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Grandma Elena and the Cadejo, a n excerpt from the novel No Way Back. Claudia pulled on her red sweater, the one that fit snug around her body. Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt good.
The sweater showed off her figure, its bright color contrasting against her dark hair. She curled her eyelashes and put on lipstick. She was old enough now to know she was attractive, desired. When she was younger, she found it difficult to interpret the puzzling behavior she provoked in others, phd comics thesis writing, but now she was fully phd comics thesis writing that she phd comics thesis writing an attractive young woman.
Sitting down awkwardly across from her, Joaquín rolled his shoulders up and down, stalling to take off his jacket. He smiled, then took it off. They ordered lasagna and iced tea. She does pre-natal work in a holistic clinic on this ranch out toward Cuernavaca. Joaquín sipped at his tea and smiled again. Claudia noticed the kiss her lipstick left around the rim phd comics thesis writing her glass.
Now I do it too, but I still feel so far away from where my mom was at my age. The only thing that made her seem human was how much she loved my grandfather, phd comics thesis writing. She thought he was an angel, phd comics thesis writing. Well, I mean, it was Spain during the Civil War, and my grandfather was a communist and an architect.
In the most dramatic versions of the story—which my grandfather refused to confirm—they say she was pregnant at the time of her death. What is true, is that once my grandmother found out she died and that he was locked up in a dark cell, despairing, wasting away from hunger, she paid a bribe to have him released.
At home Claudia fell onto the bed with her boots still on. Thinking about her dinner with Joaquín, she felt an unremarkable sort of joy radiating from her stomach up to the back of her throat. Back then, she thought happiness could be found in the accumulation of small pleasures like this one: the comfort of a hot meal in the company of another.
She thought of his long, bony hands, the way he covered his mouth when smiling, phd comics thesis writing. It all seemed so far away now. Her father gave her a bit of money and said be careful. Rather than pry, phd comics thesis writing, he offered to take her out for a cup of coffee by the park.
It was drizzling that day. They sat down together. He wore the llama skin jacket he bought while once in Peru, and it fit him well, made him look younger. He was a consultant for food manufacturing companies, paid handsomely enough to forget about the marches and union organizing of his youth, those days of activism were far behind him, phd comics thesis writing.
But despite how much everything had changed, he still held onto his political beliefs, phd comics thesis writing books of Marxist theory on his shelf, his kind eyes always looking to forgive, phd comics thesis writing. It was plain to see how devastated she was, but he would never dare ask her about the details of what happened, he could guess most of it anyway. Among their many shared interests they both had a love for tango.
The singer practically had to stick his whole face into this speaker box and then the sound travelled through a tube until it reached the needle. Can you phd comics thesis writing that?
People in the plaza began to scatter as the misty rain fell harder, turning into heavy, cold droplets that pelted the cars, roofs, pedestrians, everything. Rain in the mountains was an everyday occurrence, and it always misted in the evening as the fog settled, phd comics thesis writing, cushioning the valley.
The rain now was steady, a nearly frozen, silent rain. The kind of rain that wet her face and the bluish leaves of the crops in the mornings when she walked through the coffee fields, rustling the plants as she passed between the rows, the droplets slipping down the leaves like glinting slivers of glass, shattering and sinking into the soil.
Maybe it was because of the icy rain, or because little by little the people had retreated from this insignificant corner of the world and the looming shadow of the mountain had begun to conquer the plaza, but nighttime here had a mysterious feel about it. There was something unsettling about these long periods of dark. First, the lukewarm sun would dissolve in the sky, turning pink and effervescent. Then, the fog would blot out everything like a specter.
According to Jube, it was the time of day when the Cadejo appeared, lumbering across the mountain trails, massive and imperious. Over the years Claudia had heard her grandmother tell time and again about the night she arrived at the ranch where she was to be married, phd comics thesis writing.
About how the fog had been thick, pendulous, as she walked with her grandfather from town, dragging along her little suitcase. It was a night Doña Elena would never forget because it was the night she saw the Cadejo in the flesh.
At dusk, just as the night-blooming jasmine was pitching its fragrance over the mountains, they noticed the fresh, phd comics thesis writing, deep tracks of an enormous beast pressed into the trail before them. It started panting when it saw me. I kept my mouth shut, but my grandfather drew his pistol and aimed. This is the story Grandmother would tell Claudia and her sister Gladys over the years, the two young girls listening wide-eyed and intent, petrified, but with each retelling their fear eventually lost its luster and grandmother stopped telling the whole story.
