“There are plants that can be used to cure diseases. But take the wrong one, it could make you ill. Raíz de Xalapa is used as a laxative. The trouble is, I don’t know how we’d administer that to her.”
“Put it in her food next time she comes to visit.”
“That’s just it. My aunt doesn’t like Lulú. She invites Cándido to the house, and Lulú comes with him because he won’t leave her behind. I think it would be best if she was alone. She’d be easier to influence.”
“I like it. I like it very much,” he said.
He gave her an easy smile and she smiled back.
Down the hallway, a door opened and closed. She jumped off the bed. “I should go. We’ll talk later.”
When Inés walked into the kitchen, Estrella was wiping her handswith a rag. “Do you feel like doing work in the garden today? It’s time to pull out weeds, or they’ll overrun us.”
“Yes, of course,” Inés said.
Their garden was a welcome respite. Aunt Perla sometimes intruded in Inés’s room, looking at her drawings and the cutouts on the walls, issuing an order or asking an inopportune question, but she seldom ventured into the garden. That was Estrella’s domain; Perla had never had an interest in the plants that grew there, in getting dirt under her fingernails.
When Inés was little the garden had been a game, identifying the plants Estrella tended like playing hide-and-seek. She learned to differentiate seeds like she learned children’s rhymes.
Aunt Perla said houses with good names didn’t have herb gardens. They ought to grow roses and ornamental flowers. A few times she had threatened to uproot everything that thrived in the beds of rich black earth, thinking onions and mint were for peasants. But she’d never actually done it. Inés suspected she was too afraid of Estrella’s rage. The cook was ancient, her hair all white, and the wrinkles in her face were like gouges, but she still had an imposing voice. Because she had served “in the old days,” as Perla liked to say, she was awarded a place of dignity the younger maid did not have. Although “younger” was a relative term: Rita was middle-aged and had been with the family for many years. Fito was the youngest staff member and had been with them for the shortest span of time.
As Inés ripped out the weeds growing next to the epazote, she kept thinking about Lulú. Raíz de Xalapa might do the trick, even an infusion of toronjil could work. But how to get Lulú to the house without attracting any undue attention?
Just then she recalled what her friend had said about a dress for the festival of San Fidel de las Cumbres. The Zorrilla sisters lived for the preparation of the celebration. Well, they lived for that and for attendingHigh Mass. Every year women from around the city gathered in the living room of one of the prominent families and discussed the route the procession would follow—even if it was always the same—the hiring of musicians, and the mandatory fireworks display.
Inés wiped her hands against her skirt and headed inside. Her aunt was in the sitting room, reading, and when Inés walked in, she kept her eyes on the page.
“Aunt Perla, I’ve been thinking about what the Zorrilla sisters were saying the other day, about how the festival of San Fidel de las Cumbres is not what it used to be and how they wish young people would take an interest in the festival committee. I think I’d like to volunteer with them.”
Aunt Perla attended High Mass each week, but she was not deeply religious, unlike the Zorrilla sisters, who swooned at the thought of sermons and Bible verses. Aunt Perla treated religion as an obligation, necessary to maintain her social standing, but not a passion. For her part, Inés had grown more indifferent to religion with each passing year. Every time the priest exalted meekness, she wished to roll her eyes. It was no wonder, then, that her aunt gave her a skeptical look.
“Why would you do that?”
“I thought you’d approve. You complain I’m too idle.”
Perla clapped her volume of poetry shut. “Precisely. Those meetings consume many hours, and you have chores to complete, especially during the week of the festival. Decorating the entrance of the church with paper flowers is not as important as making sure all the bedrooms are clean for our guests. We do good business on those days.”
“I’d like to contribute in some way. What if I invited the ladies to hold their meetings at our house? I could make snacks for them, and we have much more space here than at Brígida Pacheco’s house.”
“Is she hosting the committee again?”
“She did last year. I think she will do it again this year.”
Inés knew nothing of the sort. But Brígida was one of the women ofthe town who did not care much for the Incláns. This, in turn, rankled Perla.
“Well, then, if you don’t mind hosting, you may meet here.”
“I’ll inform the Zorrilla sisters about your generous offer. The ladies of the committee will be thankful, no doubt.”
Her aunt smiled, looking pleased with herself. She was probably picturing Brígida’s sour face when she heard the women would be meeting at the Incláns’ home. Seeing her in an agreeable mood, Inés decided to press her luck.
“There’s something else I wanted to mention. Filomeno was talking to me today when I went to the grocer’s, and he said he’s short on funds. I think he would appreciate having more time to pay back the loan he took.”
“I’ve told you a million times, I don’t ‘loan’ money,” Perla said. “I provide credit, which is the same thing my father did when the coffee company was in operation. It’s the same thing everyone did, and some of us still do out of a sense of obligation to the townspeople. Where would they go otherwise? To a bank, to beg a teller for tender? The tienda de raya was kinder than the tellers at Banco de México.”
“I know, aunt. You always say people at the bank are thieves.”
“Of course they are. They’re buzzards, the lot of them.”
