Delia’s Crossing (7 page)

“How old are you?” he asked. “
Años
?”

I flashed my hand three times.

“Fifteen? You’re Sophia’s age.”

I nodded. I remembered my mother once telling me I was about the same age as my cousin Sophia.

“I heard Mr. Baker is helping you learn English…
hablar inglés
…Baker?”

“
Sí.
”

My smile faded.

“You don’t like him? Er…
no le gusta
?”

“No,” I said emphatically, and he laughed.

“Me, neither,” he said, shaking his head and pointing to himself.

I didn’t realize I had been gobbling my food until I looked down and saw it was nearly all gone.

“You were definitely hungry,” he said.

He just stood there staring down at me. It wasn’t until then that I realized I was just in my nightgown. Although it wasn’t sheer, it was slight enough to bring a flush of red heat into my neck and face, especially when I traced his gaze to my breasts. I put down the plate when I finished and folded my arms over myself.

He smiled. “Enough?
Más
?”

“
No más, gracias.
”

“Okay, I’m going,” he said. “I’m sorry about all this.
Mi hermana
is an idiot, and
mi madre
…” He shrugged and shook his head. “I will talk to her. I will
habla mi madre.
”

I smiled. He was the only member of the family who had been nice to me.

“
Buenas noches,
” he said.

“
Buenas noches.
”

He nodded and left. I went to the door and watched him leave the building, and then I looked up through the cloudy pane and stared at the stars. These were the same stars above my house back in Mexico, where
mi abuela
Anabela was probably preparing for bed. All my life, except for when I slept in a cradle in
mi madre
’s room, I shared this bedroom with my grandmother. Together, after we had both prepared for sleep, we would recite our prayers, and she would say a prayer for me at my bedside, praying for me to have a long and healthy life. She was the last person I spoke to before I went to sleep and the first one I spoke to when I woke in the morning. She was there for my nightmares and there to nurse me when I was sick, and now, she was sleeping alone in the house. Despite where I was in this two-by-four of a cold, stark room, I felt sorrier for her.

Surely, the house back in Mexico was full of echoes, memories that had begun to haunt her. How much despair could her aged heart withstand? Did she feel betrayed, lost, and alone? What would drive her to care about the next day, about rising to clean the house, wash clothes, prepare food for herself? How many times would she look at my empty bed and think about me?

And what of the son she had lost, his life snuffed out like some small flame that had promised to burn brightly and keep us all safe and warm? How severe her mourning surely had become. The echoes of yesterday weren’t only the echoes of my voice, my footsteps, and my laughter through the house. I was sure she was fixed on her memories of my father as a young boy, fixed on her memories of holding him, protecting him, feeding and clothing him. The little boy fades into the man, and the man fades into his old age,
mi abuela
Anabela would tell me, but the images remain, lingering like smoke in your mind, bringing smiles back, old smiles, old laughs from time past.

When I had first set out for
mi tía
Isabela’s
hacienda,
I envisioned her enabling me to keep in contact with my grandmother, perhaps making a phone call that the postmaster would receive, and then, perhaps, she would be able to call me. My letters would go out to her, and her letters would come to me here. Now I wondered what, if anything, my aunt would do for me. I had left Mexico clinging to the belief that I would somehow return to see my grandmother again, clinging to the belief that this wasn’t a final good-bye.

However, I felt more like a prisoner trapped on this estate of my aunt and cousins. Not only was I being treated as if I were just another immigrant worker, but my identity was being taken from me. I was truly turned into an orphan, someone without any familial past. Being forbidden to mention any of it, it was erased. Who was I now? Who would I become?

I couldn’t help but wonder if my cousin Sophia would have treated me any differently if she had known we were related. Would she have been as cruel? Look at how kind my cousin Edward was even before he knew we were cousins. There was hope in all of that, I told myself, wasn’t there? Now that Edward knew the truth, perhaps he would get my aunt to change the way she was treating me, and perhaps Sophia wouldn’t be so antagonistic and mean.

Clinging to that tidbit of optimism, I said my prayers and got into bed. Everything had a starchy machine smell. The sheet and the blanket must surely have been in that closet for a very long time, I thought. And of course, this room, with its one window, was dank and stuffy and still smelled like old fish. I almost decided to sleep outside but then thought that might attract more negative attention to me and make my aunt even angrier.

I closed my eyes, but opened them moments later to listen to the heavy footsteps in the hallway. Who was coming now? I couldn’t lock my bedroom door, either. The footsteps went by my room, so I imagined it was Señor Garman. I heard a door close and then the sound of water running. Other than that, it was very, very quiet. After I heard him go into his room, the stillness felt like a heavy blanket thrown over me.

