Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter - Mario Vargas Llosa [16]
Richard brought the new glass of whiskey to his lips and, half closing his eyes slowly, took a sip. Then, without raising his head, in a muffled voice that reached the doctor’s ears as a slow, nearly inaudible whisper, he muttered: “I’m never going to get married, Uncle Alberto, I swear to God—never.”
Before he could answer him, a slender, fair-haired girl, a blue silhouette with a determined air, planted herself in front of them, grabbed Richard by the hand, and without giving him time to react, dragged him to his feet. “Aren’t you ashamed to be sitting here with the old men? Come and dance, you idiot.”
Dr. Quinteros watched the two of them disappear through the door of the foyer and suddenly realized he’d lost all his appetite. He could hear those two little words, “old men”—uttered so unthinkingly and in such a sweet piping voice by the youngest daughter of his friend Aramburú, the architect—ringing in his ears like a persistent echo. After drinking his coffee, he got up and went to have a look at what was going on in the living room.
The party was in full swing now and the dancing had gradually spread beyond its original matrix in front of the fireplace, where they had installed the orchestra, into the neighboring rooms, in which couples were also dancing and singing along with the cha-cha-chas and the merengues, the cumbias, and the waltzes, at the top of their lungs. Fostered by the music, the sun, and the drinking, the wave of joy had spread from the young people to the adults and from the adults to the oldsters, and to his surprise Dr. Quinteros saw that even Don Marcelino Huapaya, an octogenarian related to the family, was waggling and shaking his creaking old bones, following the rhythm of “Nube Gris,” with his sister-in-law Margarita in his arms. The atmosphere in these rooms full of smoke, noise, movement, light, and happiness suddenly made Dr. Quinteros slightly dizzy; he leaned on the banister and closed his eyes for a moment. And then, smiling and happy too, he stood there watching Elianita, still in her wedding gown but without her veil now, leading the dancing. She never once stopped for a second; at the end of each piece, twenty men surrounded her, asking for the next dance, and with flaming cheeks and shining eyes, she chose a different partner each time and returned to the maelstrom. His brother suddenly appeared at his side. Instead of the morning coat, he was now wearing a lightweight brown suit, but sweating nonetheless because he’d been dancing.
“I can’t believe she’s married, Alberto,” he said, motioning to Elianita.
“She looks simply adorable,” Dr. Quinteros said with a smile. “And you’ve given her a really lavish wedding, Roberto.”
“The best in the world is none too good for my daughter,” the brother exclaimed with a touch of sadness in his voice.
“Where are they going to spend their honeymoon?” the doctor asked.
“In Brazil and in Europe. The trip’s their wedding present from Red’s parents.” He waved in the direction of the bar and said laughingly: ’They’re supposed to leave early tomorrow morning, but if he keeps on at this rate, my son-in-law’s not going to be in any condition to go off on a honeymoon.”
A group of Red Antúnez’s pals had surrounded him and were taking turns drinking a toast with him. The groom, his face more flushed than ever, was laughing a bit anxiously and trying to cheat by merely wetting his lips in his glass each time, but his friends were protesting and making him down every last drop. Dr. Quinteros looked around for Richard, but he couldn’t see him either in the bar or dancing or in the part of the garden visible from the windows.
It was at that moment that it happened. The waltz “Ídolo” was just ending, the couples were preparing to applaud, the musicians were raising their fingers from their guitars, Red was facing up to the twentieth toast, when the bride suddenly raised her right hand to her eyes as though to chase away a mosquito, staggered, and before her partner could