When I Was Puerto Rican - Esmeralda Santiago [51]
One day as I walked back from school, it started to rain. I stood under an oak tree for a while, but the rain didn’t let up. I put my books under my shirt, took off my shoes, and ran from tree to tree.
At the entrance to Barrio Macún, Mami and my six sisters and brothers clustered at the público stop with bundles all around them. Mami was annoyed.
“What took you so long? I almost left you behind.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re moving to Santurce.”
“But I have a math test tomorrow!”
“Well, then, you’re lucky, aren’t you?”
The kids were quiet. They must have been as scared as I was, but none of us dared say anything.
We waited a long time for a público that could take all of us, our bundles, and our suitcases.
“Are you moving?” the público driver asked with a laugh, and Mami glared at him. He didn’t say anything more after that.
It took us three hours to get to the city. The rain was heavy, and traffic into Santurce was backed up for miles because of floods. Mami sat up in front with Edna and Raymond, while Delsa, Norma, Hector, Alicia, and I sat in the back. We didn’t dare speak or move because Mami kept looking at us with a dark expression on her face. She passed us a chunk of bread and cheese, and the público driver gave her a dirty look. I guessed he didn’t like people eating in his car.
When the público let us off, all we could see was the pale yellow light of electric bulbs reflected on water, and tall stacks with a red neon sign flashing CORONA BREWERY. As heavy rain drops plunked on either side of us, Mami told us to be careful, because we were walking on a bridge. It was slippery and narrow, with nothing to hold on to along the sides. If we took one false step, we would fall into black, smelly water.
I raised my head to the rain, to wash my face and clear the nasty stench that lodged in my nostrils, as if my insides were rotting. But the foul air was thick and oppressive, clinging to us as if anything new, clean, and fresh had to be contaminated by this noxious atmosphere or it wouldn’t survive.
We arrived at Doña Andrea’s house, and her husband helped us get our things in. She showed Mami into a back room with two beds, and we fell into them, so tired we didn’t even have dinner or look to see where we were.
EL MANGLE
De Guatemala a guata-peor
From Guatemala to guate-worse
The barrio floated on a black lagoon. Sewage drifted by in a surprising variety of shapes, sizes, and colors. It was easy to tell what people in El Mangle ate because pieces of food stuck to the turds that glided past. I watched out the window, wondering who each load belonged to, whether what came out from their insides gave a clue to what they looked like.
“Negi, what are you doing up so early?” Mami whispered.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I whispered back. My bladder was so full that I’d had to keep my legs crossed all the while I’d looked out the window. Seeing all that water hadn’t helped.
She groaned. “The bathroom is over here.” She led me through a curtain into the front room. There was a hammock stretched across one end and a couch lumpy with a sleeping body. We walked into another room, and Mami turned on an overhead bulb. The brightness made my eyes water, so that I could barely see the circle cut in the wood floor.
“It’s just like a latrine,” Mami said. “You squat and do your business. But be careful to keep your legs far apart so that you don’t fall in. Would you like me to go first and show you how it’s done?”
I nodded. Mami squatted, her back to me. She looked over her shoulder.
“Be very careful when you aim, so that you don’t pee all over the floor.”
She got up and pulled up her panties.
“Now you.”
I stood over the hole and spread my legs as far as I could. Below, water flowed to the left, faster than it did by the bedroom window. I felt dizzy. Cold air came up between my legs, and I jumped back and bumped into Mami.
“What’s the matter?”
“I ... I felt