Carefully studying the delicate form of the doll, she was thinking how easy it was to wish for things as a child. Then nothing seemed impossible. Growing up, one realizes how many things one cannot wish for, the things that are forbidden, sinful. Indecent.
But what is decent? To deny everything that you really want? She wished she had never grown up, never known Pedro, never had to flee from him. She wished her mother would stop tormenting her, jumping out at her from every corner and crying contempt for her behavior. She wished Esperanza could marry, without Rosaura being able to stop her, so she would never know this pain and suffering! She wished that the child would have the strength Gertrudis had shown and run away from home, if necessary! She wished Gertrudis would come home, to lend Tita the support she needed so much now! Making these wishes, she placed the doll in the bread and left the bread on the table so it could rise.
When the bread has doubled in size the third time, decorate it with candied fruit, glaze it with a beaten egg, and sprinkle it with sugar. Bake it in the oven for twenty minutes, and let it cool.
When the bread was ready to serve, Tita asked Pedro to help her carry it to the table. She could have asked anyone’s help with it, but she needed to speak to him in private.
“Pedro, I need to talk to you alone.”
“That’s easy, why not go to the dark room? There we can do it without anyone bothering us. I’ve been waiting for you to come there for several days.”
“Those visits to the dark room are just what I have to talk to you about.”
Chencha interrupted their conversation to inform them that the Loboses had just arrived at the party, and everyone was waiting for them to cut the bread. So Tita and Pedro had no choice but to postpone their conversation and carry the bread to the dining room, where it was anxiously awaited. As they crossed the hallway, Tita saw her mother, motionless beside the door to the dining room, throwing her a furious look. She was petrified. Pulque began to bark at Mama Elena, who was walking toward Tita threateningly. The fur on the dog’s back was sticking straight up from fear and he was backing away, on the defensive. In his excitement, he put his back leg into the brass spittoon that stood at the end of the hall, next to the fern, and when he tried to run away, he knocked it over, spraying its contents in every direction.
The uproar he created drew the attention of the twelve guests, who were all sitting together in the living room. Alarmed, they looked out into the hall, and Pedro was forced to explain that Pulque did this type of inexplicable thing lately, perhaps because he was getting old, but that everything was under control. Nevertheless Paquita Lobo could see that Tita was on the verge of fainting. She asked someone else to help Pedro carry the bread to the dining room, since she saw that Tita was not feeling well. She took her arm and led her to the living room. She made Tita sniff some smelling salts, and soon she had recovered completely. They then decided to go to the dining room. Before leaving, Paquita detained Tita briefly and asked:
“Are you feeling all right? I notice you still seem a little dizzy, and the look on your face! If I didn’t know perfectly well that you are a decent girl, I would swear that you are pregnant.”
Tita, laughing and trying to appear casual, replied to her.
“Pregnant? Only you would think of something like that! And what does the look on my face have to do with it?”
“I can tell from a woman’s eyes the minute she becomes pregnant.”
Tita was grateful to Pulque who again rescued her from an awkward situation, since the incredible commotion that broke out on the patio kept her from having to continue this conversation with Paquita. Besides Pulque’s barking she could hear the sound of several horses galloping. All the guests were already in the house. Who could it be at this hour? Tita hurried to the door, opened it, and saw what Pulque was making such a fuss over, a person riding at the head of a band of revolutionary soldiers. When they got close enough, she could see that the person in charge of that troop was none other than her sister Gertrudis. At her side rode the man who had carried her off years ago, Juan Alejandrez, now a general. Gertrudis got down from her horse and as if no time at all had passed, said confidently that since she knew it was the day they cut the Three Kings’ bread, she had come for a good cup of freshly whipped hot chocolate. Tita, deeply moved, embraced her and led her straight to the table to grant her wish. In this house they made hot chocolate like nobody else’s, since they took so much care with every step in making it, from its preparation to the whipping of the chocolate, yet another critical procedure. Inexpert beating can turn an excellent-quality chocolate into a disgusting drink, either by under- or overcooking, making it too thick or even burnt.
