Letters from Heaven / Cartas del cielo

Letters from Heaven

Lydia Gil

Lydia Gil

Letters from Heaven / Cartas del cielo
is made possible by a grant from the City of Houston through the Houston Arts Alliance. We are grateful for their support.

Piñata Books are full of surprises!

Piñata Books

An imprint of

Arte Público Press

University of Houston

4902 Gulf Fwy, Bldg 19, Rm 100

Houston, Texas 77204-2004

Cover design by Mora Des!gn

Inside illustrations by Leonardo Mora

Cover photo by Eloísa Pérez-Lozano

Gil, L. (Lydia), 1970-

Letters from heaven = Cartas del cielo / by/por Lydia Gil.

p. cm.

Summary: Celeste is heartbroken when her grandmother dies, but when letters begin to arrive with her grandmother's advice and recipes, Celeste finds consolation in preparing the dishes for herself, her mother, and their friends. Includes six traditional Cuban recipes.

ISBN 978-1-55885-798-8 (alk. paper)

[1. Grief—Fiction. 2. Grandmothers—Fiction. 3. Cooking—Fiction. 4. Cuban Americans—Fiction. 5. Letters—Fiction. 6. Spanish language materials—Bilingual.] I. Title. II. Title: Cartas del cielo.

PZ73.G4828 2014

[Fic]—dc23

2014022875
CIP  

The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984.

Letters from Heaven
© 2014 by Lydia Gil

Printed in the United States of America

October 2014–November 2014

Versa Press, Inc., East Peoria, IL

12  11  10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

1    Café con Leche

2    Cangrejitos de Guayaba y Queso

3    Synchronized Eating

4    Congrí

5    Mariquitas

6    Ropa Vieja

7    Misunderstandings

8    Asking for Help

9    Flan

10    Family Dinner

To Güeli

1          
CAFÉ CON LECHE

I'm sick and tired of everyone being so nice to me! I don't have to wait in line in the school cafeteria because my classmates let me cut in front. If I forget my homework, the teacher says I can turn it in the next day, no problem! At home, I've gone an entire week without making the bed or doing the dishes, and Mami didn't say anything. It's not that I became a superstar overnight. My grandma died last week and my friends seem to think that if they treat me nicely, I won't feel as sad. I don't know how to tell them it's not working. So I don't say anything. I move to the front of the line, grab a strawberry yogurt, sit myself down and eat in silence. But the silence never lasts very long.

“Can we sit down?” Karen asks.

I shrug my shoulders because it doesn't bother me, but being with them doesn't cheer me up either. These past few days everything feels the same to me.

“Do you want some grapes, Celeste?” Silvia offers.

“No, thanks,” I say.

“Come on, Celeste, so we can synchronize!”

Synchronized eating. Our favorite sport. We take a bite at exactly the same time, open our eyes wide, raise our arms, spin around in unison, once, twice, sometimes three times . . . Our routines are quite elaborate—like synchronized swimming. Super fun! But not today. I'm not in the mood for games.

“Excuse me,” I say bluntly, and leave the table.

The day feels like it's never going to end. Math, Science, English, Social Studies, it all blurs together in my head and the only thing I can think about is my grandmother's green dress. Such a bright green, like grass after a good rain. Green was her favorite color.

“Green, how I want you green,” she used to tell me so I'd eat my vegetables. She said it was a verse from a famous Spanish poet, Federico García Lorca.

“If your face isn't turning green, then you need to eat some more vegetables!” she'd add.

But I always licked the plate clean. Because my grandma's cooking, no matter what she made, was always the best in the world. At least for me it was.

The bell finally rings, so I run outside even though I'm not sure if anyone will be out there waiting for me. I stand at the corner looking in all directions, waiting to see who's going to pick me up today. Yesterday it was Doña Esperanza, our next-door neighbor. On Tuesday it was Lisa, my mom's
friend with the long hair and no make-up—sometimes she even goes around barefoot! Ugh! Lisa picks me up on Tuesdays and Fridays, but sometimes she switches with Doña Esperanza. Mami, on the other hand, never comes. Well, she did come on Monday, because she was still off work for the funeral. But she had to go back the next day. Like she always says: “If you don't work, you don't eat.” Although now that grandma's gone, you might say we don't eat much at all . . .

“Celeste, cross the street,
m'ija
!” Doña Esperanza yells at me from across the street.

“I'm coming,” I say, but I cross the street slowly, as if my feet ached.

“What happened? Did you get hurt dancing or something?”

“I'm just tired,” I tell her. “And I'm not in dance anymore.”

“Eat some
tostaditas
when you get home and you'll see how fast you feel better . . . ” she says. “Like your grandma Rosa always said, may she rest in peace, ‘full belly: happy heart.'”

I keep walking as if I can't hear what she is saying. I want to talk to her, but nothing comes out.

When we get in the car, Doña Esperanza takes my hand and says: “I really miss her too . . . ”

On the way home, I imagine that when I get there my after-school snack will be waiting on the kitchen table. Grandma always had a warm cup of
café con leche
and toast ready for me. But when she got sick, I had to learn to prepare it myself. She taught me how to make it by using measurements, so that it would come out right every time.

“You have to measure the ingredients and not just go by sight,” she'd say. “Otherwise, one day you might have a great cup of coffee, but the next day it might taste just like laundry water . . . ”

Grandma loved her
café con leche
, even after she got sick. I'd take it to her room and rather than saying “thank you,” she'd say, “This coffee is ready to be entered in a contest.” But the last time I brought it to her, she drank it slowly and in silence. At first I thought she didn't like it and wondered if I'd messed up the measurements. But when she finished, she said: “Now, this cup takes first place!”

2          
CANGREJITOS DE GUAYABA Y QUESO

After the snack, I sit down to do my homework. Fractions again! Sometimes that's how I see my brain . . . divided into parts. A trick Grandma taught me is to think of fractions like the number of pieces you'd cut out of a flan: the number that would add up to a whole flan is the number on the bottom; and the number of pieces that I'm going to eat is the number on top . . . So it'd be something like ⅞, because I always make sure to leave one piece for Mami.

The doorbell rings. I walk over to the window upstairs very quietly, making sure my footsteps don't make noise. I take a peek around the curtain to see who it is. I'm only allowed to open the door to Doña Esperanza or Lisa, because they know that I'm home alone while Mami is at work. It's the mailman. He's left a small package next to the door. When I see the mail truck turn the corner, I run to get it.

It's addressed to me! Even though it doesn't have a return address, the handwriting looks familiar. The
script is elegant and light, and the words lean slightly to the right. The package has a weird shape: it's long and thin and doesn't weigh much. For a second I wonder if I should wait for Mami before opening it. But since it's addressed to me, I decide not to wait.