I wrote this back in 2008 (under a pseudonym). It involves dreaming, three religions & sex.

A link follows.

Enjoy (I hope)!


Doņa Levy and the Day of the Dead
Copyright November 2008
All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used either in whole or in part without the author's explicit consent.

All scenes take place at an old age home in Mexico City, unless specified otherwise.


Senora Maria Juarez struggled with her canes as she neared the table where her friend, Doņa Rebecca Levy, waited in her wheelchair.

"You have not touched your lunch, my friend. Is it not good? It's much better than ours." Sra. Juarez paused while a volunteer set down her lunch and helped her to her seat. "Sometimes I think I should tell them I am Jewish so I can get the kosher food that you get. Ay, the slop they feed us."

The volunteer smiled and went to help another resident. The women watched her.

"Such a sweet girl," Doņa Levy said, "from the high school."

"Ay, we used to have asses like that. We'd get Jorge's and Alejandro's attention in no time, remember, eh?"

"Mmm. When is Consuela coming?"

"Soon; in a few hours, I think."

"You'll sleep in the cemetery, holding that same picnic basket, with all the things that Jorge likes?"

"Of course."

"And he really comes?"

"I know you have your doubts, but he comes. And we eat and make love, and are together until sunrise. And I don't need these." Sra. Juarez brandished her canes. "For one night, I am like her," she gestured towards the volunteer, "young and beautiful."

Doņa Levy sighed.

"Oh, I am sorry. I can be so stupid sometimes. Don't worry, Jorge will bring word from Alejandro again; he always does. They are still friends, over there, you know. Jorge always says that Alejandro tells him that I must tell you how much he loves you, how much he misses you. Alejandro would like to come himself but he knows you cannot...

The elderly Jewish woman shook her head. "It is not our way."

"The Day of the Dead is not supposed to be our way, either. The new Catholic chaplain here hates it but, ehh, we were Mexican long before we were Catholic. But I suppose you were Jewish long before you were Mexican, so..." Sra. Juarez's voice trailed off. She gazed out the window. "He does love you, you know."

Doņa Levy nodded, with tears in her eyes.

"Ay, there I go, being stupid again." Sra. Juarez looked for the volunteer.

"No, no, I'm fine." Doņa Levy pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

Sra. Juarez ate; Doņa Levy did not.

"Are you alright?" Sra. Juarez asked anxiously. "You are not yourself."

"I am very tired. Yes, I need a nap, a good sleep. I will see you soon. Give my best to Consuela." Doņa Levy called for the volunteer, who wheeled her to her room and helped her into bed. The latter turned out the lights and left.


Doņa Levy woke with a start. "Who is it? Who is there?"

"Oh, Rebecca, my sweet Rebecca, your ass still gets my attention. Well, it would if I could see it, or feel it."

Her husband sat at the foot of her bed, young and vigorous, as he was before the cancer had eaten him.



"But, but how is this possible?"

He put a finger to her lips. "Hush, my angel, permission has been given. Come."

Doņa Levy knew that look. It meant that her husband had one thing on his mind. She smiled coyly and reached for him.

"Oh no, my love, not in this sad place." He stood on the floor and held out his hand. "I have a better place in mind."

She slipped out of bed.

"Ay! Now it has my attention," he said, sliding his hand under her gown and craning his neck around to admire her form.

Rebecca giggled and kissed him, pressing against the swelling in his trousers.

Alejandro took her hand and led her far across the city to the neighborhood where they had grown up, to the park where they had so often lain together. They spread a blanket in the soft grass, on one side of the large oak tree, and lay down.


Sra. Juarez sat on the bed, dressed, waiting for her eldest daughter, Consuela. She heard a commotion in the hallway, reached for her canes, and went to see what it was.

The volunteer came out of Doņa Levy's room, caught sight of Sra. Juarez, burst into tears and ran past her, crying. The doctor emerged, dialing a number on his cellphone.

"Good afternoon. I am Dr. Jimenez from the Jalisca Home for the Elderly. May I speak to Rabbi Safra, please? Yes, it is urgent."

Sra. Juarez went back inside her room and sat down.

Consuela and two of her children soon arrived.

"Mama? Are you ready? Everything is packed. Tomas and Enrique have the basket."

Sra. Juarez's two youngest grandsons proudly brandished the laden basket.


"We have to make a stop first."


Sra. Juarez lay on the cot in her small tent in the cemetery, cradling the basket. "No long faces," she told Tomas and Enrique, "only I can see Grandpa tonight, but here, give me a lot of kisses and I will pass them on to him, eh?"

Her grandsons kissed her goodnight and followed their mother to their own, adjacent, tent. To the muffled sound of chanted prayers from the many nearby tents, Sra. Juarez fell fast asleep.


"There you are, woman!" Jorge exclaimed as he sat on the grass, his back against the oak tree. "I have been waiting for you since sunset; God, I'm famished!"

Sra. Juarez gazed at Jorge. He had that look in his eye, the same one that he and Alejandro used to practice on her and Doņa Levy.

"For me, or for what's in here?" She held up the basket.

"Well, both. Is that wrong?"

Sra. Juarez grinned. "Are they here?"

Jorge whistled. "Hey, 'Jandro! You hungry?"

Alejandro peeked around the tree. "Maria! Hello, welcome! What's in the basket?"

"Two pickled tongue sandwiches and a bottle of that sweet wine, the kind you hate, from that kosher deli on Calle de las Fronteras. I got there just before closing; it was all they had."

"That's OK. I like the tongue..."

There was a loud slap.


Jorge laughed; Sra. Juarez watched anxiously.

Doņa Levy reached her arms around Alejandro and gazed at her friend. "I'm sorry I didn't give you much time."

Tears welled in Sra. Juarez's eyes.

"Oh, no! No weeping here," Jorge declared, "Today is the Day of the Dead; we must be happy! Let's eat!"

"No, Jorge," Doņa Levy smiled, "I'm not done with your friend here yet." She caressed Alejandro's chest and nibbled his neck.

Sra. Juarez laughed. "And I haven't even started with you yet, old man!"

"Who you calling 'old man'?" Jorge rose and pulled his wife to him. "Hey, 'Jandro! We'll eat later. The night is still young and sunrise is a long way off."


Day of the Dead - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Doņa Levy and the Day of the Dead
All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used either in whole or in part without the author's explicit consent