Tales from the Town of Widows (6 page)

BOOK: Tales from the Town of Widows
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A photographer came from Honda to work on La Casa’s portfolio. Each girl had three portraits made: one in casual clothes, one in underwear, and one in nothing, with her hands covering her private parts. For her own pictures, Doña Emilia took the photographer’s suggestion and wore conservative, dark-colored suits.

With the portfolio under her arm, the madam began her promotional tours. She took a different girl with her every time, visiting neighboring towns like Fresno, which was about sixty miles west of Mariquita through neglected curvy roads, but also others that weren’t very close, like the town of Dorada, a hundred-and-twenty-mile trip to the north. They went from business to business, requesting private interviews with the owners. Once Doña Emilia had the owner’s attention, she was very straightforward: “Do you like women?” After the positive answer, she would whisper, “Then you’ve got to come see my girls,” and promptly unfold La Casa’s portfolio before the astonished man’s eyes. She urged the men to make appointments at once, recorded them in La Casa’s engagement calendar, and handed out her
business card with the motto, “When was the last time you were in a house with twelve naked women? Welcome to La Casa de Emilia.”

 

I
N THE TOWNS
of Lérida and Líbano, the news of the retrained girls of Doña Emilia’s house was gladly received and rapidly spread among the men. Traveling out of their villages eliminated the risk of being caught by their wives and neighbors.

In Honda and Dorada the response was also great. So great was it that on weekends the men chartered vans and Jeeps to do round trips to La Casa.

In the weeks following Doña Emilia’s tours, La Casa experienced a rapid surge in business. Likewise, Doña Emilia experienced a growing desire for money to pay off her investment. She adopted extreme measures to ensure a good profit. Before taking a man to a room, each girl had to make him buy a bottle of liquor. The period spent with a client was shortened from twenty to fifteen minutes regardless of the man. Business hours were extended during the week, and on weekends the brothel was open twenty-four hours, with only four girls allowed to sleep at a time. Working overtime was strongly recommended, although not required. Smoking breaks were canceled, and breaks between clients shortened to five minutes. Customers could extend a session only if the girl didn’t have a waiting list. Finally, repeat customers, older and handicapped men, had priority at all times. These measures caused mixed reactions among the girls, but the madam wouldn’t accept any argument.

Customer satisfaction reports improved tremendously. According to Doña Emilia’s latest survey, 90 percent of those serviced were satisfied, versus a mediocre 60 percent reported the week before Mariquita’s men disappeared. To get this information, the old madam made it a habit to personally say good-bye to her clients, ask them whether or not they had enjoyed their session, and give them a red rose, “For your wife or your girlfriend,” she would say.

 

W
HAT AN ENTREPRENEUR
I was then! Doña Emilia said to herself as she opened her eyes. She was relieved to see the large mango still hanging from the tallest branch of the tree, and wondered who would be the fortunate one to eat it. A flock of birds, she thought. Yes, a flock of pretty white little birds would appreciate its soft pulpy flesh and sweet flavor. An approving smile appeared on her face. Or perhaps a dog…. At the moment she had a number of them sleeping at her feet. No, dogs swallow without tasting what they eat. That wouldn’t do for such a special mango.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a group of women talking in loud voices. Four girls were approaching her. Magnolia Morales was among them; Doña Emilia could recognize the girl’s shrill voice anywhere. She once had seen in a store a talking doll that had the same screeching voice as Magnolia. The girls stopped before the old woman, murmuring something unintelligibly; soon they were but guffaws of laughter that rang in Doña Emilia’s ears long after they were gone. I only hope none of those women gets to eat that mango, she thought. Those despicable old maids don’t deserve such a treat. Her eyes narrowed with hatred, and she bit her lower lip with her dentures.

The former madam had good reason to despise the spinsters of Mariquita. After all, it was because of them that La Casa had gone out of business.

 

A
LMOST TWO MONTHS
had gone by since Mariquita’s men had disappeared, and while the widows were mourning their husbands, the young women were getting restless. They couldn’t accept the idea that they lived in a town of widows and spinsters; that they, too, were fated to be single forever.

