group of officials assembled in front of the school gate. Were they waiting to drive Pedro to a doctor? Well, he could rot in hell before she would help him. The boy burst out in front of her, running ahead and calling to Miguel who left the group and walked up to Yolanda. She liked Miguel, and his reputation for fair-mindedness reassured her. His good looks didn't hurt either. Yolanda looked forward to seeing him again and wondered how he managed to stay single despite the not-so-small challenge his marital status provided to several young women in the village.
"Maestra," Miguel stretched out his hand in greeting, drawing Yolanda close, "we have some bad news for you. Perhaps you want to come into the school and be comfortable so we can discuss the matter in more detail."
"No, thank you, Miguel. Whatever has happened, I'll receive the news here. I'm still numb from the morning's events and nothing you tell me now will result in my feeling any worse than I already feel. I understand Pedro has suffered an accident."
Miguel put his arm around her as he broke the bad news. "Maestra, I'm so sorry for the troubles that have been visited on you today and I apologize for being the one to deliver even more difficult news. A serious accident at the school today resulted in the death of your spouse."
Yolanda froze, staring, but not seeing the colored flecks embedded in the smooth stones that littered Cuamantla's brown earth, attempting to process Miguel's words even though she practiced hearing them many times in the past.
Miguel drew her tighter. "As you know, Pedro was my friend and I will miss his presence in my life. Please accept my condolences and tell me what I can do at this moment to help you through this terrible event."
"What kind of accident killed my husband?" Yolanda's question sounded more dispassionate than she intended.
"We aren't sure, Maestra. The officials plan to investigate the matter later in the day. In the meantime, they're taking your husband's body to the Church to await the arrival of his neighbors and kinsmen. You can bid him farewell now if you wish, and then I'll be happy to find someone to accompany you back to your village."
"Does that mean you won't be joining me there?" Yolanda fought to maintain her composure in this bizarre conversation so different from her usual flirtatious exchanges with Miguel.
"I have many responsibilities here, Maestra, as you know. I'll travel to your village with the rest of the teachers tomorrow and, of course, do whatever I can to assist you today. The fiesta will have to continue as scheduled despite this sadness, and the children need me. Come into the school offices, Maestra," he said, taking her by arm. "I'll find you something to drink and you can rest and collect yourself."
"No, Miguel, I need to return to Pedro's house, finish packing and leave for home. I have one favor to ask. My husband's barrio remains true to the old traditions and my father-in-law will want a true friend of Pedro's to become the padrino de parada , head of his funeral procession. May I suggest your name?"
"Thank you, Maestra. Indeed, it would be an honor for me to lead your husband's funeral parade. Please tell your father-in-law I'm happy to accept if he chooses to ask."
The boy reached for Yolanda's hand. "I'll escort you back to the house, Maestra."
§
H asta mañana, Maestra, Miguel whispered to himself as Yolanda trudged wearily across the zócalo to the tiny brick and stucco house that Pedro García called home for at least some small part of the last three years. Miguel's heart went out to her, and to María, two beautiful women whose lives were made miserable by one exceedingly selfish man. To his dismay, Miguel found himself harboring little sympathy for his murdered friend. With most of Cuamantla, he shared the sentiment that Pedro brought about his own end.
Lost in thought, Miguel rejoined the small group of villagers standing guard over the entrance to the school.
"Maestra," Miguel stretched out his hand in greeting, drawing Yolanda close, "we have some bad news for you. Perhaps you want to come into the school and be comfortable so we can discuss the matter in more detail."
"No, thank you, Miguel. Whatever has happened, I'll receive the news here. I'm still numb from the morning's events and nothing you tell me now will result in my feeling any worse than I already feel. I understand Pedro has suffered an accident."
Miguel put his arm around her as he broke the bad news. "Maestra, I'm so sorry for the troubles that have been visited on you today and I apologize for being the one to deliver even more difficult news. A serious accident at the school today resulted in the death of your spouse."
Yolanda froze, staring, but not seeing the colored flecks embedded in the smooth stones that littered Cuamantla's brown earth, attempting to process Miguel's words even though she practiced hearing them many times in the past.
Miguel drew her tighter. "As you know, Pedro was my friend and I will miss his presence in my life. Please accept my condolences and tell me what I can do at this moment to help you through this terrible event."
"What kind of accident killed my husband?" Yolanda's question sounded more dispassionate than she intended.
"We aren't sure, Maestra. The officials plan to investigate the matter later in the day. In the meantime, they're taking your husband's body to the Church to await the arrival of his neighbors and kinsmen. You can bid him farewell now if you wish, and then I'll be happy to find someone to accompany you back to your village."
"Does that mean you won't be joining me there?" Yolanda fought to maintain her composure in this bizarre conversation so different from her usual flirtatious exchanges with Miguel.
"I have many responsibilities here, Maestra, as you know. I'll travel to your village with the rest of the teachers tomorrow and, of course, do whatever I can to assist you today. The fiesta will have to continue as scheduled despite this sadness, and the children need me. Come into the school offices, Maestra," he said, taking her by arm. "I'll find you something to drink and you can rest and collect yourself."
"No, Miguel, I need to return to Pedro's house, finish packing and leave for home. I have one favor to ask. My husband's barrio remains true to the old traditions and my father-in-law will want a true friend of Pedro's to become the padrino de parada , head of his funeral procession. May I suggest your name?"
"Thank you, Maestra. Indeed, it would be an honor for me to lead your husband's funeral parade. Please tell your father-in-law I'm happy to accept if he chooses to ask."
The boy reached for Yolanda's hand. "I'll escort you back to the house, Maestra."
§
H asta mañana, Maestra, Miguel whispered to himself as Yolanda trudged wearily across the zócalo to the tiny brick and stucco house that Pedro García called home for at least some small part of the last three years. Miguel's heart went out to her, and to María, two beautiful women whose lives were made miserable by one exceedingly selfish man. To his dismay, Miguel found himself harboring little sympathy for his murdered friend. With most of Cuamantla, he shared the sentiment that Pedro brought about his own end.
Lost in thought, Miguel rejoined the small group of villagers standing guard over the entrance to the school.
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