Small dances—los bailecitos—took place at any number of places. Some in private homes by pushing the furniture to the walls. Others in what foreigners may think of as a barn, where it was a tradition for the young women to carry a taburete on their head, so as to make sure they didn’t have to stand. These forever jubilant girls marched together to the dance, wearing their best dresses and balancing the upside-down chairs on their head, all while trying not to crush the flowers or broaches in their hair or their strategically placed curls.
The big bailes—the large dances that took place at the local sugar mill’s assembly hall—normally came around twice a year, and they brought young people from many parts of the county or the province at large. Most often, they took place during Christmas and at the end of Holy Week—Semana Santa. Musicians traveled from location to location to entertain the large crowds. At these dances, lemonade, sodas, and alcohol flowed and the music constantly played.
At these formal dances, girls and boys stood separately while chaperons looked on with critical eyes, ready to protect a girl’s reputation and good name, ready to restrain any girl who strayed away from the rigid guidelines. No loud conversations or bouncing about were allowed in any form. The chaperons took careful measures to ensure that the girls were not the center of the crowd’s attention, ridicule, or scorn.
d
Mother had worked nonstop on her debut dress, taking full advantage of the correspondence dressmaker course that she had completed while in exile at los abuelitos. She was delighted with the results—a long gown made of sheer white organza over fine linen, its top gathered into delicate folds that enhanced her full breasts. The rounded shoulder line was decorated with a garland of eyelet through which she had laced delicate ribbons in pale mint and rose. The dress accentuated her small waist via a royal blue satin sash that flowed down the side of her skirt.
On the day of the dance, she arranged her hair high, pinning it on the sides, but allowing the back to flow down to just above her shoulders because this style best showed off the embroidered silk Juliette bonnet that crowned her head. A gold evening watch on her left wrist, and round wire-rim glasses that were all the rage, completed the look. She even secretly applied some of the perfume that Consuelo had been given as a birthday gift. This was fine, she told herself, because Consuelo wasn’t going to the dance. How would she know? Standing in front of Mamá’s three-mirror vanity, Mother was sure that she’d be the belle of the ball.
Father had also fussed as he prepared for the dance, fully aware of how handsome he looked in his four-pocket linen guayabera shirt that Abuela had starched and pressed until it could easily stand on its own. He also wore linen trousers with two-tone black and white shoes, and slicked his black hair with plenty of brilliantine. He wore no aftershave or cologne because real men never wore any such nonsense.
d
The mill’s hall was a long rectangular room with cement floors, a door on every wall, and tall windows all around. Chairs and benches were lined up against the walls. When Mother entered the room, she felt every gaze focus on her.
And indeed, she became the center of attention, thanks to her beautiful dress, her looks, and a manic energy that made her stand out from every other girl at the dance.
From his corner of the room, and amongst his friends, Father’s gaze followed the exuberant eighteen-year-old as she danced, flirted, and teased her way through the hall. He watched as many boys gathered around her to ask her for a dance, and then watched the crowd as a feeding frenzy took hold until the chaperons put a stop to her flight.
Overpowered by the rush of blood that made his thighs tremble, Father was as if in a trace. Until that moment, he believed that his aloofness had served him well at social gatherings. But this time, he felt an overwhelming desire to act. Finding courage in a strong drink, he asked Mother to the floor, even though he had never really learned how to dance. In truth, he could dance well enough, but being watched by the crowd was terrifying to him. He was sure that everyone would see his awkwardness and laugh. His fears were not unfounded, because as soon as the song was over, Mother laughed before leaving his side. But had she laughed at him, or simply laughed nervously to hide the rush of electricity she felt? This question was to linger unanswered in the air, as no other words were exchanged between them that day.
d
During the journey home, all Mother could think about was the attention the boys had showered on her. She had forgotten about dancing with Father—he was only one of the many boys she had danced with that night.
She was too deep in her own thoughts to be aware that no one spoke during the journey back to the farm. She didn’t see the embarrassment on the face of her cousins, her uncle, or her one maternal aunt who had taken her to the dance.
d
“¡No más bailes o fiestas para usted!” Papá said in a formal voice, the moment he heard how Mother had behaved. There were to be no more dances or parties for her.
Mother didn’t understand, but told herself that her father’s temper would pass, and that she be triumphant in the end—she was used to getting her way with him.
Mother was wrong. This time, he could not possibly change his mind and allow her example to corrupt his other girls. Mother could not see how selfish she had been.