labor. She nursed him like a child. He discovered and gently touched the dam, proof of her innocence, as though a spider had entered and woven within her a virginal web of thin warm flesh. The most unworldly of lovers, they enjoyed the forbidden newness but simply did not know very much about what to do. They had seen animals joined, but when he tried to emulate that act, Teresa became adamantly angry and afraid.
“No! No, I would not be able to look at Santa Eulália!” she said wildly.
He moved her gripping hand until enough seeds to populate a village burst from him and floated away down the Pedregós River. It was not the grand sensual destination that, they knew instinctively, lay somewhere beyond the horizon. But they recognized that they had passed a milestone, and for the time being they were satisfied to be unsatisfied.
Their burning quickly dissolved their complacence about the future. He knew the answer to their dilemma was an early marriage, but in order to accomplish that, he would have to find employment. In a rural village of tiny agricultural plots it was not possible, for almost every farmer had heirs, and younger sons who would compete savagely with Josep in the unlikely event that a job opportunity should appear.
He yearned to escape from this village that kept him a prisoner without hope, dreamed of finding some place where he would be allowed to work eagerly and with all his strength to make a life.
Meantime, he and Teresa found it difficult to keep their hands from one another.
Josep grew irritable and red-eyed. Perhaps his father noticed and spoke to Nivaldo.
“Tigre, I want you to come somewhere with me tomorrow night,” Nivaldo told Josep.
“Go where?”
“You’ll see,” Nivaldo said.
On the following evening they walked together a league from the village, into the country to a deserted lane and a small lopsided structure of plastered stone. “The house of Nuria,” Nivaldo said. “I have been coming to her for years. Now she is retired, and we visit her daughter.”
Inside, they were greeted amiably by a woman past middle age, who paused in her knitting long enough to accept from Nivaldo a bottle of wine and a bank note. “Here is my friend Nivaldo, therefore it is the fourth Thursday. So…where is Marcel Alvarez?”
Nivaldo cast a veiled glance at Josep. “He cannot come tonight. This is his son, my friend Josep.”
The woman looked at Josep and nodded.
“Child?” she called.
A younger woman opened the cloth separating the two rooms of the little house. Seeing Nivaldo sitting next to her mother and Josep standing awkward and alone, she crooked a finger. Josep was pushed by Nivaldo’s hand in his back.
The small room behind the curtain held two sleeping mats. “I am Renata,” the girl said. She had a squat body, long inky hair, a round face with a large nose.
“I’m Josep.”
When she smiled he saw that her teeth were square and wide, with several gaps. She was about his age, he thought. For a moment they stood and looked at one another, and then she skinned out of her black dress in one swift motion.
“Well. Take it off. Everything. More enjoyable, yes?”
She was an ugly and amiable girl. Her fat breasts had very wide nipples. Conscious that others behind the curtain at the door could hear everything, Josep disrobed. When she lay on the rumpled bed and opened her short legs, he could not look at the dark patch. She smelled faintly of onions and garlic, like Nivaldo’s stew to which had been added lye soap. She guided him inside deftly and everything was over almost at once.
Afterwards, Nivaldo took his turn in the little room, joking with Renata and roaring with laughter, while Josep sat and listened and watched the mother. As Nuria knitted, she hummed hymns, some of which he recognized.
When they were walking home, Josep thanked Nivaldo.
“For nothing,” Nivaldo said. “You’re a good fellow, Josep. We know it’s hard to be a second son, with a
“No! No, I would not be able to look at Santa Eulália!” she said wildly.
He moved her gripping hand until enough seeds to populate a village burst from him and floated away down the Pedregós River. It was not the grand sensual destination that, they knew instinctively, lay somewhere beyond the horizon. But they recognized that they had passed a milestone, and for the time being they were satisfied to be unsatisfied.
Their burning quickly dissolved their complacence about the future. He knew the answer to their dilemma was an early marriage, but in order to accomplish that, he would have to find employment. In a rural village of tiny agricultural plots it was not possible, for almost every farmer had heirs, and younger sons who would compete savagely with Josep in the unlikely event that a job opportunity should appear.
He yearned to escape from this village that kept him a prisoner without hope, dreamed of finding some place where he would be allowed to work eagerly and with all his strength to make a life.
Meantime, he and Teresa found it difficult to keep their hands from one another.
Josep grew irritable and red-eyed. Perhaps his father noticed and spoke to Nivaldo.
“Tigre, I want you to come somewhere with me tomorrow night,” Nivaldo told Josep.
“Go where?”
“You’ll see,” Nivaldo said.
On the following evening they walked together a league from the village, into the country to a deserted lane and a small lopsided structure of plastered stone. “The house of Nuria,” Nivaldo said. “I have been coming to her for years. Now she is retired, and we visit her daughter.”
Inside, they were greeted amiably by a woman past middle age, who paused in her knitting long enough to accept from Nivaldo a bottle of wine and a bank note. “Here is my friend Nivaldo, therefore it is the fourth Thursday. So…where is Marcel Alvarez?”
Nivaldo cast a veiled glance at Josep. “He cannot come tonight. This is his son, my friend Josep.”
The woman looked at Josep and nodded.
“Child?” she called.
A younger woman opened the cloth separating the two rooms of the little house. Seeing Nivaldo sitting next to her mother and Josep standing awkward and alone, she crooked a finger. Josep was pushed by Nivaldo’s hand in his back.
The small room behind the curtain held two sleeping mats. “I am Renata,” the girl said. She had a squat body, long inky hair, a round face with a large nose.
“I’m Josep.”
When she smiled he saw that her teeth were square and wide, with several gaps. She was about his age, he thought. For a moment they stood and looked at one another, and then she skinned out of her black dress in one swift motion.
“Well. Take it off. Everything. More enjoyable, yes?”
She was an ugly and amiable girl. Her fat breasts had very wide nipples. Conscious that others behind the curtain at the door could hear everything, Josep disrobed. When she lay on the rumpled bed and opened her short legs, he could not look at the dark patch. She smelled faintly of onions and garlic, like Nivaldo’s stew to which had been added lye soap. She guided him inside deftly and everything was over almost at once.
Afterwards, Nivaldo took his turn in the little room, joking with Renata and roaring with laughter, while Josep sat and listened and watched the mother. As Nuria knitted, she hummed hymns, some of which he recognized.
When they were walking home, Josep thanked Nivaldo.
“For nothing,” Nivaldo said. “You’re a good fellow, Josep. We know it’s hard to be a second son, with a
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