Chapter 18
The festival was a riotous burst of color.
Kids threw handfuls of confetti at one another, and streamers fell from balconies, knotting themselves in the tresses of women and the buttons of men’s jackets.
Several of the streets that led to the plaza had been commandeered by vendors who displayed their wares on petates, offering carved trinkets for the little ones, tiny bouquets of flowers for young men trying to impress their sweethearts, and cheap paste jewelry for the ladies.
Sellers of candy hawked their glistening treats, shooing away flies that immediately returned to perch themselves upon crystallized sugar, while in the cantinas the men were making themselves uproariously drunk.
It was a time of plenty for the musicians who walked through each cantina and cheap bar in town, with their guitars and collection plates, offering to burst into song.
Children ran amok with sparklers in their hands, and others hurled ratoncitos at the ground, the rhythmic pop-pop-pop of the tiny explosions echoing down the alleyways of the city, startling dogs and cats.
Fireworks flew toward the sky, filling the air with the scent of gunpowder while laughing youths swung wooden matracas or banged tin cans together, creating a discordant noise that made the matrons of the town frown.
Ulises, Perla, and Inés walked briskly past the seller of fried plantains, dodged children who were throwing eggs filled with confetti at one another, and arrived at the café at seven o’clock sharp.
Perla had spent a great deal of time working on her hair and makeup, and together with the excellently tailored dress she wore, she had managed to achieve an appearance of refined beauty.
She was as perfect as a painted porcelain doll, with every strand of hair in place and her cheeks rouged.
There were appreciative murmurs as she paused to greet this person and another, including Cándido and Lulú.
Ulises nodded at everyone, following his wife like the attendant of a queen who carries the train of her dress.
Finally, the procession ended, and they reached their designated table, next to a huge window that allowed an excellent view of the plaza. To Ulises’s right, close to them, was the table of the Zorrilla sisters, and situated at his elbow were the priest and the doctor.
Ulises sank into his seat while Perla turned to the waiter and began talking of wine. Inés sat down. In the cramped café, his leg touched hers by accident, and she kicked him in the shin.
He let out a low curse and pretended to look at the menu while she smiled cruelly.
Unlike her aunt and the other ladies, who sat primly in their best dresses and high heels, Inés wore sensible flats, and although she’d knotted a yellow ribbon in her hair, she had not labored over a coiffure.
This puzzled Ulises, but he did not ask her about it.
He’d hardly spoken to her for the past few days, and she’d been happily ignoring him.
What did she expect of him? He was right to be cautious. Maybe she didn’t mind ending up in jail, but he did. All he’d done was speak sensibly. And then she had the gall to kick him away like he was a mangy dog trying to hump her leg.
She’s mad, he thought, giving her a sideways glance and then quickly turning away. First she kisses me, then she wants to slap me. To hell with her.
It was not as if he could be wasting his time with Inés anyway. He was trying to con the aunt, not seduce the niece, yet for the past few days, while she remained distant and he remained quiet, all he could think about was how he wanted her to kiss him again.
He put the menu down, ordered a random drink, and noticed men with tiger masks running around the plaza, screaming and laughing, chasing after women.
“What is that all about?” he asked.
“The tigers? It’s an old tradition. They say there was once a tiger in the mountains that ate the cattle, and the townspeople hunted it down,” Perla said. “So now the men dress as tigers.”
“A tiger in the mountains of Veracruz?”
“In the old days they used to say the witches turned into tigers, and that’s why we dance the tiger dance,” the doctor said. The tables were so close together, conversation with other guests was inevitable.
“It’s a way to sell masks,” Manuela said disapprovingly.
“And an excuse to pinch the buttocks of women,” Eduviges said.
“It’s paganism,” concluded Manuela.
The Zorrilla sisters shook their heads in unison, but the priest shrugged. “It’s symbolism, my young friend. The tiger represents the excesses and the sins of men that will be vanquished by the arrival of San Fidel this Sunday. It’ll be a beautiful mass; we have lovely flowers this year.”
“But the people grow terribly rowdy,” Manuela complained. “When I was a young girl, gentlemen would never run like that around the square.”
“Though the servants did,” Eduviges reminded her. “They ran around and tried to lift the skirts of the maids to get a look at their legs.”
