Like Water For Chocolate by Laura Squalevella Bantam Doubleday Dell Pub (Trd); ISBN: 0553472550 Copyright 1994 CHAPTER ONE. JANUARY. Chrutnuw Ro/ INGREDIENTS 1 can of arOin 1/2 choriw aaye oreyano 1 can of chitej rrano 10 haro ro PREPARATION: Take care to chop the onion fine. To keep from crying when you chop it (which is so annoying!), I suggest you place a little bit on your head. The trouble with crying over an onion is that once the chopping gets you started and the tears begin to well up, the next thing you know you just can't stop. I don't know whether that's ever happened to you, but I have to confess it's happened to me, many times. Mama used to say it was because I was especially sensitive to onions, like my great-aunt, Tita. Tita was so sensitive to onions, any time they were being chopped, they say she would just cry and cry, when she was still in my greatgrandmother's belly her sobs were so loud that even Nancha, the cook, who was halfdeaf, could hear them easily. Once her wailing got so violent that it brought on an early labor. And before my greatgrandmother could let out a word or even a whimper, Tita made her entrance into this world, prematurely, right there on the kitchen table amid the smells of simmering noodle soup, thyme, bay leaves, and cilantro, steamed milk, garlic, and, of course, onion. Tita had no need for the usual slap on the bottom, because she was already crying as she emerged, maybe that was because she knew then that it would be her lot in life to be denied marriage. The way Nancha told it, Tita was literally washed into this world on a great tide of tears that spilled over the edge of the table and flooded across the kitchen floor. That afternoon, when the uproar had subsided and the water had been dried up by the sun, Nancha swept up the residue the tears had left on the red stone floor. There was enough salt to fill a ten-pound sack-it was used for cooking and lasted a long time. Thanks to her unusual birth, Tita felt a deep love for the kitchen, where she spent most of her life from the day she was born. When she was only two days old, Tita's father, my great-grandfather, died of a heart attack and Mama Elena's milk dried up from the shock. Since there was no such thing as powdered milk in those days, and they couldn't find a wet nurse anywhere, they were in a panic to satisfy the infant's hunger. Nancha, who knew everything about cooking-and much more that doesn't enter the picture until later offered to take chargeof feeding Tita. She felt she had the best chance of `educating the innocent child's stomach," even though she had never mauled or had children. Though she didn't know how to read or write, when it came to cooking she knew everything there was to know. Mama Elena accepted her offer gratefully, she had enough to do between her mourning and the enormous responsibility of running the ranch and it was the ranch that would provide her children the food and education they deserved-without having to worry about feeding a newborn baby on top of everything else. From that day on, Tita's domain was the kitchen, where she grew vigorous and healthy on a diet of teas and thin corn gruels. This explains the sixth sense Tita developed about everything concerning food. Her eating habits, for example, were attuned to the kitchen routine: in the morning, when she could smell that the beans were ready, at midday, when she sensed the water was ready for plucking the chickens, and in the afternoon, when the dinner bread was baking, Tita knew it was time for her to be fed. Sometimes she would cry for no reason at all, like when Nancha chopped onions, but since they both knew the cause of those tears, they didn't pay them much mind. They made them a source of entertainment, so that during her childhood Tita didn't distinguish between tears of laughter and tears of sorrow. For her laughing was a form of crying. Likewise for Tita the joy of living was wrapped up in the delights of food. It wasn't easy for a person whose knowledge of life was based onthe kitchen to comprehend the outside world. That world was an endless expanse that began at the door between the kitchen and the rest of the house, whereas everything on the kitchen side of that door, on through the door leading to the patio and the kitchen and herb gardens was completely hers-it was Tita's realm. Her sisters were just the opposite: to them, Tita's world seemed full of unknown dangers, and they were terrified of it. They felt that playing in the kitchen was foolish and dangerous. But once, Tita managed to convince them to join her in watching the dazzling display made by dancing water drops dribbled on a red hot griddle. While Tita was singing and waving her wet hands in time, showering drops of water down on the griddle so they would "dance," Rosaura was cowering in the corner stunned by the display. Gertrudis, on the other hand, found this game enticing, and she threw herself into it with the enthusiasm she always showed where rhythm, movement, or music were involved. Then Rosaura had tried to join them-but since she barely moistened her hands and then shook them gingerly, her efforts didn't have the desired effect. So Tita tried to move her hands closer to the griddle. Rosaura resisted, and they struggled for control until Tita became annoyed and let go, so that momentum carried Rosaura's hands onto it. Tita got a terrible spanking for that, and she was forbidden to play with her sisters in her own world. Nancha became her playmate then. Together they made up all sorts of games and activities having to do with cooking. Like the day they saw a man in the village plaza twisting long thin balloons into animal shapes, and they decided to do it with sausages. They didn't just make real animals, they also made up some of their own, creatures with the neck of a swan, the legs of a dog, the tail of a horse, and on and on. Then there was trouble, however, when the animals had to be taken apart to fry the sausage. Tita refused to do it. The only time she was willing to take them apart was when the sausage was intended for the Christmas rolls she loved so much. Then she not only allowed her animals to be dismantled, she watched them fry with glee. The sausage for the rolls must be fried over very low heat, so that it cooks thoroughly without getting too brown. When done, remove from the heat and add the sardines, which have been deboned ahead of time. Any black spots on the skin should also have been scraped off with a knife. Combine the onions, chopped chiles, and the ground oregano with the sardines. Let the mixture stand before filling the rolls. Tita enjoyed this step enormously, while the filling was resting, it was very pleasant to savor its aroma, for smells have the power to evoke the past, bringing back sounds and even other smells that have no match in the present. Tita liked to take a deep breath and let the characteristic smoke and smell transport her through the recesses of her memory. It was useless to try to recall the first time she had smelled one of those rolls-she couldn't, possibly because it had been before she was born. It might have been the unusual combination of sardines and sausages that had called to her and made her decide to trade the peace of ethereal existence in Mama Elena's belly for life as her daughter, in order to enter the De la Garza family and share their delicious meals and wonderful sausage. On Mama Elena's ranch, sausage making was a real ritual. The day before, they started peeling garlic, cleaning chiles, and grinding spices. All the women in the family had to participate: Mama Elena, her daughters, Gertrudis, Rosaura, and Tita, Nancha, the cook. And Chencha, the maid. They gathered around the diningroom table in the afternoon, and between the talking and the joking the time flew by until it started to get dark. Then Mama Elena would say: "That's it for today." For a good listener, it is said, a single word will suffice, so when they heard that, they all sprang into action. First they had to clear the table, then they had to assign tasks: one collected the chickens, another drew water for breakfast from the well, a third was in charge of wood for the stove. There would be no ironing, no embroidery, no sewing that day. When it was all finished, they went to their bedrooms to read, say their prayers, and go to sleep. One afternoon, before Mama Elena told them they could leave the table, Tita, who was then fifteen, announced in a trembling voice that Pedro Muzquiz would like to come and speak with her. After an endless silence during which Tita's soul shrank, Mama Elena asked: "And why should this gentleman want to come talk to me?" Tita's answer could barely be heard: "I don't know." Mama Elena threw her a look that seemed to Tita to contain all the years of repression that had flowed over the family, and said: "If he intends to ask for your hand, tell him not to bother. He'll be wasting his time and mine too. You know perfectly well that being the youngest daughter means you have to take care of me until the day I die." With that Mama Elena got slowly to her feet, put her glasses in her apron, and said in a tone of final command: . II "That's it for today." Tita knew that discussion was not one of the forms of communication permitted in Mama Elena's household, but even so, for the first time in her life, she intended to protest her mother's ruling. "But in my opinion "You don't have an opinion, and that's all I want to hear about it. For generations, not a single person in my family has ever questioned this tradition, and no daughter of mine is going to be the one to start." Tita lowered her head, and the realization of her fate struck her as forcibly as her tears struck the table. From then on they knew, she and the table, that they could never have even the slightest voice in the unknown forces that fated Tita to bow before her mother's absurd decision, and the table to continue to receive the bitter tears that she had first shed on the day of her birth. the next week she didn't speak a single word to her. Still Tita did not submit. anxieties sprang to her mind. Doubts and "Congratulations," she said, "your stitches are perfect -but you didn't haste it, did you?" For one thing, she wanted to know who started this family tradition. "No," answered Tita, astonished that the sentence of silence had been revoked. It would be nice if she could let that genius know about one little flaw in this perfect plan for taking care of women in their old age. `Then go and rip it out. Baste it and sew it again and then come and show it to me. And remember that the lazy man and the stingy man end up walking their road twice." If Tita couldn't marry and have children, who would take care of her when she got old? Was there a solution in a case like that? Or are daughters who stay home and take care of their mothers not expected to survive too long after the parent's death? And what about women who marry and can't have children, who will take care of them? And besides, she'd like to know what kind of studies had established that the youngest daughter and not the eldest is best suited to care for their mother. Had the opinion of the daughter affected by the plan ever been taken into account? If she couldn't marry, was she at least allowed to experience love? Or not even that? Tita knew perfectly well that all these questions would have to be buried forever in the archive of questions that have no answers. In the De la Garza family, one obeyedimmediately. Ignoring Tita completely, a very angry Mama Elena left the kitchen, and for What passed for communication between them resumed when Mama Elena, who was inspecting the clothes each of the women had been sewing, discovered that Tita's creation, which was the most perfect, had not been basted before it was sewed. "But that's if a person makes a mistake, and you yourself said a moment ago that my sewing was . "Are you starting up with your rebelliousness again? It's enough that you have the audacity to break the rules in your sewing." "I'm sorry, Mami. I won't ever do it again." With that Tita succeeded in calming Mama Elena's anger. For once she had been very careful, she had called her "Mami" in the correct tone of voice. Mama Elena felt that the word Mama had a disrespectful sound to it, and so, from the time they were little, she had ordered her daughters to use the word Mami when speaking to her. The