There’s a very simple method for avoiding the aforementioned problems: heat a square of chocolate in water. The amount of water used should be a little more than enough to fill the cups. When the water comes to a boil for the first time, remove it from the heat, and dissolve the chocolate completely; beat with a chocolate-mill until it is smoothly blended with the water. Return the pan to the stove. When it comes to a boil again and starts to boil over, remove it from the heat. Put it back on the heat and bring it to a boil a third time. Remove from the heat and beat the chocolate. Pour half into a little pitcher and beat the rest of it some more. Then serve it all, leaving the top covered with foam. Hot chocolate can also be made using milk instead of water, but in this case, it should only be brought to a boil once, and the second time it’s heated it should be beaten so it doesn’t get too thick. However, hot chocolate made with water is more digestible than that made with milk.
Gertrudis closed her eyes each time she took a sip from the cup of chocolate she had in front of her. Life would be much nicer if one could carry the smells and tastes of the maternal home wherever one pleased. Well, this was no longer her mother’s house. Her mother had died without her knowing it.
She felt real grief when Tita informed her of her mother’s death. She had come back with the intention of showing Mama Elena how she had triumphed in life. She was a general in the revolutionary army. The commission had been earned by sheer hard work, she fought like mad on the field of battle. Leadership was in her blood, and once she joined the army, she began a rapid ascent through powerful positions until she arrived at the top; moreover, she was coming back happily married to Juan. They had met after not seeing each other for more than a year and their passion had been reborn, just like the day they met. What more could a person ask! How she would have liked her mother to have seen it; how she would have liked to see her, even if only to be told with a look that she needed to wipe the traces of chocolate from her lips with her napkin.
That was chocolate prepared like it used to be.
Eyes closed, Gertrudis offered up a silent prayer, asking that Tita be granted many more years in which to prepare the family recipes. Neither she nor Rosaura knew how to make them; when Tita died, her family’s past would die with her. When they had finished supper they moved to the living room and the dance began. The salon was ablaze with the light from a colossal number of candles. Juan impressed all the guests with the wonderful way he played the guitar, the harmonica, and the accordion. Gertrudis kept time to the songs Juan played, tapping the floor with the toe of her boot.
She was watching him proudly from the far end of the salon, where a court of admirers had surrounded her, besieging her with questions about her part in the revolution. Smoking a cigarette, Gertrudis, perfectly at her ease, was regaling them with fantastic stories of the battles she’d been in. She had them openmouthed, as she told them about the first firing squad she had ordered, but she couldn’t contain herself. She interrupted her story and flung herself into the center of the salon where she began to dance gracefully to the polka “Jesusita in Chihuahua,” which Juan was playing brilliantly on the norteno accordion. She lightly hitched her skirt up to her knee, quite uninhibited.
This attitude provoked scandalized comments among the ladies gathered there.
Rosaura whis
pered in Tita’s ear.
“I don’t know where Gertrudis gets her sense of rhythm. Mama didn’t like to dance, and they say Papa was very bad at it.”
Tita shrugged her shoulders in answer, although she knew perfectly well who had given Gertrudis her rhythm and other qualities. That secret she planned to take to her grave; but it was not to be. A year later Gertrudis gave birth to a mulatto baby. Juan was furious and threatened to leave her. He couldn’t forgive Gertrudis for having returned to her old ways. Then Tita, to save their marriage, told them everything. It was fortunate she had not dared to burn the letters, since now her mother’s “black past” served to establish proof of Gertrudis’s innocence.
It was a hard blow for him to take, but at least they didn’t separate; instead they lived together forever and were happy more often than not.
