When I Was Puerto Rican - Esmeralda Santiago [6]
“Dawn breakers, eh!” Doña Zena chortled and held out her arms to us. “Come with me, and I’ll make you breakfast.”
Delsa took one look at her, then at Mami, and her black eyes opened round and wide like those on a doll baby. “What’s wrong with Mami?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Papi said as he nudged us out in front of him. “Mami’s going to have a baby, so Doña Zena will look after you today.” As he pushed us out of the house, sniffling and whining, Doña Lola took down the curtain that divided the room in two and rolled our hammocks out of the way.
Delsa wrapped herself around Papi’s leg and screeched. Norma ran back into the house and threw herself at Mami. Doña Lola pulled her down off the bed and carried her out dangling from one arm. “Someone is coming to steal your lap, Colorá,” she said, as she passed Norma to Doña Zena, who held on to her with an iron grip.
“Negi,” Mami whimpered from the bed, “take care of your sisters.”
Papi untangled Delsa from his leg and pushed her toward me. He went to the back of the house to light the fogón. I grabbed Delsa by one arm while Doña Zena took the other, and we struggled with her and Norma up the road.
“Shut your mouths. You’re waking up the neighbors.”
They didn’t pay any attention to me but continued wailing and kicking against the dirt. Halfway to Doña Zena’s house, I gave up trying to control them. I let go of Delsa, and Doña Zena jerked her and Norma along until they half walked, half hopped up the hill.
I didn’t understand why we had to leave our house when Mami looked so sick. No one had ever said anything about where babies came from, and I had never connected Mami’s swollen belly with my sisters. Until then, that was just the way she looked: black hair, pale skin, big belly, long legs.
Doña Zena dragged Delsa and Norma into her yard, while I straggled behind, fretting about what had just happened, jealous that, even though my lap had been stolen years ago by Delsa and then Norma, another baby was coming to separate me further from my mother, whose rages were not half so frightening as the worry that she would now be so busy with an infant as to totally forget me.
I crested the hill where Doña Zena’s house perched, commanding a view of the barrio. Mist hung just above the trees, burning off in patches where bright sun dulled the intensity of red hibiscus blossoms, yellow morning glories, the purple centers of passion fruit flowers. Mornings like this inspired much of jíbaro poetry, and in my fear over Mami I called up the few verses I’d memorized and repeated them like a prayer as I sat on Doña Zena’s steps, my eyes riveted on the slow ribbon of smoke ascending from our fogón, my feet buried in lemongrass, dew chilling my toes.
FIGHTING NAKED
Enamorado hasta de un palo de escoba.
He falls in love even with broomsticks.
My parents probably argued before Hector was born. Mami was not one to hold her tongue when she was treated unfairly. And while Papi was easygoing and cheerful most of the time, his voice had been known to rise every so often, sending my sisters and me scurrying for cover behind the annatto bushes or under the bed. But the year that Hector was born their fights grew more frequent and sputtered into our lives like water on a hot skillet.
“Where’s my yellow shirt?” Papi asked one Sunday morning as he rummaged through the clothes rack he’d put up near the bed.
“I haven’t ironed it yet.” Mami rocked on her chair, nursing Hector. “Where are you going?”
“Into town for some things.” Papi kept his back to her as he tucked a blue shirt into his pants.
“What things?”
“Plans for the new job.” He shook cologne into his hands and slapped it around his face and behind his ears.
“When will you be back?”
Papi sighed loud and deep. “Monin, don’t start with me.”
“Start what? I asked you a simple question.” She levelled her eyes and set her lips into a straight line.
“I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’ll stop in to see Mamá, so I’ll probably have dinner there.”
“Fine.” She got up from her chair and walked out of the house,