only one who resisted, the only one who said the word without the proper deference was Tita, which had earned her plenty of slaps. But how perfectly she had said it this time! Mama Elena took comfort in the hope that she had finally managed to subdue her youngest daughter. Unfortunately her hope was short-lived, for the very next day Pedro Muzquiz appeared at the house, his esteemed father at his side, to ask for Tita's hand in marriage. His arrival caused a huge uproar, as his visit was completely unexpected. Several days earlier Tita had sent Pedro a message via Nancha's brother asking him to abandon his suit. The brother swore he had delivered the message to Pedro, and yet, there they were, in the house. Mama Elena received them in the living room, she was extremely polite and explained why it was impossible for Tita to marry. "But if you really want Pedro to get married, allow me to suggest my daughter Rosaura, who's just two years older than Tita. She is one hundred percent available, and ready for marriage At that Chencha almost dropped right onto Mama Elena the tray containing coffee and cookies, which she had carried into the living room to offer don Pascual and his son. Excusing herself, she rushed back to the kitchen, where Tita, Rosaura, and Gertrudis were waiting for her to fill them in on every detail about what was going on in the living room. She burst headlong into the room, and they all immediately stopped what they were doing, so as not to miss a word she said. They were together in the kitchen making Christmas Rolls. As the name implies, these rolls are usually prepared around Christmas, but today they were being prepared in honor of Tita's birthday. She would soon be sixteen years old, and she wanted to celebrate with one of her favorite dishes. "Isn't that something? Your ma talks about being ready for marriage like she was dishing up a plate of enchiladas! And the worse thing is, they're completely different! You can't just switch tacos and enchiladas like that!" Chencha kept up this kind of running commentary as she told the others-in her own way, of course-about the scene she had just witnessed. Tita knew Chencha sometimes exaggerated and distorted things, so she held her aching heart in check. She would not accept what she had just heard. Feigning calm, she continued cutting the rolls for her sisters and Nancha to fill. It is best to use homemade rolls. Hard rolls can easily be obtained from a bakery, but they should be small, the larger ones are unsuited for this recipe. After filling the rolls, bake for ten minutes and serve hot. For best results, leave the rolls out overnight, wrapped in a cloth, so that the grease from the sausage soaks into the bread. When Tita was finishing wrapping the next day's rolls, Mama Elena came into the kitchen and informed them that she had agreed to Pedro's marriage-to Rosaura. Hearing Chencha's story confirmed, Tita felt her body fill with a wintry chill: in one sharp, quick blast she was so cold and dry her cheeks burned and turned red, red as the apples beside her. That overpowering chill a lasted a long time, and she could find no respite, not even when Nancha told her what she had overheard as she escorted don Pascual Muzquiz and his son to the ranch's gate. Nancha followed them, walking as quietly as she could in order to hear the conversation between father and son. Don Pascual and Pedro were walking slowly, speaking in low, controlled, angry voices. "Why did you do that, Pedro? It will look ridiculous, your agreeing to marry Rosaura. What happened to the eternal love you swore to Tita? Aren't you going to keep that vow?" "Of course I'll keep it. When you're told there's no way you can marry the woman you love and your only hope of being near her is to marry her sister, wouldn't you do the same?" Nancha didn't manage to hear the answer, Pulque, the ranch dog, wentrunning by, barking at a rabbit he mistook for a cat. "So you intend to marry without love?" "No, Papa, I am going to marry with a great love for Tita that willnever die." Their voices grew less and less audible, drowned out by the crackling of dried leaves beneath their feet. How strange that Nancha, who was quite hard of hearing by that time, should have claimed to have heard this conversation. Still, Tita thanked Nancha for telling her-but that did not alter the icy feelings she began to have for Pedro. It is said that the deaf can't hear but can understand. Perhaps Nancha only heard what everyone else was afraid to say. Tita could not get to sleep that night, she could not find the words for what she was feeling. How unfortunate that black holes in space had not yet been discovered, for then she might have understood the black hole in the center of her chest, infinite coldness flowing through it. Whenever she closed her eyes she saw scenes from last Christmas, the first time Pedro and his family had been invited to dinner1 the scenesgrew more and more vivid, and the cold within her grew sharper. Despite the time that had passed since that evening, she remembered it perfectly: the sounds, the smells, the way her new dress had grazed the freshly waxed floor, the look Pedro gave her . . . That look! She had been walking to the table carrying a tray of egg-yolk candies when she first felt his hot gaze burning her skin. She turned her head, and her eyes met Pedro's. It was then she understood how dough feels when it is plunged into boiling oil. The heat that invaded her body was so real she was afraid she would start to bubble-her face, her stomach, her heart, her breasts-like batter, and unable to endure his gaze she lowered her eyes and hastily crossed the room, to where Gertrudis was pedaling the player piano, playing a waltz called the Eyes of Youth." She set her tray on a little table in the middle of the room, picked up a glass of Noyo liquor that was in front of her, hardly aware of what she was doing, and sat down next to Paquita Lobo, the De Ia Carzas' neighbor. But even that distance between herself and Pedro was not enough1 she felt her blood pulsing, searing her veins. A deep flush suffused her face and no matter how she tried she could not find a place for her eyes to rest. Paquita saw that something was bothering her, and with a look of great concern, she asked: "That liquor is pretty strong, isn't it?" "Pardon me?" "You look a little woozy, Tita. Are you feeling all right?" "Yes, thank you." "You're old enough to have a little drink on a special occasion, but tell me, you little devil, did your mama say it was okay? I can see you're excited-you're shaking and I'm sorry but I must say you'd better not have any more. You wouldn't want to make a fool of yourself." That was the last straw! To have Paquita Lobo think she was drunk. She couldn't allow the tiniest suspicion to remain in Paquita's mind or she might tell her mother. Tita's fear of her mother was enough to make her forget Pedro for a moment, and she applied herself to convincing Paquita, any way she could, that she was thinking clearly, that her mind was alert. She chatted with her, she gossiped, she made small talk. She even told her the recipe for this Noyo liquor which was supposed to have had such an effect on her. The liquor is made by soaking four ounces of peaches and a half pound of apricots in water for twenty-four hours to loosen the skin1 next, they are peeled, crushed, and steeped in hot water for fifteen days. Then the liquor is distilled. After two and a half pounds of sugar have been completely dissolved in the water, four ounces of orange-flower water are added, and the mixture is stirred and strained. And so there would be no lingering doubts about her mental and physical well-being, she reminded Paquita, as if it were just an aside, that the water containers held 2.016 liters, no more and no less. So when Mama Elena came over to ask Paquita if she was being properly entertained, she replied enthusiastically. "Oh yes, perfectly! You have such wonderful daughters. Such fascinating conversation!" Mama Elena sent Tita to the kitchen to get something for the guests. Pedro "happened" to be walking by at that moment and he offered his help. Tita rushed off to the kitchen without a word. His presence made her extremely uncomfortable. He followed her in, and she quickly sent him off with one of the trays of delicious snacks that had been waiting on the kitchen table. She would never forget the moment their hands accidentally touched as they both slowly bent down to pick up the same tray. That was when Pedro confessed his love. "Sen on to Tita, I would like to take advantage of this opportunity to be alone with you to tell you that I am deeply in love with you. I know this declaration is presumptuous, and that it's quite sudden, but it's so hard to get near you that I decided to tell you tonight. All I ask is that you tell me whether I can hope to win your love." "I don't know what to say . give me time to think." "No, no, I can't! I need an answer now: you don't have to think about love, you either feel it or you don't. I am a man of few words, but my word is my pledge. I swear that my love for you will last forever. What about you? Do you feel the same way about me?" "Yes!" Yes, a thousand times. From that night on she would love him forever. And now she had to give him up. It wasn't decent to desire your sister's future husband. She had to try to put him out of her mind somehow, so she could get to sleep. She started to eat the Christmas Roll Nancha had left out on her bureau, along with a glass of milk, this remedy had proven effective many times. Nancha, with all her experience, knew that for Tita there was no pain that wouldn't disappear if she ate a delicious Christmas Roll. But this time it didn't work. She felt no relief from the hollow sensation in her stomach. Just the opposite, a wave of nausea flowed over her. She realized that the hollow sensation was not hunger but an icy feeling of grief. She had to get rid of that terrible sensation of cold. First she put on a wool robe and a heavy cloak. The cold still gripped her. Then she put on felt slippers and another two shawls. No good. Finally she went to her sewing box and pulled out the bedspread she had started the day Pedro first spoke of marriage. A bedspread like that, a crocheted one, takes about a year to complete. Exactly the length of time Pedro and Tita had planned to wait before getting married. She decided to use the yarn, not to let it go to waste, and so she worked on the bedspread and wept furiously, weeping and working until dawn, and threw it over herself. It didn't help at all. Not that night, nor many others, for as long as she lived, could she free herself from that cold. TO BE CONTINUED Next month's recipe, Chabeta weooina Cake. CHAPTER TWO. FEBRUARY. tim& 17eay arateo peel of one lime PREPARATION: Place five egg yolks, four whole eggs, and the sugar in a large bowl. Beat until the mixture thickens and then add two more whole eggs repeat, adding the remaining eggs two at a time until all the eggs have been added. To make the cake for Pedro and Rosaura's wedding, Tita and Nancha had to multiply this recipe by ten, since they were preparing a cake not for eighteen people but for 180. Therefore, they needed 170 eggs,which meant they had to arrange to have that number of good eggs on thesame day. To get that number of eggs together, they preserved all the eggs laid by the best hens for several weeks. This preserving technique had been employed on the ranch since time immemorial to ensure a supply of this nourishing and indispensable food throughout the winter. The best time to preserve eggs is August or September. The eggs must be very fresh. Nancha preferred to use only eggs laid the same day. The eggs are placed in a cask containing crumbled sheep fodder, allowed to cool, and then covered completely. This will keep the eggs fresh for months. If you want them to keep for more than a year, place the eggs in an earthenware crock and cover them with a ten-percent lime solution. Cover tightly to keep the air out and store in the wine cellar. Chabefa Wany Cake INGREDIENTS. Tita and Nancha had chosen to use the first method because they didn't need to keep the eggs fresh for that many months. 