The Day of the Moon Read Online Free PDF
Author: Graciela Limón
with the protruding teeth, sparse mustache, and broad forehead.
âAnother boy? Iâm happy for you. Maybe soon Iâll catch up with you. What did you call him?â
Flavio knew that he would hear a Christian name, but the true one would be held secret from him. Everyone was aware that the Rarámuri kept their true names to themselves.
âHis name is Jerónimo.â
As the celebrations went on, Flavio had teams of Rarámuri women come to the hacienda during the day to clean, move furniture, place new curtains, polish silver platters and goblets. He had a chamber prepared that was to be for Velia Carmelita and himself. He chose the one with the windows opening to the most impressive views of the sierras and meadows surrounding Hacienda Miraflores. He had women embroider linen with the initials
F
and
V
for their bed, and he commissioned dressmakers to make gowns for his new bride.
Flavio did not keep track of the money he was spending. Although on the other side of the residence his sister brooded, left out and uninvolved, he went ahead on his own, anxious and excited. The news had come that, with the entry of Francisco Madero into Mexico City, the Revolution was now a success. The war had ended and people could continue with their lives as usual. So Flavio was determined that his and Velia Carmelitaâs would be an unforgettable match.
Similar celebrations were happening at the Urrutia mansion, and the wedding ball, scheduled to take place after the mass in the main salon of Velia Carmelitaâs home, would be the highlight of the wedding.
As Flavio galloped toward the church that morning, he felt happy and grateful. He had even forgotten that BrÃgida was also part of the procession heading toward the mass, because she rode in a separate carriage far behind him.
When the musicians struck the first note of the wedding march, Flavio waited at the foot of the altar. His heart was beating so fast that he found it difficult to keep his hands from trembling. He looked up at the intricate niches, fluted pillars, gilded frames, and chubby-faced cherubim, then he breathed deeply, trying to steady his nerves. He forced himself to concentrate on the details of the church as he scanned the ornately carved altar loaded with white flowers, placed to accentuate the golden tabernacle. Above it loomed the image of a triumphant Christ with Mary, Mother ofSorrows, at his side. The rest of the facade was taken up with the images of Jesuit saints, other holy figures, and angels with outstretched wings. Flavio closed his eyes, but the brilliance of the church penetrated the darkness behind his eyelids.
The organâs somber tones, combined with the silvery voices of violins, filled the nave of the church, bouncing off its baroque columns, stained-glass windows, and marbled images of Christ on the way to His crucifixion. The place was filled to capacity with gloved men in white ties and tails, and women dressed in brocades, lace, and broad-brimmed hats. The radiance of their jewelry matched the silver of the candelabra. It was through the center of this congregation that Velia Carmelita moved toward the altar on the arm of her father, Don Plutarco.
Flavio sucked in his breath when he caught sight of her: white gown, slim, corseted waist, uplifted breasts, high lace collar, diamonds hanging from her earlobes and intertwined in thick, auburn-colored hair; a gauzy veil proclaiming her virginity. When she reached the steps leading to the altar, he offered her his arm. Bride and groom climbed the three steps to kneel in front of the waiting priest and two altar boys. The music trailed until it stopped; someone in the back coughed, and this was echoed by another person clearing his throat.
âIn nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.â
The nuptial mass began, full of ritual and ceremony. People stood, knelt, or sat in imitation of the priest and altar boys. This was repeated over and again
âAnother boy? Iâm happy for you. Maybe soon Iâll catch up with you. What did you call him?â
Flavio knew that he would hear a Christian name, but the true one would be held secret from him. Everyone was aware that the Rarámuri kept their true names to themselves.
âHis name is Jerónimo.â
As the celebrations went on, Flavio had teams of Rarámuri women come to the hacienda during the day to clean, move furniture, place new curtains, polish silver platters and goblets. He had a chamber prepared that was to be for Velia Carmelita and himself. He chose the one with the windows opening to the most impressive views of the sierras and meadows surrounding Hacienda Miraflores. He had women embroider linen with the initials
F
and
V
for their bed, and he commissioned dressmakers to make gowns for his new bride.
Flavio did not keep track of the money he was spending. Although on the other side of the residence his sister brooded, left out and uninvolved, he went ahead on his own, anxious and excited. The news had come that, with the entry of Francisco Madero into Mexico City, the Revolution was now a success. The war had ended and people could continue with their lives as usual. So Flavio was determined that his and Velia Carmelitaâs would be an unforgettable match.
Similar celebrations were happening at the Urrutia mansion, and the wedding ball, scheduled to take place after the mass in the main salon of Velia Carmelitaâs home, would be the highlight of the wedding.
As Flavio galloped toward the church that morning, he felt happy and grateful. He had even forgotten that BrÃgida was also part of the procession heading toward the mass, because she rode in a separate carriage far behind him.
When the musicians struck the first note of the wedding march, Flavio waited at the foot of the altar. His heart was beating so fast that he found it difficult to keep his hands from trembling. He looked up at the intricate niches, fluted pillars, gilded frames, and chubby-faced cherubim, then he breathed deeply, trying to steady his nerves. He forced himself to concentrate on the details of the church as he scanned the ornately carved altar loaded with white flowers, placed to accentuate the golden tabernacle. Above it loomed the image of a triumphant Christ with Mary, Mother ofSorrows, at his side. The rest of the facade was taken up with the images of Jesuit saints, other holy figures, and angels with outstretched wings. Flavio closed his eyes, but the brilliance of the church penetrated the darkness behind his eyelids.
The organâs somber tones, combined with the silvery voices of violins, filled the nave of the church, bouncing off its baroque columns, stained-glass windows, and marbled images of Christ on the way to His crucifixion. The place was filled to capacity with gloved men in white ties and tails, and women dressed in brocades, lace, and broad-brimmed hats. The radiance of their jewelry matched the silver of the candelabra. It was through the center of this congregation that Velia Carmelita moved toward the altar on the arm of her father, Don Plutarco.
Flavio sucked in his breath when he caught sight of her: white gown, slim, corseted waist, uplifted breasts, high lace collar, diamonds hanging from her earlobes and intertwined in thick, auburn-colored hair; a gauzy veil proclaiming her virginity. When she reached the steps leading to the altar, he offered her his arm. Bride and groom climbed the three steps to kneel in front of the waiting priest and two altar boys. The music trailed until it stopped; someone in the back coughed, and this was echoed by another person clearing his throat.
âIn nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.â
The nuptial mass began, full of ritual and ceremony. People stood, knelt, or sat in imitation of the priest and altar boys. This was repeated over and again