant with a few compliments and invite her on her day off to go to the fair.
Yet her heart beats, intensely painful, at the thought of Norberto and of a kiss on the lips. She will blush at such audacity, of course, as a lady must, then, shy as a dove, look into his beautiful eyes.
A long, tender kiss that grows bolder. A kiss like a flash of lightning streaking across the sky, a kiss that sears the ground. Perhaps he might ask for more: a caress, an embrace, a complete surrender.
Imagining the scene, Perla shivers in bed, drawing the sheets close around her body, and whispers his name.
—
Norberto organizes a dance at his house and invites the Inclán sisters to attend. It is not the grand ball that Perla would have liked to be invited to, back when Carnaval was a time for fantastic costumes and merriment, but it is a festive occasion nevertheless.
The highlight of the evening comes when Norberto asks her to dance, smiling at her with an air of gallantry that makes her heart soar and her pulse quicken. All the ladies in attendance look at her enviously as he twirls her around the floor. They dance two dances, until she is breathless with delight. When the music subsides he kindly says he will now ask Encarnación to dance. It is thoughtful of him not to forget her sister.
But Encarnación has gone missing. Perla looks for her to no avail, until she reappears and plops herself down on a chair, cheeks flushed, fanning herself. It is a dreadfully warm night, after all.
“Where have you been? Norberto wishes to dance with you.”
“I would prefer to look at the dancers,” Encarnación says.
If Perla could take her sister by the arms and pull her up from the chair, she would. But Norberto is at their side, and he gently offers to keep the girl company while she rests her feet. Perla is irritated by her sister’s refusal and frowns, but then her aunt approaches and pulls her aside, congratulating her in a whisper.
“I wager he’ll propose by next week,” Crésida says.
“You think so?” Perla replies, and her heart is bursting with so much joy she fears she will faint.
“No doubt about it.”
—