175 aranw refinco granetlate0 uyar 300 yram cake flour, fteo' three They had placed the cask containing the preserved eggs between them under the kitchen table and were taking the eggs out of it as they put the cake together. When she had beaten barely a hundred eggs, the phenomenal energy required for the task began to have a bad effect on Tita's mood. To reach the goal of 170 seemed unimaginable. Tita beat the mixture while Nancha broke the eggs and added them to it. A fit of trembling shook Tita's body and she broke out in goose bumps when each new egg was broken. The egg whites reminded her of the testicles of the chickens they had castrated the month before. Roosters that are castrated and then fattened up are called capons. The family had decided to serve capons at Pedro and Rosaura's wedding because they would impress everyone with the quality of the dinner, as much for the amount of work required in their preparation as for the extraordinary flavor of the birds themselves. As soon as the date of the wedding was set for the twelfth of January, they ordered two hundred roosters to be bought for castrating and fattening up. This task fell to Tita and Nancha. Nancha because of her experience and Tita as punishment for feigning a headache to avoid her sister Rosaura's engagement. "I won't stand for disobedience," Mama Elena told her, "nor am going to allow you to ruin your sister's wedding, with your acting like a victim. You're in charge of all the preparations starting now, and don't ever let me catch you with a single tear or even a long face, do you hear?" Tita was trying to keep that warning in mind as she got set to castrate the first chicken. The castration is done by making an incision over the chicken's testicles, sticking your finger in to get a hold of them, and pulling them out. After that is done, the wound is sewn up and rubbed with fresh lard or chicken fat. Tita almost swooned when she stuck her finger in and grasped the testicles of the first chicken. Her hands were shaking and she was dripping sweat and her stomach was swooping like a kite on the wind. Mama Elena looked at her piercingly, and said: "What's the matter? Why the shaking? Are we going to start having problems?" Tita raised her eyes and looked at her. She felt like screaming, Yes, she was having problems, when they had chosen something to be neutered, they'd made a mistake, they should have chosen her. At least then there would be some justification for not allowing her to marry and giving Rosaura her place beside the man she loved. Mama Elena read the look on her face and flew into a rage, giving Tita a tremendous slap that left her rolling in the dirt by the rooster, which had died from the bungled operation. In a frenzy Tita beat, beat, beat the cake batter, as if she wanted to complete her martyrdom once and for all. She had only to beat in two more eggs and the batter would be ready. The cake was the last thing to be done, everything else, all the food for a twentycourse meal and the appetizers that would precede it, was ready for the banquet. Only Tita, Nancha, and Mama Elena remained in the kitchen. Chencha, Gertrudis, and Rosaura were putting the finishing touches on the wedding dress. Nancha, with a loud sigh of relief, picked up the second to last egg to crack it into the bowl. Tita's shout stopped her. "No!" Tita stopped beating the cake and took the egg in her hand. The sound was quite clear, she could hear a baby chick peeping inside the shell. She held the egg closer to her ear and the peeping got louder. Mama Elena stopped what she was doing and addressed Tita in an authoritarian voice: "What happened? Why did you scream?" "Because there's a chicken inside this egg! Of course Nancha can't hear it, but I can." "A chicken? Are you crazy? There has never been such a thing in a preserved egg!" With two giant strides Mama Elena was next to Tita, grabbing the egg from her hand and cracking it open. Tita shut her eyes as tight as she could. "Open your eyes and look at your chicken!" Tita opened her eyes slowly. Surprised, she saw that what she had taken for a chicken was just an egg, and a fresh one at that. "Listen to me, Tita. You are trying my patience. I won't let you start acting crazy. This is the first and the last time for craziness! Or you will be sorry, I promise you that." Tita never could explain what had happened to her that night, whether the sound she had heard was just fatigue or a hallucination, a product of her mind. At the time, her best course seemed to be to go back to beating the eggs, since she had no wish to test the limits of her mother's patience. When the last two eggs have been beaten in, beat in the grated lime peel. When the mixture has thickened, stop beating and add the sifted flour, mixing it in a little at a time with a wooden spoon until it has all been incorporated. Finally, grease a pan with butter, dust with flour, and pour the batter into it. Bake for thirty minutes. After spending three days preparing twenty different courses, Nancha was exhausted, and she could hardly wait for the cake to go in the oven so she could finally rest. Today Tita was not as good a helper as usual. Not that she made any complaintsunder her mother's watchful eye she didn't dare-but when Mama Elena left the kitchen to go to bed, Tita let out a long sigh. Nancha gently took the spoon out of her hand and embraced her: "Now we're alone in the kitchen, so go ahead and cry, my child, because I don't want them to see you crying tomorrow. Especially not Rosaura." Nancha stopped Tita's stirring because she felt that Tita was on the verge of nervous collapse, though she didn't know the word for Tita's condition, she was wise enough to realize that Tita could not go on. Nor, in fact, could she. Rosaura and Nancha had never been close. Nancha was annoyed by Rosaura's picky eating, which had gone on since she was a child. She left her food untouched on her plate, or secretly fed it to Tequila, the father of Pulques, the ranch dog. Tita on the other hand had always been a good eater1 she would eat anything. There was just one thing Tita didn't like: the soft-boiled eggs Mama Elena tried to make her eat. After Nancha had been put in charge of Tita's culinary education, she not only ate ordinary food, she also ate jumil bugs, maguey worms, crayfish, tepezcuintle pigs, armadillos, and other things that horrified Rosaura. That's how Nancha's dislike of Rosaura began, and the rivalry between the sisters was now culminating in this wedding between Rosaura and the man Tita loved. Rosaura wasn't sure, but she suspected that Pedro's love for Tita was never-ending. Nancha was on Tita's side, and she was doing everything she could to spare her pain. With her apron she dried the tears that were rolling down Tita's cheeks and said: "Now, my child, we must finish the cake." That took longer than it should have1 the batter wouldn't thicken because Tita kept crying. And so, arms around each other, Nancha and Tita wept until there were no more tears in Tita's eyes. Then she cried without tears, which is said to hurt even more like dry labor1 but at least she wasn't making the cake batter soggy, so they could go on to the next step, which is making the filling. FOR THE FILLING 150 yinn apr&of pane 150 ;raI1 ;ranll{ate aaar I, TO PREPARE THE FILLING: Heat the apricot paste together with a little bit of water1 after the mixture comes to a boil, strain it, preferably through a hair or flour sieve, but a coarser strainer can be used if you don't have either of those. Place the paste in a pan, add the sugar, and heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture forms a marmalade. Remove from the heat and allow to cool slightly before spreading it on the middle layer of the cake, which, of course, has previously been sliced into layers. Luckily, Nancha and Tita had made several jars of preserves-apricot, fig, and camote with pineapple-the month before the wedding. Thanks to that, they were spared the task of making the marmalade filling the same day. They often made enormous batches of jam, using whatever fruit was in season, which they cooked in a huge copper saucepan on the patio. The pan was set up over a fire, and they had to cover their arms with old sheets to stir the marmalade. This prevented the bubbles from boiling up and burning their skin. The moment Tita opened the jar, the smell of apricots transported her to the afternoon they made the marmalade. Tita had come in from the kitchen garden, carrying the fruit in her skirt because she had forgotten a basket. She walked into the kitchen with her skirt held up in front of her and was startled to bump into Pedro. Pedro was heading out to get the carriage ready. They had to deliver some invitations in town, and since the head groom had not showed up at the ranch that day, the job had fallen upon Pedro. When Nancha saw him enter the kitchen, she left, practically at a run, on the pretext of cutting some epazote to add to the beans. Startled as she was, Tita dropped a few of the apricots. Pedro quickly came over to help her pick them up. Bending down, he could see the part of her leg that was exposed. To prevent Pedro from looking at her leg, Tita let go of her skirt. When she did, all the rest of the apricots rolled onto Pedro's head. "Forgive me, Pedro. Did I hurt you?" "Not as much as I have hurt you. Let me say that my intention . "1 didn't ask for an explanation." "You have to let me say a few words. "I let you do that once, and all I got was lies. I don't want to hear any more. . With that Tita fled from the kitchen into the room where Chencha and Gertrudis were embroidering the sheet for the wedding night. It was a white silk sheet, and they were embroidering a delicate pattern in the center of it. This opening was designed to reveal only the bride's essential parts while allowing marital intimacy. How lucky they had been to obtain French silk at that time of political instability. The revolution made it impossible to travel in safety, which is why, if it hadn't been for a Chinaman who dealt in smuggled goods, it would have been impossible to obtain the material, since Mama Elena would never have allowed one of her daughters to risk traveling to the capital to buy the things for Rosaura's dress and trousseau. This Chinaman was a crafty fellow: he accepted notes issued by the revolutionary army in the North as payment for the merchandise he sold in the capital, even though the notes were worthless and not negotiable there. Naturally when he took these notes in payment, it was at a fraction of their value, but then he took them to the North, where they were worth their full value, and bought goods with them. In the North, he accepted the notes issued in the capital, at low value, of course, and so he spent the entire revolution, until he wound up a millionaire. But the important thing is that thanks to him Rosaura would be able to enjoy the finest, most exquisite fabric on her wedding night. Tita stood as if in a trance, staring at the whiteness of the sheet1 only for a few seconds, but long enough to cause a sort of blindness. Wherever she looked she saw the color white. When she looked at Rosaura, who was writing out some invitations, she saw only a snowy ghost. But she showed nothing, and no one noticed her condition. She didn't want another rebuke from Mama Elena. When the Lobos arrived to give Rosaura her wedding present, Tita tried to sharpen her senses to figure out who was greeting her, since to her they looked like porcelain ghosts covered by white sheets. Fortunately Paquita's shrill voice gave Tita the solution to her problem and she was able to greet them without much of a problem. Later, when she accompanied the Lobos to the entrance of the ranch, she noted that she had never seen such a night before. to her it was all a blinding whiteness. Now she was afraid the same thing would happen again, for she was unable to concentrate on making the icing for the cake, no matter how hard she tried. The whiteness of the granulated sugar frightened her. She felt powerless against it, feeling that at any moment the white color might seize her mind, dragging along those snow-white images from her childhood, May-time images of being taken all in white, to offer white flowers to the Virgin. She entered the church in a row of girls all dressed in white and approached the altar, which was covered with white candles and flowers, illuminated by a heavenly white light streaming through the stained-glass window of the white church. Never had she entered that church, not once, without dreaming of the day she would