The Dark Bride Read Online Free

bottle of beer the bartender was going to take out of the refrigerator when he gave her his money. But he kept his ears tuned to what might be happening inside Todos los Santos’s house, where an ominous silence was vibrating, which he interpreted as a signal that the girl who wanted to be a puta had already been swallowed up by calamity.
    The sting of regret attacked again and Sacramento thought he heard the voice of his conscience ordering him to renounce the wicked money. Terrified that he might be discovered in his secret act, like a dog hiding a bone, he scraped the earth with both hands until he had opened a hole and in it he buried the seven coins, one after the other. Once he had covered the hole he breathed with relief, now rid of the evidence of the crime; he squatted very still to slow the beating of his heart and hummed a popular song that lulled him to sleep. He tells me that he dreamed about the cold beer that another man, less punctilious than he, would be drinking at the bar across the way.
    Meanwhile, in the house, alone now with the girl, Todos los Santos proceeded to roll up her sleeves, put on rubber gloves, and tie her hair back with a cord: the necessary preparation for a first-class skirmish.
    â€œWell, then, let’s begin your education,” she announced in solemn initiation.
    To tame the girl and give her some luster she had to start by pulling the hunger out of her, little by little, in a gradual, calculated nutritional plan that would take months, beginning with potato broth with parsley, followed by a mixture of oatmeal or pearl barley, and evolving gradually to green beans, lentils, and lima beans, because a creature that has learned to feed herself on air, like a bromeliad, can’t be terrorized with sausage and tripe stew unless she’s been carefully conditioned; otherwise she’ll burst.
    Todos los Santos served the girl some broth in a pewter cup and set it on the table with a piece of bread. Without waiting for it to cool or using a spoon, the girl guzzled it down and as soon as the señora had turned her back, she hid the bread in the pocket of her dress.
    â€œI’m done,” she announced. “I want more.”
    â€œPlease, madrina , may I have another serving?” enunciated Todos los Santos in a didactic tone, inviting the proper formula.
    â€œIf you want another serving, go ahead, but give me some more.”
    Since a thorough bath was the next step to be imposed, Todos los Santos took the girl to the patio and stripped her: She was a frog, a cricket, an incredibly young kitten, dark and savage, her nose blocked with dried mucus and giving off a dense smell of smoke and loneliness. Cruz soap in hand, the señora attacked the lice crawling over the girl’s head, and then, with suds and scouring pad, she started ridding the young body of the obstinate shell of ancient dirt that she wore like armor, until finally she appeared, dazed and blue, in the defenselessness of her tender skin. She chattered with cold as if she had just been born, alert and glistening as she dripped cool water like the threads of stars that appear at night in the reflection of a pool. There wasn’t much of an inventory that could be made: a tumult of hair sprouting from her head, two skinny arms, two dark, elongated legs, two tiny hints of breasts, and a minimal sweetness of moss, pleated and secret, under her arms and between her legs.
    â€œShe was a bundle of scared chicken bones, anxious to find a connection to the world,” says Todos los Santos. “I dried her with a towel, put a large cotton nightgown on her, and told her not to be afraid. ‘I am going to treat you well,’ I promised her.”
    â€œThis dress is too big and ugly,” protested the girl. “Give me a tight, shiny one, because I don’t look like a puta in this one.”
    â€œWhat are you going to show off, tadpole?” retorted Todos los Santos. “Wait until you