I think everyone should have a fiancé in Grajaú, especially married men. Before you accuse me of promoting adultery, let me add that my fiancé in Grajaú is purely theoretical. And note that I say fiancé, and not girlfriends or lovers. Grajaú fiancés are chaste and withdrawn. They'll only let you hold their hand, if that. That little mound of meat on the base of the thumb, for instance, only in marriage.
It takes two weeks to touch, not her, but the gate around her house. If you touch her elbow, an alarm goes off throughout the house and her brother, a former infantry sky-diver, comes to see what the hell is going on. A married man with a fiancé in Grajaú is more faithful to his wife than she deserves. It is almost indispensable for the success and happiness of a marriage that the husband have a fiancé in Grajaú and that he visit her daily from 5 to 6. Except for Thursdays, when she has piano lessons.
How can I explain the fascination of the Grajaú fiancés? During your relationship, there is no sexual promise. If you're lucky, after a year and a half long engagement, you'll nibble her ear. And she'll tell you never to do that again because it tickles, and oops, she almost lost her earring. One day, when you finally convince the infantry sky-diver to let you take her to the bar for a drink, you will succeed in putting your nervous hand in between her naked arm and blouse almost to the top, but then she'll press her arm against her body with such strength that your fingers go numb.
And the conversation? The most intimate thing she'll ever ask you will be:
-Do you follow any soaps?
You will try more consequential subjects.
-Are you a jealous woman?
Or, nervously:
-What type of soap do you use in the shower?
But she will repel all attempts at a serious conversation. She will laugh when you try and say something poetic. She will double over, laughing. And her mother will lean out her window to make sure you haven't made another move on her ear again.
The surveillance is constant. Her father - retired, spiritual - wears a holster on his belt. The holster is empty, but its size is eloquent: somewhere he hides the great gun with which he protects his patrimony, as well as his daughter's virginity and a bound collection of Malba Tahan. The one time he speaks to you, he will tell you about how he expelled 17 stones through his urethra and was a militant member of the UDN. Be careful. Her mother has a mustache. Her black eyes look like lighthouses in the window, guiding Grajaú's virtue to bed, intact, each night.
-Doesn't your mother watch any soaps?
-The one at 8.
-Doesn't she have anything to do in the kitchen?
-We have a maid.
-Doesn't she...
And her mother interrupts:
-The whispering, the whispering!
Grajaú fiancés have a younger brother that spends his free time trying to kick you in the shins. One day he misses, hits a wall and runs to his mom saying you hit him.
Having a finacé in Grajaú is tough. Why do you insist?
Grajaú fiancés have friends that walk by you in large groups laughing, God knows why, at you.
It's too much. You don't need this. Marriage is out of the question. You are already married. There must be another fiancé in some other neighborhood where the surveillance is less sever and access is more easily granted. But you persist. The fascination is irresistible. At 6 sharp, her mother turns on the porch light. It's the sign for you to leave. You swear never to return.
But she spits out her gum and says:
-Tomorrow, are you coming?
And you will.
1 comments:
hahaha.. very funny. Are you by any chance the michael lopez who went to Charles Drew elementary?
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