Happy Families_ Stories - Carlos Fuentes [46]
Don’t be afraid. A day will come when intelligence isn’t enough. You have to know how to love.
My dear daughter, have mercy on me.
This is my prayer.
I will live transforming your death into my reconciliation with the world you left me when you died.
Chorus of the Perfect Wife
before anything else exfoliation
hydration
elimination of impurities
so the bridegroom doesn’t find a single imperfection
the scrub and you’re ready to try on your wedding dress
choose: fairy-tale dream of gold or the goddess of spring
goodbye to singleness
all your girlfriends
are drinking coffee martinis
they’re offering you a kit spa a kit moon a kit honey a honeymoon kit
they’re giving you a bronzing express so you don’t arrive white as a ghost
they’re reading your cards pure good luck a hundred years of life eight children twenty grandchildren
you’ll outlive your husband
waah waah
she cries alone in the church
don’t listen to the priest’s sermon against abortion against the pill against condoms pro-life
forget about the epistle of melchor woman is weak she owes obedience man is
strong man commands
you just hear the DJ at the banquet singing I will always love you
you just went into raptures in the magic garden of your wedding banquet
everything a dream everything so in mirrors instead of tablecloths hung with Swarovski
magnums of champagne seviche of mango rolls of pork iguana ice cream
cactus cake
the superatmosphere the blowout plenty to drink a blast
waah waah
the golden couple
we don’t stop dancing
getting frisky
lots of kissing and cuddling
everything so in
I will always love you
put on a cherub face
lucky you your fiancé I mean husband I mean monkey hairy beast horrible King Kong
mama mamamama mamama
allons enfants de la patrie
a photo sitting on the toilet
perverted prick
we’re going to Cancún
The Mariachi’s
Mother
1. You know her. Nobody knows her better than you. But now you wouldn’t recognize her. How could she be? Doña Medea Batalla stripped? A mature woman—sixty, seventy years old—naked in a police cell? The gray-haired grandmother without clothes except for a diaper pinned on her, you say? Her chest defeated as if by a too frequent haughtiness? Thin strong arms accustomed to work and not to penitence?
What work, you ask? In the neighborhood, many occupations are attributed to Doña Mede, who begins her back-and-forth at the market very early in the day. She wants to be the first to choose the potatoes and dry chilis and grasshoppers and locusts in season. Then she withdraws to her one-story house between a tire-repair shop and a hardware store, at the rear of a parking garage, and takes the real treasure from her rebozo. A snake rattle. Doña Mede knows she survives thanks to the rattle, which is a potion for long life. Each snake has five rattles. With two doses a week, you enjoy good health.
This is a secret you may not have known, and I’m telling you now so you can begin to understand. Because in the case of Doña Mede, everything is supposition and guesswork, since she makes a point of keeping—concealing—her secrets inside her rebozo, allowing neighborhood gossip to fly. They say she’s a seamstress. Haven’t you seen her go into the house with a bundle of clothes and then come out with packages that could be shirts or blouses or skirts? Or she’s a potter. Have you heard her turn the wheel and then go out to wash the clay from her hands at the faucet outside her house? Or a midwife. Where does she go in such a hurry when a little kid from the neighborhood comes running and says come, Doña Medea, come now, hurry, my sister’s yelling and says you should come and help her? Or a witch, a Protestant preacher, a procurer for nonexistent local millionaires, and more miracles are hung on her than the ones she gives thanks for with constant special ex-votos to the Virgin here in the Church of the Immaculate Conception.
A straw-colored braid adorns the