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Doña Levy and the Day of the Dead

By on October 29, 2014
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She slipped out of bed.

“Ay! Now it has my attention,” he said, sliding his hand under her gown and craning his neck around to admire her form.

Rebecca giggled and kissed him, pressing against the swelling in his trousers.

Alejandro took her hand and led her far across the city to the neighborhood where they had grown up, to the park where they had so often lain together. They spread a blanket in the soft grass, on one side of the large oak tree, and lay down.

*

Sra. Juarez sat on the bed, dressed, waiting for her eldest daughter, Consuela. She heard a commotion in the hallway, reached for her canes, and went to see what it was.

The volunteer came out of Doña Levy’s room, caught sight of Sra. Juarez, burst into tears and ran past her, crying. The doctor emerged, dialing a number on his cellphone.

“Good afternoon. I am Dr. Jimenez from the Jalisca Home for the Elderly. May I speak to Rabbi Safra, please? Yes, it is urgent.”

Sra. Juarez went back inside her room and sat down.

Consuela and two of her children soon arrived.

“Mama? Are you ready? Everything is packed. Tomas and Enrique have the basket.”

Sra. Juarez’s two youngest grandsons proudly brandished the laden basket.

“Mama?”

“We have to make a stop first.”

*

Sra. Juarez lay on the cot in her small tent in the cemetery, cradling the basket. “No long faces,” she told Tomas and Enrique, “only I can see Grandpa tonight, but here, give me a lot of kisses and I will pass them on to him, eh?”

Her grandsons kissed her goodnight and followed their mother to their own, adjacent, tent. To the muffled sound of chanted prayers from the many nearby tents, Sra. Juarez fell fast asleep.

*

“There you are, woman!” Jorge exclaimed as he sat on the grass, his back against the oak tree. “I have been waiting for you since sunset; God, I’m famished!”

Sra. Juarez gazed at Jorge. He had that look in his eye, the same one that he and Alejandro used to practice on her and Doña Levy.

“For me, or for what’s in here?” She held up the basket.

“Well, both. Is that wrong?”

Sra. Juarez grinned. “Are they here?”

Jorge whistled. “Hey, Alejandro! You hungry?”

Alejandro peeked around the tree. “Maria! Hello, welcome! What’s in the basket?”

“Two pickled tongue sandwiches and a bottle of that sweet wine, the kind you hate, from that kosher deli on Calle de las Fronteras. I got there just before closing; it was all they had.”

“That’s OK. I like the tongue…”

There was a loud slap.

“…OW!”

Jorge laughed; Sra. Juarez watched anxiously.

Doña Levy reached her arms around Alejandro and gazed at her friend. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you much time.”

Tears welled in Sra. Juarez’s eyes.

“Oh, no! No weeping here,” Jorge declared, “Today is the Day of the Dead; we must be happy! Let’s eat!”

“No, Jorge,” Doña Levy smiled, “I’m not done with your friend here yet.” She caressed Alejandro’s chest and nibbled his neck.

Sra. Juarez laughed. “And I haven’t even started with you yet, old man!”

“Who you calling ‘old man’?” Jorge rose and pulled his wife to him. “Hey, Alejandro! We’ll eat later. The night is still young and sunrise is a long way off.”

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