“We have relatives we would want to be here. Let us plan on a week from today,” Señora Rubio said. “After we talk with Father Martinez, of course, and confirm the arrangements for the mass.”
“Of course,” Señora Paz said.
“Gracias for agreeing to marry me,” Pascual told me.
Everyone was quiet, waiting to hear what he would say next.
“I must go back into the kitchen and complete my preparations for today.”
I didn’t reply. When he turned away, I realized how big his hips were. How would we lie together in a bed? It nearly made me laugh. I was getting giddy, like someone who had drunk too much tequila. Señora Paz saw it in my face.
“We must go and make plans now,” she said, rising quickly. “Come, Delia.”
“I have not yet told you how sorry I am about your grandmother’s passing,” Señora Rubio told me. She looked at Señora Paz and her sister. “I’m sure you miss her more than ever now, but soon you will have a new family to care for and to care for you. You cannot measure this in gold,” she added, giving Señora Paz a sharp, cold look.
“Gracias,” I said, and eagerly left.
When we stepped out onto the street, it was as if I had been shut up in a closet with little or no air.
“It will be a good marriage,” Señora Paz said. “I know Señora Rubio is a thrifty and efficient woman. You will have a good life now, Delia. All your days of sorrow and sadness have passed.”
I said nothing.
I had two days yet to spend in my home, and I told them that I wanted to sleep there at least one more night.
“But you will eat with us,” Margarita said. “We still have much to arrange for your marriage.”
“No, I’ll be fine. I need to be alone for a while,” I said. “I will come to see you tomorrow, and we can talk. Gracias. You are both very generous.”
Before they could put up any more arguments, I started away. When I stepped into the casa, I started to cry again. It felt as if I had just come from a funeral, and, in a sense, I really had. I had just buried the young, optimistic, and hopeful Delia Yebarra, who had set out to find a new and greater life over the border. Crossing the desert to get here, Delia Yebarra had faded away. I had left her in that cave with Ignacio Davila. I was no longer who I had been when I ran off with him. I had become a stranger to myself.
Just as Abuela Anabela had thrown herself into preparing food after learning of my parents’ deaths, I began to clean the house as a way to avoid thinking and crying anymore. As I worked, I thought this was what I would be doing daily now. My school days were over. The dreams my mother had for me were gone. One day would seep into another, almost indistinguishable. I would have a fate similar to those my grandmother looked at and said, “Lo que pronto madura poco dura.” I would ripen fast, aging with my children and with my work.
But I no longer cared. All I had loved was lost. I would surrender and obey fate like a mindless slave and cherish the rare laugh and the rare smile. Right now, I couldn’t imagine when either would occur.
I worked hard, scrubbing the tiles just the way Abuela Anabela had scrubbed them, getting down on her knees and putting all of her strength into every swipe of the cloth. I dusted and polished, washed and cleaned, attacking every spot, every blemish in the rooms with a vengeance. Señor Avalos would be surprised at the condition of the casa he had purchased. Just as my grandmother wouldn’t have let it go any other way, I would not.
I didn’t realize how much time had passed while I worked. Suddenly, I looked up and realized it was twilight and I was trying to wash away shadows. I lit some candles, because the electricity wasn’t working again, and then began to prepare some tortillas for myself. I would eat because I had to eat. As I made my meal, I recalled Abuela Anabela showing me how to do it, standing beside me. When I closed my eyes, I felt her beside me now.
Afterward, sitting alone in the dark and deadly quiet casa, I chewed mindlessly and swallowed. After I cleaned up, I went to bed, but I did not sleep. I lay there staring into the darkness, listening to the breeze toy with the house, whistling through the cracks, scraping over the tin. Abuela Anabela used to interpret every sound for me. She was sure some of them were made by angels dancing around the house. She said she could hear their wings flapping. I listened hard for them, and I heard what were distinctly footsteps at my front door. I waited, holding my breath, and listened harder. I was sure I heard the door open slightly.
I continued to hold my breath. There was no sound for a few moments, and then came footsteps. I sat up. A dark shadow moved across the bedroom doorway, followed by the silhouetted figure of a man. Despite how badly I felt about myself and my future, I was still afraid to lose my life or be raped.
“Who is it?” I demanded.
He did not reply. Could it be Pascual Rubio? Had he come to speak more for himself, to make a stream of promises?
I reached over, lit the candle by my bed, and lifted it to throw light in his direction.
My heart started and stopped.
I gasped.
It was Ignacio.
He laughed at what was surely a look of amazement and shock on my face.
“I am not a ghost,” he assured me quickly, and stepped into the bedroom.