Lucha considered Lolita her confidante and she was grateful for her sincere concern. The only thing Lolita didn’t seem to understand was Lucha’s attitude toward money. Lucha had received a very specific education from her parents about money and how to use it. She knew very well what money could buy and she didn’t hesitate to spend it. That didn’t mean she was a compulsive spender. She simply knew that money, among other things, was important for a sense of security. To feel one could live peacefully in a house that could withstand earthquakes, rain, and the cold. Her great preoccupation about having money to pay for a good school for her children stemmed from her belief that the better their education, the better they would be able to provide for their own families. That’s why she had felt so vulnerable during the first months of her marriage to Júbilo. It was the first time she had been exposed to hardship, and it terrified her.
Fortunately, it hadn’t taken her long to realize that she would never find a more worthy man than Júbilo, and that the way to stop worrying about money was to go out to work herself and help her husband support them. And since she had started working things had improved greatly. She felt that her marriage was more solid than ever and that Júbilo’s emotional state would improve as soon as he found another job. And she was willing to help him all she could to make sure every centavo they earned was used properly.
Because of this, whenever Lucha bought anything, she liked it to be the best, and also the best value. She was of the firm belief that you get what you pay for. And she was very particular about the way things looked too. She believed that living in a clean, pleasant, harmonious environment raised the spirits. Lucha had a rare talent for spotting the best buys the moment she entered a shop. They never escaped her notice even when they were hidden among many other things. She always found the most beautiful dress, which unfortunately usually turned out to be the most expensive. But Lucha never wasted much time in hunting down bargains. According to her reasoning, it was much better to always buy the best, because cheaper things usually faded or shrank the first time they were washed.
When she went into a furniture store, it was the same. She was always drawn to the most expensive piece of furniture made with the highest-quality wood and the best finishes. She knew from experience that they would last the longest, just as she knew that the best drink was the least harmful to one’s body. She had the same good eye for evaluating people. From the first moment she saw Júbilo she had appreciated his other virtues as much as his physical beauty. He was an intelligent, sensible man, possessed of a wonderful sense of humor, sensitive in his dealings with others, passionate in bed, respectful, gentlemanly, in short, truly unique.
Lucha was amused by Júbilo’s jealousy toward don Pedro. She could never have even looked at a person of such low social, spiritual, and physical standards. Don Pedro was the complete opposite of the light, harmony, and good taste radiated by Júbilo. Don Pedro was a swarthy, ugly, evil-looking, disgusting, disrespectful, immoral, vulgar opportunist, who didn’t know what proper manners were, much less how to treat women and show them respect. She wasn’t about to trade down. And don Pedro was out of his mind if he thought he could buy her with a stupid scarf. Lucha wasn’t crazy enough to renounce Júbilo and her children for such an unworthy man. He was just a poor fool with money in his pocket. If money had been the only thing that mattered to her, she could have gotten it ages ago, and by the handful, from her boss. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted much more than that. She wanted to spend the rest of her days by Júbilo’s side and to remain just as much in love with him as she was now, as she had been last night! She blushed as she remembered again what Júbilo and she had done in bed.
Her employer’s presence in front of her desk brought her back to reality. Don Pedro was offended because Lucha had left the office the previous evening without even saying good-bye to him, even though she had been wearing the expensive scarf he had given her! What hurt him most was seeing the look of love she gave her husband. He had never inspired that kind of look on anyone’s face, much less a woman like Lucha, and he was determined to do whatever it took to make that woman his: and to amortize the cost of the scarf. Women were all equally ungrateful, they only wanted men for their money, but he was going to teach them how to treat a man like him with respect. Tired of being brushed off by Lucha, he wasn’t willing to wait any longer to get his hands on her. He was full of rage and planned to overcome her resistance to him any way he could. The cold, distant tone Lucha used in her dealings with him was extremely irritating. He had tried everything, but nothing worked with her. He had to change his strategy to persuade her to sleep with him. He had invested a lot of money in Lucha and now he intended to collect for all the flowers, the chocolates, and that damned scarf. He was fed up with feeling ignored and disdained.