But she never stopped repeating the part about how she saw the Cadejo that night, standing in the road, an omen of what was to come. She was at school practicing writing her name on her little chalkboard. Just as soon as she finished forming the letters, she heard it spoken aloud by a man wearing a white suit, leaning in the doorway.
She wiped the chalk dust phd comics thesis writing her uniform and stood to meet him. At that time of day, Aunt Teresita would have been setting out her afternoon snack of atole and warm panela sugar cookies. She also found out that after that day, her aunt renounced her religion and became an Adventist who lived in fear of the devil until her last moments on earth.
Why had she decided to go with her grandfather that day if she had no idea who he was, and her mother had explicitly and repeatedly told her never to do so? Strangely, what Grandma Elena remembers most vividly from that afternoon, was being drawn to the look of his crisp, white suit. First, they stopped at the fair the next town over. With her grandfather it was different, phd comics thesis writing. He had no clue how to talk to her, or to children in general. What he did know was how to talk to adults.
He ran into acquaintances constantly, and everywhere they went someone recognized him, offering a manly hug and a handshake, only some pausing to ask about her:. Aunt Teresita, on the other hand, always made her say hello, always. The only time her grandfather insisted she extend her clammy, trembling hand to a stranger was when she met don Vicente in the park in Tapachula.
Don Vicente must have been an important man, because her grandfather whistled a cheery tune from the radio as he shaved that morning. She woke with a hollow stomach and a light head, her thoughts scattered. Grandfather ordered her to put on her white dress, the new one, which she did, and then braided her hair. They left the inn and outside the train station was bustling as a carnival, not unlike the fairs where grandfather went to gamble month after month.
The people crowded around the train that was snorting steam onto the rails in a loud, melancholy way. Feeling disoriented and overwhelmed among the rabble of the departing and the plaintive prayers of those saying farewell, she could hear someone playing a marimba. She reflected on the fact that she had no one to phd comics thesis writing goodbye to, or anywhere to go for that matter, though she would have liked if someone played a farewell song for her on that long, twinkling instrument.
Phd comics thesis writing had no clue then of all she would experience during the years to come. First, her daughter would board that train to Mexico City, never to return. Then she would say goodbye one by one to her five sons, watching as each one stuck his head out the window, smiling, exhilarated by the prospect of going far away. Her youngest was the last to go, but even that was long before the rails were abandoned, and the passenger lines disappeared from that area altogether.
The only phd comics thesis writing that would remain then would be the rattling, dilapidated freightliner. Shoes belonging to groups of continuously new passengers fleeing their homes with the dream of crossing to the Other Side, phd comics thesis writing.
Throughout the years, Elena would witness all of this on the very same platform where she met don Vicente that fateful afternoon long phd comics thesis writing, when her grandfather had harbored her in a damp inn with walls that shuddered every time a train pulled into Tapachula station. Her grandfather called out among the din to a woman carrying a wooden tray on her head. She came over and recited the passenger menu: chiles rellenos, phd comics thesis writing and rice, quesillo and chipilín empanadas.
Elena ordered the fish and rice which was phd comics thesis writing to her wrapped in a banana leaf. After eating, they walked through Tapachula. The sun fell squarely on the plaza like a punishment, phd comics thesis writing, the shadows of the trees contorting across the benches. Grandfather quickened his pace, phd comics thesis writing, and she doubled her step to keep up.
Under an ahuehuete cypress, a man was waiting for them wearing a khaki-colored shirt and a wide-brimmed felt hat that covered his face. As the man observed her, Elena saw that his skin was tough and weathered, the puffy ridge of a thick scar traversed his face from nose to chin. Used to live with her aunt, Doña Teresa de Miramar, a god-fearing woman. She felt the warm chapped hand of don Vicente firmly envelope her own. I packed my little suitcase and I remember bringing a doll. Did I ever tell you about how I saw the Cadejo on my way there?
It was getting dark, and the smell of night jasmine was so strong, white flowers, little button-sized white flowers were sprouting all over the mountain like a carpet on the trail, phd comics thesis writing. Grandfather was drunk as hell and the fog was settling in for the night. It was right in front of me, like a dog, but big, huge, with red eyes, blazing. I think it must have been a sign of what was to come.
An old, hunched woman wrapped in a shawl came phd comics thesis writing with a candle to meet us and she held the light near my face, making the sign of the cross over my body.
I sat near the wood stove because I was shivering uncontrollably. The one and only, wearing a long beard and stinking to high heaven of aguardiente.
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