Death and calacas

Even if my bones creak,that little Calaca of my life takes me dancing,moves me and reminds me there is no reason to stop;that even if we are skinny and gaunt,our bones nearly broken,there will be reason to give her a delicious embrace,crushing and wonderfully tight.And while we are at it, a few kisses on her cold cheekbone—who could take away such excitement?

I will have to count her ribs,inspect her shoulder blades,probe between her clavicle until I reach the sternum.I will carefully check whether her femur is in place,lest one long stretchpull it out of joint and give her a twist.

Let those bones break properly,for that is what life is about:dying lost while counting bones.

Oh, skinny lady of my life,you who take my breath away.Do not come so close to my body—can you not see my strength gives way?For you I would give my life, butI had better run far from you,lest you carry me away, skinny lady,and for all my desireleave me stretched out, breathless.

If the Bony Lady desired me,I would tell the lucky one:give me an enormous, tender embrace,for life has me deeply in love.

If the lucky one desired me,I would tell the Bony Lady: steal my breath,for I take more than a mere taste of life.

If the Bony Lady were the lucky one,I would ask her for company:come with me, skinny lady—here is someone who can play you in harmony.

I want to die better,embracing your scent of death,drinking from your breathuntil life leaves me.I want to tell you, my death,that no matter how skinny and fleshlessyou may appear, I could give youa good bite.

Connoisseurs delight in knowing that

skin pressed against bone tastes betterwhen pulled and tugged.

Oh, Death, you were absentthe day Federico came to our officecomplaining of his bad luck.

He seemed ill, but not fatally so;perhaps your presence was missing to guide him farther still.He did faint—and not because you were gone,but rather because you were needed.

If you must take him, let it be smiling,thinking he was not truly sickand that all it took was one ‘move along.’

It was caution more than disappointment.That is what you are here for, Death: to bring us the bad news.He is staying here.

I confess I am nobody.If Death asked me,this is what I would answer:

I know what I am not.Neither young, nor muscular with perfect buttocks,nor thick-bearded, nor blessed with the face of Jesus.

I do not drive the latest-model caror visit bars, restaurants, or clubsgreeting friends.

I have no group of friends with whom I travel to ski.I have no beach apartment, nor do I take weekend tripswith some woman who happens to cross my path.

There is no yacht, jet, chauffeur, or mansion.No Woodlands, nor a perfect French,German, or Italian accent.

No distinguished family,nor am I heir to an empire or company.

I spend no time at Stanford,nor am I a fellow at Yale, Harvard…

I am simply a Mexican, nothing more.A little potbellied, with an Indigenous body,brown skin, gray hair.Proud, brown, seasoned—today I am determined to give myselfwholeheartedly to my convictions.

I will give the best of myself in exchange.The trivialities are over.I will accept no scraps or crumbs.

If Death comes, may she take me in peace,knowing that I withheld none of my dedication, commitment,or attention.

Nor did I ration love; I gave myselfthe chance to be in love.

I needed neither a double surname nor some lostFrench regiment to justify who I have become.

If they ask me, there is still so much to do.There is no need for Death to visit. I must livefully accompanied—and not by Death.

Fear: seeing you and feeling nothingwhile you show me your charms.Could it be because I have already crossed beyondand only the longing to bite you remains?Come, keep frolicking with me—perhaps I am not deadand it is only oblivion.

It brings sadness to know the other sidemay visit me and leave me unmovedbefore your treasures, barren and cold as wasteland.

Fear: seeing you and feeling nothingwhile you are with me,only to long for you later and want to see youalive—perhaps somehowI will return from death.

If the Bony Lady desired me,I would tell her with one long breath:love of my life, with all my spirit unsettled,come, beautiful little Calaca, embrace me completely—hold nothing back.

I will surrender wholly to your arts,for no one but you can carry away my parts—each one brimming with life,each one brimming with oblivion.

Take my body, my thoughts;take everything of me, for youI shall die without fear.I will go with you because life itselfis less than a sigh whenyou carry me to the other side. There, with allmy love, you will find me moaning with delightbecause I was alive, and nowmy turn has come to accompany you.

Oh, my Death, what a delight to see youand be able to hold my breath.What luck to have you near and to admireyour fleshless bones.

You bring me such joy that I no longer carewhether you take me today or leave me until tomorrow.I know only that being with you costs me my life;my breath leaves me, and I remain content.

Beside you, time does not pass;beside you, the moment lengthensand every second becomes eternity.

I do not care if I must die today.I know only that beside you lifegains greater meaning because I celebrate itto my final breath.

They say that in the next life there is rest,that everything is calm and peaceful.I do not believe it just like that,for if Death carries me away,it must be so we can dance.

The Bony Lady had better hold on,for there is no repose with me.If she takes me, it must beto carry on rejoicing.

I want neither peace nor silence;I want celebration and joy.If my time comes to depart,let it be with my Deathso the revelry continuesuntil the break of day.

When Death invites me to dance,I will ask her for a danzón,so I may hold her slowlyand feel her fleshless heart.

Step by step, turn after turn,I will draw nearer to her end,knowing this last dance will be the most special of all.

I do not care if her bonescreak with every movement,for I too am already creakingas I dance and lament.

Let this dance be eternal;may it never end,for when dancing with Death,who would want to rest in peace?