Many of her relatives told her that her duty was to get her sweetheart back; the question was how. Others, much like her mother, recommended waiting, caution, in order to establish an effectual new arrangement, in the sense of her acknowledging how much she was willing to compromise. Others, fewer in number, suggested she forget the whole thing; at which point Renata would express herself in stentorian fashion: It’s not so easy to destroy what I have built. Ah. Fortunately chance provided a counterpoint, just when it was most essentiaclass="underline" the incentive to make a hefty profit out of the stationery store. With the beginning of the academic year upon them, the sales of school supplies skyrocketed. The palliative consequences of this circumstance. An exorbitant amount of work. The trips to Monclova (now by bus, which meant the trip was quick) for enormous amounts of merchandise to stock up on here, where people were waiting in line: morning, afternoon, and even some at night! Work piled on top of work, even on weekends. Satisfaction, midst the rough wear and tear, surely enhanced by the boundless bustle. The avalanche of sales continued into the middle of October — of course! then a gradual easing, but still … The evidence was that the beau gave no sign throughout that entire period of celerity: not even one miserable (tantalizing) letter nor a fleeting appearance on the aforementioned bench. Nor did it occur to Renata to go visit Doña Zulema, only to be distressed by some bit of news: that Demetrio was engaged to another (where?) or had taken to drink due to his sorrows; but the letter still to write … When Renata finally did pay a visit to Doña Zulema, the latter confessed that Demetrio had cursed Sacramento as he left. The unforgettable final sentence was:
This puritanical town horrifies me! He didn’t say where he was going. Nevertheless, his aunt did drop a hint: If you want to write him, send the letter to Parras. At least you can be sure his mother will get it and keep it. Renata wasted no time before responding with: And what if she opens the letter and reads it and then hides it? The aunt smiled as if a ghost were tickling her arid armpit: How many dirty things are you going to write? If you speak to him of love and even indirectly bring up the idea of getting married, he just might change his tune … In a somewhat insulting, though gentle and even syllabicated voice, his aunt said she was willing to intervene on their behalf, as she needed to talk to Doña Luisa anyway: I would be very diplomatic or, how can I put it? quite tolerant, or, well, not at all argumentative … The one thing I do know is that this relationship can still be saved. Salvation from the bottom up, tread by tread, about three hundred in all, like climbing to the top of a pyramid. Renata squeezed the waistband of her skirt and asked Doña Zulema to give her the address in Parras — wow! she knew it by heart, so: the process of writing it down on a slip of paper; then she left: grinning at first then subsequently sort of sad: her cheeks sagged: her fine-lipped mouth almost like the tip of an arrow: the slight elevation against the double descent (lovesick): blackness below and above a vitreous brilliance (a flourish?). Smoldering ember: of sorts, enough to notice that she still didn’t know what to write. Never grant a full pardon, because … the premise … The kiss yes, the lick no … That sentence could come at the beginning … Let it serve as a refrain throughout the rather twisted discourse. Leave the writing for later, right? because writing was like laying down a foundation in a straight line, avoid having to hang a strong roof — solid? how? The only solidity would consist of a blunt proposition of marriage, then children: many: a baseball team (ha) with a few on the bench (ha), but … the foundation and the urgency, a combination that would strengthen the undertow of a, perhaps foolish, desire: the pleading sweetheart: Oh, on her knees … hypothetically?! and thus a lifetime of disadvantage; though the other path would be, perhaps, the mistaken one of pride … if only there were others … Better the ruse of patience, until it became an enormous (though not daunting) question, something that would collapse on its own, and then …