The Moths and Other Stories by Helena María Viramontes Page B

island which Chato had just claimed as his own. She brought her moistened fingers up to her nose. So this, she thought, was the smell of love. Raising the same hand up to the moonlight, she spotted red fingers. The moon was red. She woke Chato.
    â€œChato,” she said, “I’m no longer a child. Look.” She held her hand for him to see.
    â€œYou’re still a child,” he said, “but one that can bear children.”
    God didn’t listen to me, and neither did you, Chato. You are as guilty as I am.
    â€œAnita, the young couple, they have been married for three months with no word of children.”
    â€œComadre, the first three months of a child are quiet ones. She is probably on her fourth month now.”
    â€œIf that is so, Anita, then tell me why she is visiting Don Serafín, God help him? She is dry, that’s why! What sadness. So young, so useless.”
    â€œWhat’s this? Visits with the devil himself? May God in heaven save us all. When did you hear of this?”
    â€œI…well…the curtains are thin in the confessional booths.”
    â€œGod save us, you heard Amanda’s sins, Comadre?”
    â€œHow could I help it, Anita, I was next in line?”
    â€œMay God forgive you for listening. What did the jackrabbit say? Comes to Church only when she needs God’s help.”
    â€œOnly this: something about problems, something about corn-silk tea, something about Don Serafín. Then, SeñoraRamírez enters carrying her youngest, and for no reason the child begins screaming like a soul in hell. I couldn’t hear another word.”
    â€œSo young, so useless. And to think your daughter would have been just right for Chato.”
    â€œSo young. But she doesn’t have half the problems Señora Ramírez has, you know, married to a drunk and all…”
    Amanda saw the two women cackling on the front steps of the church. She had lit two candles for the Holy Virgin and she came out just in time to see the two stop and stare at her. She bowed out of custom to them and began her half-mile walk towards her house, hoping to get there before the deep dark. She walked quickly, recognizing the different houses and paths. When she passed the great white house, she saw Don Joaquín sitting on the porch with bare feet. Were he not living alone at the time, the barking of the dogs would have awakened the household. He saw her small image and waved for her to come in. Amanda, wrapped in her rebozo, quickly walked away, disappearing like the dreams he often had of her. As he lay down, Don Joaquín promised himself he would have to see her again.
    She remembered. It is so hard being female, Amanda, and you must understand that that is the way it was meant to be,
said the priest in the confessional
. But this is pain, Father, to sprout a child that we can’t feed or care for. Pray, pray, pray,
said the priest
, but what is a poor Amanda to do? The moon has hidden its face many times and I still have yet to bleed. Dried orange peels, and even corn-silk tea, will stir the blood to flow,
said Don Serafín
. Each morning I wait. Just drink the tea, drink it.
    Each morning is drearier than the last. To awake and feel something inside draining you. Lying on my back, I can almost see where all my energy is going, below my navel, where my hair stops. It will be soon,
he said
. I stroke it to calm its hunger, but it won’t be satisfied until it gets all of me. Then he wants me. Amanda, Amanda, I love to hold you, to love you,
said Chato
. He likes mornings. I lie there rubbing my belly while he kneads my breasts. I know what he wants and I hide the sickness from him. But Father, wasn’t He supposed to take care of us, His poor? When you lie together, it is for creating children,
said the priest
. You have sinned, pray. Sex is the only free pleasure we have. It makes us feel likeclouds for the minutes that not even you can prevent. You ask us