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 Sarne &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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