enter it on the arm of a man. She had to block out not just this thought but all the memories that caused her so much pain: she had to finish the frosting for her sister's wedding cake. Making a supreme effort, she began to prepare it. FOR THE FONDANT ICING: 800 ;iA ~tateo u;or 60 aCE if lime jti&e pleno'h water to a'olve the a;or TO PREPARE THE FONDANT Combine the set of blindness. Wherever she looked she saw the color white. When she looked at Rosaura, who was writing out some invitations, she saw only a snowy ghost. But she showed nothing, and no one noticed her condition. She didn't want another rebuke from Mama Elena. When the Lobos arrived to give Rosaura her wedding present, Tita tried to sharpen her senses to figure out who was greeting her, since to her they looked like porcelain ghosts covered by white sheets. Fortunately Paquita's shrill voice gave Tita the solution to her problem and she was able to greet them without much of a problem. Later, when she accompanied the Lobos to the entrance of the ranch, she noted that she had never seen such a night before. to her it was all a blinding whiteness. Now she was afraid the same thing would happen again, for she was unable to concentrate on making the icing for the cake, no matter how hard she tried. The whiteness of the granulated sugar frightened her. She felt powerless against it, feeling that at any moment the white color might seize her mind, dragging along those snow-white images from her childhood, May-time images of being taken all in white, to offer white flowers to the Virgin. She entered the church in a row of girls all dressed in white and approached the altar, which was covered with white candles and flowers, illuminated by a heavenly white light streaming through the stained-glass window of the white church. Never had she entered that church, not once, without dreaming of the day she would enter it on the arm of a man. She had to block out not just this thought but all the memories that caused her so much pain: she had to finish the frosting for her sister's wedding cake. Making a supreme effort, she began to prepare it. FOR THE FONDANT ICING: 800 ;iA ~tateo u;or 60 aCE if lime jti&e pleno'h water to a'olve the a;or TO PREPARE THE FONDANT Combine the sugar and water in a pan and heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture comes to a boil. Strain into another pan and return to the heat; add the lime juice and cook until it reaches the soft-ball stage, wiping the edge of the pan with a damp cloth periodically to prevent the sugar from crystallizing. When the mixture a 3 reaches that stage, pour it into a damp pan, sprinkle with water, and allow to cool slightly. After it cools, beat with a wooden spoon until creamy. To ice the cake, add a tablespoon of milk to the fondant, heat until it softens, add a drop of red food color, and frost only the top part of the cake with the fondant icing. Nancha realized something was wrong with Tita when she asked if Nancha was going to add the red food color to the icing. "Child, I've already added it, can't you see how pink it is?" "No "Co to bed, child, I'll finish the meringue icing. Only the pan knows how the boiling soup feels, but I know how you feel, so stop crying, you're getting the meringue watery, and it won't set up properly-go now, go." Nancha covered Tita with kisses and pushed her out of the kitchen. Tita didn't explain the reason for those new tears, but now they had been shed, and they had changed the consistency of the meringue. Now it would be twice as hard to get it to form peaks. All that mattered was to finish the meringue as fast as she could so she could go to sleep. The meringue icing requires ten egg whites and five hundred grams of sugar, which are beaten together until they reach the coarse-thread stage. When she finished beating the meringue, it occurred to Nancha to lick some of the icing off her finger to see if Tita's tears had affected the flavor. No, the flavor did not seem to have been affected; yet without knowing why, Nancha was suddenly overcome with an intense longing. One after another, she thought back on all the wedding banquets she had prepared for the De Ia Garza family, ever cherishing the illusion that the next wedding would be her own. At eighty-five, there was no longer much point in crying, lamenting the wedding banquet she'd been waiting for that had never come, or the wedding she had never had, even though she had had a fiance'. Oh yes, she had! But the mama of Mama Elena had sent him packing. Since then, all she could do was enjoy other people's weddings, as she had been doing for years without grumbling. So why was she complaining now? There must be some joke in all this, but she couldn't find it. She frosted the cake with the meringue icing as well as she could and went to her room, a terrible aching in her heart. She cried all night, and the next morning she didn't have the strength to help with the wedding. Tita would have given anything to change places with Nancha. Tita not only had to attend the wedding ceremony, despite her feelings, she also had to make sure her face did not reveal the slightest emotion. She thought she could manage it, as long as her eyes didn't meet Pedro's. That would shatter her pretense of calm and composure. She was aware that she, not her sister Rosaura, was the center of attention. The wedding guests were not just performing a social act, they wanted to observe her suffering; but she wouldn't give them that satisfaction. No. She heard, as she passed, the whispers in the church, and she felt each comment like a stab in her back. "Have you seen Tita? The poor thing, her sister is going to marry her sweetheart! I saw them one day in the plaza in the village, holding hands. They looked so happy." "You don't say! And Paquita says that at High Mass one day she saw Pedro passing Tita a love letter, perfumed and everything!" Tita shoved him aside and brought the four horses back under control singlehandedly. When four men from the village galloped up to rescue the sisters, they were amazed at Tita's daring feat. The villagers gave her a heroine's reception. "They say they're going to live in the same house! If I were Mama Elena, I wouldn't allow it!" She kept her mind on these and other memories like them in order to maintain a little contented-cat smile throughout the ceremony, until it was kissing time and she had to congratulate her sister. Pedro, who was standing with Rosaura, said to Tita: "And me, aren't you going to congratulate me?" "I don't see how she can. Look how much gossip there is already!" "Yes, of course. I hope you will be very happy." Tita didn't care for these comments at all. She was not meant for the loser's role. She would put on a triumphant expression. Like a great actress, she played her role with dignity, trying to think about anything but the wedding march and the priest's words, the knot and the rings. Pedro, holding her much closer than convention allowed, took advantage of this unique opportunity to whisper in Tita's ear: "I am sure I will be, since through this marriage I have gained what I really wanted: the chance to be near you, the woman I really love. . Her mind bore her back to one day when she was nine, when she had played hooky from school with some boys from the village. She wasn't supposed to play with boys, but she was sick of her sisters' games. For Tita, these words were like a fresh breeze fanning embers that had been about to die. She had had to hide her feelings for so many months that her expression now changed dramatically, and her relief and happiness were obvious. It was as if all her inner joy, which had nearly been extinguished, had suddenly been rekindled by Pedro's warm breath upon her neck, the hot touch of his hands upon her back, his chest pressed impulsively against her breasts. . . . She could have stayed in his arms forever, but a look from her mother made her pull away in a hurry. Mama Elena came over to Tita: "What did Pedro say to you?" They went to the Rio Crande, to see who could swim across it the fastest. She had been the winner-how proud she had been. One quiet Sunday in the village she had scored another of her great triumphs. She was fourteen. She and her sisters were taking a carriage ride when some boys set off a firecracker. The frightened horses bolted. When they came to the edge of the village, they ran wild and the driver could not control them. "Nothing, Mami. "Don't try to trick me, I'm wise to your games. I've been through them before. Don't play innocent with me. You'll be sorry if I ever catch you around Pedro again." After Mama Elena's threats, Tita tried to keep as much distance as she could between herself and Pedro. But it was impossible for her to wipe that smile of sheer satisfaction off her face. The wedding now had an entirely new significance for her. Seeing Pedro and Rosaura go from table to table chatting with the guests, watching them dance the waltz or cut the cake no longer bothered Tita a bit. She knew now that it was true: Pedro loved her. It was killing her waiting for the dinner to end to run tell Nancha everything. She could hardly wait until everyone was done with the cake so she could leave the table. Carreno's manual of etiquette said she couldn't leave until then, so she kept her head in the clouds and gobbled down her piece of cake. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't notice that all around her something very strange was taking place. The moment they took their first bite of the cake, everyone was flooded with a great wave of longing. Even Pedro, usually so proper, was having trouble holding back his tears. Mama Elena, who hadn't shed a single tear over her husband's death, was sobbing silently. But the weeping was just the first symptom of a strange intoxication-an acute attack of pain and frustration-that seized the guests and scattered them across the patio and the grounds and in the bathrooms, all of them wailing over lost love. Everyone there, every last person, fell under this spell, and not very many of them made it to the bathrooms in time those who didn't joined the collective vomiting that was going on all over the patio. Only one person escaped: the cake had no effect on Tita. The minute she finished eating it, she left the party. She urgently wanted to tell Nancha that she had been right in saying Pedro loved only her. Envisioning the happiness that would spread across Nancha's face, she didn't notice that with every step the scenes of misery around her, pathetic and horrifying, were growing worse. Rosaura, retching, abandoned her place of honor. She struggled to control her nausea, but it was too much for her! Her only concern was to keep her wedding dress from being fouled by the degradations of her relatives and friends; but as she crossed the patio she slipped and every inch of her dress ended up coated with vomit. She was swept away in a raging rotting river for several yards; then she couldn't hold back anymore, and she spewed out great noisy mouthfuls of vomit, like an erupting volcano, right before Pedro's horrified eyes. Rosaura complained bitterly about the way her wedding had been ruined, and no power on earth could convince her that Tita had not added something to the cake. She spent the whole night moaning, in such torment that the thought of the sheets that had taken so long to embroider was driven completely out of her mind. Pedro quickly proposed they leave the consummation of the nuptials for another night. But it was months before Pedro finally found himself obliged to do it, and then only because Rosaura dared to point out to him that she was now completely recovered. That night, realizing that he wouldn't be able to ignore his conjugal duty forever, Pedro knelt by the bed, on which the nuptial sheet was spread, and offered up this prayer: "Lord, this is not lust or lewdness but to make a child to serve you. Tita never dreamed that it had taken so long for the ill-fated marriage to be consummated. It didn't make any difference to her whether it was after the wedding or any other day. Tita was more worried about saving her skin than about anything else. The night of the wedding reception she had gotten a tremendous hiding from Mama Elena, like no beating before or since. She spent two weeks in bed recovering from her bruises. What motivated such a monstrous punishment was Mama Elena's conviction that Tita, in league with Nancha, had deliberately ruined Rosaura's wedding by mixing an emetic into the cake. Tita was never able to convince her that she had only added one extra ingredient to the cake, the tears she had shed while preparing it. Nor could Nancha testify on her behalf: on the day of the wedding, when Tita went looking for her, she found Nancha lying dead, her eyes wide open, medicinal leaves upon her temples, a picture of her fiance' clutched in her hands. TO BE CONTINUED Next month's recipe. Quad in Ro Petal Sauce. CHAPTER THREE. MARCH. Quail in Poe Petal Sauce INGREDIENTS. 