A very telling statement of the times came from the mouth of that philanderer painter Diego Rivera, who, after learning of his wife’s vengeances, exclaimed, “I don’t want to share my toothbrush with anybody!” By which we can infer women were toothbrushes. If that be the case, when Soledad’s belly began to swell, there was no doubting whose toothbrush was whose.
It so happened that Narciso returned to his homeland at a time when Mexico was trying to build itself into a modern nation. So much of the railroads had been destroyed in the war, there was an urgency to unite the country with paved highways for the newly invented automobile. The government created the National Roads Commission, and the National Roads Commission created a desk job for Narciso as bookkeeper to its Oaxaca unit, thanks to his perfect penmanship, a Reyes aptitude for mathematics, and the excellent qualification of having a godfather who was the director-in-chief. The little paper that certified Narciso had been loyal to the Constitutional Government during the Ten Tragic Days of 1914 and a note from a physician who owed Regina a favor allowed Narciso’s reentry to Mexico with no disgrace or suspicion, and his bandaged chest only attested to his patriotism.
It was a time of intense nationalism, and Narciso caught the patriotic fervor of the nation. He remembered his childhood history lessons. Oaxaca was where the last strongholds of the Zapotec and Mixtec royal houses had held out successfully against the Spanish invaders, their resistance assisted as much by their own ferocity as by that of the terrain, with its cold in the high mountains and its steamy isthmus jungles.
No paved roads existed in the state then, only dirt paths pounded hard by oxcarts. To make matters more difficult, the Oaxacan landscape was overwhelmed with tropical canyons, valleys, rivers, and mountains. It is said that when the king of Spain asked Cortés to describe the terrain, Cortés crumpled a sheet of paper, tossed it on the table, and said, —Like that, Your Majesty. Like that.
Similarly overwhelmed with canyons, valleys, and mountains was the state of Regina’s nerves. She was a confusion of emotions now that Narciso was home. What good was having the love of her life back if he was to be sent away again? Her migraines returned, as did the shadow of grief—rage. And rage, unlike grief, will make do with any convenient target. This was most often Soledad. A knuckle, a fist, a wooden spoon, a bad word, all these were thwacked against the poor girl without a second thought.
It’s amazing how blind Mexican sons are to their mothers’ shortcomings. A meddlesome, quarrelsome, difficult, possessive mother is seen only as a mother who loves her child too much, instead of the thing she is—an unhappy, lonely person. So although Regina made Soledad’s life hell, Narciso saw in his mother only an example of absolute devotion. She was weepy and cross, she locked herself in her room and refused meals. Her boy was home but being taken from her again. It wasn’t fair. At the oddest moment she burst into rages and then into tears. Ah, see how much she loves me, Narciso thought, and who can fault her for that?
In his honor, Regina decided to organize an elaborate farewell supper to demonstrate to all how much she loved her boy. It gave her something to do and, though it doubled Soledad’s chores, at least it lessened the beatings.
Soledad’s body was already showing changes. Like a dusty house cat, she stretched often and rubbed her lower back, and when she was lost in thought, she stroked her belly unaware she was stroking her belly. The body spoke and said just enough, but not too much. Only Señor Eleuterio took the time to listen. Like him, she was a sad, frightened creature whom everyone was so used to seeing they didn’t see her. Least of all his wife, Regina, who was busy with mijo’s farewell party, oblivious to anything but the preparations.
On the night of the party, the table was arranged with treasures that could rival Cortés’ plunder—porcelain vases overflowing with flowers, handmade lace tablecloths, silver candelabras, etched crystal, gold-rimmed Sèvres china, and linen napkins monogrammed with a rococo “S.” They were, after all, objects from Regina’s inventory.
A prestigious list of nobodies was invited. The relatives and important acquaintances of Regina’s commerce. People she wished to impress more than people who were close to Narciso. In fact, most of them hardly knew the guest of honor. But that never stopped anyone from attending a Mexican feast.
And what a feast! All of Narciso’s favorites foods. Pickled meats, sweet tamales and hot tamales; roast leg of pork; stuffed chiles; black, yellow, and red mole; creamy soups; chorizo and cheeses; roasted fish and roasted beef; fresh ceviche and red snapper Veracruz style; platters of rice the colors of the Mexican flag; salsas of several hues and potencies; and drinks of all kinds—punch, wine, beer, tequila. All through the meal the girl Soledad served platters and took away plates, a pathetic creature with a sad face made sadder by her circumstances. No one took notice of her except Eleuterio, who watched her dragging trays of food in and dragging them back out again.
Soledad was serving the last course when Eleuterio decided enough was enough. Soledad had just finished placing a bowl of capirotada in front of him and was moving on to the next guest when Eleuterio grunted and tugged her back. He rose slowly from his chair. At first Soledad thought he was tired and needed her help getting up. The guests jabbered and laughed and ignored him, as they had all evening, until he raised his cane and brought it smashing down over Regina’s expensive merchandise.
Crystal shattered, wine spilled on the carpet, café de olla permanently spattered the guests’ clothing. Eleuterio was a madman, launching silverware, unsettling coffee cups, smashing the punch bowl, hacking away at the over-the-top floral arrangements, swinging at the crystal chandeliers as if they were piñatas. He did not stop until every dish, glass, and platter was broken, bent, or destroyed. And when he finally was through, with women sobbing and men outraged, Eleuterio stood there, a grizzled heap of flesh gasping and sputtering and foaming at the mouth, frightening the guests who had anticipated a nervous disorder, an epileptic fit, a heart seizure, anything but this …
Eleuterio spoke. All those months after his near-death words had twisted inside him, a stew of emotions without the means to say. And now, finally, he said something.
—We are not dogs! he said, looking directly at his astonished son, Narciso. Then he gathered the terrified Soledad out from under the table and pulled her to his side. —We are not dogs!
It was not much, but it was enough of a miracle, one he was never able to repeat. God had granted Eleuterio the ability to speak at the decisive moment, or perhaps God had spoken through Eleuterio. —We are not dogs! God said.
Until that moment, it was as if Narciso could not really see Soledad. She looked so pitifully absurd and small shivering next to Eleuterio, with her round panza and all. He regained his humanity at that moment and realized what his father was telling him. He was a Reyes, a Reyes, and los Reyes, although they were many things, were most certainly not dogs! Reminded of this, Narciso Reyes fulfilled his obligation as a gentleman.
It would be untrue to say everyone lived happily ever after, because ever after is very long and happiness rather on the short side. But church bells did ring exuberantly on the morning of Soledad and Narciso’s wedding, although only in the imagination, because church weddings were strictly prohibited in the years following the war due to the anti-Church provisions of the new Constitution. So let us imagine the bells, and imagine the mariachis, and imagine a beautiful reception that never happened, because to tell the truth, Soledad’s belly made Regina ashamed to look at her. No, she wasn’t the daughter-in-law she would’ve picked, but she had to accept her husband’s miraculous speech as God’s will. She had made a promise to la Virgen de Guadalupe to do whatever she commanded, if only she would keep Narciso safe during the war. And here he was, after all, delivered safe and sound.
And so this is how it came to pass that Narciso Reyes, who never left his home without a hat, a clean handkerchief, and a sharp crease in his trousers, took for his wife his cousin Soledad Reyes, she of the kingdom of kitchen.