The Revolution of Evelyn Serrano (13 page)

W
hen I tried to get out the door and to the church the next morning, Mami blocked me, almost dropping her coffee cup.

“Wait a minute,” she gasped. “I'll finish and go with you.”

“What?”

“¿Quieres café?”

“No, I don't want any coffee and I don't need you to go with me.”

“You're not going there by yourself. That place is dangerous. That's why there are police everywhere. No, no, no!”

“The cops are the ones who are making it dangerous!”

“You are not going alone.
Ni lo pienses.
”

“Mami, I'm not a baby. I don't need you to be coming with me everywhere I go. I even already had a job this summer.”

“¡Gran cosa!”

“It
is
a big thing,” I sputtered. “I went to work by myself and managed my own time and schedule.”

“No es la misma cosa.”

“It
is
the same thing. Besides, don't you have to go to the store?”

“Your stepfather will manage.”

“You mean you are willing to give up making a few extra bucks to follow me around?”

She looked at me and sat down heavily at the kitchen table. Shaking her head, she put more sugar into her coffee, but I couldn't leave it alone.

“You shouldn't have so much sugar. It makes you fat.” Mami gulped her coffee, put on her heavy black coat and stocking cap, grabbed her crocheting bag, and waited for me to go past her to the door. There was no way she was going to let me go to the church by myself.

It could've been worse, I guess. She could have not allowed me to go at all — but then again, she couldn't really stop me. It wasn't like I had anyplace
else
to go during Christmas break. What was she going to do? Tie me to the radiator?

Walking on ahead, I made believe she wasn't with me.
When we got to the church, there was a sign that said
L
A
I
GLESIA DEL
P
UEBLO
, The People's Church. That was nice and welcoming, but it didn't stop the Young Lords from searching everyone for drugs or weapons before they went in. Actually, that was a good thing. These Young Lords knew what they were doing, and they wanted to keep the bad guys out. Seeing Mami get searched gave me a good laugh.

Inside the church, there were more television newspeople than before. The Young Lords had set up a table where they sat to have a conference — real professional-like. And
this
time another Puerto Rican newscaster came to see what was going on — J. J. González, and he was told the same thing we were told. That the Young Lords were serving the community with breakfast, medical care, and a clothing drive.

Those Young Lords had really worked fast. The breakfast program was already set up in the basement. While the press conference was going on upstairs, we were directed to go downstairs, where we saw Angel stuffing his face with oatmeal and eggs and orange juice and milk with a bunch of other kids.

“How long
you
been here?” I asked.

“Forever,” he said, grinning.

People were free to come and go as long as they were willing to be searched at the door — but I think Angel had moved in!

I was glad Angel had a place to go during the Christmas break. Nobody had great heating in their apartments in the winter. Here there was heat. But there was another reason I was glad Angel had a place to go. He could get away from his father. Angel's father turned janitor in the winter in exchange for free rent. Sometimes when the banging on the radiators by the people wanting heat drove him crazy, he took it out on Angel by whacking him on the head.

As I was thinking about Angel's nasty father, Abuela came out of the church kitchen, wearing an apron and carrying plates of food for the little kids.

“
Hola
,” Abuela said.

“Ahhh …” said Mami, which didn't mean hello or goodbye, just sort of accepting the fact that she saw her.

I couldn't help noticing that Abuela had changed her nail color from frosty pink to fire-engine red. Only Abuela would change her nail color in the middle of a revolution. She got busy with the kids who needed no encouragement to eat, while Mami got busy with looking around for a place to sit, pulling out her crocheting, and working on it fiercely.

For the next couple of days, Mami and Abuela were saying hello politely but looking around for something to distract them away from each other.

I
n the weeks that followed, the church got as busy and loud as Grand Central Station at five p.m., with people coming and going all the time. The word was definitely out, and Puerto Ricans from all over the city were showing up in
El Barrio
. All of a sudden, we were the center of the universe. I never knew exactly what was going to happen after breakfast, or in what order. The only thing I could count on was Angel being there before me, shoving something in his mouth. Petrucho and other restaurants gave food, and Angel was determined to have a taste of every single donation. The other thing I could count on was having a bodyguard: Mami.

“Hey, Angel, have you been home?” I asked the minute I saw him one day.

“I never want to go home! I got everything here,” he answered.

I noticed he was wearing a different coat. Not a new one, but one that was sure warmer than the one he usually wore.

“Where did you get that?” I asked.

