The Memories of Ana Calderón (2 page)

The voice cracked under the strain of shouting.

“Where are you,
muchacha?
Ana-a-a-a! Your mother's time has come!
Por Dios, ¿dónde estás?
I need you! If you don't come right now, I'll beat the skin off your behind. Ana-a-a-a! I know you're out there somewhere. The baby is coming, and I need you!”

Ana gazed at the shimmering water and the foamy waves as they slapped against the embankments of the harbor prison, far away. She could hear her aunt's exasperated call, but she didn't want to interrupt her thoughts. Ana could also hear Octavio's and Alejandra's giggling as their bare feet poked her rump, prodding her to run to the hut. Several minutes passed.

When Ana finally decided to respond, she pulled her legs out of the sand and, sprinting up as she always did, the girl danced from one palm tree to the other, from one low fern to
the next. Nothing in her body or face indicated that she was in a hurry, or frightened, or worried. Instead, she jumped, springing as high up toward the tops of the trees as possible. At the height of each leap her body was suspended in mid-air, back arched, one leg poised straight out in front, the other gracefully held behind as she lifted her arms in a wide curve above her head. When Ana landed in the sand after each leap, her feet touched invisible springs that again pushed her straight up into the turquoise sky.

By the time she came within view of her family's hut, Ana slowed down, dragging her feet and tracing long tracks in the sand with the tips of her toes. When she crouched through the low entrance, her nostrils expanded with the pungent smell of her mother's body combined with the acrid smoke from the earthen fire crackling in the far corner. As soon as Calista saw the girl standing in the opening, she moved toward her and spoke in a muffled voice. She pinched the girl's underarm, making her flinch with pain.

“¡Muchacha condenada!
Where have you been? You know that I need you! I suppose you've been dreaming again. Don't bother to answer. Just bring over those sheets, and put more water in the pot.
¡Muévete!”

The girl moved with familiarity towards the corner her aunt had pointed out in the gloomy hut. When she found the sheets, she brought them to Calista. Ana crouched on her haunches to get a closer look at her mother, who was sweaty and dusty. She had both her hands clenched into fists, and she was biting one of them so that she would not scream.

“Scream, 'Amá, scream. They all do it. Why don't you?”

“Cállate, malcriada!
Don't you see how much your mother is suffering? She went through the same thing just for you, and look at you! As if nothing were happening. Just wait until you have your own kids. Only then will you understand.”

“I'm never going to have children, Tía.”

“Ha! When we're young, we women all say the same thing. But in the end, no one asks us what we want, or don't want. Come,
Hermana
, push, push, just a little more, and it's over.”

Her aunt's voice was husky with fatigue and what Ana thought to be resentment. Ana knew that the baby was close to coming. She was glad because she hated her aunt's words
that assured her that she would be just like the other women in her family. These thoughts troubled Ana. She wanted to escape; she could hardly wait until she would be able to run out to the beach again.

Suddenly the smeared tiny body appeared from between her mother's legs. Calista took hold of the child while cutting the cord. A shrill cry tore at the gloom. Calista turned to look at Ana. It was an intense glare; her eyes were filled with a meaning that the girl was unable to understand. Calista saw the girl's bewilderment and, sighing heavily, looked down at the baby.

“¡Santo Dios!
It's a boy!
Hermana, ¡es un hombrecito!
Maybe this time...” Calista bit her lip and murmured to her niece, “Here, take him. You know what to do. But be careful with him, and give him right back to your mother.”

Ana took her baby brother from Calista's hands and moved to the light where she could look at him. This was the first boy she had really looked at. As she wiped his body, her eyes lingered on his genitals, and she thought that his penis looked like a tiny handle. She felt a surge of affection for him, remembering that he had come into her life on her birthday. She told herself that he was a gift for her, and she hoped that he would not die. That would prove to everyone that she had not done anything wrong.

Ana slowly wrapped the boy in the threadbare blanket that had been used for each of the babies that had come before him. She was aware that her aunt was cleaning her mother, and she could hear the two women murmuring. But she could not make out what they were saying. When she was finished cleaning her brother, she took the child to her mother.

“Here, 'Amá. Can I leave now?”

Calista sucked at her lips in irritation. “
¡Muchacha, buena para nada!
You can hardly wait to go out and jump around like a
burra
, can you? You know how special it is to at last have a boy, and here you leave your mother…”

Ana didn't hear the rest of what her aunt said because she was out of the hut, sprinting toward the beach. She felt her heart beating, but she knew that it was not the running that was causing the pounding. It was because she did indeed see how special it was that their family now had a boy. Ana told herself that he had come to save her, and because of that
he would be just like her. She and her brother had been born on the same day for a special reason. She was born to become a famous dancer, and he would grow to be someone important, too. Ana ran as fast as she could to find Alejandra and Octavio to tell them the news.

She knew where to find them. The three children had a favorite cove where they spent their time playing in the sand whenever they could escape from their hut and the dreary chores. They would go there especially during the months when the priest who taught them how to read and write traveled to other villages to marry couples and baptize their children.

Ana arrived breathless. She found Octavio and Alejandra lying face up on the sand playing a game in which they pointed at clouds that looked like animals or plants.

“It's a boy!”

Ana's voice startled her sister and Octavio, causing them to jump to their feet. Neither wore shoes nor much clothing. Alejandra was the first to utter what sounded like a groan.

“Ahhg! Is it dead?”

“No! He's alive, and very pretty. Come on! Come and see him!”

