Look, now,she might tell her,you were not in a proper state of mind when these arrived, but here they are.
Then a fourth letter announces the death of Inés’s father and Perla breathes a sigh of relief. She locks the letters away, locks away those secrets. She promises she’ll rip them to shreds one day, but she keeps them. Then again, she keeps everything from the past, doesn’t she? The past holds court in this house.
—
Perla had accustomed herself to dissatisfaction, to the rules and strictures of her father, and now that she may write her own rules she is filled with a febrile excitement and with fear. The immensity of her freedom scares Perla as she contemplates the future, and for a while she does not alter her routine, does not make any sudden changes.
She wears her mourning clothes, attends to the matters of the house, socializes with her old friends. Cándido pursues her, and Perla looks at him tiredly. If he’d courted her a decade before, she might have felt something for him, but his performance is stale; he bores her.
A chance mention of a magazine with a “sentimental letterbox”changes her path. Sarita Novo talks about it one day, telling her about a relative in Xalapa who found a man that way.
Perla is scandalized by this idea of meeting people through the post office. It seems to her the height of vulgarity to announce oneself like a fruit vendor at the market. Yet the more she considers the idea, the more it tantalizes her.
At night she dreams of swarthy men with strong arms and slim blond men in slick suits, and she pictures an imaginary harem of suitors out there, awaiting her. It’s a foolish fantasy, and in the end, she suspects, she’ll marry Cándido and fortify her position in town. Yet the idea does not subside, it takes possession of her until she buys an issue of that stupid magazine from the newsstand.
She peruses its pages and carefully reads through the section titled Letterbox, which explains how many cents it costs to take out an ad, how many more to obtain the address of another correspondent, and so on. Each correspondent has a number to identify them, and she laughs at some of the ads and nods at others.
The anonymity afforded by the magazine attracts her. She remembers her encounters with men in the city, men she would never be able to name. The numbers offer a shield, they veil her. Perla Inclán would never take out an ad in a silly magazine like this, but number 745-631 does place an ad in which she explains that she is a lady who lives in a town in Veracruz and seeks friendship and correspondence with a gentleman of good breeding.
A letter arrives from Ulises Linares and it’s polite and polished. And when he sends his photo, he is handsome, and Perla feels that the blood that seemed to have frozen in her veins begins to flow again.
18
The festival was a riotousburst of color. Kids threw handfuls of confetti at one another, and streamers fell from balconies, knotting themselves in the tresses of women and the buttons of men’s jackets. Several of the streets that led to the plaza had been commandeered by vendors who displayed their wares on petates, offering carved trinkets for the little ones, tiny bouquets of flowers for young men trying to impress their sweethearts, and cheap paste jewelry for the ladies. Sellers of candy hawked their glistening treats, shooing away flies that immediately returned to perch themselves upon crystallized sugar, while in the cantinas the men were making themselves uproariously drunk.
It was a time of plenty for the musicians whowalked through each cantina and cheap bar in town, with their guitars and collection plates, offering to burst into song. Children ran amok with sparklers in their hands, and others hurled ratoncitos at the ground, the rhythmic pop-pop-pop of the tiny explosions echoing down the alleyways of the city, startling dogs and cats. Fireworks flew toward the sky, filling the air with the scent of gunpowder while laughing youths swung wooden matracas or banged tin cans together, creating a discordant noise that made the matrons of the town frown.
Ulises, Perla, and Inés walked briskly past the seller of fried plantains, dodged children who were throwing eggs filled with confetti at one another, and arrived at the café at seven o’clock sharp.
Perla had spent a great deal of time working on her hair and makeup, and together with the excellently tailored dress she wore, she had managed to achieve an appearance of refined beauty. She was as perfect as a painted porcelain doll, with every strand of hair in place and her cheeks rouged. There were appreciative murmurs as she paused to greet this person and another, including Cándido and Lulú. Ulises nodded at everyone, following his wife like the attendant of a queen who carries the train of her dress.
Finally, the procession ended, and they reached their designated table, next to a huge window that allowed an excellent view of the plaza. To Ulises’s right, close to them, was the table of the Zorrilla sisters, and situated at his elbow were the priest and the doctor.
Ulises sank into his seat while Perla turned to the waiter and began talking of wine. Inés sat down. In the cramped café, his leg touched hers by accident, and she kicked him in the shin.
He let out a low curse and pretended to look at the menu while she smiled cruelly.
Unlike her aunt and the other ladies, who sat primly in their best dresses and high heels, Inés wore sensible flats, and although she’d knotted a yellow ribbon in her hair, she had not labored over a coiffure.This puzzled Ulises, but he did not ask her about it. He’d hardly spoken to her for the past few days, and she’d been happily ignoring him.
What did she expect of him? He was right to be cautious. Maybe she didn’t mind ending up in jail, but he did. All he’d done was speak sensibly. And then she had the gall to kick him away like he was a mangy dog trying to hump her leg.
She’s mad,he thought, giving her a sideways glance and then quickly turning away.First she kisses me, then she wants to slap me. To hell with her.
It was not as if he could be wasting his time with Inés anyway. He was trying to con the aunt, not seduce the niece, yet for the past few days, while she remained distant and he remained quiet, all he could think about was how he wanted her to kiss him again.
He put the menu down, ordered a random drink, and noticed men with tiger masks running around the plaza, screaming and laughing, chasing after women.
“What is that all about?” he asked.
“The tigers? It’s an old tradition. They say there was once a tiger in the mountains that ate the cattle, and the townspeople hunted it down,” Perla said. “So now the men dress as tigers.”
“A tiger in the mountains of Veracruz?”
“In the old days they used to say the witches turned into tigers, and that’s why we dance the tiger dance,” the doctor said. The tables were so close together, conversation with other guests was inevitable.
“It’s a way to sell masks,” Manuela said disapprovingly.
“And an excuse to pinch the buttocks of women,” Eduviges said.
