“It’s paganism,” concluded Manuela.
The Zorrilla sisters shook their heads in unison, but the priest shrugged. “It’s symbolism, my young friend. The tiger represents the excesses and the sins of men that will be vanquished by the arrival of San Fidel this Sunday. It’ll be a beautiful mass; we have lovely flowers this year.”
“But the people grow terribly rowdy,” Manuela complained. “When I was a young girl, gentlemen would never run like that around the square.”
“Though the servants did,” Eduviges reminded her. “They ran around and tried to lift the skirts of the maids to get a look at their legs.”
Sarita Novo arrived then and planted herself by their table, gushing about Perla’s dress and sharing gossip in an excited, high-pitched voice. The two cops had also made their entrance at the café. The younger one carried a tiger mask between his hands and smiled nervously in greeting. Ulises wondered who policed the town with the both of them at the restaurant, but he supposed on this occasion these matters were forgotten and drunkards were too numerous to be hauled off to jail.
“Bartolo, we were telling Ulises the story of the tiger masks, and there you are carrying one,” the doctor said, beckoning the young man. “Let me look at that. Lacquered wood, is it? Was it made in Arroyos?”
“Yes, sir,” Bartolo said. “I bought it last month.”
“Then you intend to be one of the tigers this year?” Perla asked. “I thought your mother doesn’t like it when you boys join such games.”
“It’s a bit of fun.”
“I’m sure Bartolo wouldn’t pinch a lady’s buttocks. Would you, Bartolo?” Ulises asked with a generous laugh that had the Zorrilla sisters whispering in disapproval.
The young cop blushed a bright red. Before he could stammer a response the musicians at the center of the plaza began to play, and everyone turned their heads in their direction. Inés sprang to her feet and spoke to her aunt.
“May I dance, Aunt Perla?” she asked.
“As if you’d stay sitting for more than five minutes,” Perla said. “Go and dance, but remember, you must be back at the house by nine and switch places with Estrella. And mind your manners while you dance.”
“I will.” Inés smiled. Her eyes fixed on Ulises for a second, wide and eager, but she shifted her gaze to Bartolo. “Do you want to dance?”
“Yes,” the young man said, and he let her take him by the hand.
“But really, dressing as a tiger,” Eduviges said. “Young people, they do anything these days. In our day, there were five men dressed as tigers, and a policeman would never have worn a mask.”
Ulises watched Inés and Bartolo whirling and laughing among a crowd of eager dancers. Bartolo moved awfully, shuffling his feet rather than following any kind of rhythm, but Inés was good. Not that he didn’t know that already. He’d seen her practicing with Fito, had watched those shapely legs and the hips swaying slightly, but the festive ambience seemed to suit her, making her movements more vibrant.
He found himself thinking about that girl he’d liked when he was a teenager, the one he’d bought sweets for, the one who hadn’t corresponded with him. He’d attended a kermés with her one time, and he suddenly recalled how he’d wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they walked together down a line of food vendors busy at their stalls. Something of the cheerful tone of this night reminded him of that day.
I didn’t kiss her,he remembered. He had been much too shy. He chuckled. To think he’d gone on to kiss and seduce a multitude of women later but could not summon the courage to kiss that girl.
Ulises lit a cigarette and looked away from the dancers, away from Inés, and down at the table. Bartolo had left his tiger mask there. He ran a hand down its nose.
From time to time, he turned his head in the direction of the dancers and caught a glimpse of Inés. But as the minutes passed, and the crowd grew thicker, he lost sight of her. The café was bursting at the seams. It was a chaos of faces and voices.
Perla was a bit tipsy already from sipping sherry at home—and likely tequila too—and her eyes were bright, but she’d just asked for another glass of wine. She was on her way to becoming drunk. This seemed to be the intention of all the patrons of the café, excepting the Zorrilla sisters.
The pious old ladies were correct: there was something pagan to thisnight. After months and months of starchy formalities and good manners, the town gave way to the wildness of music and joy. Even the upper crust of Puerco Ahogado succumbed to the enchantment of the marimba and the guitar. Ulises raised his glass and toasted while his wife giggled.
At certain intervals Inés rushed back inside the café and sat at the table for a few minutes, to rest her feet, and invariably his gaze fell upon her before he busied himself pretending to look at something else.
He understood now why she had not bothered with high heels or a stiff, stately coiffure. Her purpose was practical; she sought to dance as much as she could without tiring, without impediments. The yellow ribbon was a burst of color against her curly black hair, and she sat down, face flushed, smiling, breathing in slowly. Yet he noticed her feet tapping against the floor, eager to resume the dance.
A bead of sweat dripped down her long neck, mesmerizing him. He licked his lips. “Do you wish to dance?” he asked Perla. He wanted to ask Inés, but he knew he couldn’t, and so he turned to his wife.
“Of course not. I told you: those dances are not for the likes of me,” Perla said loftily.
Not for the likes of any of the married ladies sitting around, he supposed. They were drinking and eating, but none of them seemed inclined to dance. He was stuck sitting with a perfectly painted mannequin.
He began to resent the café, its every noise and every smell. He wanted to be out there, moving to the rhythm of a danzón even if the town’s matriarchs found it vulgar. Despite the decadent celebration, it seemed that the “gente bien” clung to certain customs.
Goddamn it, how the sweat glistened against that neck, and how moist the lips seemed. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, Inés had dashed outside again. He saw her partnering once more with Bartolo and stubbed his cigarette into an ashtray.