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General Posada is initially very distressed by the side of the bed Maria has made for herself and Manolo. “It’s not proper!” he says, with the rumble and bluster he’s relied on for his whole life. “You can’t go around asking for beds big enough for three.”
“Father.” Maria does her sweet smile, the one she puts on when she’s in a rare placating mood. “You know how I move about when I sleep. And besides, it’s a bed big enough to make room for children who have nightmares.”
The general continues to grumble, but he doesn’t keep arguing with her. He knows better than most how little there is to be gained by arguing with Maria.
Joaquin arrives in town for a visit not long after the bed is completed and delivered. Manolo orders a number of casks of beer for the welcome feast and plays all the music himself. And after the party, the three old friends stay up late talking and drinking and laughing, and if in the morning the maid finds them all asleep in the big bed together with their arms around each other, she doesn’t say anything.
That’s the routine. Whenever Joaquin is in San Angel he stays with Manolo and Maria, and everyone smiles at the sight of such a powerful friendship and doesn’t notice anything strange.
(Not long after Aracely is born, one person does make a drunken joke about “who she might look like.” Joaquin throws him the full length of the bar. Then Manolo writes a song about the ensuing bar fight. While it’s in progress.)
(Besides, the answer is obvious. She looks like Maria. Who else?)
Joaquin never marries, and nobody talks about that either.
And they grow old together.
When Maria opens her eyes in the Land of the Remembered, La Catrina is there to greet her personally, with a smile sweet as candy. “We’ve been waiting for you, Maria.”
Maria smoothes back her white hair and looks out over the cityscape. “It’s even prettier than I’d expected.”
“It always is. Tell me, how did you die?”
“Oh. Right.” Maria shrugs. “I fell out of a tree.”
La Catrina frowns. “What were you doing climbing a tree?”
“There was fruit in it that I wanted. One of the grandchildren offered to get it for me, but I didn’t let her. She could have broken her neck.”
La Catrina stares at her for a moment, then shrugs and reaches out to take her hand. “Well. Let’s go find your family.”
Manolo insists on leaving a space open for Joaquin in the front pew.
(“But he’s not here,” says Hector.
“He’ll be here,” Aracely whispers back. “Remember Lucia’s christening? When he swung in through the window, and Mama laughed so hard that she almost knocked over the priest?”)
And sure enough, ten minutes before the ceremony there are hooves outside, and then Joaquin walks up the aisle, leaning heavily on his cane, and sits down next to Manolo.
“I came as quickly as I could,” he murmurs. “How did it happen?”
Manolo sighs. “She fell out of a tree.”
Joaquin frowns. “What was she doing in a tree?”
“Oh, you know. Picking fruit.” A beam of light flickers across the draped coffin, and Manolo smiles abruptly. “Being Maria.”
The two old friends stay up late into the night, drinking and talking and crying and laughing. Like they’ve always done.
But Joaquin doesn’t leave in the morning.
“Feeling your age, old man?” Manolo strums his guitar and grins across the breakfast table. “Normally you’d be halfway across the hills by now.”
“It’s about time I retired, actually.” Joaquin rubs at the small of his back and winces. “Gave someone else a chance at glory.”
“Well, I’d be terribly lonely if you just left me here by myself. And someone has to look after the pigs.”
They last another year together without her, and nobody says anything.
And when they finally drift off in the sun one day, two white-haired old men leaning against each other on the porch, no one is in the least surprised that they went to find Maria together.
When they open their eyes in the Land of the Remembered, a woman with a pig is there to greet them.
“Boys. Always taking their time about things,” she says, smiling. “Did you miss me?”