12 roB, prefrrably re 12 chtnut 2 teaoooiw butter 2 teaipoonJ coriutarch 2 orB attar of ron 2 tabkpoo anue 2 tabpoon honey 2 cloy yarlic squad 1 pitaya PREPARATION: Remove the petals carefully from the roses, trying not to prick your fingers, for not only are the little wounds painful but the petals could soak up blood that might alter the flavor of the dish and even produce dangerous chemical reactions. How could Tita remember such a thing, shaken as she was to get a bouquet of roses, and from Pedro besides. It was the first deep emotion she had felt since her sister's wedding, when she had heard Pedro confirm his love, trying to hide it from everyone's prying eyes. Mama Elena's eyes were as sharp as ever and she knew what would happenif Pedro and Tita ever got the chance to be alone. As a result, she had resorted to staging the most amazing acts of prestidigitation, always managing to pull off her trick of keeping them out of each other's sight and reach, until today. She had let one little thing slip past her: with Nancha dead, Tita was the best qualified of all the women in the house to fill the vacant post in the kitchen, and in there flavors, smells, textures, and the effects they could have were beyond Mama Elena's iron command. Tita was the last link in a chain of cooks who had been passing culinary secrets from generation to generation since ancient times, and she was considered the finest exponent of the marvelous art of cooking. Naming her official ranch cook was a popular decision with everyone. Tita was pleased to receive the post, in spite of the sorrow she felt at losing Nancha. Her unfortunate death had left Tita in a very deep depression. With Nancha dead she was completely alone. It was as if her real mother had died. To help her get over it, Pedro thought it would be nice to bring her a bouquet of roses to celebrate her first year as ranch cook. But Rosaura-who was expecting her first child-did not agree, and when she saw him walk in carrying a bouquet for Tita, instead of her, she burst into tears and ran from the room. With just a look Mama Elena sent Tita away to get rid of the roses. Now, too late, Pedro realized his foolhardiness. Again with a look, Mama Elena informed him there was still time to repair the damage. Such a look it was that he excused himself and went off to look for Rosaura. Tita clasped the roses to her chest so tightly that when she got to the kitchen, the roses, which had been mostly pink, had turned quite red from the blood that was flowing from Tita's hands and breasts. She had to think fast what to do with them. They were beautiful. She couldn't just throw them in the trash; in the first place, she'd never been given flowers before, and second, they were from Pedro. All at once she seemed to hear Nancha's voice dictating a recipe, a prehispanic recipe involving rose petals. Tita had nearly forgotten it because it called for pheasants, which they didn't raise on the ranch. The one bird they did have was quail. She decided to revise the recipe slightly, just so she could use the flowers. Without a second thought, she went to the patio to catch the quail. When she had caught six, she carried them into the kitchen and got ready to kill them-which would be hard, having fed and cared for them for so long. With a deep breath, she took hold of the first one and twisted its neck, as she had seen Nancha do so often, but she used too little force to kill the poor quail, which went running pitifully around the kitchen, its head hanging to one side. She was horrified! She realized that you can't be weak when it comes to killing: you have to be strong or it just causes more sorrow. It occurred to her that she could use her mother's strength right now. Mama Elena was merciless, killing with a single blow. But then again not always. For Tita she had made an exception; she had been killing her a little at a time since she was a child, and she still hadn't quite finished her off. Pedro and Rosaura's marriage had left Tita broken in both heart and in mind, like the quail. To spare the quail the pain she felt, Tita moved sharply and decisively, finishing him off as an act of mercy. With the others it was easier. She just pretended that each quail had a softboiled egg stuck in its crop and that she was delivering it from this suffering, mercifully, by giving its neck a good twist. As a child she would have chosen death over those soft-boiled eggs she was made to eat. Mama Elena forced them on her. She would feel her throat tighten, so tight she couldn't swallow any kind of food, until her mother gave her a smack that miraculously loosened the knot in her throat; then the egg slid down without any problem. Feeling calmer, she had no difficulty in completing the next steps. So skillful was she that it seemed Nancha herself was in Tita's body doing all those things: dry-plucking the birds, removing the viscera, getting them ready for frying. After the quail are plucked and dressed, their feet are pulled together and tied so that the bird keeps a nice shape after being browned in butter and sprinkled with salt and pepper to taste. The quail must be dry-plucked because putting them in boiling water affects their flavor. That is just one of many cooking secrets that can only be learned through practice. Ever since she had burned her hands on the griddle, Rosaura wanted nothing to do with any kind of culinary activity, so she was ignorant of that and many other gastronomical secrets. But whether she did it to impress her husband Pedro or to compete with Tita in her own territory-who can say?-there was one day when Rosaura did attempt to cook. When Tita tried nicely to give her some advice, Rosaura became irritated and asked Tita to leave her alone in the kitchen. The rice was obviously scorched, the meat dried out, the dessert burnt. But no one at the table dared display the tiniest hint of displeasure, not after Mama Elena had pointedly remarked: "As the first meal that Rosaura has cooked it isn't bad. Don't you agree, Pedro?" Making a real effort not to insult his wife, Pedro replied: "No, for her first time, it's not too bad." Of course, that afternoon the entire family felt sick to their stomachs. That had been a tragedy, but nothing like the one that shook the ranch this time. Tita's blood and the roses from Pedro proved quite an explosive combination. Everyone was a little tense as they sat down at the table, but that's as far as it went until the quail were served. It wasn't enough he'd made his wife jealous earlier, for when Pedro tasted his first mouthful, he couldn't help closing his eyes in voluptuous delight and exclaiming: "It is a dish for the gods!" Mama Elena knew that the quail was exquisite; nonetheless, Pedro's remark did not sit well with her, and she replied: "It's too salty." Rosaura, saying she was feeling sick and getting nauseous, barely took three bites. But something strange was happening to Gertrudis. On her the food seemed to act as an aphrodisiac; she began to feel an intense heat pulsing through her limbs. An itch in the center of her body kept her from sitting properly in her chair. She began to sweat, imagining herself on horseback with her arms clasped around one of Poncho Villa's men: the one she had seen in the village plaza the week before, smelling of sweat and mud, of dawns that brought uncertainty and danger, smelling of life and of death. She was on her way to market in Piedras Negros with Chencha, the servant, when she saw him coming down the main street, riding in front of the others, obviously the captain of the troop. Their eyes met and what she saw in his made her tremble. She saw all the nights he'd spent staring into the fire and longing to have a woman beside him, a woman he could kiss, a woman he could hold in his arms, a woman like her. She got out her handkerchief and tried to wipe these sinful thoughts from her mind as she wiped away the sweat. But it was no use, something strange had happened to her. or her first time, it's not too bad." Of course, that afternoon the entire family felt sick to their stomachs. That had been a tragedy, but nothing like the one that shook the ranch this time. Tita's blood and the roses from Pedro proved quite an explosive combination. Everyone was a little tense as they sat down at the table, but that's as far as it went until the quail were served. It wasn't enough he'd made his wife jealous earlier, for when Pedro tasted his first mouthful, he couldn't help closing his eyes in voluptuous delight and exclaiming: "It is a dish for the gods!" Mama Elena knew that the quail was exquisite; nonetheless, Pedro's remark did not sit well with her, and she replied: "It's too salty." Rosaura, saying she was feeling sick and getting nauseous, barely took three bites. But something strange was happening to Gertrudis. On her the food seemed to act as an aphrodisiac; she began to feel an intense heat pulsing through her limbs. An itch in the center of her body kept her from sitting properly in her chair. She began to sweat, imagining herself on horseback with her arms clasped around one of Poncho Villa's men: the one she had seen in the village plaza the week before, smelling of sweat and mud, of dawns that brought uncertainty and danger, smelling of life and of death. She was on her way to market in Piedras Negros with Chencha, the servant, when she saw him coming down the main street, riding in front of the others, obviously the captain of the troop. Their eyes met and what she saw in his made her tremble. She saw all the nights he'd spent staring into the fire and longing to have a woman beside him, a woman he could kiss, a woman he could hold in his arms, a woman like her. She got out her handkerchief and tried to wipe these sinful thoughts from her mind as she wiped away the sweat. But it was no use, something strange had happened to her. She turned to Tita for help, but Tita wasn't there, even though her body was sitting up quite properly in her chair; there wasn't the slightest sign of life in her eyes. It was as if a strange alchemical process had dissolved her entire being in the rose petal sauce, in the tender flesh of the quails, in the wine, in every one of the meal's aromas. That was the way she entered Pedro's body, hot, voluptuous, perfumed, totally sensuous. With that meal it seemed they had discovered a new system of communication, in which Tita was the transmitter, Pedro the receiver, and poor Gertrudis the medium, the conducting body through which the singular sexual message was passed. Pedro didn't offer any resistance. He let Tita penetrate to the farthest corners of his being, and all the while they couldn't take their eyes off each other. He said: "Thank you, I have never had anything so exquisite." It truly is a delicious dish. The roses give it an extremely delicate flavor. After the petals are removed from the roses, they are ground with the anise in a mortar. Separately, brown the chestnuts in a pan, remove the peels, and cook them in water. Then, puree them. Mince the garlic and brown slightly in butter; when it is transparent, add it to the chestnut puree, along with the honey, the ground pitaya, and the rose petals, and salt to taste. To thicken the sauce slightly, you may add two teaspoons of cornstarch. Last, strain through a fine sieve and add no more than two drops of attar of roses, since otherwise it might have too strong a flavor and smell. As soon as the seasoning has been added, remove the sauce from the heat. The quail should be immersed in this sauce for ten minutes to infuse them with the flavor, and then removed. The smell of attar of roses is so penetrating that the mortar used to grind the petals will smell like roses for several days. The job of washing that and all the other kitchen utensils fell to Gertrudis. She washed them after each meal, out