Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter - Mario Vargas Llosa [11]
“You take longer to change clothes than my mom, Uncle Alberto,” Richard complained between leaps.
When they went into the exercise room, Coco, for whom pedagogy was not a way of earning a living but a vocation, was instructing Blacky Humilla, pointing to his stomach and preaching this axiom of philosophy to him: “When you eat, when you work, when you’re at the movies, when you’re humping your wife, when you’re having a drink, at every moment in your life, and, if possible, even in your coffin: suck in your gut!”
“Ten minutes of warm-ups to make your carcass happy, Methuselah,” the instructor ordered Dr. Quinteros.
As he jumped rope next to Richard and felt a pleasant warmth creep over his whole body, the thought came to him that, when all was said and done, it really wasn’t so terrible to be fifty years old if a person was in as good shape as he was. Among his friends who were his age, was there a single one with a belly as smooth as his, such supple muscles? Without searching any farther, his brother Roberto, what with his spare tire and his potbelly and his premature hunchback, looked ten years older than he did, despite the fact that he was three years younger. Poor Roberto, he must be sad at seeing Elianita, the apple of his eye, getting married. Because, of course, he’d be losing her in a way. The doctor’s daughter, Charo, would be getting married almost any day now—her fiancé, Tato Soldevilla, would soon be getting his degree in engineering—and then he, too, would feel sad and older. Dr. Quinteros went on jumping rope without getting tangled up in it or missing a step, with the agility that comes with practice, changing feet and crossing and uncrossing his hands like a consummate gymnast. He saw in the mirror, however, that his nephew was jumping too fast and recklessly tripping all over himself. His teeth were clenched, his forehead was gleaming with sweat, and he was keeping his eyes closed as though to concentrate better. Was he perhaps having woman trouble?
“That’s enough rope jumping, you two lazybones.” Even though he was lifting weights with Polly and Blacky, Coco had had his eye on them and was keeping track of the time. “Three sets of sit-ups. On your butts, you fossils.”
Abdominals were Dr. Quinteros’s strong point. He did them very fast, with his hands behind the nape of his neck, with the board raised to the second position, keeping his back raised off the floor and almost touching his knees with his forehead. Between each series of thirty he took a one-minute rest, lying stretched out flat, breathing deeply. When he’d finished the ninety, he sat down and noted, to his satisfaction, that he’d beaten Richard. After this workout, he was sweating from head to foot and could feel his heart pounding.
“I just can’t understand why Elianita’s marrying Red Antúnez,” he suddenly heard himself say. “What does she see in him?”
It was the wrong thing to say and he immediately regretted having done so, but Richard didn’t seem to be at all taken aback. Panting—he’d just finished his abdominals—he replied with a feeble joke: “They say love is blind, Uncle Alberto.”
“He’s a fine boy and I’m sure he’ll make her very happy,” Dr. Quinteros went on, feeling a bit disconcerted and trying to make up for having been so outspoken. “What I meant was that among your sister’s admirers were the best matches in Lima. And what did she do but send them all packing and end up saying yes