Almost Never: A Novel by Daniel Sada, Katherine Silver Page A

was the level of motivation Renata had managed to awaken in Demetrio. Having raised her bar to almost improbable heights, she knew that by not letting him even touch her hand she’d opened a gaping space of uncertainty. Perhaps that hour of terrifying proximity was the first and would be the last between them. That is, Renata was the one playing with the highest stakes, by far, because an outlander with those qualities, especially considering the trip he had made from the south of the country to see her, not the act of an ordinary creature, no, as it turned out an adventure without a what or a wherefore. Let’s consider her, what she did after they said good-bye: she dashed off to pray to her private saints; she kneeled, mumbled lengthy entreaties that lasted more than an hour. Renata wanted her knees to hurt, some penance she must undergo, and—what the devil was she praying for? what? after having agreed to be, let us say, a hypothetical sweetheart and in the end feeling lonelier than an archangel—alone! on the other hand her mother’s demands: which would only increase if Demetrio returned. And to return, for him … would it make any sense? Perhaps … The sad part was the year of reticent love still to come: a year of letters—how many changing plotlines? and in them she’d express the passion that could not be confessed in person; still to come: the immediate difficulties: Mireya with open legs; Mireya and her unique fellatios; Mireya letting herself be eaten; Mireya sweeping the floor and singing sweetly; who knows if a whore would be capable of giving him the good kind of love; still to come: getting her out of the brothel and taking her to live with him—where? that possibility, et cetera …
    Twists and turns that set things straight. Theories that slowly run their course. Edifices left half finished. Margins of error when making a decision. What’s incomplete versus what’s finished, when finishing is a cruel detour. What conscience dictates: certitude or a ruse …
    Demetrio fell asleep perplexed, he woke up perplexed, and Zulema knew it. In fact, she had the tact not to push harder on the subject at hand. She knew that her opinion had sounded a bit too decisive, more like a verdict. It was he who subconsciously repeated, after waking up, the words that for better or for worse had bored into his spirit: You could be a drunk, a murderer, a thief, and even a deadbeat and a grouch, she’ll stay with you no matter what. To memorize this concept of salvation: a yearlong task; a reductive duty, with thousands of reverberations. At that moment he had said: Thank you, Auntie, for your advice. Next: each to his or her own: she to the store of her devotion and he to embark on the dreary trip back. Here we must mention that Zulema did not offer him breakfast (insensitive hostess), though she did place her aged hand near his mouth:
    “Kiss it!”
    “Why?”
    “Do it! It’ll make you feel good.”
    “I don’t see the point …”
    “Come on! Don’t be a fool. I know Renata didn’t let you hold her hand.”
    “But you are not Renata.”
    “Pretend I am. Take my hand and kiss it.”
    Without knowing what he would get in return, Demetrio obeyed. He became a bemused kisser of wrinkled skin. Wrinkles that inspire tenderness. A warm sensation so similar to … and after continuing to kiss it slowly the depraved suitor stuck out his tongue and licked it lustily. It seemed like an obscenity, but then—ah yes! to lick and lick and lick the pith, so much saddened saliva, and in such high concentrations. The kiss lasted a whole minute. It could have been longer, but Zulema pulled her hand away and said:
    “Now you can leave at your ease.”
    And Demetrio left with a bit of a cramp.

12
    N ow to Doña Rolanda: the befuddled welcomer. Let us imagine the arrival of a man who is falling apart: Demetrio and his flaccid height (collapsing): hoping to sleep for twenty-four hours, but … A woman came by for you. It was