When I Was Puerto Rican - Esmeralda Santiago [85]
“So this is Negi,” the tall man said.
“This is your uncle Chico, Tata’s brother,” Mami said. “You remember him, don’t you?”
I remembered the name, but not this bony scarecrow with the stale smell of sweat and beer.
“She was just a little kid when I last saw her,” he said, his hands on my shoulders. “How old are you now?”
“Thirteen,” I croaked.
“Thirteen!” He whistled.
Don Julio came in. He took a key from a nail by the door and went out again.
“Give me a hand with this stuff, can you, Chico?”
“Oh, of course, of course.” He shuffled off after Don Julio.
“How about something to eat?” Tata said. “Or a beer?” Mami shook her head. Tata took a Budweiser from the small refrigerator and opened it. She drank from the can.
“Are you hungry?” Mami asked me.
“Yes.”
Tata put her beer down and turned on the hot plate next to the refrigerator.
“Chico made some asopao. I’ll make some coffee.”
“Where’s the bathroom?” Mami asked.
“Across the hall.” Tata pointed to the door. Next to it there was a curtained-off area. On her way out, Mami peeked inside. The curtain hid a large bed and clothes on wire hangers lining the wall.
“That’s our bedroom,” Tata said. “Your apartment is upstairs. Two big rooms. And you don’t have to share a bathroom like we do.”
“I’ll go take a look.” Mami stepped out then turned around to find me right behind her. “Negi, you wait right here.”
“But I want to see too.”
“Have something to eat and keep still. You’ll have plenty of time later.”
I leaned against the door and watched Tata.
Even though she was quite tall, Tata was not cramped by the small room. Her hands, with long tapered fingers and wide nails, grasped pots and cooking spoons from shelves above the stove and placed them soundlessly on the glowing hot-plate burner. Her back was wide, straight, and she carried her head as if she had something on it that she couldn’t let fall. Her hair was black streaked with silver, cut short and curled away from her face. Her large brown eyes were outlined with long black lashes under arched brows. She smiled mischievously as she put a bowl of asopao on the table opposite the cot and dragged one of the two chairs from its place against the wall.
“Here you are,” she said. “Chico makes good asopao, but not as good as mine.”
It was delicious, thick with rice and chunks of chicken, cubed potatoes, green olives, and capers. She tore off a chunk of bread from a long loaf on top of the refrigerator, spread it thick with butter, and put the bread on a napkin in front of me.
“Monin told me you like bread. This is fresh from the bakery down the street.”
It was crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside, just the way I liked it.
Don Julio and Chico came back, followed by Mami, her eyes bright.
“What a great place! Wait till you see it, Negi. It’s twice the size of this one, with windows in the front and back. And there’s a huge bathtub, and a gas stove with four burners!”
“And your school is only five blocks from here,” Don Julio said. “Just beyond la marketa.”
“What’s a marketa?” I asked. Everyone laughed.
“It’s a big building with stalls where you can buy anything,” Mami said.
“Like the plaza in Bayamón,” Tata added.
“Only much bigger,” Chico said.
“Look at her. She’s excited about it already,” Tata said, and they all stared at me with broad smiles, willing me to give in to their enthusiasm. I ran into Mami’s arms, unable to admit that a part of me was looking forward to the morning, to the newness of our life, and afraid to let the other part show, the part that was scared.
There were angels on the ceiling. Four fat naked cherubs danced in a circle, their hands holding ivy garlands, their round buttocks half covered by a cloth swirling around their legs. Next to me, Mami snored softly. At the foot of the bed, Edna and Raymond slept curled away from each other, their