I folded myself into a fetal position and tried desperately to fall asleep. Minutes after, far more exhausted than I had imagined I was, I did tumble into a twisted tunnel of nightmares, with flashes of my aunt’s angry face and my cousin Sophia’s sneer appearing on the dark walls. I careened into one long, screaming descent and broke out into sunlight when the morning light flowed through the window and snapped me into reality, a reality that wasn’t much better than the nightmares I had just escaped.

I groaned and turned on my narrow bed, grinding the sleep out of my eyes just as my bedroom door opened and Señora Rosario looked in at me.

“Why aren’t you up and dressed already?” she demanded.

“What time is it?”

“It’s six forty-five. I told you to be in the kitchen at six-thirty. There are preparations to be made. Señorita Sophia and Señor Edward go to school at seven-thirty unless Señorita Sophia oversleeps.”

“Señora Dallas still wants me to serve?”

“You are to be given another chance for that, but in the meantime, you are to bring Señorita Sophia her breakfast every morning.”

“You mean to her room?”

“Of course. Where else do you think you’d bring it? There is much to do, and Señor Baker wants you to meet him in the library at eight-thirty, I am told. You have to clean Señorita Sophia’s room as soon as she leaves, change the sheets and pillow cases. They are changed every day.”

“Every day?”

“Don’t keep questioning what I tell you. Just get yourself up and come to the kitchen,” she snapped. “I’m in charge of the domestic help here, and I get blamed for anything stupid someone working under me does. I don’t intend for that to happen. Get up!” she snapped, and closed the door.

I rose quickly, gathered my clothes, and headed for the bathroom, but when I got there, the door was shut. I knocked. Was Señor Garman in there, or was the door just closed? I started to open the door.

“
Espere hasta que me acabo
!” I heard Señor Garman shout. He was in there, and he was telling me to wait until he’d finished.

“But I have to get to the kitchen,” I told him in Spanish.

“Get up earlier,” he told me.

Get up earlier? I had no clock to wake me. How was I to know what time to get up?

He didn’t come out. I heard his electric shaver going and decided to dress without washing. I returned to my room, dressed, and ran my brush through my hair. Then I hurried out the door, my heart pounding. I didn’t want to do anything to rile up my aunt today, especially since I was being given a second chance. Perhaps she realized what Sophia had done and how what happened wasn’t really my fault. Perhaps Edward had defended me. Things could now get better, I thought hopefully.

Or perhaps Sophia would be angry that she was blamed and would be only meaner toward me and think of other terrible things to do to me. I could see now why Inez looked as if she were walking on a floor of shattered glass. They must all be paid well to put up with such tension. No one, I gathered from listening to Señor Flores, liked this family or respected it. How different this was from the way Señor Lopez was thought of by my mother and father and his workers.

I was still waiting to see what, besides the wealth, was better in America.

The two Mexican gardeners who had been there yesterday after Sophia had soaked me turned to watch me rushing. They laughed, and one shouted, “What, no falling into the bathtub this morning?”

No, I thought, I’ve fallen into something far worse: my own private hell.

B
oth Señor Herrera and Inez were working frantically in the kitchen when I arrived. They glanced at me, and then Señor Herrera began dictating orders. I was told to make some toast for Señorita Sophia’s tray and warned not to burn it. He was preparing some scrambled eggs and bacon. Inez was working on setting the breakfast table for my aunt, her guest, and my cousin Edward. I was told to pour coffee into a container that would keep it hot, and then Señor Herrera set up the tray for me to bring up to my cousin Sophia. The plate had a silver cover, and the cream, butter, and cheese were all in silver as well. Inez put a fresh rose on the tray before I picked it up.

“If you forget the flower, she’ll send you down for it, even though she just throws it into her garbage can,” Inez told me.

“Careful, don’t spill anything,” Señor Herrera warned me. “She’ll send the tray back if there is even a drop of something out of its container or off its dish.”

“And don’t look like you’re breathing on anything. She hates that,” Inez added.

I waited a moment to see if there were any other warnings.

“Go on, before it gets cold,” Señor Herrera said.

Slowly, I started out and up the stairway. As I ascended, my eyes glued to the tray so I wouldn’t spill anything, Edward came out of his room and paused at the top of the stairway. He was dressed in a jacket and tie and had his hair tied back the same way. He smiled at me.

“Morning,” he said. “
Hola.
”

“
Hola.
”

“I’ll see you later,” he said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

I shook my head. I was so involved in carrying the tray carefully that I wasn’t paying attention. He pointed to himself and then to me and said, “
Tarde.
”

“Oh.
Sí, tarde.
”

He continued down the stairway, and I went to my cousin’s door. It wasn’t until then that I realized I would have a problem knocking on the door, opening it, and holding on to the tray. I had to put the tray down on the floor and then knock. I heard nothing, so I knocked harder.

