Chapter 8
Inés headed to the grocer’s bright and early, before her aunt rolled out of bed or their lodgers were served their breakfast. Her shopping could have waited until later, but she wanted to step out of the house. To think.
She’d been bold when she approached Ulises, but now she began to doubt herself, wondering if she could go through with their plan. She wanted the chance to breathe fresh air and contemplate her actions.
She’d seldom dwelled on the concept of hell, but now she paused to think about sin and evil, though curiously she did not feel like she was bad.
Was criminality this simple? Did you make up your mind about it and then go on with your life?
She wondered if she might ask Ulises about this, then thought better of it.
He might think her weak and not at all suited to the task if she questioned him.
At the grocer’s entrance three old men were complaining about the price of goods. “It’s the damn war,” one of them said. “Everything is scarce. And what do we have to do with that? Nothing. It’s not our fight.”
“The corn crops have been bad. We can’t blame no one but the wind and rain for that.”
“It’s the speculators,” said the third man. “It’s shameful what they’re doing.”
“Not our fight,” repeated the first man.
When they noticed Inés, they nodded in recognition.
One of them was Filomeno Gallegos, who grew lemons and oranges and who had lost an ear during the Revolution.
He smiled at Inés and doffed his hat, pressing it against his chest. “Miss Inés, if I could have a quick word with you?” he asked, and pulled her aside while the other men kept lamenting the prices of goods.
“Is something wrong, Filomeno?”
“I borrowed money from your aunt a few months ago, and I don’t have the full amount yet even though it’s due. I was wondering if you’d talk to her for me. I’d hate to have Cándido knocking at my door.”
The guesthouse was poorly frequented these days and Perla had become accustomed to moneylending.
In a town like Puerco Ahogado, where there was no bank and many of the poorest denizens would have never dared to set foot in one even if there had been a branch, she did decent business.
How much exactly, Inés did not know. Perla did not divulge her finances, and she did not like it when people spoke about her moneylending.
Nevertheless, Inés knew that when it came to collecting, her aunt tended to delegate the task to Cándido, probably because it distanced her from the business.
“I can try, but she’s stubborn about these matters,” Inés said.
“Please do try. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
She nodded. Mr. Hurtado was standing by the cash register doing a crossword while the stock boy chased flies away from the longaniza. As she greeted them, she figured she could have picked each of the items she intended to purchase while blindfolded, she knew the store that well.
As she paid for the goods, she glanced at the painting behind Mr. Hurtado, which showed the Virgin with a child in her arms.
Can I be this wicked? she wondered.
She went down the street to the bakery. There was one other client there at this hour, Tiburcio Dorantes, who owned Café Carmesí, which touted itself as the finest eating establishment in Puerco Ahogado.
It was a mediocre café, but the only one in town.
Tiburcio Dorantes was a mistrustful man who was certain the waiters were stealing from the till and suspected the baker sold day-old bread and passed it off as freshly baked.
Therefore, he carefully eyed the volovanes and would have attempted to inspect each layer of puff pastry if he’d been able to.
She greeted Mr. Dorantes with a nod and grabbed a metal tray and a pair of tongs, quickly collecting the bolillos she needed. Marisol, who was flipping through the pages of a magazine with a bored look on her face, immediately perked up when she saw Inés.
“My, you’ve been hiding away. I was thinking I was going to have to knock at your door to talk to you. I almost told the boss I needed twenty minutes to run an errand so I could go see you.”
“Something important happened?”
“Yes! Monumental. I saw Elena Heredia’s dress for the festival, and it shows cleavage from here down to here,” she said, tracing a line in the air and raising her eyebrows. “Father Anselmo is going to give another sermon on the importance of modesty after he sees that, just you watch.”
Inés rolled her eyes. “The festival. That’s many weeks away, and it’s boring anyway.”
“It’s not boring! It’s the biggest celebration of the year. Besides, remember the old saying: the boy you kiss during the festival will become your sweetheart.”
Inés had kissed Salvador during the festival, but then he’d run off and left her behind. She fidgeted while Marisol tallied up the cost of the bread.
“I bet your aunt will have a new dress. It makes sense, after all the months of mourning. I wish I could have one, but don’t you know it, my mother thinks it’s frivolous to get new clothes so soon after my birthday.”
