Country of the Bad Wolfes

PLEASURES

OF A LATER HOUR

By the fourth year of Amos and Sófi’s acquaintance, it had become their custom, as soon as María Palomina retired for the night and left them alone in the parlor, to move from their separate chairs and sit together on the sofa and hold hands as they talked to a late hour before at last saying goodnight. One night he dared to kiss the inside of her wrist, an act that caught her by surprise and seemed so sensual—so long had it been since she’d had any intimate touch from a man—that her breath caught. He said he felt her pulse quicken in the vein under his lips. Don’t, she said. You mustn’t. We mustn’t. But made no effort to withdraw her hand. It was another year more before he ventured to kiss her on the lips, to which she reacted by yielding to the kiss for a moment before drawing back and saying, This is not right. But did not stop him from kissing her again. And then one night kissed him in return. Another year passed before the first touch of their tongues left her breathless and wondering how she had managed for so long to do without such delectation. In time they were kissing as if seeking to remove each other’s mouth, and by the end of still another year she had ceased pushing his hand away and left it to its playful explorations of her clothed breast. Not until the ninth year of this relationship of steamy restraint did he finally summon the courage to confess he had loved her since the day they met. She had of course known that for many years but she said he must not say such things. You have a wife, she said, you have children. It is terrible enough, what we do, without saying such a thing. He said he was only saying what was true and she should not prohibit him from saying it to her in their private moments. She hushed him with a kiss.

The following year he said he would get a divorce. His daughters had grown up as strangers to him, and the last of them had got married within the past year without inviting him to the wedding. It had been almost five years since he had seen his wife, Teresa, and they had not written to each other in the past two. His father-in-law, Don Victor, now white haired and in tenuous health, had years ago come to accept that his daughter’s marriage had been drained of all affection and there was no hope at all of a grandson. But Sófi would not hear of a divorce. You cannot do that, she said. No matter your daughters are grown, no matter how small your feeling for Teresa, they are still your family and you cannot do that to them. She had, however, confided to him her terrible history with marriage and children and had even told him of her fear of being cursed, and he was sure that her opposition to his divorce was more a matter of that lingering superstition than of concern for the sentiments of Teresa and his daughters.

And, all the while, their amorous diversions grew bolder. She had at last granted his hand entry into her dress top, and his fingers at her nipple made her bite her lips to keep from crying out and waking her mother. Soon her own hand was on him through his trousers and she had to shush him too. For many months thereafter she would not allow him any greater liberties, and then one night she relented and let him delve under the hem of her dress as she loosed his buttons and took him in hand. They bit each other’s clothes to stifle their moans—and then had to muffle the gasping laughter of their pleasure.

So did it go for yet another year. Until the winter day a pair of attorneys presented themselves in Amos’s office to inform him that Teresa Serafina Nevada de Bentley wished to be divorced. She was offering a substantial settlement in hope that the matter could be concluded with dispatch.

Amos conjured an aspect of Deep Concern even as his spirit soared and wheeled. A double windfall—his freedom and a trove of cash! And however much she was offering, when he was done with these fellows it would be a fortune for sure.

He propped his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers in an attitude suggestive of prayer. She’s fallen in love with someone else, has she? His voice quivered with injury. His eyes shone with heartbreak. She wants my daughters to call another man Father, is that it?

The lawyers smiled with no hint of humor. They knew the man’s daughters were married and had children of their own, and according to Doña Teresa they had not even mentioned their father in years. One of the men said the amount of the offer had been determined by Doña Teresa herself, and despite their advice that it was too high she would not reduce it. However, the doña wanted it understood that it was the only offer she would make and she would tender it but this once. Either Mr Bentley agreed to it here and now or she would employ every legal means necessary to effect the divorce without his cooperation and at the same time see to it that he received not one cent.

I’m not sure she can do that, Amos said. Either legally or, ah, morally, I suppose is the word.

The lawyers smiled their mirthless smiles and began replacing papers in their cases.

Well now, gentlemen, Amos said, let’s not be hasty.

He signed every paper they put in front of him. The settlement was not insignificant. Just before they left they handed him a letter from Don Victor. It expressed the don’s deep regrets at his daughter’s decision, assured Amos of his position with the Nevada Mining Company, and awarded him a raise in pay.

He went straight to Sófi and told her what happened and asked her to marry him. She said no. He was stunned and asked why not. She said he knew why not and that he could think her as foolish as he liked but she would not be persuaded otherwise and if he should persist in so trying to persuade her she would no longer see him at all. On the other hand, she said, we are now truly free to disport ourselves, are we not?

Amos accepted her terms—and disport themselves they did. They established the routine of her visit to his house every Wednesday afternoon for several hours. “El miércoles magnífico,” they called the weekly tryst. The residents of his neighborhood were so private in their ways he never saw them but for glimpses as they came or went in their coaches. There was no need for Sófi to worry about what they might think of her visits, on each of which they would get naked and indulge in every sort of pleasure they could devise short of copulation, as she would take no risk at all of pregnancy. She was still a lean beauty at forty-five, and he apologized for his own lack of physical attraction, for his gray hair and the size of his belly. She said not to be silly, that she liked having so much of him to hug. Besides, she said with a wicked smile, the size of this is just right.

And María Palomina? She had for years been aware of the intimacies they thought she was unaware of, and she had no doubt about what took place on Sófi’s visits to Amos’s house. But she believed that if anyone deserved a little happiness it was Sofía Reina, and if all the happiness her daughter needed was no more than the sort to be had in nakedness with a man who loved her, well, what of it? It wasn’t as if she were some blushing maiden, for God’s sake. She was four times widowed. Which fact reminded María Palomina that she herself was now on the very cusp of seventy. And how in the world, she would have liked to know, had that happened?