Magnolia Morales led a small support group for young women, which met in the middle of the plaza every night after the public rosary was said. They talked only about men; not their own male relatives, but their boyfriends, suitors or the ones they had secretly loved. Topics like the worsening drought, its consequences on their crops and the forthcoming shortage of food were positively banned from their meeting. Instead, the young women shared romantic anecdotes and stories of their sexual experiences, and showed one another pictures of their departed men as well as presents they had been given: dried flowers kept pressed between books, pieces of hair, even male underwear. Night after night they fantasized about the glorious day when their beloveds would be returned to them.

One evening, the girls heard the roar of a car approaching the plaza. They jumped up. Not a single car had driven along Mariquita’s dusty roads in a while. Four men in a beat-up green Jeep drove past them without so much as a honk or a courteous wave. The girls looked confounded. A few minutes later, another Jeep with five men drove by the plaza. Magnolia ran toward the road with her hands and kerchief flying in the air, shouting for them to stop. But they drove past without noticing her. Magnolia was upset and frustrated, but not defeated. She waited calmly until she heard yet another car approaching the plaza. Then she ordered the girls to line up across the street, their hands linked together in a human chain. The driver, a balding, middle-aged fellow, pulled over and rolled down the window of his red Jeep. Three other men traveled with him.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Magnolia, addressing the driver.

“How can we assist such lovely women?”

“We were just wondering where you all have come from and where you’re headed. Our village is quite far from the main road—”

“We’re from the town of Honda, muñeca, and we’re going to visit the girls of Doña Emilia,” said the driver, producing the business card the madam had given him.

“Doña Emilia said she had twelve pretty girls available,” the harsh voice came from the back of the Jeep, “but I only see nine of you.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Magnolia replied, her voice sarcastic, “but we’re not ladies of the night. We have nothing to do with that woman.”

“Well, if that’s so, then clear the way, preciosas. We have some urgent business to take care of,” said the driver. The other men laughed.

Magnolia signaled the girls to clear the road, and the men were soon gone.

The girls went back to the plaza and sat on the ground. They tried to go on with their nightly meeting, but the strong, virile smell of the men perfumed the air, and their voices and laughter echoed in the women’s ears.

“This is unfair,” said Sandra Villegas. “I’m sitting here longing for a man, while those whores are getting paid to sleep with several a night. I’m getting tired of living on memories. These pictures will only yellow and the faces on them disappear.”

“It’s only been a couple of months,” replied Marcela López, who had been engaged to Jacinto Jiménez Jr., the former magistrate’s son. “We must remain loyal to our men.”

“I have no man to be faithful to,” said Magnolia, the most experienced of the bunch, “and neither do you,” she added, jerking her chin at Pilar Villegas. “You and I could team up and compete with Doña Emilia’s girls.” The girls laughed hysterically, and their meeting broke up uneventfully.

The following night, Magnolia canceled the girls’ meeting and, together with Pilar, went to the outskirts of Mariquita. They wore tight, sleeveless dresses and colorful makeup, and wore their hair down around their shoulders. They smelled the men before they heard the roar of the car or saw the lights. When the driver saw them, he slammed on his brakes and honked. Magnolia stopped, waved at them and continued walking, slower. Pilar kept going without looking back, her legs
shaking. The four men craned their necks. They were elegant young men with shaved faces, and they smelled of cologne. “Wait,” one of them yelled through the window, his nostrils flaring. They jumped out of the Jeep and ran toward the girls.

“What pretty flowers have fallen from heaven!” one of them said. “May I ask where you’re going at this time of night?”

“We just needed a breath of fresh air,” said Magnolia, fanning herself with her hands.

“I see,” said the same man. “Are you two from La Casa de Emilia?”

“Not exactly,” replied Magnolia. “A few of us operate independently.” Between sentences, she stroked her tongue flirtatiously around her lips. She said Pilar and herself would be willing to make love to one of them each that night, free of charge, on two conditions.

“Anything you want, muñequita,” said the youngest one, stroking his crotch.

“Firstly, you must promise you’ll treat us as if we were made of crystal. And secondly, all of you must promise never to go back to La Casa de Emilia.”