He had decided to punish her by doing the same to her, but she hadn’t even noticed. And to make matters worse, the ingrate had allowed herself the luxury of arriving late for work! So he had punished her by loading her down with a ton of dictation. Almost everyone had left for the day and the office was practically deserted.
“Have you finished?”
“Almost.”
“Ay, Luchita! You left so quickly yesterday, you didn’t even say good-bye to me. I was planning to invite you to dinner.”
“I appreciate the gesture, but you know I’m married. I went out to celebrate with my husband.”
“I hope he treated you well.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Did he give you a present?”
“The best.”
“Better than the scarf I gave you?”
“You know what, don Pedro? Your question is in very poor taste. I suggest you don’t ever ask me a question like that again, well, that is, if you ever want to get anywhere in society.”
“You really think you’re some fine filly, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
Don Pedro felt the sudden urge to slap Lucha to wipe the look of disdain and superiority with which she stared back at him off her face. And Lucha felt the sudden urge to hand him her resignation right then and there. She didn’t like the way she was being treated one bit. No, señor! Her family’s financial situation was still dire, but she wasn’t pregnant anymore and she could easily find another job, even a better-paying one, where she wouldn’t have to put up with a cretin like don Pedro. But neither of them immediately acted on their impulses. Don Pedro swallowed his aggression, turned around, and entered his office, shouting from the open doorway:
“Lolita, please come to my office!”
Instead of finishing the letters in front of her, Lucha began to write her letter of resignation. She had already made up her mind, but she was going to do it properly, not impulsively. That’s what education and intelligence were all about. When she had finished the document, she placed it in her desk drawer, picked up her purse, and left the office. Before going home, she wanted to get Júbilo some bread from Café Tacuba to prolong the good taste left in their mouths from the night before. As she walked back to her car, she suddenly realized she had left the car keys on her desk. She turned around and returned to the office. She couldn’t help smiling like an adolescent in love—she loved this feeling of distraction.
When she returned to the office, there was no one there. The desks were empty and silence reigned. Lucha’s footsteps echoed through the building. But the light was still on in don Pedro’s office. Lucha tiptoed past so her boss wouldn’t hear her. She didn’t want to be caught alone with him. As she noiselessly picked up her keys with her fingertips, Lucha heard the sound of sobbing coming from don Pedro’s office. She froze for a few seconds to make sure she had heard correctly; yes, there it was again, a woman was crying.
Lucha steeled herself as she opened the door: she saw Lolita lying curled up in a corner, weeping. Lucha ran to her side and with horror deduced what had happened. Lolita’s clothing was torn, and her stockings were bloodstained. She was in a state of total sh
ock. When she saw Lucha, she clung to her friend and began to scream desperately. She told Lucha that don Pedro had raped her. Then she begged her not to tell anyone, because she would die of shame if anyone else knew, especially Júbilo. Lucha consoled Lolita as best she could and tried to convince her to file charges against don Pedro at the police station, but Lolita stubbornly refused. She didn’t think she could bear the humiliation. So Lucha tried to persuade her to go to the hospital, but again met with resistance. Finally, after a long time, Lucha was able to convince Lolita to come with her to her brother Juan’s house. He was a doctor and would attend to her. Lolita accepted on the condition that Lucha stay by her side the whole time.
Lucha kept her promise and stayed with Lolita, holding her hand and wiping her tears, until she could finally take her home and put her to bed. They had to break the news to Lolita’s mother: her daughter had been the victim of a terrible attack and that was why she had arrived home so late and in this condition.
Lucha was dead tired when she got home. Seeing Lolita in such a sad state had been a very jarring experience. She never imagined that something even more terrible was waiting for her. Ramiro’s death represented the end of all that she held dear in life: her family and her love for Júbilo.
