Stepping out, broom in hand, into the relatively cool morning air in front of her colonial home that had once belonged to her parents and who had gone off and died, leaving her in charge of taking care of the old, crumbling family home, Doña Juany paused for a moment to take a breath.
Fate. Yes, as fate would have it and thanks to her ungrateful and unhelpful brothers deciding to marry and move to el norte because God forbid that her sisters in law should have to live in Merida’s congested downtown – las wachas – she had been the only one left to live in what used to be a grand colonial home but which was now reduced to a dusty relic, complete with cracks in the walls and ceilings, vines creeping into the kitchen and rotting wooden door frames. She glanced – half angry, half sad – back at the sagging front door and grunted sharply, beginning to sweep the sidewalk with quick, violent movements.
Of course she had not gotten married; the love of her life had been Carlos Irigoyen but what had been a promising love affair was fatally interrupted by the constant neediness of her mother who was on her deathbed and had no one else to care for her. Juany’s father had died a few months prior and that prolonged illness and the news that Mama was also now sick, was the motivation her brothers needed and they had fled the family home to take refuge with aunts and uncles and in universities in Mexico City and Monterrey.
“Anywhere but here” she muttered to herself, sweeping a little more vigorously.
Of course while they were off enjoying life and improving themselves under the guise of ‘studying a career’, she was left behind with Mama Rita, as the servants – long since gone after her fathers illness dried up what was left of the family fortune – used to call her; bathing, feeding, changing her now baby-like mother and arranging for a priest to come visit once a week to keep up her spiritual health. Not that she minded of course – she had to remind herself sternly – but wouldn’t it have been nice if her brothers had shown at least some interest in helping out, in some small way. But no, not even a hint of interest let alone outright help. And then they started in with their girlfriends, some of whom eventually became their wives – las wachas – and they all moved back to Merida, but as far away from el centro as possible, to fashionable neighborhoods with pretentious names, like Monte Alban and Monte Cristo and Monte Fulano and Monte Mengano.
Her sweeping picked up speed to the point where she was now slashing the broom back and forth, not even seeing what it was she was sweeping.
And so here she was, unmarried, overweight and bitter, saddled with a responsibility in the form of a house that she couldn’t get rid of even if she wanted to, given the condition of the building and the drooping real estate market in Merida.
She stopped sweeping and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. Embarrassed, she quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and muttered something about el polvo just loud enough to be heard, in case anyone was looking out a nearby window or door.
She could feel a headache coming on.
It was at this moment that Frijol, the neighbors dog, sauntered into her line of sight and stood before her, looking up with those big dark malix eyes and wagging his tail expectantly. He was a healthy, well fed, all-black former street dog who had had the fortune to be adopted by Doña Juany’s neighbor, a gringa who had moved in a few years back and with whom Doña Juany had come to be on speaking terms when they occasionally crossed paths on their street.
With a jerk of his head, Frijol turned to bark happily at his owner, who now also appeared in front of Doña Juany.
“Buenos dias, Juanita!” said Betty cheerfully.
“Buenos dias, Doña Beti” answered Doña Juany, forcing a smile and hoping her eyes were not too red. “Mucho polvo” she added with a quick rub of her left eye.
“Si” replied Betty “es muy seco todo” and with that she turned, waving, and sang out “adios Juanita!” while opening her front door and with the malix Frijol bounding happily ahead of her, disappeared inside.
Doña Juany looked after them for a moment, then took her broom and slowly stepped through the sagging wooden front doors back inside, closing them carefully behind her, making her way past the scratched petatillo rocker next to a small metal end table that featured a scene from a Disney cartoon, through the off-white, almost green square-tiled kitchen, making a beeline for the baño with the one naked overhead light bulb and finally reaching the stained wooden wall cabinet with the broken mirror, where she kept her headache medicine.
Will Doña Juany find comfort in Aspirin? Will Frijol the Malix live happily ever after? Will Betty remember to call Pat?
Stay tuned for another installment of TihoTales, when inspiration strikes!
6 thoughts on “Doña Juany gets a Headache”
A woman’s life is not easy anywhere, even in Yucatan. Raise your sons to be the kind of husband and brother you wish you had… you think women will ever get that?
No, Jonna, there will always be women who don’t get that. Or those who do get it but don’t have the support of their husbands. Sigh…
OK, I love this installment and especially love the new character, who has lots of depth, or as my friend Marilyn always says “she has bottom end”. I hope something good will happen to her, like some gringo buying her house from her at a FAIR price. And of course I REALLY like her name! By the way, I noticed that Betty doesn’t get the thing about calling Mexican women “Doña”, even though Doña Juany calls Betty “Doña”. And I’d rather hear more about Frijol than Pat!!! 🙂
Jonna – doubtful I am, as Yoda would say.
Juanita – Glad you liked Doña Juany, she is a little down on life at the moment. Only someone who has lived here for a while would pick up on that Doña thing! And as for Frijol, well, there’s a canine installment coming too.
I’m new to Mérida, but I also caught the cheerful, assumed familiarity of the ‘Buenos Dias, Juanita’ comment from Betty, as if occasional sightings on the street negate the need for common cultural courtesies.
Not sure where you are going with TihoTales, but keep em coming Don William.
Entertaining and relevant.
Thank you John!
I am not sure either where this is going. As I mentioned to Juanita the other day, as I caught her leaving the gym freshly exercised, I have always thought it pretentious when writers claim they don’t know where their characters will take them; now I know it is true – I really don’t know.
Glad you are enjoying this experiment.
Tio William! I’m on my break at work and only read this one and the muchacha one.. SOOO fun. I especially liked this one, and the fact that I was beginning to BURL her but then realized she was sad and I felt bad and oh my my lovely my dear father, lovely indeed.