The door was jerked open so hard the air nearly sucked me in and over the tray. She was standing there in her bra and panties.

“Jeez,” she cried. “I’m not deaf, you idiot. Put the tray on my desk,” she added, pointing to the desk.

I knelt down, picked up the tray, and went to the desk. She gazed at herself in the mirror and fluffed her hair. I saw that her bra was tight, and the fat around the back of it rolled over and formed folds beneath as well. She had a roll of fat on her hips, and her rear end sagged over her heavy thighs. She spun around on me.

“What are you looking at?” she asked. “You’re not queer, are you?”

I shook my head. She was speaking too fast, and I didn’t understand the question.

“I’m sorry. I do not understand so well yet,” I said.

“Oh, jeez. How am I supposed to deal with someone who can’t speak English?” She smirked. “Edward says you’re our cousin. I think he’s just kidding me, right? You’re not really our cousin, are you?”

“Cousin. Oh,
sí, prima, sí,
” I said.

“I don’t believe it. My mother hasn’t said anything that stupid to me yet.”

She walked over to the tray, lifted the cover, and inspected the eggs.

“You can go,” she said, waving at the door. “
Vamos
or whatever you say. Go!”

I started out.

“Wait!” she screamed. I turned back. “This coffee is cold. The coffee,” she said, holding up the cup, “it’s cold…cold…what’s the word?
Frío
?”

I shook my head. I saw Mr. Herrera pour it into the container steaming hot. It couldn’t be cold.

“Don’t tell me. It’s cold. Get me hot coffee
pronto
…
caliente
.”

I went back, took the coffee container, and left her room. When I got back to the kitchen, I explained to Inez, who poured it into a cup and shook her head.

“We’ll teach her,” she said.

She poured the coffee into another container and put it into the microwave oven. The steam flowed up as she poured it into the container again, and I took it back upstairs quickly, practically running up.

Sophia had put a tight thin blouse over herself and was slipping into a skirt. She watched me bring the coffee to the desk, and then she poured it into a cup. The steam rose. She felt the cup and made a face.

“By the time this cools down, I’ll have to leave. Forget it,” she said.

I didn’t understand but figured from her gestures that she wasn’t going to drink the coffee now. I saw she had eaten everything on her plate. I picked up the tray, shrugged, and left.

“Right, just go,” she cried after me. “Idiot Mexican. How could you be our cousin?”

Idiot Mexican? You’re half Mexican, I thought, but imagined that, like her mother, she was in denial about it. Nevertheless, I smiled to myself and went downstairs. As soon as Sophia and Edward left for school, Señora Rosario was on me to go up and start cleaning Sophia’s room.

“Quickly,” she said. “Do it well but quickly. No daydreaming.”

“What would I dream of here?” I muttered. “Except to escape.” I thought I saw her smile.

The bathroom was in the same terrible condition I had found it in when I first tried to clean Sophia’s suite. This time, I did work faster, and I didn’t spend any time scrubbing down the shower stall or the floors. I turned my attention to her bedroom instead and began scooping up clothing and hanging things up in her closet. For a few moments, I was in a daze. I couldn’t believe how many blouses, skirts, pairs of pants, drawers of socks, undergarments, and shoes she possessed. There was more in this closet than in most stores in my Mexican village or even the bigger nearby villages.

Once the clothing was picked up, I turned to the bedding. When I took off the blanket, I was shocked to see the bloodstains on the sheet. Didn’t she know she was going to have a period or remember she was having one? Didn’t she care? For a moment, it nauseated me, and then I quickly ripped off the sheet. To my surprise, there was a rubber cover over the mattress. It was as if she was known to pee in her sleep as an infant might. I washed it down quickly, dried it, and put on a new sheet and new pillow cases. I was just finishing up when Señora Rosario came by to tell me I had ten minutes to go get myself some breakfast before I had to meet Señor Baker in the library.

She showed me where to put all the dirty laundry, and I hurried down to the kitchen. Laughter coming from the dining room made me pause. I glanced in and saw my aunt and her guest, the young man named Travis, at the table sipping their coffee. My aunt was still wearing her negligee under her red silk robe. The robe was open, and she was leaning so close to Travis their lips were just touching. She suddenly stopped and turned to the doorway, where she saw me gaping.

“How dare you spy on me!” she screamed. Travis laughed. “Get back to work!”

Her shouts brought Señora Rosario downstairs quickly. She ordered me into the kitchen, shooing me with her hands. Terrified, I hurried. Both Señor Herrera and Inez stared in amazement.

“What happened now?” Inez asked me, and I told her I had done nothing more than just glance into the dining room at Señora Dallas and her guest. When I said he looked young enough to be her son, she smiled at Señor Herrera, who laughed and set out a bowl of oatmeal for me with a glass of juice and a cup of coffee.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the chair by the kitchen table. “Eat.”

