The Dark Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

lesson until the next day at the same hour and shut herself up in the kitchen to calm her nerves by peeling potatoes and chopping vegetables.
    Everything changed one unforgettable afternoon when the madrina was drinking mistela with her disciples Machuca and Cuatrocientos while they gossiped about a famous debt between two neighbors that had erupted in gunfire. The girl was nearby, sitting on the floor, entertaining herself with pencil and paper, without anyone paying her any attention. Until one of the women realized that if they said “bullet,” the girl would write “bullet” with large, clear, round letters; if they said “bank,” she wrote “bank”; if they said “greedy,” or “Ana” or “mandarin,” she wrote that too.
    â€œWhat!?” exclaimed Todos los Santos, taking the paper in her hands. “This is incredible! Yesterday you didn’t know how to write and today you do . . .”
    â€œBecause yesterday I didn’t want to and today I do.”
    Had Todos los Santos kept any of those invented, tight scribbles on little rolls of paper? I insinuate that perhaps the girl’s initial disinterest in conventional writing had to do with an unnecessary duplication.
    â€œMaybe she didn’t need to learn, because in her own way she already knew . . . ,” I say, then wonder whether I should have. I was the one who needed to learn: not to get on the wrong side of Todos los Santos.
    â€œDon’t think I didn’t consider that,” she responds. “Instead of forcing her, I should have learned her way of writing so we could have sent messages to each other, or better yet, to Christ, because no one else would have understood us.”
    Encouraged by the miracle of the sudden dominion over letters and taking care not to destroy her student’s initiative and temperament, the madrina took upon herself the painstaking task of polishing the most offensive edges of the girl’s rebelliousness. She trained the child in the healthy customs of brushing your teeth with ashes; saying good morning, good night, and thank you very much; listening patiently to the troubles of others and keeping her own quiet; taking sips of anise tea in a glass, pretending it was aguardiente, the strong licorice-flavored liquor; chewing cardamom seeds to freshen her breath; letting down her hair every day and brushing it in the sun to infuse it with warmth and brilliance.
    The child, for her part, approached the lessons with the tenaciousness of a mule that surmounted any obstacle, with a few unyielding exceptions, such as using silverware, which her manual clumsiness converted into deadly weapons, or the habit of speaking loudly and stridently at any hour and on every occasion, including when she prayed.
    â€œSacred Heart of Jesus, I confide in you!” the girl shouted at the painting, overcome with fervor.
    â€œDon’t shout at him so, you’ll make him lose his hair. My holy God, how this creature howls!” complained the madrina , who knew from personal experience the advantages of a discreet and velvety tone, although the habitual consumption of tobacco had turned hers gravelly.
    She begged the girl to lower her voice, then she ordered and exhausted herself with chastisements, but it was beyond the girl’s control, and despite all of her attempts, she continued bellowing and raising a ruckus like the vegetable sellers in the market.
    â€œLet her have a taste of her own medicine,” decided Todos los Santos. And she took the girl to a loud and imposing waterfall formed by the Río Colorado near Acandai. There she made the child recite at full volume the poem “La Luna” by Diego Fallon, until her voice could be heard over the roar of the water, with the hope of filing down her vocal cords a bit. The goal was to tire her of shouting, but she tired first of Diego Fallon, so her teacher familiarized her with