on the patio, so she could throw the scraps left in the pans to the animals. Since some of the utensils were large, it was also easier to wash them in the wash basin. But the day they had the quail, she asked Tita to do the washing up for her. Gertrudis was really stricken; her whole body was dripping with sweat. Her sweat was pink, and it smelled like roses, a lovely strong smell. In desperate need of a shower, she ran to get it ready. lBehind the patio by the stable and the corn crib, Mama Elena had had a primitive shower rigged up. It was a small room made of planks nailed together, except that between one board and the next, there were such big cracks that it was easy to see the person who was taking the shower. Still, it was the first shower of any kind that had ever been seen in the village. A cousin of Mama Elena's who lived in San Antonio, Texas, had invented it. It had a thirty-gallon tank that was six feet high: first, you filled the tank with water, then you got a shower using gravity. It was hard work carrying buckets of water up the wooden ladder, but it was delightful afterward just to open the tap and feel the water run over your whole body in a steady stream, not doled out the way it was if you bathed using gourds full of water. Years later some gringos got this invention from Mama Elena's cousin for a song and made a few improvements. They made thousands of showers that used pipes, so you didn't have to do all that damn filling. If Gertrudis had only known! The poor thing climbed up and down ten times, carrying buckets of water. It was brutal exercise, which made the heat that burned her body grow more and more intense, until she nearly fainted. The only thing that kept her going was the image of the refreshing shower ahead of her, but unfortunately she was never able to enjoy it, because the drops that fell from the shower never made it to her body: they evaporated before they reached her. Her body was giving off so much heat that the wooden walls began to split and burst into flame. Terrified, she thought she would be burnt to death, and she ran out of the little enclosure just as she was, completely naked. By then the scent of roses given off by her body had traveled a long, long way. All the way to town, where the rebel forces and the federal troops were engaged in a fierce battle. One man stood head and shoulders above the others for his valor; it was the rebel who Gertrudis had seen in the plaza in Piedras Negros the week before. A pink cloud floated toward him, wrapped itself around him, and made him set out at a gallop toward Mama Elena's ranch. Juan-for that was the soldier's name-abandoned the field of battle, leaving an enemy soldier not quite dead, without knowing why he did so. A higher power was controlling his actions. He was moved by a powerful urge to arrive as quickly as possible at a meeting with someone unknown in some undetermined place. But it wasn't hard to find. The aroma from Gertrudis' body guided him. He got there just in time to find her racing through the field. Then he knew why he'd been drawn there. This woman desperately needed a man to quench the red-hot fire that was raging inside her. A man equal to loving someone who needed love as much as she did, a man like him. Gertrudis stopped running when she saw him riding toward her. Naked as she was, with her loosened hair falling to her waist, luminous, glowing with energy, she might have been an angel and devil in one woman. The delicacy of her face, the perfection of her pure virginal body contrasted with the passion, the lust, that leapt from her eyes, from her every pore. These things, and the sexual desire Juan had contained for so long while he was fighting in the mountains, made for a spectacular encounter. Without slowing his gallop, so as not to waste a moment, he leaned over, put his arm around her waist, and lifted her onto the horse in front of him, face to face, and carried her away. The horse, which seemed to be obeying higher orders too, kept galloping as if it already knew their ultimate destination, even though Juan had thrown the reins aside and was passionately kissing and embracing Gertrudis. The movement of the horse combined with the movement of their bodies as they made love for the first time, at a gallop and with a great deal of difficulty. They were going so fast that the escort following Juan never caught up with him. Liars tell half-truths and he told everyone that during the battle the captain had suddenly gone crazy and deserted the army. That is the way history gets written, distorted by eyewitness accounts that don't really match the reality. Tita saw the incident from a completely different perspective than the rebel soldiers. She watched the whole thing from the patio as she was washing the dishes. She didn't miss a thing in spite of the rosy clouds of steam and the flames shooting out of the bathroom, which made it hard for her to see. Pedro, too, was lucky enough to witness the spectacle, since he was just leaving the patio on his bicycle to go for a ride. Like silent spectators to a movie, Pedro and Tita began to cry watching the stars act out the love that was denied to them. There was a moment, one brief instant, when Pedro could have changed the course of their story. Taking Tita's hand in his, he began to talk to her: -Tita . . . But that was all. There was no time to finish. He was forced back to grim reality. He had heard Mama Elena's shout, asking what was going on out on the patio. If Pedro had asked Tita to run away with him, she wouldn't have hesitated for a moment, but he didn't; instead, he quickly hopped onto his bicycle and furiously pedaled away. He couldn't get the image of Gertrudis out of his mind, Gertrudis running through the fieldcompletely naked. He must have been hypnotized by her ample breasts swinging from side to side. He'd never seen a naked woman before. During his relations with Rosaura, he'd never had any desire to see her body or caress it. They always used the nuptial sheet, which revealed only the necessary parts of his wife's body. When he was done, he would leave the bedroom before she became uncovered. But it was different with Tita, and he longed to gaze at her that way, without any clothes on. He wanted to study, examine, investigate every last inch of skin on her lovely, monumental body. Surely, she'd look like Gertrudis; they weren't sisters for nothing. The only part of Tita's body that he knew very well, other than her face and hands, was the little round bit of leg he'd once managed to glimpse. The memory of it tortured him each night. How he longed to place his hand over that little patch of skin, and then all over her, as he had seen the man who took Gertrudis do: madly, passionately, lustfully! Tita, for her part, was trying to shout to Pedro to wait for her, to take her away with him, far away where they'd be allowed to love each other, where there were no rules to keep them apart, where there was no Mama -but not a single sound came out of her mouth. The words formed a lump in her throat and were choked one after another as they tried to escape. She felt so lost and lonely. One last chile in walnut sauce left on the platter after a fancy dinner couldn't feel fl t' any worse than she did. How many times had she eaten one of those treats, standing by herself in the kitchen, rather than let it be thrown away. When nobody eats the last chile on the plate, it's usually because none of them wants to look like a glutton, so even though they'd really like to devour it, they don't have the nerve to take it. It was as if they were rejecting that stuffed pepper, which contains every imaginable flavor; sweet as candied citron, juicy as a pomegranate, with the bit of pepper and the subtlety of walnuts, that marvelous chile in walnut sauce. Within it lies the secret of love, but it will never be penetrated, and all because it wouldn't be proper. Damn good manners! Damn Carreno's etiquette manual! He should be punished, his body made to fade away a bit at a time, forever. Damn Pedro, so decent, so proper, so manly, so . . . wonderful. Had Tita known how soon she would taste physical love, she wouldn't have felt quite so hopeless. Mama Elena's second shout shook her out of her brooding and forced her to come up with an answer fast. She didn't know what to tell her mama first, if she should tell her that the far end of the patio was on fire, or that Gertrudis had run off with one of Villa's men, on horseback . . . naked. She settled on a version in which the Federal troops, which Tita hated, had swooped down on the ranch, set fire to the bathroom, and kidnapped Gertrudis. Mama Elena swallowed the whole thing; she was so sad it made her sick-but what nearly killed her was when she got the story from Father lgnacio, the parish priest-and who knew how he found out about it-that the next week Gertrudis was working in a brothel on the border. `A Mama Elena burned Gertrudis' birth certificate and all of her pictures and said she didn't want to hear her name mentioned ever again. off-center when it was served, and that's what she specified in the cookbook she started writing that night, after crocheting a big section of bedspread, as she did every night. As she worked, images of Gertrudis went around and around in her head: Gertrudis running through the field, and what she imagined had happened later, after her sister had disappeared from sight. Needless to say, her imagination was limited there by her lack of experience. She wondered if Gertrudis had any clothes on now, or if she was still . Neither the fire nor the passage of time has been able to eliminate a strong smell of roses that lingers in the spot where the shower stood, which now is a parking lot for an apartment building. . naked! She worried that Gertrudis was cold, as cold as she was, but then she decided, no, she wasn't. Most likely she was near a fire, in the arms of her man, and that would surely warm her. Nor could they efface the images that lingered in Pedro and Tita's minds, marking them forever. Ever after, quail in rose sauce became a silent reminder of this fascinating experience. All of a sudden she had a thought that made her run outside to look at the stars. Having felt it with her own body, she knew a look could start a fire. Each year Tita prepared it in tribute to her sister's liberation and she always took special care in arranging the garnish. Even to set the sun itself ablaze. What then would happen if Gertrudis looked up at a star? Surely the heat from her body, which was inflamed by love, would travel with that gaze across an infinite distance, with no loss of energy, until it landed on the star she was watching. The quail are placed on a platter, the sauce is poured over them, and they are garnished with a single perfect rose in the center and rose petals scattered around the outside; or the quail can be served individually, on separate plates instead of a platter. That's how Tita liked to do it, because then there was no chance of the garnish sliding Those huge stars have lasted for millions of years by taking care never to absorb any of the fiery rays lovers all over the world send up at them night after night. To avoid that, the star generates so much heat inside itself that it shatters the rays into a thousand pieces. Any look it receives is immediately repulsed, reflected back onto the earth, like a trick done with mirrors. That is the reason the stars shine so brightly at night. Tita therefore began to hope that if she could find the one staramong all the stars in the sky-that her sister was watching right this minute, it might reflect a little leftover heat onto her. That was her dream, but the longer she scanned the stars in the sky, one by one, the less she felt the tiniest bit of warmth-just the opposite happened. Shivering, she went back to bed, convinced that Gertrudis was sound asleep, her eyes shut tight and that's why the experiment hadn't worked. So, pulling up the bedspread, which by then had to be folded in thirds, she looked over the recipe she had written to see if she had forgotten anything. And added: "Today while we were eating this dish, Gertrudis ran away. ctov ;arlic PREPARATIONTwo days after killing the turkey, clean it and cook with salt. Turkey meat can be delicious, even exquisite, if the turkey has been fattened up properly. This can be accomplished by keeping the birds in clean