Letter 1943 Nov 17

Henry had a stereo camera in Mexico and took this picture of Esperanza at the church in Cuernavaca in summer 1941, a trip she referred to many times.

The book she mentions is "La Carta y el Recuerdo" (The Letter and the Memory), a short story project for la Escuela de las Artes del Libro. Henry never received it. The wartime censor that intercepted mail at the border never released it. In the story an old writer who is dying falls in love with a young woman. I had wanted you to see it for many reasons she wrote to Henry. In the third paragraph of this full letter she says, "If the censor didn't stick his nose in, he could tell you many things, something that would resemble a poem we both wrote in Cuernavaca."

Hasta ayer, día 16 de noviembre, recibí tu carta del 31 de octubre, es decir 16 días tardó en llegar. Ahora sé porque me dices que te escribo con mucho retardo y es que posiblemente mis cartas no llegan a tí tan pronto como yo quisiera. Siento mucho que tampoco hayas recibido mi libro, pues por muchos motivos tenía interés en que lo vieras.

Este mes ha sido triste, más triste que todos los anteriores, hace mucho frío, el sol se asoma solo de vez en cuando y llueve. Además, ya hace casi un año que te fuiste y el vacío crece dentro de mi de tal manera que parece amenazar aplastarme. Pero no quiero hablarte de cosas tristes, tampoco quiero pensar en ellas y es por eso que procuro aturdirme a fuerza de trabajo y subir y bajar volcanes para emborracharme como otros se emborrachan con alcohol. ¿Sabes? A veces me dan deseos de correr, de irme de México, de buscar la forma de reunirme a ustedes, de trabajar en cualquier cosa - ya sabes que soy una buena enfermera - y además, no tengo miedo a nada pero no puedo romper los lazos de afecto, no podría perdonarme nunca dejar a gentes que son felices con mi presencia. Si pudiera ser un poco egoísta y olvidar a mi tribu, volaría, pero no es posible cambiar, es necesario seguir voluntariamente sujeto y esperar lo que el diablo quiera. Tienes mucha razón de envidiar a los patos.

Si el señor censor no metiera las narices, podría decirte muchas cosas, algo que se pareciera a un poema que escribimos los dos en Cuernavaca. ¿Te acuerdas? Cierra los ojos, piensa intensamente en aquel día y tal vez logres olvidar el frío y la lluvia y sentir dentro del corazón el calor de aquella tierra, las horas que pasamos en la terraza mirando los árboles y la piscina y después nuestro paseo por el atrio de la iglesia en donde me tomaste aquella fotografía en que aparezco inmaculada, con mi vestido blanco y rodeada de flores blancas. Piensa en eso y lograrás como yo unos momentos de felicidad.

It was yesterday, November 16, I received your letter of October 31, that is, it took 16 days to arrive. Now I know why you tell me that I write you with a lot of delay and it is that possibly my letters do not reach you as soon as I would like them to. I am very sorry that you did not receive my book either, because for many reasons I wanted you to see it.

This month has been sad, sadder that all the previous ones, it is very cold, the sun leans out alone from time to time and it rains. Also, it is already almost one year that you left and the hole grows inside me in such a way that seems to threaten to flatten me. But I don't want to speak to you of sad things, I don't want to think about them either, and that's why I try to numb myself with hard work and go up and down volcanoes to get drunk as others get drunk with alcohol. Do you know? Sometimes I have desire to run, of leaving Mexico, of looking for a way to meet you, of working in any thing - you already know that I am a good nurse - and besides, I have no fear of anything but I cannot break the knots of affection, I could never forgive myself for leaving people who are happy with my presence. If I could be a little selfish and forget my tribe, I would fly, but it is not possible to change, it is necessary to continue to voluntarily submit and to hope for what the devil wants. You have a lot of reason of envying the ducks.

If the censor didn't stick his nose in, he could tell you many things, something that would resemble a poem we both wrote in Cuernavaca. You remember? Close your eyes, think intensely of that day and perhaps you will be able to forget the cold and the rain and feel the heat of that earth in your heart, the hours we spent on the terrace looking at the trees and the pool and then our walk through the atrium of the church where you took that photograph of me in which I appear immaculate, in my white dress and surrounded by white flowers. Think about that and you will achieve a few moments of happiness like me.

1943 Nov 17 - I cannot break the knots of affection...I am very sorry you have not received my book, because for many reasons I had wanted you to see it ...close your eyes, think intensely of that day...