The City of Palaces: A Novel

Chapter 5

68 o 5 Ali­ cia ­ parted the cur­ tain and ­ looked out at the Al­ a­ meda, ­ filled at twi­ light with chil­ dren and lov­ ers stroll­ ing be­ neath the pop­ lar trees that gave the park its name. She and Mi­ guel had been to the park only two weeks ear­ lier. Now that he was her sui­ tor, the gos­ sips could no ­ longer in­ sin­ u­ ate scan­ dal when they were to­ gether al­ though their pair­ ing con­ tin­ ued to be ­ mocked. The ap­ pel­ la­ tions they had been given were all vari­ a­ tions of ­ beauty and the beast; one of them, Per­ seus and the Gor­ gon, had re­ duced her to tears when her sis­ ter Nilda had re­ peated it to her. He was hand­ some and she was, she ­ sighed, hid­ e­ ous. There were mo­ ments when her faith in their bond fal­ tered and she would have ended it with him and re­ turned to her old ways. Ex­ cept, as the days and weeks had­ passed and she be­ came ac­ cus­ tomed to his pres­ ence in her life, she found it more and more dif­ fi­ cult to im­ a­ gine a life with­ out him. On that Sun­ day after­ noon, he es­ corted Ali­ cia on the path­ ways be­ neath the leafy trees. A band ­ played ­ waltzes in the dis­ tance and the park ­ benches were ­ filled with young men ­ dressed in their best suits watch­ ing the girls in ­ pastel-colored ­ dresses pass by like a pa­ rade of flow­ ers ac­ com­ pa­ nied, al­ ways, by a ­ dourly ­ dressed chape­ rone. Lit­ tle boys sped reck­ lessly among the pe­ des­ trians on ­ roller ­ skates, and out of no­ where, a swarm of men in ­ bowler hats ­ rolled sol­ emnly by on bi­ cy­ cles. Ali­ cia wore a ­ cream-colored lace dress and an enor­ mous hat with a white veil. “May we sit for a mo­ ment, Mi­ guel?” she asked. “Of ­ course,” he said. He led her to a mar­ ble bench and wiped it with his hand­ ker­ chief. He ­ pointed out that the bench was a gift of the under­ taker Eu­ se­ bio Gay­ osso. “Ah,” she said. “I al­ ways won­ dered about the phi­ lan­ thro­ pist who 1897–1899 69 do­ nated the ­ benches to the park. Now I will never be able to look at them again with­ out think­ ing of tomb­ stones.” “They were not here when I was a boy,” he said. “Nor the ­ wrought iron ga­ ze­ bos and ­ fences. The park was not so grand then.” “Did you come here very often?” she asked, hop­ ing to en­ gage him in a rare dis­ cus­ sion of his boy­ hood. “When I was a ­ school boy I spent many in­ do­ lent after­ noons here with my ­ friends eat­ ing bags of ­ sweets we ­ bought at the ­ Dulcería de Ce­ laya,” he re­ plied, his eyes sof­ ten­ ing with re­ mem­ brance. “We would sit here and flirt with the girls.” He ­ smiled, pat­ ting her hand. “By that I mean we would steal ­ glances at them as they ­ passed and hope ­ against hope that one of them would look back.” “I’m sure they did, for you.” He was si­ lent for a mo­ ment. “Back then, my school­ mates ­ called me­ güerito for my green eyes and fair skin, or some­ times el ­ gachupín. I ­ didn’t mind the first, but the sec­ ond was a fight­ ing word.” She nod­ ded. The word was the in­ sult term for a Span­ iard. “That was cruel.” “Cruelty is like ­ breath to boys,” he ob­ served. “But being ­ called that made me feel dif­ fer­ ent, un­ pleas­ antly so. I not only ­ looked un­ like my­ friends, I ­ didn’t even sound like them. No doubt you have no­ ticed.” “Yes, your ac­ cent is that of a Span­ iard.” “I ac­ quired it first from my ­ father. He con­ sid­ ers him­ self puro mex­ i­ cano, but even after ­ decades of liv­ ing here in Méx­ ico he ­ sounds as if he’s just ­ stepped off the boat from Cadiz. And, of ­ course,” he went on, “liv­ ing in Eu­ rope I was more ­ likely to en­ coun­ ter Span­ iards...