pens with plenty of corn and water. Fifteen days before the turkey is to be killed, begin feeding it small walnuts. Start with one the first day, the next day put two in its beak, and keep increasing the number this way until the night before it's to be killed, regardless of how much corn it eats voluntarily during this period. APRIL. Tita took care to feed the turkeys properly; she wanted the feast to go well, for the ranch was celebrating an important event: the baptism of her nephew, first son of Pedro and Rosaura. This event warranted a grand meal with mole. She had had a special set of earthenware dishes made for the occasion with the name Roberto on them, for that is what they had named the beautiful baby, on whom all the family and friends were lavishing gifts and attention. Especially Tita who, contrary to what she had expected, felt an immense tenderness toward the boy, completely overlooking the fact that he was the product of her sister's marriage to Pedro, the love of her life. Turkey Mok with Almon an Same &e INGREDIENTS 1/4 chik mulato chilli pad!'u 3 chili ancho a hanoful of almono a hanul of jame dee0 turkey mck a bar0 roll (1/3 concha loaf) peanut 1/2 onion wine 2 quar of chocolate anue laro clot' cinnamon pepper uflar deeo from the chilli 5 She was really excited as she started to prepare the mole the day before the baptism. Pedro, hearing her from the living room, experienced a sensation that was new to him. The sound of the pans bumping against each other, the smell of the almonds browning in the TO BE CONTINUED - Next month's recipe. Turkey Mok with Almonoj ana S&#arne &eo. CHAPTER FOUR. griddle, the sound of Tita's melodious voice, singing as she cooked, had kindled his sexual feelings. Just as lovers know the time for intimate relations is approaching from the closeness and smell of their beloved, or from the caresses exchanged in previous love play, so Pedro knew from those sounds and smells, especially the smell of browning sesame seeds, that there was a real culinary pleasure to come. The almond and sesame seeds are toasted in a griddle. The chiles anchos, with their membranes removed, are also toasted-lightly, so they don't get bitter. This must be done in a separate frying pan, since a little lard is used. Afterward the toasted chiles are ground on a stone along with the almonds and sesame seeds. Tita, on her knees, was bent over the grinding stone, moving in a slow regular rhythm, grinding the almonds and sesame seeds. Under her blouse, her breasts moved freely, since she never wore a brassiere. Drops of sweat formed on her neck and ran down into the crease between her firm round breasts. Pedro couldn't resist the smells from the kitchen and was heading toward them. But he stopped stock-still in the doorway, transfixed by the sight of Tita in that erotic posture. Tita looked up without stopping her grinding and her eyes met Pedro's. At once their passionate glances fused so perfectly that whoever saw them would have seen but a single look, a single rhythmic and sensual motion, a single trembling breath, a single desire. They stayed in this amorous ecstasy until Pedro lowered his eyes and stared steadily at Tita's breasts. She stopped grinding, straightened up, and proudly lifted her chest so Pedro could see it better. His scrutiny changed their relationship forever. After that penetrating look that saw through clothes, nothing would ever be the same. Tita knew through her own flesh how fire transforms the elements, how a lump of corn flour is changed into a tortilla, how a soul that hasn't been warmed by the fire of love is lifeless, like a useless ball of corn flour. In a few moments' time, Pedro had transformed Tita's breasts from chaste to experienced flesh, without even touching them. If it hadn't been for Chencha walking in, back from buying some chiles anchos, who knows what would have happened between Pedro and Tita; perhaps Pedro would have ended up tirelessly caressing the breasts Tita offered him, but unfortunately that was not to be. Pedro pretended he'd come in for a glass of lime water with sage, quickly got it, and left the kitchen. With shaking hands, Tita tried to go on preparing the mole as if nothing had happened. When the almonds and sesame seeds have been thoroughly ground, mix them with the stock in which the turkey was cooked and add salt to taste. Grind the cloves, cinnamon, anise, and pepper, in a mortar, adding the roll last, after frying it in lard with chopped onion and garlic. to the crease between her firm round breasts. Pedro couldn't resist the smells from the kitchen and was heading toward them. But he stopped stock-still in the doorway, transfixed by the sight of Tita in that erotic posture. Tita looked up without stopping her grinding and her eyes met Pedro's. At once their passionate glances fused so perfectly that whoever saw them would have seen but a single look, a single rhythmic and sensual motion, a single trembling breath, a single desire. They stayed in this amorous ecstasy until Pedro lowered his eyes and stared steadily at Tita's breasts. She stopped grinding, straightened up, and proudly lifted her chest so Pedro could see it better. His scrutiny changed their relationship forever. After that penetrating look that saw through clothes, nothing would ever be the same. Tita knew through her own flesh how fire transforms the elements, how a lump of corn flour is changed into a tortilla, how a soul that hasn't been warmed by the fire of love is lifeless, like a useless ball of corn flour. In a few moments' time, Pedro had transformed Tita's breasts from chaste to experienced flesh, without even touching them. If it hadn't been for Chencha walking in, back from buying some chiles anchos, who knows what would have happened between Pedro and Tita; perhaps Pedro would have ended up tirelessly caressing the breasts Tita offered him, but unfortunately that was not to be. Pedro pretended he'd come in for a glass of lime water with sage, quickly got it, and left the kitchen. With shaking hands, Tita tried to go on preparing the mole as if nothing had happened. When the almonds and sesame seeds have been thoroughly ground, mix them with the stock in which the turkey was cooked and add salt to taste. Grind the cloves, cinnamon, anise, and pepper, in a mortar, adding the roll last, after frying it in lard with chopped onion and garlic. Next combine this mixture with the wine and blend well. While she was grinding the spices, Chencha tried in vain to capture Tita's interest. But as much as she exaggerated the events she had witnessed in the plaza, describing in bloody detail the violent battles that had taken place in the village, Tita showed no more than a flicker of interest. Today she couldn't keep her mind on anything other than the emotions she had just experienced. Besides, Tita knew perfectly well what Chencha was up to with these stories. Since she wasn't a girl to be frightened by stories of La Llorona, the witch who sucks little children's blood, or the boogeyman, or other scary stories, Chencha was trying to frighten her with stories of hangings, shootings, dismemberments, decapitations, and even sacrifices in which the victim's heart was cut outin the heat of battle! On some other occasion she might have enjoyed getting carried away by Chencha's ridiculous story, and wound up believing her lies, even the one where Poncho Villa removes his enemies' bloody hearts so he can devour them, but not today. Pedro's look had revived her faith in his love for her. For months she'd been tormented by the thought that Pedro had lied to her on his wedding day, that he'd told her he loved her just so she wouldn't suffer, or that as time went on, he really had grown to love Rosaura. These doubts started when he suddenly, inexplicably, stopped raving about her cooking. Crushed, Tita took elaborate pains to cook better meals each day. In despair, at night-after she had knit a little section of bedspread, of course-she would invent new recipes, hoping to repair the connection that flowed between them through the food she prepared. Her finest recipes date from this period of suffering. just as a poet plays with words, Tita juggled ingredients and quantities at will, obtaining phenomenal results, and all for nothing: her best efforts were in vain. She couldn't drag a single word of appreciation out of Pedro's mouth. What she didn't know was that Mama Elena had "asked" Pedro to stop praising the meals, on the grounds that it made Rosaura feel insecure, when she was fat and misshapen because of her pregnancy, to have to listen to him compliment Tita in the guise of praising the delicious food she cooked. How alone Tita felt during this period. How she missed Nancha! She hated them all, including Pedro. She was convinced she would never love anyone again as long as she lived. But it all melted away when she held Rosaura's son in her hands. It had been a cold March morning. She was in the henhouse gathering the just-laid eggs to fix them for breakfast. Some of the eggs were still warm, so she put them in her blouse, next to her skin, to relieve her constant chill, which had gradually been getting worse. She got up before everyone else as usual. But today she'd gotten up a half hour earlier than usual, to pack a suitcase with Gertrudis' clothes. Nicholas was making a trip to round up some cattle, and she planned to ask him to please take the suitcase to her sister. Of course, she had to hide all this from her mother. Tita wanted to send the clothes because she couldn't get the idea that Gertrudis was still naked out of her head. Not, of course, because of her sister's work in a bordertown brothel; rather, because Tita knew she hadn't taken any clothes with her. Rosaura had felt the first pains of labor. She thrust at Nicholas the suitcase of clothes and an envelope bearing the address of the den where he might find Gertrudis, and she went back to her chores. Pedro asked Tita to please take care of her while he was gone. Soon she heard Pedro getting the carriage ready. Strange that he was doing that so early. But she saw from the sunlight that it was already late, that packing up some of Gertrudis' past along with her clothes, had taken longer than she had imagined. It hadn't been easy to fit into the suitcase the day the three of them made their First Communion. The veil, the prayerbook, the photo taken outside the church all fit in pretty well, but not the taste of the tamales and atole Nancha had made, which they had eaten afterward with their friends and families. The little colored apricot pits had gone in, but not their laughter when they played with them in the schoolyard, nor Jovita their teacher, the swing, the smell of her bedroom or of freshly whipped chocolate. Luckily, Mama Elena's scoldings and spankings hadn't fit in either; Tita had slammed the suitcase shut before they could sneak in. Just as she got to the patio, Pedro began calling her desperately. He had to go to Eagle Pass for Dr. Brown, I 71 the family doctor, and he hadn't been able to find her anywhere. Tita was the only one who could do it. No one else was left in the house. Mama Elena and Chencha had gone to the market to buy supplies for the baby, who was due any minute, they didn't want to lack any of the things that are indispensable at such a time. They hadn't been able to go earlier, because it had been too dangerous after the federal troops had occupied the village. They didn't know when they left that the baby would arrive so soon, for just as they left Rosaura had gone into labor. Tita had no choice but to go to her sister's bedside, hoping it wouldn't be for long. She didn't have the least interest in seeing the little boy, girl, whatever. She hadn't anticipated Pedro getting captured by the federales and summarily detained from getting the doctor, or Mama Elena and Chencha being unable to return because of shooting breaking out in the village that forced them to take refuge with the Lobos; so it turned out she was the only one present at the birth of her nephew. She! She alone! In the hours she spent by her sister's side she learned more than in all the years she'd studied in the village school. She denounced all her teachers and her mama for never having told her how to deliver a baby. What good did it do her now to know the names of the planets and Carreno's manual from A to Z if her sister was practically dead and she couldn't