Inés wished she could have new dresses too, but her aunt begrudged her every bit of fabric that she bought for herself.
She could sew for others, but even then Aunt Perla established limits.
She said it was because too much work behind the sewing machine meant Inés might not fulfill her duties around the house, but Inés knew it was another way of controlling her, of limiting her income.
She’s kept me a prisoner, and I can’t be faulted if I’m trying to tunnel my way out of that house, she thought.
“Insolent fucker!” the baker yelled as he stormed toward the front of the store. He was fighting again with his assistant. As soon as he laid eyes on Marisol, she shoved the magazine under the counter and began to press the buttons of the cash register.
Inés paid for the bread. When she walked past the grocer’s store, she saw that the three men had dispersed and Cándido was walking her way. He intercepted her even though she protested that she must hurry home.
“This will take a minute. Now, tell me, what have you found out about that man?” he asked.
Realizing he’d only badger and delay her, she spoke. “About Mr. Linares? Nothing much, sir. He’s polite at dinners, but we don’t have a chance to talk much. He mostly seems to listen to what everyone says at the table.”
“He must have told you something about himself. When is the man leaving?”
“That’s up to my aunt, and she hasn’t said anything about him departing.”
“Surely before the festival, no? She’ll want to rent the room to visitors.”
“She hasn’t said.”
Cándido glared at her and took out a bill, dangling it before her. “I know you’re always listening behind closed doors, don’t start acting coy. Now, you find out something useful about that man.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else I’ll smack you until you learn proper manners. Don’t you talk to me with that tone. I’m your elder.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, stuffing the bill in her pocket and lowering her eyes. She promised herself she’d spit in his soup the next time he was dining at their house.
When she walked into the kitchen with the purchases, Rita was about to haul Ulises’s tray up to his room. “I’ll take it,” Inés said. “He wants his newspaper with the food, and I have it.”
Inés hurried up to his room. She slid inside and set the tray down. He was washing his face and frowned when he saw her.
“It’s customary to knock,” he told her.
“You try knocking when you’re carrying all this.
Anyway, we need to talk about our plan. Cándido is extremely suspicious of you, and I know he’ll ruin everything with his meddling.
He’s the biggest obstacle we face. He’s been my aunt’s suitor for ages now and he’s not going to cede any ground to the first contender who walks into the ring. ”
“It’s early to be talking business, don’t you think?”
“What kind of thief are you? One with office hours?”
He smirked, sprinkled his face with more water, and dried it with a towel. Then he stood up, walked to where she stood, and reached for the newspaper that lay rolled up next to the breakfast tray, scanning its front page.
“No. But I do my best thinking after I’ve had a bite.”
“I’m not going to wait until you do your best thinking. Take a sip of coffee and pay attention to me.”
“I am paying attention, you silly girl. Now, what’s gotten in your head that has you so nervous?”
“It’s not nerves,” she said, although yes, it was partly that, but she wasn’t about to admit it.
And there was, too, that feeling that she couldn’t even voice, a desperation that was boiling over.
“I simply think we must have a plan. My aunt is a difficult woman, as you have already discovered, and on top of that there’s Cándido lurking around.
We need to get rid of him for you to have any chance at romancing her. ”
“Romancing and marrying her,” he replied as he raised his coffee cup to his lips and took a sip.
“My father could manage that in less than a month, from courtship to wedding. Afterward, with the bride convinced of her husband’s good nature and noble intentions, with bank accounts shared and access to important documents, it’s easy enough to take off. ”
“And you? How long does it take you to go from romance to marriage?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he said simply.
“What do you mean?”
He set the cup down. “It means I haven’t tried it yet. My father used to handle our business; I merely provided him with support. When he passed away, I concentrated on postal avenues—”
She scoffed and sat down on his unmade bed. “Then you’re useless. I can’t believe it.”
“I’m smart. My old man ran postal scams too, it’s a reliable business and much less dangerous than meeting someone in person. Cheaper too.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Same reason you’re in my room right now: I’m tired and need a real score. Now, do you have anything valuable to contribute? Because if you don’t, I’d love to read the paper and eat my breakfast in peace.”