Sandwiches and Incest novel · Chapter 2 of 12

Chapter 2: The Pampas Grass

I woke up alone on the adobe platform bed.

Nilda was already in the kitchen, grinding chili peppers with her back straight, just like every morning.

She said good morning in her usual voice.

She served me the usual coffee.

She didn't say a single word about the night.

That scared me more than any scream.

I went out to the yard at seven, using the excuse of checking the truck, and stood there for a while staring at the gray sky.

Up the road below came a Carnival troupe, with bass drums, quenas, and women singing cunshis, all soaked with water and paint.

Someone threw a bucket of cold water at me, and I didn't even complain.

I deserved it.

I went to the corral in back to get firewood for the stove.

On the other side of the fence there was a tall, yellow stand of pampas grass, swaying in the wind.

I was hoisting the axe onto my shoulder when a voice called out to me from the grass.

"Brother-in-law."

I turned around.

Yesenia was standing among the stalks, a red shawl over her shoulders and her wet hair plastered to her face.

Her lips were chapped from the cold, and her eyes were bright.

"Last night," she said. "Do you regret it?"

"Yesenia, your sister..."

"My sister was asleep."

"She wasn't asleep."

She shrugged.

"Well then she knows, and she didn't do anything." She looked at me with a seriousness I'd never seen in her. "Look, Efraín, I have to tell you something. And I don't have much time."

She came closer and lowered her voice.

"Don Basilio Chuquimango is coming on Sunday."

I knew the name.

A cattle rancher from the city, bald, with a gold chain and seven pickup trucks.

My father-in-law had owed him money for years, ever since the cows died.

"And what's he coming for?"

"To ask for my hand."

I froze.

"He's fifty-four years old," she said, with a broken little laugh. "My dad owes him thirty thousand soles, and he says he'll forgive the debt if I marry him."

"That's not possible."

"In the highlands, anything is possible, brother-in-law."

I dropped the axe.

"Your sister didn't tell me anything."

"My sister doesn't say anything about anything, you know that." She bit her lip. "And I don't want that ring on my finger. I want to choose for myself."

She grabbed my wet shirt.

"I chose last night."

The wind moved the pampas grass around us, like a curtain.

In the distance, the Carnival drums were playing.

"Yesenia," I said, hoarse. "I'm a married man."

"I know."

"I can't."

"I know." She knelt in the mud in front of me, without taking her eyes off me. "But you can't tell me no either."

"Get up."

"No."

She unbuckled my belt with her cold fingers.

I should have stopped her.

I should have grabbed her by the arms, lifted her up, gone back to the house, and confessed everything to my wife.

Instead, I stood still, fists clenched, watching her pull my pants down.

My cock was hard before she even touched me.

She looked at it for a second, with a mischievous smile.

"What a pretty stick, brother-in-law."

"Yesenia."

"Shut up and watch."

She took it in her mouth.

Hot, wet, tight.

My head fell back, and I let out a hoarse groan toward the gray sky.

She sucked with a cruel dedication, up and down, her tongue circling the tip.

I grabbed the fence to keep from falling.

One hand held me at the base, and the other stroked my balls, slowly, and I watched her black hair sway with every movement.

"Like that," I panted. "God."

She pulled my cock out of her mouth with a string of saliva hanging from it.

"Tell me you want me to do it."

"I want it."

"Tell me you want me."

"I want you."

She took me back in her mouth, deeper, until I felt her throat squeezing the head.

My knees were shaking.

The Carnival drums were getting closer, and I could hear people singing on the road up.

"Faster," I begged. "They're coming."

She sped up.

She grabbed my ass and pulled me against her mouth, and I started moving my hips, fucking her face with short thrusts.

She moaned around me, and that vibration broke me.

"I'm going to come."

She didn't pull away.

I came with a roar smothered in my fist, spilling into her mouth, while she swallowed and swallowed without letting go.

When I finished, she was holding me by the hips.

She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and stood up.

She fixed my pants with a tenderness that undid me.

"Think about it," she said. "You have until Sunday to decide whose side you're on."

"There are no sides, Yesenia."

"There are always sides."

She walked off through the pampas grass, her red shawl floating behind her.

I stayed there, my shirt dripping and the axe fallen in the mud.

I picked up the firewood with trembling hands.

When I got back to the house, the troupe was already passing in front of the gate, with drums and colorful costumes.

The kitchen was empty.

Nilda was waiting at the door of the back room, arms crossed.

She had let her braid down.

Her face was serious, her neck red, and her eyes like embers.

"Efraín," she said. "Come to the kitchen. We need to talk."

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