“You’re mistaken,” she said firmly.
He shrugged amiably. “At any rate, I hope you’ll be able to show me the sights around town and that we might get to know each other better.”
“I’ll see what excursions I can arrange.”
“Thank you. It seems like a lovely town, and this is a remarkable house,” he said, hands behind his back, looking up at the high ceilings. Then he looked at her with a delightful smile. “Miss Inclán, I realize it might be presumptuous, but I’m wondering if I might call you Perla? I felt, in our letters, that we were close to becoming friends, and I’d be much more comfortable speaking to you in an informal way.”
“Mr. Linares, my family has lived in Puerco Ahogado for six generations—”
“It’s that old, this house?”
“Yes. Of course, my father greatly renovated it, he spared no expense and had electric lighting installed when it was still a marvel in the countryside. He wanted to have a home that was commensurate with our status. We’re well known around these parts,” she said.
“Because of your coffee business?”
“That, and the achievements of our family members. This is anoble house,sir,” she said as she carefully repositioned the vase with white flowers resting on the vanity. She plucked a faded petal. “I’m a lady. It might seem old-fashioned to you, but I prefer to keep a certain degree of formality between people until a proper amount of time has passed.”
She wanted to make sure he understood her position in town, as well as his own. He must not have any notions that this was to be a cheap, quick affair. She needed to dictate the limits of their relationship, should she choose to have one with him.
“Of course. What’s a proper amount of time?” he asked, and there was a youthful enthusiasm to the question that caught her by surprise.
Her face felt warm, and she carefully ran a hand against a stray lock of hair, smoothing it back. It had been too long since she’d enjoyed the attentions of a man. Cándido courted her, he did, but he was a bore even if he was one of the most eligible bachelors in town, at least when youconsidered the size of his bank account. If he hadn’t had that sister of his, always whispering in his ear. If he’d been a tad better-looking.
“We shall see,” she said. “I should let you rest for now. Tomorrow a few friends are coming over for an evening treat. You might join our gathering. There won’t be cards, but we might play charades.”
“Thank you. That would be lovely.”
She nodded. When she was at the threshold, she paused and looked over her shoulder. “I’m pleased you’ll be spending three weeks with us,” she said, because he was enticing enough to make her revise her plans.
“Three after all?”
“I try to be hospitable.”
He smiled at her again. She closed the door and walked to her room. Her father’s huge oil portrait hung above a secretaire that had belonged to him—she now kept her most precious letters and papers in this desk. Truth be told, the whole room had once belonged to him. The wrought-iron canopy bed with its white curtains was where he’d languished all those long years, and by the window was the crimson armchair where he’d sat, hunched over, looking more like a dried-up insect in a bell jar than a man.
She had not changed the room. The lacquered screen in the corner had been his, along with the carved, monogrammed chair; the full-length mirror hanging from the wall had once reflected his formidable frame; the cedar armoires with their iron grillwork had been filled with his clothes.
But now this room, this house, was hers. Yet she had not altered it to suit her tastes, for her tastes were her father’s tastes. She liked the grandeur and the sense of permanence that he had gravitated toward, that feeling that this place would withstand the rigors of time rather than surrender to the whims of the new.
She was also tightfisted with her money. She knew Inés thought her miserly, but Inés hadn’t had to withstand the tempestuous days of Perla’s youth, when they’d lost their livelihood.
“Venidos a menos.”The first time she heard someone calling them that, she thought she’d die of shame, and then came the horror of having to write to friends, to relatives, to her aunt Crésida, begging for cash.
No, Perla was not going to waste her money on fripperies, on new sofas and chairs, when they had magnificent furniture left from days of plenty. In her old age, Perla planned to be happy and comfortable. Later, Inés would be there to hold her hand and nurse her through her final days. One day, far, far in the future, the house and whatever money remained would go to her niece. This was the unalterable cycle of existence.
Yet something inside her hungered for change, screamed for radical alterations to her routine, demanded new beginnings. She’d spent many years chained to her father and she wanted to laugh in merriment.
She was free of him; she was the mistress of this house. She could do as she pleased. She could send her guest packing the next morning or keep him for those allotted three weeks. She could take him as a lover or rebuff any advances. She could marry or remain the spinster she’d always been.
She could. She finally could.
—
Perla Hildegarda Inclán Arnao’s birth is a long, torturous affair. Her mother labors for a whole day, and when the child is delivered, she screams a triumphant cry that reverberates through the walls of the house as loud as a bell, threatening to shatter the crystal shuttered inside the custom-made cabinets.
Her sister, María de la Encarnación, is born exactly eleven months later. Hers is an easy birth, swift, almost painless, and years later Perla thinks that Encarnación has an easy life because she had an easy beginning.
The girls are dressed in matching pinafores and told to hold hands when they pose for photographs. Their brother wears a sailor suit complete with a tiny hat. He is the eldest, born on Christmas Eve 1898, andhis full name is Osorio Natalicio, in honor of Christ Our Savior, but they call him Natito.