THE CUSTOM by ALAN GOODIN
The Custom
Night falls rather slowly over the now empty and quiet Plaza Santo Domingo, the historical Baroque Church in the Centro de Oaxaca de Juarez. As evening approaches the warm afternoon sun slips behind the blue turning pink then gray darkening western sky. Slowly it is replaced by man`s nighttime sun, Edison`s gift, the light bulb, most so dim it´s conceivable they are the same ones he invented.
I notice the people beginning to return to the streets, stores and churches as thought someone said, `time out´ is over and everyone who had gone home for siesta had returned. It was the custom, and that is basically what Oaxaca is about, not logic or time, just custom.As the people begin to fill the streets, sidewalks and assume positions around the church under the always watchful grace and eyes of God I begin to see the faint shadow of a couple cast upon the ochre church walls. The pale yellow glow cast by old and tired light bulbs being to warm the interiors of the old colonial lamp posts spreading a thin veil of light upon the old church walls and steps.
A young couple, maybe teenagers, stroll onto the most dimly lighted church steps and sit; she with her back towards the street and he perpendicular to here side, legs spread, dangling over a long green ancient-rock bench. He slide closer towards her, his left arm around her neck, whispering while pulling her towards him, gently but with stead firmness. She glances, head lowered to her left and right as if to see who, if anyone, is watching while he steals small kisses on her neck while she squirms and twists. My curiosity increases wondering if she is looking to see if anyone is watching because she wants their privacy or be it known that she is in God`s presence and wants onlookers to send a report home that she met her lover in the traditional style. It is the custom.
She continues her turning, sublimbly assure that everyone has seen them and with firtatious eyes looks towards him. She relaxes, tilting her head and faces him, accepting the little kisses but acting as though they were unwelcome gifts of affection. Fully turning his way she kisses his cheek with small kisses that gently brush against his lips. The boy, pulls her closer, tries for longer tastes of her lips but she pulls back as if to say “enought,” but he pulls her tightly to his chest. His left arms lowers to her back and begins to rub her shoulders and back and she turns away from him, always aware that church passerbys are making note of their embraces, as is the custom.
I sit watching curious and note the acts of young lovers while feeling I am sinning in the face of God as I enjoy the scene as if I were watching some private romance held beneathe the starlit sky. His hand move slowly down her back, always slowly, but always moving lower to her small waist, not so much to hold but a place to play. I lean back against the wall of a building in the shadow of a tourist shop, encouraged by the warm breeze and friendly passersby.
They kiss more passionately as his hand slips up under her blouse and begins to rub her back, her café colored skin warm under the thin material of her thin candle-white blouse turned yellow by the dim bulbs that light the scene. She places one arm at her left side and the other around him. They kiss again and she pulls away as if to say “Not now, not yet,” as his other hand reaches towards some unseen place on her front. He pulls her back and her left arm quickly lifts to where his hand is on her stomach. I see the motion of her arm pushing his hand away as though it had offended some part of her being. She looked up towards a fresco of the Virgén crossing herself as though they had communicated and reestablished the fact they they still had one thing in common. They stood up and she gave him a long and deep kiss while pushing him away.
He stepped back from her, sad eyes cast downward looking around as if he`d loss something. I wonder what was the offense but realize, as men do, that he was feeling rejection, however short term it may be but understandable. God, the Virgén and the church had been there for hundreds of years. The couple would be back mañana, a las noche in the dim yellow light in front of God and everyone. It is the custom.
© 2001 by Alan Goodin