help her. Rosaura had gained sixtyfive pounds during her pregnancy, which made the labor to deliver her first child even more difficult. Even allowing for her sister's excessive bulk, Tita noticed that Rosaura's body was extraordinarily swollen. First her feet swelled up, then her face and hands. Tita wiped the sweat from her brow and tried to revive her but Rosaura didn't even seem to hear her. Tita had seen some animals being born, but those experiences didn't help with this birth. She had been only a spectator on those occasions. The animals knew everything they had to do, whereas she knew nothing. She had prepared sheets, hot water, and sterilized scissors. She knew she had to cut the umbilical cord, but she didn't know how, or when, nor to what length. She knew there was a series of little things she had to do for the baby as soon as it entered this world, but she didn't know what they were. The only thing she knew was that first it had to be born, any moment now! Tita peeked between her sister's legs repeatedly, but nothing. Nothing but a tunnel, dark, silent, deep. Kneeling and facing Rosaura, Tita made an urgent request to Nancha to enlighten her at this time. If Nancha could tell her recipes in the kitchen, she should also be able to help in this emergency. Somebody up there had better attend to Rosaura, because there was nobody down here to do so. She didn't know how long she knelt in prayer, but when she pried her eyes open, the dark tunnel of a moment before had been transformed into a red river, an erupting volcano, a rending of paper. Her sister's flesh opened to make way for life. Tita would never forget that sound, or the way her nephew's head had emerged, tria 7 umphant in his struggle for life. It was not a beautiful head; indeed, it was shaped like a cone of brown sugar because of the pressure his bones had been under for so many hours. But to Tita it seemed the most beautiful head she'd ever seen. The baby's cries filled all the empty space in Tita's heart. She realized that she was feeling a new love: for life, for this child, for Pedro, even for the sister she had despised for so long. She took the child in her hands, carried him to Rosaura, and they wept together for a while, holding the child. She knew exactly what to do for the baby afterward from the instructions Nancha whispered in her ear: cut the umbilical cord, in the right place at the right time, clean him with sweet almond oil, bind the navel, and finally dress him. No problem, she knew how to put on the undershirt, and the shirt, the swaddling hand around his belly, the diaper, the flannel to cover his legs, the little jacket, the socks and shoes, and last of all a soft wrap to keep his hands crossed on his chest so he wouldn't scratch his face. When Mama Elena and Chencha finally arrived home that night with the Lobos, they all admired the professional job Tita had done. Wrapped up like a taco, the baby was sleeping peacefully. Pedro made it back with Dr. Brown the next day, after the federales set him free. His return was a relief to all of them. They had feared for his life. Now their only worry was Rosaura's health, since she was still swollen and was very weak. Dr. Brown examined her thoroughly. That was when they discovered how dangerous the birth had been. According to the doctor, Rosaura had suffered an attack of eclampsia that could have killed her. He was amazed that Tita had been able to assist at the birth so calmly and deliberately, and under such unfavorable conditions. Well, who knows what really excited his admiration, whether it was just the way Tita had delivered the baby by herself, with no experience, or how the toothy little girl he remembered had become a beautiful woman without his having noticed. No woman had attracted him since the death of his wife five years before. The pain of losing her, practically as a newlywed, had made him impervious to love all these years. What a strange sensation he felt when he looked at Tita. A tingling sensation ran through his body, rousing and quickening his sleeping senses. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. How lovely her teeth seemed now, assuming their true proportion within the perfect harmony of delicate features that formed her face. His thoughts were interrupted by Mama Elena's voice. "Doctor, won't it be too much trouble for you to come here twice a day until my daughter is out of danger?" "Certainly not! First, it's my duty, and second it's a pleasure to visit your lovely home." It was fortunate indeed that Mama Elena was so worried about Rosaura's health that she didn't see the way John Brown's eyes lit up with admiration when he looked at Tita, because if she had, she never would have opened the door of her home to him so confidently. Right now the doctor didn't seem a problem to Mama Elena; her only worry was that Rosaura didn't have any milk. Fortunately they found a wet nurse in the village whom they hired to nurse the baby. One of Nancha's relatives, she had just had her eighth child and was grateful for the honor of feeding Mama Elena's grandson. For a month she performed marvelously; then one morning, while on her way to the village to visit her family, she was struck by a stray bullet from a battle between the rebels and the federales and was mortally wounded. One of her relatives arrived at the ranch to bring them the news, just as Tita and Chencha were combining all the ingredients for the mole in a large earthenware pan. That is the final step, which is done when all the ingredients have been ground as indicated in the recipe. Combine them in a large pan, add the cut up turkey, the chocolate, and sugar to taste. As soon as the mixture thickens, remove it from the heat. Tita finished preparing the mole alone, since the minute she heard the news, Chencha left for the village to try to find another nurse for Tita's nephew. She returned that evening without success. The baby was crying angrily. They tried giving him cow's milk, but he rejected it. Then Tita tried giving him tea, as Nancha had done for her, but it was no use: the child rejected that, too. It occurred to Tita that if she put on the rebozo that Lupita the wet nurse had left behind, its familiar smell might soothe the baby; it had just the opposite effect, and he cried even harder, because its smell told him he was going to be fed and he couldn't understand why there was this delay. He was frantically trying to find the milk in Tita's breasts. If there was one thing Tita couldn't resist, it was a hungry person asking for food. But she had none to give. It was sheer torture. When she couldn't stand it a moment longer, she pulled open her blouse and offered the baby her breast. She knew it was completely dry, but at least it would act as a pacifier and keep him occupied while she decided what to do to appease his hunger. The baby clamped desperately onto the nipple and he sucked and he sucked. When she saw the boy's face slowly grow peaceful and when she heard the way he was swallowing, she began to suspect that something extraordinary had happened. Was it possible that she was feeding the baby? She removed the boy from her breast: a thin stream of milk sprayed out. Tita could not understand it. It wasn't possible for an unmarried woman to have milk, short of a supernatural act, unheard of in these times. When the child realized he'd been separated from his meal, he started to wail again. Immediately Tita let him take her breast, until his hunger was completely satisfied and he was sleeping peacefully, like a saint. She was so absorbed in her contemplation of the child that she didn't notice Pedro coming into the kitchen. At this moment, Tita looked like Ceres herself, goddess of plenty. Pedro wasn't surprised in the least, nor did he need an explanation. Smiling delightedly he went over to them, bent down, and kissed Tita on the forehead. Tita took the child, now satisfied, from her breast. Then Pedro's eyes beheld a sight he had only glimpsed before through her clothing: Tita's breasts. at all. w f I Tita tried to cover herself with her blouse. Pedro helped her in silence, with great tenderness. As he did, a succession of conflicting emotions took hold of them: love, desire, tenderness, lust, shame . "Is the chocolate atole ready for your sister?" . . fear of discovery. The sound of Mama Elena's footsteps on the wooden floor warned them of the danger in time. Tita finished adjusting her blouse properly and Pedro moved away from her as Mama Elena came into the kitchen. When she opened the kitchen door, she didn't see anything that wasn't socially acceptable-nothing to make her worry. Still, there was something in the air, she could smell it, and she sharpened her senses to try to figure out what was troubling her. "Tita, how is the child? Did you manage to get him to eat something?" "Yes, Mami, he took some tea and fell asleep." "Thank Cod! Then Pedro, why aren't you taking the child to his mother? Children shouldn't be away from their mothers." Pedro left with the child in his arms, while Mama Elena carefully observed Tita, who had a sparkle in her eye that Mama Elena didn't like "Yes, Mami." "Cive it to me so I can take it to her, she needs to drink it day and night so her milk will come in." But as much chocolate atole as she drank, Rosaura never had any milk. Whereas Tita had enough milk to feed Roberto and two more babies besides, if she'd wanted to, from that day on. As Rosaura was still weak sometimes, no one was surprised that Tita took over her nephew's feeding; what no one found out was how she fed him, since Tita, with Pedro's help, was very careful not to let anyone see her. For that reason, the baby, instead of driving them apart, actually brought them closer together. It was as if the child's mother was Tita, and not Rosaura. That's how she felt and acted. The day of the baptism, how proudly she carried her nephew, showing him off to all of the guests. Rosaura had to limit her appearance to the church, since she felt too sick. So Tita took her place at the banquet. John Brown, the doctor, was watching Tita, charmed by her. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. John had attended the baptism just to see if he could speak to her alone. Even though he saw her every day during the housecalls he made to Rosaura, he had never had a chance to speak freely to her without someone else being there. When Tita walked by the table where he was sitting, he got up and went over to her on the pretext of admiring the baby. "How nice the child looks with such a beautiful aunt holding him!" `Thank you, Doctor." "He isn't even your own son. Imagine how pretty you will look with one of your own. A look of sorrow crossed Tita's face. John saw it and said: "Forgive me, it seems I've said something wrong." "No, it's not that. I can't marry or have children because I have to take care of my mother until she dies." "But how can that be! It's absurd." "But it's true. Now, please excuse me, I have to attend to my guests." Tita quickly moved away from John, leaving him completely shaken. She was too, but she recovered when she felt Roberto in her arms. What did her fate matter, when she had this child near her, this child who was as much hers as anybody's? Really, she did a mother's work without the official title. Pedro and Roberto were hers and that was all she needed. Tita was so happy that she didn't realize that her mother-like John, except that she had a different motive-was not letting her out of sight for a single instant. She was convinced that something was going on between Tita and Pedro. Trying to catch them, she didn't even eat, and she was so intent on the task of watching them that she hardly noticed the success of the party. Everyone agreed that a large part of the credit should go to Tita; the mole she had prepared was delicious! She kept getting compliments on her skill as a cook, and everyone wanted to know what her secret was. It was really a shame that as Tita was answering this question, saying that her secret was to prepare the mole with a lot of love, Pedro happened to be nearby, and that they looked at each other for a fraction of a second like conspirators, remembering when Tita had been bent over the grinding stone; for the eagle eye of Mama Elena saw the spark that flew between them from twenty feet away, and it troubled her deepl...
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