Night of the Dead

Night of the Dead

    The night of the dead seduces me as I walk past the fish market. The smell of cooking swordfish is sweet as I walk between the stalls gazing at a beefy man with a crimson scar running like a snake down his cheek. I stop and ask him how much his fish is. “Twenty pesos,” he says. I reach into my pocket and it is empty. I thank him and move on.
     I walk through the gas lamp-lit streets past the rich patrones houses. I smell the acrid scent of smoking candles burning on street side altars. A young girl embraces a young man in a passionate kiss under a balcony by a horse-drawn carriage whose steeds neigh.
     I walk down the cobblestone past the Cabildo. Children with mud stains on their faces play in the street. My stroll in the plaza takes me to a lonely looking young woman sitting on a park bench by a banana plant, whose leaves rustle gently in the breeze. I stand for a moment gazing at her shadowy form in the pale lamplight. She looks so tired and lonely. She does not see me as I stare at her.
     I approach her with trepidation. She looks up at me with a frightened look. “Senor, please do not bother me,” she says. “I am sad now and wish to be alone in my sorrow.” I stand still smelling the fragrance of her perfume wafting toward me in the hot wet breeze.
     “I thought I knew you from somewhere,” I say.  
     “I do not know you senor. I think you must be mistaken.”
     I cautiously approach her. “I think we were brother and sister in a former lifetime,” I say to her.  
     She looks up at the stars and says “You are so strange. Please sit next to me. I am intrigued.”
     I sit next to her and our thighs touch ever so slightly. I watch her trembling small breasts move up and down with each breath. “My child died just two days ago of malaria. Now I wander the streets at night. I am a shadow who haunts the night.”
     We sit quietly for a moment and she hugs me. “I lost my wife to cholera. Let’s not mourn alone, but together” I say.
     Her voice trembles. She says “It has been so long since I have felt human warmth. Please come with me.”
     She leads me through the narrow streets to her tiny apartment. We enter the candlelit room and she holds my hand lightly with her fingers leading me to the bedroom.
     She says “Don’t fear senor. I do remember you. You were my husband in a faraway land, across the great ocean. Though Cuernavaca is my home, my ancestors migrated from the olive groves of Andalusia and the vineyards of Bordeaux to Old Mexico where they mated. So my disposition is lively like a fandango but at times slow moving like a Parisian Waltz. But my moods often take me to the kitchen. I bet you could use a cup of coffee, no cream, and sweetened with diced strawberries.”
     “You must be a good guesser. But a guesser can’t get lucky more than once. Now tell me what my favorite breakfast food is?”
     “Oh let me see, perhaps French toast spiced with Tabasco sauce?”
     “Well then, you got it right again. This is kind of uncanny. Now try your luck again. What kind of hot toddy do I drink before bed?”
     “You are most unusual. Instead of the usual whiskey, you prefer vodka with orange juice.”
     “Now I’m getting jittery. This is just too coincidental. So do tell me, what is the insignia on the inside of the ring I’m wearing?”
     “Oh, that is easy. It is the one you’ve always worn. It is a sphinx.”
     “You’ve made me a believer. But is having a history enough to make us compatible in this life?”
     “We have chemistry and always have. Now that I’ve lost a son I need the right man to bear another child with. I know you are a good father. We’ve followed each other across this earth. Each time we parented our children grew up strong and bright-eyed.”
     “Well, ages have passed since the thought of rearing kids came to my mind. The evidence is decisive that we knew each other over the centuries. But to confirm beyond a shadow of a doubt tell me how I like to be touched the best.”
     “You have a liking to be stroked by a peacock feather. Now tell me some of my idiosyncrasies.”
     “You apply rouge to your derriere cheeks as well as your face.”
      “To get that blush look down there when not in the mood to take a hot bath for a similar effect.”
     “How did I know that? You also sprinkle orange juice on instead of perfume for that citrusy scent which reminds you of the marmalade and toast you had for breakfast while harvesting figs in Greece during the formation of the Balkan League.”
     “You remember me well. Now tell me, what do I wash my hair with?”
     “Red wine vinaigrette when you can afford it. Otherwise lavender scented soap.”
     “You know there are some changes for the better with you. When you cracked your neck I thought your head would pop off and fly into the clouds where your mind was mostly” she says.
     “So far you haven’t whined about me not buying the dress you fancy.”
     “My fashion sensibilities didn’t require the latest Parisian styles. New Orleans would’ve suited me just fine. Besides, you always said I was cute when I mewled.”
     “Your lips are in a pout now and I still love it.”
     “Enough questions. Let us find a comfortable spot on the bed and get reacquainted.”