“I swear to God!” replied the youngest one. He kissed a cross he made with his thumb and index finger. The other three repeated the gesture and sealed the deal by swearing to God in unison.

The men tossed a coin to decide which two would have the honor to be intimate with the girls. The losers, they agreed, would wait in the car, smoking cigarettes and drinking cheap brandy. The youngest one won the right to choose first, and he took Magnolia behind a large rubber tree. They undressed quickly. She kissed him with passion as he slowly immersed himself in her flesh. They lay on top of the thick, waxy leaves fallen from the rubber tree. They moved together, legs and leaves an impenetrable tangle. The other winner, a rather short fellow with a good amount of brilliantine smeared on his hair, took Pilar behind the bushes. She made the man scan the grass for ants and scorpions first, then covered the ground with his and her clothes. They
lay on top of the clothes and he began stroking her face, her hair, her breasts. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen,” he said, and gently moved inside her. For a moment she thought they were making love on a cloud, floating in the air. Then they exploded.

The sky was covered with hundreds of stars.

 

T
HE FOLLOWING WEEK
, Luisa and Sandra Villegas joined Magnolia and Pilar in their adventure. They met in the abandoned school to change into their tight dresses and put on makeup.

“We must not get pregnant,” Magnolia instructed her pupils. “Some men are quicker than others. You must keep looking at their faces, and when you see their eyes grow smaller and their mouths grow wide, that means they are close. Right then you have to push them off you.”

“What if they’re too heavy?” asked Sandra.

“Then you shouldn’t be on the bottom,” Magnolia replied.

She suggested they go down the road in pairs, keeping their distance. She also gave them whistles, which they had to keep around their necks at all times. “Blow them only if you’re in danger.”

In two weeks, Magnolia and Pilar persuaded eight other girls to join them, and she organized four teams of three each. They helped the new recruits with their outfits and makeup, and shared their experiences with them. They agreed to keep their business a secret from everyone in town, especially the priest, but also their mothers—the poor women didn’t need another reason to grieve. The girls also reserved the right to refuse any man for any reason. They demanded no money in exchange for their favors, but rather let the men compensate them however they chose. “That way we can protect our dignity,” said Pilar. Each girl picked a spot of her own and kept it free from bugs, weeds and other unwanted plants. A few of them even planted flowers around them and stored bread and sweets nearby in case their customers were hungry. And a month later, when the rainy season came, they helped each other build tents with bamboo sticks and large sheets of plastic.

Meanwhile, at La Casa, Doña Emilia suffered a noticeable decrease
in business. She asked her girls to make sure their clients were completely satisfied, to always thank them for coming, and to invite them back.

“Remember, they’re traveling from far away,” she said. “The time they spend here with us must be worth it.”

But the competition was fierce.

Desperate, Doña Emilia made a few more trips to nearby towns. In Honda she was informed about a group of beautiful young girls from Mariquita, who walked up and down the roads, accepting all sorts of goods in return for the men’s ephemeral love: perfume, pieces of jewelry, clothing and appliances. Doña Emilia was told that most of them were pleased with just a box of chocolates, a bunch of red roses, or a handwritten love poem. By then, Magnolia and her team had built a makeshift tent village, which they kept moving to avoid being caught by el padre Rafael or the widows.

The men referred to the tent town as “the magical whorehouse,” the one that sometimes was and sometimes wasn’t. Looking for the mysterious tents along the tortuous roads, behind the woods and between the arid hills only added to a man’s excitement. He’d search high and low—for hours, if he had to—but he always found it. And when he did, he soon disappeared between the arms and legs of a passionate woman, the moon shining down on their nude skin. Legs tightened, hips rocked, hearts sped up, sweat flowed, bodies lost control of breath, moans were set free, wails, screams—a man, a woman, a burst of fire under the sky.

 

T
O TRY TO
regain their customers, Doña Emilia and her twelve girls agreed to lower their rates and create more incentives. Sunday through Thursday would be two customers for the price of one. On Fridays, early birds would pay only half the price. And on Saturdays they would introduce Emilia’s Fiesta: a three-hour party, which included food, drinks and the right to join all twelve girls, naked, in the red room—all for a fixed rate.

BOOK: Tales from the Town of Widows
6.05Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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