Chapter 10
It was clear that Perla’s hurried nuptials were destined to become the talk of the season, and perhaps even town lore, which gave her a sense of colossal satisfaction.
Father Anselmo had been aghast when Perla and Ulises showed up at the church. The banns needed to be announced three times, the priest insisted, and wouldn’t Perla want a proper wedding with a white dress and a veil?
Ulises told Father Anselmo that the judge in Las Tunas had already married them in a civil ceremony and they could dispense with the religious one if the priest wouldn’t marry them.
This shocked Father Anselmo so much that the altar boy lingering nearby almost had to splash holy water in his face to keep him from fainting.
This unorthodox arrangement pleased Perla because she had dreaded the thought of a wedding in white and a procession to the church.
Spinsters like her were never spared mockery when they wed at her age, with the rabble making jokes about spoiled fruit.
Besides, Perla knew to expect an extra amount of animosity from the lowest denizens of Puerco Ahogado, who disliked her because she’d extended them credit and then demanded repayment.
As if she were supposed to function as a charity.
There were also people like Brígida Pacheco, who looked down their noses at Perla because Osorio Inclán had lost his coffee business and she had to make ends meet any way she could.
The last time people had talked so ceaselessly about Perla had been more than twenty years before, when Encarnación ran away. Now the talk was different, full of surprised exclamations and a little envy. After all, the groom was handsome, and the ladies in town considered him charming.
A week after her wedding, Perla threw a reception, inviting the suitable families of Puerco Ahogado to her house.
This served the purpose of a delayed wedding feast and allowed the household staff enough time to produce the culinary delights necessary for such an event.
Inés had labored, sleeplessly, over the sewing machine and produced a chic, pale lavender dress that suited Perla much more than the mandatory bridal white of an ordinary wedding.
Although Perla had not asked for wedding gifts, the attendants brought presents—bottles of wine and brandy, boxes of bonbons—and Perla kissed everyone on the cheek, smiling as she told them they shouldn’t have bothered, although she would have been furious if they’d arrived empty-handed.
A gift was de rigueur, in her opinion, when it came to matrimonial matters.
“Congratulations,” Cándido said coolly as he handed her a bottle of brandy. “I hope you’ll be very happy.”
“Thank you.”
“I suppose there will be changes around the house. Will you still be requiring my services?”
“Why would you think any different?”
“With a husband to assist you, I thought he might handle certain tasks.”
He was referring to the money collection.
She could send Ulises to complete this errand, but he was a new face in town and unlikely to command much respect for this reason.
People were always trying to come up with excuses about the state of their monetary affairs.
But they feared Cándido. If he didn’t confound and terrify them with legal terms, the memory of the pistol he kept under his pillow served to facilitate their cooperation.
“I don’t see the need for that,” Perla said.
Therefore, the modifications to Perla’s life were minimal, though pleasant.
Perla’s parents had not shared the same room, and she maintained that custom with her husband, so he remained in the bed he’d occupied since his arrival.
It was a pleasant room, and Perla did not feel the need to transplant him from that location or alter his environment dramatically.
They did take the train to the port one morning, and came back with new shoes and perfume for her and a new bathrobe for him.
Plus, she gave him some of her father’s old toiletries: the ivory comb, the silver-plated hairbrush.
She’d kept those. The more expensive sellable items they’d owned she’d pawned in the city a long time ago, back when their world was coming apart.
Not that there had been much to pawn. It was amazing how little money a pristine set of porcelain cups could command, especially in the horrid towns near Puerco Ahogado.
The piano was not worth anything, of course, and her father had already secretly disposed of much of his wife’s jewelry by the time tragedy struck.
Her nights were the element that changed. Ulises slid into her bed and made quick work of her nightdress. He whispered against her skin, touching her until she moaned.
Although she found pleasure in bed, the pleasure of feeling the eyes of all the townspeople on her was even headier.