“From the community that loves me, man!”

I looked at my mother for her reaction. She just stood there,
cara palo
. Typical.

“Hi, señora Serrano!”

How could she not answer? It would've been like refusing to pet a dog that comes up to lick your hand, tail wagging and all. Mami forced her face into a smile.

“
Hola
, Angel.”

Angel gushed on, “And later I'm going to get tested for tuberculosis and lead in my blood. They're doing free medical screenings.”

Angel was excited about a medical test? I guess the Young Lords did have a special kind of power.

“But right now,” Angel said, “I'm going back to my Puerto Rican history class.”

“History class?”

I never thought of Puerto Ricans as having history. How stupid is that? I mean — everybody has history, right? People don't just come out of nowhere.

“You want to know why Puerto Ricans are so fine and beautiful and how come we come in so many different colors?” Angel boasted, walking around like a rooster.

“Yes, I do, tell me, Angel.”

“Well, first, Puerto Rico had Taino Indians, and then white Europeans came and they brought slaves from Africa with them, and that's why we are such a big mixture of all those people, and some of us have dark skin, and some light skin, and some have kinky hair. And sometimes you find all those kinds of people in the same family! Can you dig it?”

“Yeah, I can.”

“I mean …” Angel stopped and took a really close look at Mami and me. “Did you know that you do not look like your mother at all?”

“
Sí
, we know,” answered Mami.

He looked at her closely. “You look white, señora Serrano!”

“Ave María purísima!”
said Mami.

“Come on. History class is not over yet.” Angel made a motion to follow him.

We followed him down to a room in the basement. My next thought stopped me so suddenly, my mother bumped into me from behind.

“¿Qué pasa?”

“Nothing, I just … nothing.” I put one foot in front of the other carefully because I was afraid that what I was thinking might make me fall on my face. My family was part of some very nasty Puerto Rican history. I had to laugh. I went from not knowing I had history to being embarrassed by my family's part in it. After all, who else could boast of being ashamed of having a grandfather who shot into a crowed of innocent people at the Ponce Massacre?

Someone called out to me right before we went into the room where the class was being held.

“
Hola
, Evelyn.”

It was the Dominican lady Lydia, who worked at the five-and-dime. She had three little kids hanging around her knees.

“These are my kids. We have to leave the lesson because they're too noisy.”

“Oh …”

“I had to quit my job at the
cinco y diez
because who can care for my kids? But maybe now they can stay here for a few hours and I can get a job cleaning houses. Good, right?”

“Uh, yeah … This is my mother.”

“
Mucho gusto, señora
,” said Lydia. But then she turned back to me. “Now I know your mother. I meet your
abuela
at the
cinco y diez
, but I never knew she could be so smart.”

Lydia must have seen my confused expression.

“Yes, she teaches us so much. I know a lot about Santo Domingo, but I don't know about Puerto Rico.”

Looking over her shoulder into the room, I saw what she was talking about. Abuela was teaching the class! Mami caught it, too, but Lydia's talking stopped her from entering the room right away, allowing me to ease in first. There were about thirty people sitting on the floor, some with little babies on their laps, all listening to Abuela. She looked up and smiled when she saw me. Wearing a V-neck sweater, lots of chains around her neck and hips, and a miniskirt and go-go boots, Abuela looked so cool. She had changed her hair from big to pulled back tight in a bun. With her black eyeliner and purple eye shadow, she looked like a ballet dancer from the neck up. There were no more empty seats, so I sat down on the floor.

Mami came in a little later, carrying a chair she must've found in the hallway. After looking around suspiciously, she sat down in the chair like a lump and took out her crocheting. If Abuela looked like a hot ballet dancer, Mami looked like a box wearing a black dress.

“Don Pedro Albizu Campos …” Abuela was saying.

She told how the people in the Ponce Massacre had been shot at because they were protesting Pedro Albizu Campos's arrest. I looked around uneasily. Could people tell by
looking at me that my grandfather was one of the shooters? I pulled my collar up.

I made my face blank and tried to think about something else. But nobody paid attention to me. They were too busy paying attention to Abuela.

I turned to see what Mami was doing. She was staring at her mother. I was looking at
my
mother and she was looking at
her
mother. Mami was looking at Abuela the way you look at a puzzle and can't quite figure it out. How many times had I looked at Mami the same way?

But there was something else in Mami's look that I'm sure was never in my look. My mother was looking at her mother with … longing. Like she missed her even though she was looking right at her.