The Pinch of the Crab

Victoria married a man who loved the country. On their first anniversary, Miguel drove her up to the mountains of Cayey to eat at Jájome Terrace. He smiled when she admired the tropical oaks in full bloom, and said it was a shame that most Boricuas don’t appreciate living in the most beautiful place on earth. Sure, something can be said for the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas, if your idea of fun is losing a couple of toes to frostbite, but hey, there’s enough adventure to last a lifetime exploring the lush green forests and turquoise seas of Puerto Rico.

He was always going snorkeling, hiking, or, his latest craze, rappelling into limestone caves. Luckily, he didn’t expect Victoria to participate in all these adventures, but about a month after their anniversary he did urge her to go hiking with him to Coca Falls in El Yunque. She begged off, reminding him how she hated creepy crawlies. Victoria wasn’t keen on insects and spiders, but the sight of lizards scuttling and slithering about really gave her the shivers. Besides, the rainforest was dark and menacing, with all those vines winding themselves around their host trees in loving embrace before strangling them in the struggle to reach the light.

When Miguel returned home from the hike, he greeted his wife with a kiss.

“Hola, belleza. You look good enough to eat.”

He dropped the duffel bag with his bathing suit and hiking boots on the floor, and held her at arm’s length.

“Something’s different.”

“I had my hair done.”

Miguel gave her a look. At dinner he didn’t talk much. When she asked about the falls, he said Gina and Maritere, the wives of his hiking buddies, had a great time.

“I guess I should have gone, too.”

 “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t okay, because while undressing for bed he said, “Strange how a feminist like you goes to the beauty parlor so often.”

Her feminist phase at the University of Puerto Rico had lasted all of three months, and Miguel liked her to look good, but her hair wasn’t the real issue.

“I’ll go hiking next time.”

“You’ll probably be too far along by then,” he replied, climbing into bed.

Victoria lay down beside him, not sure whether to cuddle up. He rolled over, pulled her to him and stroked her belly, which was only slightly rounder at this early stage of pregnancy. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m glad you’re not like those American feminists, ugly women with no makeup.”

“That was in the sixties. They’re not like that anymore.”

“Give me a Boricua beauty anytime.”

 The next day Victoria’s stepmother Iris phoned. They hadn’t spoken for eight years. She congratulated her stepdaughter on her marriage, mentioned that Victoria’s father had recently retired, and invited the young couple to come visit them in the country for a late lunch the following Sunday. Her tone was friendly, almost casual, as though they had just spoken a week before.

 Struggling to keep her voice steady, Victoria accepted the invitation with a minimum of chitchat, and said goodbye. The receiver clattered to the floor when she tried to replace it. Miguel retrieved it and put his arms round his sobbing wife.

“What’s wrong? Who was that?”

When she told him, he interpreted her tears as joy at the possibility of reconciliation. A perfectly logical deduction for a man from a family of five brothers and sisters, countless cousins, aunts and uncles, a whole tribe of Sotos, all of them good-natured and affectionate. What good would it do to explain how she really felt? Her parents’ overture was gratifying after all those years, but the prospect of seeing them again was something else altogether.

By the time Sunday rolled around, Victoria had decided not to go. While Miguel was out playing early morning tennis, she started to dial their number, but stopped. It would be easier to simply not show up. An hour later, confronted with her husband’s enthusiasm for going to the country to meet her parents, she wavered, reluctant to disappoint him so soon after her refusal to go to El Yunque had almost caused a quarrel.