Mexican Gothic: Chapter 7 Summary & Analysis

That evening, Noemí is once again summoned to dinner with the Doyles. Howard, however, is not present. When Noemí breaks the rule of silence during dinner, Florence chastises her. Is Noemí keen on breaking every rule in the house? Florence told her not to take the car to town, but she did anyway. Florence reiterates the rules: Noemí must consult her on matters related to the house, its people, and the things in it. And she knows that Noemí has been smoking in the bedroom—it’s a filthy habit for filthy girls. Noemí is bewildered. How could Florence speak to her like that? But before she can respond, Virgil speaks. He finds it quite unacceptable for a visitor to ignore the rules of a house.

Noemí feels ambushed, like Virgil and Florence planned to scold her together. Poor Catalina. Noemí is strong and resilient, so she can stand up to bullies, but Catalina is gentle and obedient. Virgil and Florence could easily squash her. Noemí sips her wine in silence. Soon a servant walks in and informs everyone that Howard would like to see them, so they make their way up the stairs to his bedroom. Howard sits on a sofa swaddled in a green robe. He looks older than ever, like a mummy that’s been set on display. Howard invites Noemí to sit next to him, and she does so with a polite smile.

Two large oil portraits catch Noemí’s eye. They each depict a young woman, and they look very similar. She asks Howard who they are, and he responds that they’re his wives. Agnes died soon after they arrived at High Place, and Alice, her younger sister, became his second wife when she came of age. There were no suitable grooms for her, so marrying Howard was a natural choice. One could say it was preordained. Alice was very fruitful, Howard says. A woman’s function is to preserve the family line, and she did her duty well. It’s not scandalous, he claims, since kings used to marry their siblings and cousins all the time.

Noemí wonders if, when Alice came of age, they simply dusted off Agnes’s wedding dress and gave it to her. Howard rests his hand on top of Noemí’s and begins to rub her knuckles. “My beautiful darlings” he says, leering at his wives. Noemí delicately pulls her hand free and stands up, as if to take a closer look at the paintings. She did not enjoy being touched by Howard, and an unpleasant odor emanated from his robe. Howard lectures on the importance of aesthetics, quoting a criminologist who theorized that one could study men’s faces in order to recognize a criminal type. Noemí looks at the women in the portraits; what did their faces say? I am happy, unhappy, indifferent, miserable—one could construct a hundred different narratives, but it wouldn’t make them true.

Howard stands and moves next to Noemí. Her escape attempt was in vain; he crowds her and touches her arm. Howard drones on, and Noemí wonders why no one else is talking. Or are they talking? She hears whispers, like the buzzing of insects. The room feels stuffy, and she wishes someone would open a window. Howard asks her why she isn’t married. He brushes a strand of her hair and leers at her. Noemí steadies herself on the fireplace and looks around the room. She sees Francis, and it’s hard for her to imagine that Francis is related to this foul-smelling insect of a man.

Suddenly, Howard steps back. He asks Noemí if Virgil has shown her the greenhouse yet. Virgil takes the cue and approaches Noemí. Howard returns to his seat on the sofa, leaving the two alone together. Virgil smiles, and Noemí welcomes the warmth after having to stomach Howard’s leer. Virgil even makes fun of his father, which brings a grin to Noemí’s face. He apologies for chastising Noemí about the car the other night—he was being rude. His father is old and frail, and now Catalina is ill too, so Virgil’s not in the best of moods these days. Noemí is relieved to see that Virgil isn’t gloomy all the time. Perhaps he’s telling the truth; maybe he was more cheerful before Catalina got sick.

After their chat, Virgil leads Noemí  back to the rest of the family, but Howard declares that he’s tired and wants to be left alone, so they all disband. That night, Noemí has a curious nightmare. She dreams that Howard Doyle sneaks into her room. Noemí is asleep on the bed, and she cannot move although she knows that Howard is there. She feels a presence behind her, whispering to her: open your eyes. This is not the golden woman speaking, but rather someone who seems young. Howard looms over her and undoes the buttons on Noemí’s dress. But now it isn’t the old man studying her naked body, it’s Virgil Doyle.

Open your eyes, the voice keeps saying. Noemí feels sweet, sickening desire flowing through her body. Virgil forcefully kisses her, and Noemí doesn’t quite want this—not like this—and yet it’s hard for her to remember why she doesn’t want it. Again she hears it, open your eyes. This time she does wake up. She’s very cold, and her bed is disheveled. And though the buttons on her dress remain fastened, it’s a long time before she falls back asleep.