That night, don Pedro had not only robbed her friend of her virginity but at the same time profaned her own home. He had destroyed Lucha’s image of Júbilo and Júbilo’s image of her. How could Júbilo have doubted her?! Lucha had thought that if anyone in the world knew her best, it was Júbilo. If she had ever put all her faith, her trust, her dreams, her intimate desires in someone, it was him. And suddenly she realized that the seventeen years they had known each other meant nothing. With a single question, Júbilo had ended it all. How could he have called her a whore? Didn’t he know her? What good had it done to give him not only her body but her very soul? It seemed unbelievable that the person she trusted most, and who supposedly loved her more than anyone else, was the same person who had now destroyed her whole world, a world she had never dreamed could deteriorate or be devalued. It was unbearable to find out that the one man she thought was different from all the rest turned out to be just like them. Lucha decided she would never again allow him, or any other man, to hurt her. She wanted to have nothing more to do with men.
The day after Ramiro’s funeral she asked Júbilo for a divorce. Because of the emotional state they found themselves in, Júbilo asked that she wait a few days for a decision, but Lucha didn’t want to listen to him or to accept any of his arguments. Her heart had been destroyed; she had buried it beside Ramiro. She felt as if she had been murdered. Just like don Pedro.
That same day, a headline had appeared on the front page of the newspaper: MURDERED WITH THE SAME WEAPON THAT KILLED HIS FORMER LOVER. It was an account of don Pedro’s death at the hands of an unknown woman. The story read:
His was a life of cockfights and women. The director of the Telegraph Office was found dead this morning outside a hotel in the Plaza de Garibaldi, in the company of one of his regular girlfriends. He was killed by a .44 caliber bullet from the same gun with which he had killed another young mistress years ago. After that incident, due to his money and influence, he escaped prosecution. Pedro Ramírez emerged from obscurity during the Cristero Rebellion amid rumors of arms dealing to go on to enjoy an enviable political career. Ramírez held several administrative posts in the national government, among which the most important was as federal representative for the state of Puebla. According to initial investigations, Pedro Ramírez left his office on Friday evening and joined several friends at El Colorín, an infamous nightspot located in the Plaza de Garibaldi. At his hip was the .44 revolver, the same weapon responsible for his death later that night. Waiters at the club stated that Ramírez was a regular customer who often frequented the place in the company of a variety of women. Official reports indicate that later that night, Pedro Ramírez left the nightclub and walked toward a nearby hotel in the company of two young women with whom he apparently intended to spend the night. A short distance from the nightclub, the group was met by a third woman, who argued loudly with Ramírez and, during the ensuing scuffle, Ramírez’s weapon discharged and he was killed. The mystery woman fled the crime scene, and no physical description of her is available. Apparently she had never been seen in the area before, and the only information police were able to gather was that she was well dressed, which leaves many questions still to be resolved in this homicide investigation.
WHEN A CHILD DIES so many questions remain unanswered, particularly when the parents are burdened with feelings of guilt. What would have happened if I hadn’t fallen asleep? Could I have saved the baby if I had been at home? Would my son still be alive if I hadn’t been drinking? Does God punish? What have I done to deserve this punishment? Am I really capable of protecting and caring for my family? How can this kind of neglect ever be forgiven? How can I ever overcome this sense of betrayal? They each had their own doubts about themselves, but it was clear that neither Lucha nor Júbilo was able to trust their partner again. The tragedy put an end to that. They could no longer even look each other in the eye. The pain of their son’s death was unbearable, and each with their mere presence reminded the other of it.
Some people believe one should forgive as easily as one loves, but others refuse to accept this because they just can’t forget. Júbilo couldn’t forget that he had been in charge of the child when he died, nor that a well-dressed woman had killed don Pedro in a jealous rage on that very same night. Lucha couldn’t forget that Ramiro had died because of Júbilo’s neglect, much less that that neglect had been caused by his drinking. To forgive it is necessary to accept what cannot be changed, and neither of them was able to do that, because their own guilt prevented it. Lucha felt that if she hadn’t been so demanding, Júbilo would never have felt so useless and wouldn’t have started drinking. Ramiro had died because Júbilo had fallen asleep, but if she had been at home she would have heard him. Júbilo thought that if he had been capable of earning enough money, Lucha would never have felt the need to go out to work. She would never have had to deal with don Pedro and fall into his clutches, as he suspected. Only the passing of years could heal their souls, and then they still had to clear up any lingering doubts. It would take them both fifty-two years, an Aztec solar cycle, to talk about what happened that night and to finally put their minds at rest.