Tita knew the reason for Gertrudis’s sense of rhythm, just as she knew the reason for the failure of Rosaura’s marriage and for her own pregnancy. Now what she wanted to know was the solution. That was what mattered. At least now she had someone in whom to confide her problems. She hoped that Gertrudis would stay on the ranch long enough to hear her story and give her some advice. Chencha, on the other hand, wished just the opposite. She was furious at Gertrudis; not exactly at her, but at the work involved in waiting on her troop. Instead of enjoying the party, at this hour of the night she had had to set up a huge table on the patio and prepare chocolate for the fifty men in the troop.
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
Next month’s recipe:
Cream Fritters
CHAPTER TEN
October
Cream Fritters
INGREDIENTS:
1 cup of heavy cream
6 eggs
cinnamon
syrup
PREPARATION:
Take the eggs, crack them, and separate the whites. Stir the six yolks with the cup of cream. Beat until the mixture becomes light. Pour it into a pot that has been greased with lard. The mixture should be no more than an inch thick in the baking pan. Place it on the heat, over a very low flame, and allow to thicken.
Tita was preparing these fritters at the specific request of Gertrudis; they were her favorite dessert. It had been a long time since she had had them, and she wanted to make them before leaving the ranch, the next day. Gertrudis had only been home for a week, but that was much longer than she had intended. While she greased the pot where Tita would pour the beaten cream, she never stopped talking. She had so many things to tell Tita that she could talk day and night for a month without running out of conversation. Tita listened, greatly interested. More than interested, she was afraid to let her stop; then it would be her turn. She knew that today was the only day she had left to tell Gertrudis about her problem, and even though she was dying to get it off her chest and confess to her sister, she was worried about what attitude Gertrudis might take with her.
Having Gertrudis and her troops staying at the house had not made Tita feel oppressed by extra work, instead it had provided her with a real peace.
With so many people around the house and the patios, it was impossible to talk to Pedro, much less meet him in the dark room. This was a relief to Tita, since she wasn’t ready to talk with him. Before doing that she wanted to analyze the possible solutions to the problem of her pregnancy carefully and come to some decision. She and Pedro were on one side; on the other, at a total disadvantage, was her sister. Rosaura was weak, it was important to her how society saw her, and she was still fat and smelly; even the remedy Tita had given her had not reduced her huge problem. What would happen if Pedro abandoned her for Tita? How much would that hurt Rosaura? What about Esperanza?
“I’m boring you with my chatter, aren’t I?”
“Of course not, Gertrudis. Why do you say that?”
“You’ve seemed distant for quite a while. Tell me, what is it? It’s about Pedro, right?”
“Yes.”
“If you still love him, then why are you going to marry John?”
“I’m not going to marry him, I can’t.”
Tita hugged Gertrudis and cried on her shoulder, without saying anything more.
Gertrudis stroked her hair tenderly, but was careful to watch the fritter dessert that was on the flame. It would be a pity if she couldn’t eat it. When it was almost starting to burn, she detached herself from Tita and said sweetly:
“Just let me take this off the burner, and then you can go right back to crying, okay?”
Tita couldn’t keep back a smile that Gertrudis seemed more worried about the future of the fritters at the moment than about Tita’s. That was understandable, for Gertrudis was unaware of the seriousness of her sister’s problem; and she had a strong craving for fritters.
Drying her tears, Tita removed the pan from the heat herself, since Gertrudis burned her hand trying to do it.
Once the custard is cool, it is cut into small squares, a size that won’t crumble too easily. Next the egg whites are beaten, so the squares of custard can be rolled in them and fried in oil. Finally, the fritters are served in syrup and sprinkled with ground cinnamon.
While they let the custard cool so it could weather the storm to come, Tita confided all her problems in Gertrudis. First she showed her how swollen her belly was, and how she couldn’t close her dresses and skirts. She told her how in the morning when she got up, she felt sick and queasy. How her chest hurt so that nobody could touch it. And so, at last, she said, reluctantly, that perhaps, who knows, probably, most likely, it was because she was a little bit pregnant. Gertrudis heard this all calmly, not fazed by any of it. In the revolution she had seen and heard worse things than this.