Alejandra was annoyed. She stood erect, glaring at Ana, showing her dislike for her. She resented Ana's self-assurance and offishness, but most of all Alejandra was jealous of her sister's looks, which were so different from her own. Whereas Ana's skin was a coppery brown, hers was white; this was the legacy, said Calista, of a French grandfather. Ana's body was thin and sinewy, and her limbs tapered, as if she had been cast in a porcelain mold. Alejandra, on the other hand, was round and supple, and even though she was only seven years old, her small breasts were already beginning to protrude underneath her shear cotton dress. Ana was still flat-chested. Her body retained the look of a boy rather than a girl.

Ana returned her sister's disapproving gaze for a few seconds. Then, suddenly disengaging her eyes from those of Alejandra, she turned to look at Octavio who was standing with his arms hanging limply by his sides. His mouth was open and he blinked his eyes, not knowing what to say. He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

“What do you think his name will be, Ana?”

Her answer was brisk. “I think I heard them call him ‘César.'”

Octavio's skin was dark and his body was beginning to show that he would develop into a tall man. Although people guessed that he was only nine years old, there already was a transparent fuzz over his upper lip that glistened with perspiration from the excitement of hearing Ana speak. Whenever she spoke, his heart inexplicably beat faster.

Ana was staring at him. “Come on! Let's go see the new baby!”

It was Alejandra, however, who responded. “No! We can see him later. We're in the middle of playing a game. Come on, Tavo! I'm ahead of you.”

Octavio looked at Ana as if expecting her to say something. Whenever he gazed at her, his face took on a faint smile, not so much with his lips as with his eyes. He felt drawn to the girl's energy and ability to recreate imaginary worlds that were beautiful to him. Secretly, he preferred the games devised by Ana to those of Alejandra.

“Well, why don't we change and instead play the game Ana was telling us about. The one with the Aztecs and the princess who is going to be sacrificed.”

“Oh, no! I hate that one. She's always the beautiful girl who dies after she dances her head off. I think it's boring!”

Alejandra was showing irritation with both Octavio and Ana. She sensed that he liked her sister better and that whatever she did or thought of doing was wonderful for him. Alejandra, however, wanted him for herself, just like when Ana was away. Unable to think of how to get rid of her sister, Alejandra shouted out. “Ana, I think Tía Calista is calling you again.”

“No, she's not. You're right, Tavo! Let's do the Ritual of the Humming Bird. You're the High Priest, and I'm Huitzítzilin…”

Ana, forgetting the baby and her mother, leaped through the air, her sheer cotton dress flowing in the warm breeze. Despite her young age, she had already invented a number of dances, each with a title, story line and characters. She often organized her sister and Octavio as part of her troupe, directing them to jump and kick and twirl.

Alejandra protested more than ever to the humming bird dance, knowing that it had two leading parts. The only role
she could play was toward the end of the piece when she appeared briefly as an old sorceress. “Oh, no! Not that thing again! Huit…Huit…I can't even pronounce the dumb word! I'm fed up with you being the lady-of-the-something-or-another, and Tavo is always the warrior who's in love with you.”

Ana and Octavio disregarded the girl's objections. Without an introduction or warm-up, they whirled about in the sand as the declining sun cast golden sparks in their hair. At first Alejandra sulked, plopping down on the sand with arms folded over her chest. Then she made faces at them as she mimicked their movements. Finally, losing patience, she jumped to her feet, stuck her tongue out at the dancing couple and ran off towards the hut where she knew she would find her mother, her new brother, and at least one of her other sisters or cousins with whom to play.

The two dancers didn't notice Alejandra's mocking gestures. Instead, they continued their ritualistic dance, just as Ana had imagined a high priest and a sacrificial virgin would do. They sprang and turned until their breath came in spurts and their chests heaved from the exertion. They ran from one end of the cove to the other, waving their arms in the air, gesturing and posturing until Ana, re-enacting the death scene, collapsed on the sand. Octavio, knowing his part, fell at her side, first on his knees, then finally on the imaginary onyx knife with which he would take his life after sacrificing the princess.

He was so out of breath, however, that he lost his balance and fell on top of her. He had not meant to do that, but when he felt her body beneath him, an unexpected urge kept him there. Octavio felt bound to Ana, and he didn't want to be separated from her. He realized that he had never before felt such a sensation, but he liked what he felt, and he remained without moving.

She was also surprised and remained motionless for several seconds. Then, not knowing what to do, she wiggled to one side until Octavio slid off from on top of her. Still, their faces were very close and their breath intermingled. They were both quiet until their breathing stabilized. Then Octavio placed his hand on her chest, and without thinking he said, “Ana, I wish we could be this way always.”

As if his voice had been a musical note marking her next step, Ana jumped to her feet, laughing and swirling her
dress. She ran away, shouting words that seemed aimed at the tops of the palm trees rather than at him. “We will always be this way.”

My mother died in the middle of a scream. No one really knew exactly when it came, or the name of the sickness that afflicted her. I only remember that it began one morning when she whispered, “¡Ay! My head hurts so much!” She wasn't speaking to anyone in particular. She said it as she handed César a cup of chocolate.

In the beginning, the pain in her head made her sigh almost constantly. Soon after, her sighing turned to moans; sometimes they sounded like short gasps. But the time finally came when her groans turned to screams that tore at the night like a sharp invisible knife.

Tía Calista came to be with my mother during those terrible days and nights, but no matter what brews she prepared, my mother's screaming only grew louder. All through those times, we children sat outside our hut along with our father as Calista and other women tried their concoctions, hoping to lessen my mother's pain. I asked my father several times what we would do if she died, but he kept quiet. He never answered my questions; he only stared at me with his resentful eyes. I remember that I didn't cry, despite the big hole growing in my stomach with each minute that passed.