Sarita Novo arrived then and planted herself by their table, gushing about Perla’s dress and sharing gossip in an excited, high-pitched voice.
The two cops had also made their entrance at the café.
The younger one carried a tiger mask between his hands and smiled nervously in greeting.
Ulises wondered who policed the town with the both of them at the restaurant, but he supposed on this occasion these matters were forgotten and drunkards were too numerous to be hauled off to jail.
“Bartolo, we were telling Ulises the story of the tiger masks, and there you are carrying one,” the doctor said, beckoning the young man. “Let me look at that. Lacquered wood, is it? Was it made in Arroyos?”
“Yes, sir,” Bartolo said. “I bought it last month.”
“Then you intend to be one of the tigers this year?” Perla asked. “I thought your mother doesn’t like it when you boys join such games.”
“It’s a bit of fun.”
“I’m sure Bartolo wouldn’t pinch a lady’s buttocks. Would you, Bartolo?” Ulises asked with a generous laugh that had the Zorrilla sisters whispering in disapproval.
The young cop blushed a bright red. Before he could stammer a response the musicians at the center of the plaza began to play, and everyone turned their heads in their direction. Inés sprang to her feet and spoke to her aunt.
“May I dance, Aunt Perla?” she asked.
“As if you’d stay sitting for more than five minutes,” Perla said. “Go and dance, but remember, you must be back at the house by nine and switch places with Estrella. And mind your manners while you dance.”
“I will.” Inés smiled. Her eyes fixed on Ulises for a second, wide and eager, but she shifted her gaze to Bartolo. “Do you want to dance?”
“Yes,” the young man said, and he let her take him by the hand.
“But really, dressing as a tiger,” Eduviges said. “Young people, they do anything these days. In our day, there were five men dressed as tigers, and a policeman would never have worn a mask.”
Ulises watched Inés and Bartolo whirling and laughing among a crowd of eager dancers.
Bartolo moved awfully, shuffling his feet rather than following any kind of rhythm, but Inés was good.
Not that he didn’t know that already. He’d seen her practicing with Fito, had watched those shapely legs and the hips swaying slightly, but the festive ambience seemed to suit her, making her movements more vibrant.
He found himself thinking about that girl he’d liked when he was a teenager, the one he’d bought sweets for, the one who hadn’t corresponded with him.
He’d attended a kermés with her one time, and he suddenly recalled how he’d wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they walked together down a line of food vendors busy at their stalls.
Something of the cheerful tone of this night reminded him of that day.
I didn’t kiss her, he remembered. He had been much too shy. He chuckled. To think he’d gone on to kiss and seduce a multitude of women later but could not summon the courage to kiss that girl.
Ulises lit a cigarette and looked away from the dancers, away from Inés, and down at the table. Bartolo had left his tiger mask there. He ran a hand down its nose.
From time to time, he turned his head in the direction of the dancers and caught a glimpse of Inés. But as the minutes passed, and the crowd grew thicker, he lost sight of her. The café was bursting at the seams. It was a chaos of faces and voices.
Perla was a bit tipsy already from sipping sherry at home—and likely tequila too—and her eyes were bright, but she’d just asked for another glass of wine. She was on her way to becoming drunk. This seemed to be the intention of all the patrons of the café, excepting the Zorrilla sisters.
The pious old ladies were correct: there was something pagan to this night.
After months and months of starchy formalities and good manners, the town gave way to the wildness of music and joy.
Even the upper crust of Puerco Ahogado succumbed to the enchantment of the marimba and the guitar.
Ulises raised his glass and toasted while his wife giggled.
At certain intervals Inés rushed back inside the café and sat at the table for a few minutes, to rest her feet, and invariably his gaze fell upon her before he busied himself pretending to look at something else.
He understood now why she had not bothered with high heels or a stiff, stately coiffure.
Her purpose was practical; she sought to dance as much as she could without tiring, without impediments.
The yellow ribbon was a burst of color against her curly black hair, and she sat down, face flushed, smiling, breathing in slowly.
Yet he noticed her feet tapping against the floor, eager to resume the dance.
A bead of sweat dripped down her long neck, mesmerizing him. He licked his lips. “Do you wish to dance?” he asked Perla. He wanted to ask Inés, but he knew he couldn’t, and so he turned to his wife.