The envy of the women, the respectful greetings of the men who now referred to her as “Mrs. Inclán Arnao de Linares”—she would not accept anything but the most formal address—filled her with pride.
For a long time, she had been the spinster Inclán.
They didn’t say it to her face, they didn’t dare.
If she was within earshot, she was Miss Inclán, but she knew what they whispered.
Same as they had whispered about her ruined father, and about her sister and her bastard. And sometimes, one or two audacious people, they whispered that the salesman who used to stay at her guesthouse was more than a guest.
But she was now Perla Inclán Arnao de Linares, and she could erase the salesman and the other nameless nobodies, those dirty assignations when she was visiting the port.
Perla Inclán had been a respectful, dutiful daughter who wore her mourning clothes for two years, as custom dictated. And now she could be Perla Inclán Arnao de Linares, dressed in pink or blue or green, with her hand resting upon the arm of her good-looking husband as they circled the town square.
—
“Perla, I wanted to talk about the bank account.”
“What about it?” she said.
They were taking a leisurely stroll. These walks were her favorite part of the day, her chance to promenade with her husband and reap the greetings and attention of the townsfolk.
It was before noon and Puerco Ahogado was bustling with activity. The one café had arranged its tables and chairs under the arches of the square, with a perfect view of the wrought-iron gazebo topped by a cupola in the center of the plaza. That was where the musicians played on festival days.
The humbler fonda that served cheap meals and a fixed-price menu was located around the corner, and sadly did not command this iconic view.
Next to the café there was a narrow door and a window with the word Barbershop painted on it.
The barber sat by the door, on a stool, next to the boy who shined shoes.
The barber was in conversation with Dr. Carrel.
The doctor was locked in a competition with the pharmacist, who liked to dispense drugs without a prescription, and regularly shared his woes with his audience.
When Perla and Ulises walked by, the men acknowledged them with a “Good day” and went back to talking.
At this time of the day, Perla believed that the sunlight streaming down upon the cobblestoned streets gave the modest town square an almost Italian air. Not that she’d visited Italy, but her father had been to Rome and told her about it when she was young.
Yes, the neoclassical brick buildings flanking the gazebo, built before the horrid Revolution set fire to the countryside, and the church, which was much older, with its florid stucco decorations on its facade, had a delightful Italian air.
Perla thought about a trip to Italy. They hadn’t had a proper honeymoon, their whirlwind wedding did not allow for such an event.
It had been an exciting time, and she had thought it an excellent idea to marry quickly and be done with it, but now she wondered about a leisurely European escape.
They could not visit Europe now, not with the war, but maybe later.
Surely the conflict must come to an end.
If her father had not lost all his money, Perla would have had a tour of Europe.
Once again, she remembered the wretched Revolution and the misery that followed it.
She didn’t want to dwell on those dark times.
She’d think of another destination. Buenos Aires sounded like a sophisticated enough place, didn’t it?
“It’s just that every time I need to get anything, you must fetch it for me. It would be much easier if you’d add me to your bank account,” her husband said, interrupting her thoughts, which had been far from the mundane concerns of checks and bank accounts.
Perla’s easy, joyful steps slowed down. “What would you need? We have everything at the house.”
“I’m saying, if I should want something…for example, yesterday I was thinking I might take the train to the city and buy myself more film for my camera, maybe even a new lens, but I can’t do it unless you go with me.”
“You told me you have all that photo equipment stored away in Mexico City.”
“Yes, of course, most of my things are stored there, but we both agreed it would be a hassle to fetch it, and needless expense when I might be able to find a friend to buy most of it. But you don’t want me to take the car to Mexico City either, and—”
“You don’t need to. You could ride the train.”
“Some of the equipment I didn’t sell would have to come back with me.
There’s the matter of hotels and meals; I don’t think I could possibly dispose of it all in one day.
And how could I pay for the meals if I can’t draw money from the account?
I’m not working now; until I open a studio or figure out something else, I depend on you entirely. ”
“A studio,” Perla said, arching an eyebrow.