“And tell me, does Rosaura know yet?”
“No, I don’t know what she would do if she learned the truth.”
“The truth! The truth! Look, Tita, the simple truth is that the truth does not exist; it all depends on a person’s point of view. For example, in your case, the truth could be that Rosaura married Pedro, showing no loyalty, not caring a damn that you really loved him, that’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but in fact she is his wife, not me.”
“What does that matter! Did the wedding change the way you and Pedro truly feel?”
“No.”
“To tell the truth, no! Of course not! Because this love is one of the truest loves I’ve ever seen. Pedro and you have both made the mistake of trying to keep the truth a secret, but it will come out in time. Look, Mama is dead, and it’s God’s own truth that she wouldn’t listen to reason, but Rosaura is different, she knows the truth perfectly well and has to understand; what’s more, I think that deep down she has always understood. You have no choice but to stand up for the truth, right now.”
“You think I should talk to her?”
“Look, while I tell you what I would do in your place, why don’t you fix the syrup for my fritters? Let’s get a move on; the truth is it’s getting late already.”
Tita accepted her advice and began to prepare the syrup, without missing a single one of her sister’s words. Gertrudis was sitting facing the kitchen door that led to the back patio, Tita was on the other side of the table, with her back to the door, so it was impossible for her to see Pedro walking toward the kitchen, carrying a bag of beans to feed the troop. Then Gertrudis, with the practiced eye she’d gained on the battlefield, made a strategic estimate of the time it would take Pedro to step over the threshold of the door, so that at that precise moment, she could fire these words:
“ . . . I think you should tell Pedro you’re expecting his child.”
A perfect hit, bull’s eye! Pedro, struck down, let the sack fall to the floor. He was dying of love for Tita. Startled, she turned to discover that Pedro was looking at her, almost in tears.
“Pedro, what a coincidence! My sister has something to tell you. Why don’t you go out to the garden to talk, while I finish the syrup?
Tita didn’t know whether to chide or thank Gertrudis for her
interference. She would talk to her later; right now she had no choice but to talk to Pedro. In silence, she handed Gertrudis the dish she had been holding, in which she had started to prepare the syrup, pulled a creased sheet of paper with the recipe written on it from a box on the table, and left it with Gertrudis in case she needed it. She walked out of the kitchen, Pedro following behind her.
Gertrudis needed the recipe; without it she’d be lost! Carefully, she began to read it and try to follow it:
“‘Beat an egg white in half a pint of water for each two pounds of sugar or piloncillo, two egg whites in a pint of water for five pounds of sugar, or in the same proportion for greater or lesser quantities. Boil the syrup until it bubbles up three times, slowing the boil with a little cold water, which is thrown in each time it starts to rise up. Then take it off the heat, let it stand, and skim off the foam; next add another little bit of water as well as a chunk of orange peel, anise, or clove to taste and bring to a boil. Skim it again, and when it has reached the stage of cooking called the ball stage, strain it through a sieve or a piece of linen stretched over a frame.’”
Gertrudis read this recipe as if she were reading hieroglyphics. She didn’t know how much sugar was meant by five pounds, or what a pint of water was, much less what this ball business was. She was the one who was all balled up! She went out to the patio to ask Chencha for help.
Chencha had just finished serving beans to the congregation at the fifth breakfast mess. This was the last mess she had to serve, but as soon as she was done feeding them, she had to get ready for the next ones, since the revolutionaries who had received their sacred sustenance at the first breakfast mess were coming back to eat, and so on and so on, until ten at night, when she was done serving the last supper. For that reason it was perfectly understandable that she would be awfully angry and irritable at anyone who approached her to ask her to do any extra work. Generala though she was, Gertrudis was no exception. Chencha flatly refused to give her any assistance. She wasn’t part of Gertrudis’s troop, she didn’t have to obey blindly like the men under her command.