But at the time, neither of them could see clearly; they were both busy trying to forgive the unforgivable, to find a little relief, to free themselves of guilt, to somehow continue living with the terrible memory of what had happened. So the news of Lucha’s new pregnancy took them by complete surprise and raised new questions. They were in the middle of divorce proceedings. Júbilo felt this was not the right time to have another child, but Lucha felt just the opposite. To her, the unborn child represented a connection between them. She saw it as a living testimony of the love they had shared, as proof that all those years had been worth the trouble, and she would fight tooth and nail to keep it. But Lucha had decided the child would belong to her alone. She didn’t want to share it with Júbilo. She struggled to get the divorce through as quickly as possible, even though it was against the advice of her entire family. All she could think about was kissing and cuddling her unborn child, the product of the most loving night of her life, the night before Ramiro’s death. She felt with this new pregnancy life was giving her back something that it had mercilessly taken from her. That was how she wanted to see it. And looking at it more closely, she even thought she should be grateful to the gods for the help they were giving her. To begin with, they had removed don Pedro from her path so her life could be improved. After all, the wretch more than deserved to die. But what Lucha just couldn’t fathom was why they had taken Ramiro from her. That was something she would never understand, even though they seemed to be trying to console her with the arrival of a new child.
FOR JÚBILO, IT WASN’T so easy to accept becoming a father for
a third time. He was worn out, empty, he didn’t feel up to facing a new child, to saying: “I am your father. I brought you into this world and I am the one who is supposed to provide you with food and clothing, but guess what, I don’t have any money. And I’m supposed to take care of you and love you, but let me tell you, I’m no good at those things: I tend to get drunk and fall asleep while my children suffocate. I don’t think I’m good for you; I can’t watch out for you while you sleep; I’m no good at that, I might let you die.”
At the moment, Júbilo didn’t even feel capable of taking care of himself. He was filled with self-recrimination. The fear of hurting others made him look for ways to efface himself as a human being, to avoid everybody else, to numb his conscience. It hurt to wake up. It hurt to see Raúl. It hurt to look at Lucha. It hurt to smell the flowers in the garden. It hurt to walk. It hurt to breathe. The only thing he wanted to do was die. To get rid of his physical body once and for all, because emotionally he was already dead. So he chose to hang out in the cantina, to stay there all the time. To end his pain. To end his struggle.
There, he could forget about everything and everyone. The only effort he had to make was to raise the bottle to his lips. He would spend all day drinking and at night he would lie in the cantina’s doorway begging for money for more drink, without washing, without eating. His inseparable companion during this time was Chueco López. Chueco was his teacher in his new life on the street. When the cantina was open, they used its bathroom when they needed to, but when it was closed, to relieve themselves they had to go to the Sagrada Familia church, the same church where Lucha and Júbilo had been married years before. It was sad for everyone in the neighborhood to see Júbilo in this condition, and no one hesitated to give him money when he asked for it. Besides the affection in which he was held, everybody owed him a favor, so they couldn’t refuse, even though they knew that Júbilo would use the coins they gave him to keep on drinking. Everyone knew his child had died and they understood his despair. Some tried to talk to him, to give him advice, but Júbilo couldn’t hear them; he was lost in the alcohol. His physical and mental condition deteriorated rapidly. He suffered all kinds of calamities. He was robbed, and his jacket and shoes were stolen, but he didn’t even notice. Some days he woke up vomiting, others, soiling himself, still others, thrashing and striking the ground. His legs became swollen, his feet cracked and split open, and his heart bled day and night.