Mexican Gothic: Chapter 5 Summary & Analysis

Noemí visits Catalina in the morning. Her cousin reminds Noemí of a drawing of Ophelia that used to hang in her house. She seems distant, but still, it’s good to see Catalina, and Noemí updates her on all the gossip from Mexico City. Then Noemí asks Catalina what she spends her time doing, and her cousin responds that the house takes up most of her time. It’s damp and dark, and very cold. The smile fades from Catalina’s lips, and her eyes—which had been distant—suddenly fall on Noemí with renewed lucidity. She asks Noemí to do something for her in secret: visit a woman in town named Marta Duval. Marta’s been making medicine for Catalina, and she needs more. Noemí tries to ask questions, but Catalina shushes her—they can hear you, she says, it’s in the walls.

Catalina continues to whisper nonsensically: “The walls speak to me. They tell me secrets. Don’t listen to them.” Catalina abruptly stops speaking, just before Florence enters the room. Florence announces that Dr. Cummins has arrived—Noemí can wait downstairs for him while he examines Catalina. Noemí waits in the sitting room, and after a while the doctor strides in, accompanied by Virgil. Noemí asks the doctor about her cousin, who quickly explains that Catalina has tuberculosis, but it’s nothing to worry about—she just needs plenty of rest and a good diet. He grabs his bag and prepares to leave, but Noemí stops him.

Noemí insists that Catalina is acting very odd; when she was a little girl, Noemí’s aunt Brigida had tuberculosis and she acted nothing like the way Catalina acts. Plus, Catalina wrote a very strange letter, and she just seems unlike herself. Doctor Cummins dismisses Noemí’s concerns; tuberculosis doesn’t change a person, it merely intensifies what is already there. Catalina is a very anxious, quite melancholic girl, he claims, and she has depressive tendencies. Virgil chimes in, explaining that Catalina has had great periods of melancholy since her mother died. Tuberculosis has simply made the depression worse.

Feeling that the matter is settled, the doctor leaves. Virgil takes the doctor’s seat. To Noemí, Virgil looks bloodless, like he has ice in his veins. She can’t picture him showing affection towards any living thing, let alone Catalina. Did he really court her cousin? Virgil assures Noemí that Dr. Cummins is a capable physician—he’s the Doyle family doctor, they trust him implicitly. Noemí again brings up the idea of taking Catalina to a physician in Mexico City, but Virgil strongly opposes this suggestion. He acknowledges that his house has fallen in grandeur, but he insists that he knows how to take care of his wife.

Noemí next suggests that they find a psychiatrist to come and evaluate Catalina. Virgil laughs in her face. Where would she find a psychiatrist around here? There’s a reason the family has an English doctor—El Triunfo is poor and the people are coarse and primitive. Still, Noemí insists on finding a second opinion. Virgil mocks her, “You get your way in most things, don’t you, Miss Taboada?” He sneers, “Men do as you wish.” Noemí is reminded of a fellow she danced with last summer; they were having fun, but the man held her too tightly and tried to kiss her. She refused him, and a look of pure, dark scorn came over his face. Virgil now stares at her with the same look.

Noemí asks Virgil what he means. He says that he recalls Catalina mentioning how insistent Noemí could be when she wanted a man to do her bidding. He then relents, saying that he doesn’t want to fight with Noemí. She can get a second opinion—if, of course, she can find one. Virgil leaves, and Noemí feels a little pleased to have needled him. She senses that both Virgil and Doctor Cummins expected her to mutely accept their words.

That night, Noemí dreams that a golden flower sprouts from the walls in her bedroom—only it doesn’t quite seem like a flower, and it has tendrils. A hundred tiny golden mushrooms sprout from the walls too. She touches them and they explode, coating her hands in golden dust. Suddenly, Noemí becomes aware of another presence in the room: a woman in a dress of yellow antique lace. Where her face ought to be, there is a golden glow, like the mushrooms on the walls. The walls start to quiver and the floorboards pulse to the same rhythm as the golden woman.

The woman raises her hand and points at Noemí. She tries to speak but has no mouth, so she cannot. Noemí wasn’t afraid until this moment—something about the woman trying to speak but not being able to terrifies her. The woman makes a noise, almost like the crunching of leaves or the buzzing of insects, and Noemí tries to put her hands over her ears, but she can’t—she has no hands anymore. Noemí wakes up drenched in sweat. The bedroom is dark.