MEXICO CITY

When the study program was over, two of my American roommates and I went to Mexico City:

“Dear Britte,

“Right now I’m lying down, there’s a girl I’ve never met in the opposite bed, no one’s up yet, and I’ve just discovered that my left eye is swollen half-way shut.

“I got back to Guadalajara from Mexico City yesterday morning by Pullman, and there were mariachis singing everywhere—a celebration for someone who was arriving, I suppose—and everyone was laughing and hugging each other. It was beautiful!

“Later that evening on a dark, crowded bus, some creep stuck his hand in my purse and lifted my wallet. I felt something and jerked away, thinking that whoever it was hadn’t succeeded in getting into my purse. But no, the dastardly deed had already been done. Later that night Jose made arrangements with Dona Veva, a friend of his family, for me to stay with her. (Carmen was going to charge me twice as much to stay on with her, which still smarts.) Anyway, that’s where I am now.

“Ay! There’s so much to tell. I feel like faces and experiences are beginning to blur as my mind gets more and more crowded. Patty, her dad, April, and I had a wonderful trip to Mexico City. We traveled about nine hours each day, but the countryside was beautiful and we stopped in many small towns to wander through the markets. After arriving in Mexico City in the rain, April and I set off to find La Casa de la Proteccion de la Joven. The woman who was supposed to introduce us to the nuns there wasn’t at home, so we just prayed that they would accept us. And they did.

“There were some hundred girls there who worked away from home or had problems with their families or were orphans. The place had a tennis court and a swimming pool (which April and I couldn’t use because we hadn’t had a physical). It was cheap—about $2 a day, room and board. And the nuns were gracious and even affectionate towards us. Lo malo era…well, there were four malos. The location—the cab drivers meandered around for hours trying to find Calle Pople. The curfew—we had to be in at 9:30 every night. Obligatory mass—a nun came through the halls, ringing the loudest, most ghastly bell at 6:30 on Friday morning! And last, but not least, the regulation of meal times. When April and I didn’t make it home in time for cena one night, Silvia, my roommate, smuggled some bread and fruit to our room for us to eat later.”

The last paragraph of the letter, which I won’t include, was about meeting Salvador de la Mora, the man Britte had been so taken with the previous summer. One evening April went out with him alone. The next morning at breakfast she told me that he’d really gone after her—her words—the night before and she’d had to fight him off.