Mexican Gothic

When Noemí was a little girl, Catalina would read fairy tales to her. In the stories, the forest was a magic and unfamiliar place—a place where Hansel and Gretel tossed breadcrumbs, or Little Red Riding Hood met a wolf. Living in Mexico City, Noemí had never seen a forest, not even when her family vacationed at her grandmother’s house by the sea. So, when the train pulls into El Triunfo, the town seems especially wild to her. Deep ravines, rugged ridges, and rushing rivers loom outside the compartment window.

The train arrives at a deserted, ramshackle station.  Noemí sees three underfed boys playing near the station, and she offers them some money to carry her suitcases. They do so gladly. There’s a single automobile parked at the station, a preposterously large vehicle that makes Noemí think of swanky silent film stars from decades past. Upon closer inspection, though, she sees that the car is actually dated and quite dirty—a relic from the past. 

A fair-haired, pale man steps out of the vehicle. Noemí introduces herself and the man says that he is Francis Doyle, sent by Uncle Howard (the patriarch of the Doyle family) to pick her up. He asks many questions in quick succession, seemingly preferring not to make any statements about himself. He loads Noemí’s suitcases in the car, and they drive off together.

Driving through El Triunfo, Noemí notes the musty odor of the dilapidated town.  Sadly, the condition of the town is not unusual. Many former mining towns that operated under colonial rule saw their work come to an end after the War of Independence. One could still find finely built chapels in these places, built when money was plentiful. Now, however, the buildings are falling apart, and the town appears largely empty. 

Despite the condition of the town and the end of the mine’s operation, the Doyles linger here. Francis drives the car up a narrow road, climbing higher and higher into the mountains. Fog covers the area, intensifying as they drive. Francis begins to talk about High Place, which is what the Doyles call their home. He says that it’s very English, which is exactly what Uncle Howard wanted. Francis asks if Noemí can speak English, because no one at High Place can speak Spanish except for him.

The mist continues to intensify, and Noemi wonders how safe it is to drive on these roads. Francis seems capable, though. He’s shy, and Noemí generally doesn’t like shy men—but who cares, it’s not like she’s here to make friends. She speaks to Francis with the voice that she uses at cocktail parties, the one that usually gets her far with people, and he responds exactly as she expects: with a smile.

Noemí compares Francis to Virgil, whom she met only briefly. Her mother would have said that Francis needs iron in his diet and a good cut of meat, since he’s thin and nearly speaks in whispers. Compared to him, Virgil seems much more physical. He’s older than Francis, too.

The fog is so thick Noemí feels as though they’re driving in a bowl of milk. Suddenly, they emerge into a clearing, and the house seems to leap out of the mist to greet them. It looks absolutely Victorian, terribly different than the modern houses in Mexico City. The house looms over them, and Noemí might see it as foreboding if it weren’t so tired; there are missing slats in the shudders, and the porch groans under the weight of their steps. Noemí thinks the house is like the abandoned shell of a snail.

Francis opens the front door. They walk in, and Noemí sees the grand mahogany staircase, the stained-glass window, and the crystal chandelier, but everything has faded and become less magnificent with age. A woman walks down the stairs and Francis introduces Noemí to her. Noemí walks forward and extends her hand in greeting, but the woman coldly turns away from her and begins walking back up the stairs.

With her back to Noemí, the woman introduces herself as Florence, Howard Doyle’s niece and Francis’s mother. She explains that she runs High Place—if Noemí needs anything, she should come to her. But they do things a certain way here, and Florence expects Noemí to follow the rules. She explains that the most important rule is to remain quiet so as not to bother Mr. Doyle. Second, Florence is in charge of nursing Catalina, and she needs plenty of rest, so Noemí is not to bother her unnecessarily either. Finally, Noemí is not to wander away from the house; the region is treacherous, and it would be unsafe to venture out.

As they walk through the house, they pass a number of oil portraits on the walls. The faces of long dead Doyles stare at Noemí from across time. Florence stops in front of a door with a crystal knob and tells Noemí that this will be her room. She instructs Noemí that smoking inside will not be tolerated. Noemí steps inside the bedroom and first notices the ancient four-poster bed, complete with curtains that close around it, cocooning the sleeper from the world.

Francis sets Noemí’s suitcases down while Florence opens a chest. She pulls out a few candles and an ugly candelabra. Florence explains that the electrical lighting in the house is 40 years old, and the small generator they have is not enough to power all the lights in the house. So, they all make do with candles and oil lamps. The boiler doesn’t work very well either, so there won’t be any hot showers.

Noemí insists on seeing Catalina. Florence initially refuses, but Francis interjects, reminding his mother that Noemí has traveled a great distance to see her cousin. Florence seems surprised by her son’s interjection, and reluctantly agrees. She leads Noemí to Catalina’s bedroom, complete with the same four-poster bed and some oil paintings of England.

Catalina sits in a chair by the window. Noemí expected her to be ravaged by disease, but she doesn’t look sick at all. Before leaving, Florence tells Noemí that she can have only five minutes with her cousin, after which Florence will need to give Catalina her medication. Noemí greets her cousin, and though Catalina is slow to recognize her, she smiles when she sees Noemí.

Catalina tells Noemí that she has tuberculosis—she used to have a high fever, and she was delirious when she wrote that letter. Catalina is five years older than Noemí, so when they were children, Catalina often took on a motherly role. Everyone, including Noemí, used to depend on Catalina—it’s strange to see Catalina now so dependent on others. Noemí still feels uneasy, but she makes small talk with Catalina. She says that she thought Catalina would have come to visit them in Mexico City by now. Catalina responds pensively, saying that it is impossible for her to leave the house. Before Noemí can react, however, Florence walks in.

Noemí walks back to her bedroom. Florence told her that she would fetch her for dinner at seven, so Noemí decides to unpack her suitcases. There are no light switches in her room, and she notices some mold growing on the ceiling. She rifles through her purse and grabs a cigarette. The window in her bedroom will not budge, so she takes a few puffs, blowing the smoke into her room.