The embrace felt like being squeezed into a coffin, she could hardly breathe. The rag doll slipped through her fingers and Inés clapped her mouth shut, biting her tongue. Blood dripped down her chin.
When she woke up, she touched her throat and gasped.
She sat with her heart thundering in her chest.
The nightmare was the terror she had endured since childhood, yet it felt subtly alien, and more dangerous. Her aunt had never been a part of it before. Then again, she wanted the woman dead. The dream was morphing to suit her thoughts.
She heard the thin whine again and realized it was the dog, scratching at her door. She opened the door and let it in.
“Here, Diógenes,” she said, and patted the bed.
The dog jumped onto it and happily curled up at her feet.
I’m sure you fear something. Thoughts keep you up at night and you can’t subdue them.
She lay back, squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to sleep.
17
Perla had worn her mourningclothes as diligently and proudly as a knight might display his shield and armor. She’d kept the mirrors covered with a thin black cloth for a whole year after her father’s funeral and held the necessary masses in his honor on the anniversary of his death.
She’d hated this mourning. It seemed to Perla that her entire life had been made of black dresses and sorrow. Crespón de luto, first for her brother, then her sister, then her mother, and finally her father. She was like a colorless moth that bats its wings against a shuttered window.
But she’d worn the mourning clothes quietly and patiently, awaiting the delight of color. Color had arrived now. Pink skirts and pale green blouses and the beautiful blue dress that Inés had sewn for her.
The festival of San Fidel de las Cumbres was the biggest celebration of the year, and the opening night on Friday would afford Perla the chance to show herself to the town in her utmost glory.
The town waited for this weekend the whole year, for this moment of joy, and Perla had waited longer than anyone else. But here it was, finally, the morning of the festival.
The guesthouse was a chaos of voices and people. The place was full to the brim, and she knew the maid, the houseboy, and the cook were all busy tending to the guests. Sitting in her bath, enjoying the warmth of the water, Perla closed her eyes.
This year she could grant herself the luxury of leisure. She’d told Inés to handle the arrival of the guests while she bathed. Ulises had been deputized to attend his wife. He combed her hair carefully.
“Does Inés know to be back at home by nine o’clock tonight?” she asked, eyes closed, head thrown back. “Someone needs to be in the house to open and close the front door for the guests, and Estrella will complain if she doesn’t have a turn to listen to the music.”
“They both know. Inés will head to the town square early with us, then come back here so Estrella can head out. And tomorrow it’ll be Rita and Fito’s turn to trade places. You might hand everyone keys to the door, and then we wouldn’t have to have this coming and going, you know? And a curfew, on top of that, seems silly.”
“Guests that pay by the day never have keys. Everyone is used to doing things this way and I don’t see a reason to change our practices. All the decent houses uphold curfews and have people minding the front door, otherwise you’ll have drunkards stumbling in at three in the morning. It’s better if they sleep off their hangovers far from here. It’s an important festival and people can become too enthusiastic.”
“I bet. You’d think Tito Guízar is coming to play, the way everyone is excited.”
Ulises sounded like he wanted to laugh. She supposed the festivalmust seem a trifle compared to the amusements the city might provide, but for the people of Puerco Ahogado it was legendary.
“The water has cooled,” Perla said, and motioned to her husband.
Ulises offered her a towel and she dried herself quickly and efficiently, then dressed herself in her embroidered robe.
Puerco Ahogado knew only rain and drizzle, yet that day it had been blazing hot without a hint of moisture. Her room was uncomfortably warm. Ulises had placed her glass of sherry by the wicker chair, along with a cigarette. She sat down and raised the glass to her lips. Her throat felt parched.
It was still early. When night fell, the fireworks would light up the sky and the vendors would finish setting up their stands. Food and candy and games of target shooting would command the attention of the rabble, while a band would play in the wrought-iron gazebo. Perla, who belonged to one of the notable families of Puerco Ahogado, who was, despite the trials and tribulations of the Incláns, still a proper lady, could not be expected to spend the night on her feet, lining up to play games of chance or throwing darts at balloons. Therefore, she had reserved a table at the café, as she did every year. All the best people of Puerco Ahogado had tables and could watch the festivities this way.
On this occasion, their table would have a white card with the surnamesInclán Arnao de Linareswritten on it. When Perla took her seat, wearing the exquisite blue dress, all eyes in the café would turn toward her. Her pulse accelerated at the thought and she handed Ulises her glass that he might refill it.
Her husband was wearing a sleeveless white undershirt. Perspiration dotted his forehead, and his hair was uncombed. Later he’d dress in a perfectly pressed suit but right that instant he looked unflatteringly low-class. She was about to ask him to throw on his robe for the sake of decency and good manners, but she was distracted by a noise.
She heard, muffled and distant, the loud voices of Inés and Fito, andthe resounding clang of a pot falling against the floor. Then the incessant barking of the dog.
“Whatever are they doing downstairs?” she asked.