I sat and started, feeling Señora Rosario behind me, rushing me along with her hot, condemning eyes.

“Señora Dallas does not want you to be late for your English-speaking lessons,” she said.

I gobbled down my oatmeal.

“Let the girl eat,” Señor Herrera said. “She’s wolfing it down like a dog.”

“You want to go tell Señora Dallas that?” she fired back at him. Now that I thought about it, I was surprised they all were speaking Spanish rather than English. Why wasn’t my aunt insisting they speak English if she was demanding it so of me? They were all able to speak English.

He made a face and turned back to his preparations for lunch and dinner.

Inez left to start cleaning the house, every room except Sophia’s. I was to be the fortunate one as far as that suite was concerned.

I gulped my juice and stood up.

“Where is the library?” I asked Señora Rosario. I really hadn’t had much of a tour of the house.

“This way,” she said. I followed her out, glancing back at Señor Herrera, who threw me a comforting smile.

As we walked down the hallway, I noted that practically all of the available wall space was covered with paintings or pictures. There were many pictures of my aunt taken with people I would later learn were celebrities, politicians, or simply very, very wealthy businessmen. In time, I also would learn that many officers of charities would court her to have her name on their programs.

When I reached the library, I saw a table filled with trophies and awards given to her by this charity or that. Except for a half-dozen pictures and the large picture of her with her husband in the library above the fireplace, there was no other evidence of her husband in the house as far as I had seen. There were no trophies or plaques with his name on them. Wasn’t he as generous, or did she simply remove anything that didn’t favor her solely? In every picture I did see, he looked as if he could have been her father.

Señor Baker was sitting behind the desk in the library when we arrived. He started to smile and stopped the moment I walked through the door.

“Where are the books I gave you?” he demanded.

“Back in my room,” I said.

“Run, don’t walk,” he ordered. “Go!” he said, waving his hand at me.

I glanced at Señora Rosario who gave me a look of chastisement and then turned and hurried down the hallway. I didn’t actually run until I was out of the house. By the time I returned, I was gasping as much out of fear as anything. With all that had happened, I had completely forgotten about the books. I never even opened one.

“How could you forget your books?” Señor Baker practically shouted at me when I returned to the library. Señora Rosario was gone. “Haven’t you opened any and started to read?”

I shook my head. “I have not yet had the time.”

“Haven’t had time? Don’t you want to get to go to school? Don’t you want Señora Dallas to like you? Well?”

“
Sí,
” I said, choking back my tears.

“
Sí, sí
…no more
sí
. Say yes or no, understand? Yes or no.”

“S…yes,” I said.

“How good is your memory?” he asked, and came around the desk. “Let’s find out. Give me the English words for what I showed you.”

I recited the words.

“That’s good,” he said. “You’ll make me look good,” he added. He told me to sit on the long, dark brown leather sofa. He sat beside me and opened my book. “Let’s begin,” he said, and I started to read the Spanish and struggle with the English translations, with him correcting me. He was so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. He had a sour mouth odor that came from coffee and cigarettes.

Suddenly,
mi tía
Isabela was in the doorway. She was still in her robe, but she was alone.

“Well?” she asked. “What is your prediction about her ability to learn? Should I bother wasting your time and my money?”

“Oh, she’s a good student,” he told her, looked at me, smiled, and repeated in Spanish what he had said. “But with her spending so much time on housework and me traveling back and forth, it’s going to take a while, Isabela. She’s very distracted concentrating on pleasing you here. There’s so much competing for her attention. She hardly has time to study and read. I can’t perform miracles.”

“What do you suggest, John?” she asked him, smirking.

He shrugged and looked at me again. “I could do wonders with her in two weeks if…”

“If what, John?”

“Well, I favor the Helen Keller method when it comes to a situation like this,” he said. “Someone who can’t speak our language, comes from a place that’s like another planet, someone like her,” he said, turning to me and nodding, “is really like someone deaf, dumb, and blind. She needs to be dependent on me to learn quickly. She then learns out of the need to survive as much as anything, but that obviously speeds things up. Unless you don’t mind how long it takes, of course.”

“Of course, I mind it. Do you think I want her here like this forever?” she snapped back at him. “Look at how much she has embarrassed me just in the past twenty-four hours. My sister probably got herself killed deliberately just to make me suffer.”

Señor Baker smiled.

“Go on, laugh. You don’t know what I went through before I escaped that world.”

He shrugged again. I wished I understood more of what they were saying. I did understand that she was complaining about me. I was struggling with the few words I understood. Was all this anger caused by my forgetting my books? Señor Baker turned to me.