The Revolution of Evelyn Serrano (15 page)

T
he next morning I woke up feeling great. No wonder, it was late. I had slept until almost one in the afternoon.

“Mami?”

No answer. Jumping out of bed and running through the apartment, I realized I was alone. I got dressed and flew to the
bodega
.

“Where is Mami?” I asked Pops.

“She's at the church,” he said. “What's going on over there? Your mother's there now. I don't understand. First she goes there to watch you and now she go there alone. Who is taking care of who?”

“We're taking care of each other.”

I whirled around, went back out before he could say another word, and headed toward the church. I had a feeling something was going on over there that I didn't want to miss. Not like the mayor or another movie star showing up — but something more important, and I was right. Wilfredo and some Young Lords and three guys in sweatshirts and hoods were crowded around the door. There was a big bundle by their feet.

“Aw … man, you don't have to check us for weapons or drugs,” one of them growled.

“Yeah, we don't want to come in,” said the second guy.

“Stay back, Evelyn,” said Wilfredo.

I didn't like the way he told me to get out of the way. I know he was just doing it because I was a girl and he wanted to protect me but I still didn't like it. Maybe I couldn't carry a bomb in my dress like those girls in
The Battle of Algiers
did, but I sure didn't have to stand back from some tough guys in my own neighborhood, so I stood my ground.

“We just want to make, a whatchamacallit … a donation,” said one of the guys.

Wilfredo and the Young Lords talked quietly together, then agreed to open the door a bit wider. Just inside were Mami, Abuela, and Angel. Then, the three hooded guys
outside pushed the bundled package at their feet over the threshold.

“Good luck, man,” said the one who seemed to be their leader, and they walked away.

Wilfredo gave me a look and waved me in without trying to search me.

“You better search me,” I said.

“What? You just a little kid.”

I stared him down. It was the principle of the thing.

“All right. All right.” He searched me and let me in.

Inside they opened the package. It was a TV set.

“Hey, we could use this!” said a Young Lord.

“Check it out,” said Angel. “A TV set. Now we can watch that cool new TV show
Sesame Street
.”

I saw Wilfredo examine the set a little closer, gasp, then look at me seriously. I leaned down and took a better look at the set myself. It was the TV set from our
bodega
!

“I knew you didn't have anything to do with that robbery,” I whispered to Wilfredo.

“I didn't! It was
them
guys.”

I pulled on my mother's arm and whispered, “See, Mami. Some other people stole our TV, not Wilfredo!”

Mami looked embarrassed. “I'm sorry I accused you, Wilfredo.”

“That's okay,” he said quietly. “I guess you want us to take it back to the
bodega
.”

Mami stared at the TV for a moment before saying, “The TV can stay here.”

“Mami?”

“
¿Qué se va a hacer?
” She shrugged. “What are you going to do? Come on, let's help with the clothes,” she said.

We went downstairs and started poring through the clothes.

“¡Mira!”
Abuela held up a huge pink bra. “Who gave this?”

Mami could barely suppress a laugh.

“I think I know who donated that,” I said, riding on the tiny little wave of goodwill. “La señora Maldonado on 115th Street. She loves pink.”

“You better go find her and tell her to cover her body before somebody calls the police.”

Mami couldn't help laughing at that.

“
Panties
, over there,” she said, throwing them over to Abuela.

“
Calzoncillos
, over here,” I shouted just in time to catch a pair of men's underwear being hurled.

“Good catch,
mija
,” said Abuela.

“
Tírame las enaguas
,” giggled Mami. “Toss me the underwear.”

Abuela found an old-fashioned full slip as big as a circus tent and tossed it over to Mami. It flew through the air. Mami caught it right before it landed on her head, and folded it with a few flicks of her wrist. She laid it down with the other underwear with a flourish. Abuela and I applauded her. And we all laughed.

I didn't want the night to end.

B
y New Year's Eve 1969, we had occupied the church for four days. The atmosphere was electric with excitement, and I almost felt sorry for all the police who had to stand around outside in the cold and just guess at all the fun we were having inside.

The whole neighborhood showed up for Pepe y Flora, folkloric singers who were famous in Puerto Rico. They performed in Spanish, but I got the story of the Three Kings and how their visit to baby Jesus was celebrated every year on Three Kings Day, January 6. They told us this was how Christmas was celebrated in most Latin countries and how it
used
to be celebrated in Puerto Rico, before we became Americanized, and how now they had Santa Claus over there, like we had Santa Claus over here.

“How could Santa Claus be in Puerto Rico with all his heavy clothes and stuff? Isn't it hot over there in Puerto Rico?” asked Angel, chewing on a sandwich.

“Exactly,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Santa Claus is not really part of our culture, get it?”

But Barrio people still did some old-time Puerto Rican stuff around the holidays, even my tiny family.

Mami had made the usual
pernil
and
arroz con gandules
. She even let us have a few of her precious
pasteles
. Then Chucho, who helped Papi out in the bodega sometimes, made his obligatory visit while aching to get it over with so he could be with his own family. My family went through the motions of having a good time for two reasons — they never felt they had enough money to celebrate Christmas and they were just plain tired.

Abuela perked things up by waltzing in wearing a red pantsuit with ruffles on both the pants and sleeves cuffs! She kissed Mami lightly on the cheek before sitting down to watch
Miracle on 34th Street
with Pops and me while Mami fussed around in the kitchen. In the middle of the movie, we heard a guitar in the hallway.

“I have a surprise for you,” said Abuela, eyes twinkling. She answered the door, and there was don Juan with his guitar and one of his friends playing a
cuatro
. And
like lots of
parranderos
do at Christmas, they busted in singing:

Mami had enjoyed the music but I could see her peeking over at the food, trying to figure out if we had enough to share. Pops caught her looking and with an embarrassed expression offered the singers food after they had serenaded us with one song. When they went on to sing another song, don Juan pulled out a
güiro
but realized he had no scraper to play the gourd with.

“
No hay problema
,” said Abuela. “We'll just use a fork.” And she scraped on that gourd like a maniac as she sang the next
aguinaldo
with them. It was fun.

I couldn't help notice the stiff smile on Mami's face and the forced friendliness in my stepfather's statements. Abuela, Pops, and I ate between songs. Mami nibbled at the stove. Chucho declined dinner, claiming to have food waiting for him at home, but I think he was just being a good guest by not eating.

When there was nothing else to do, Abuela and the
parranderos
left to sing at some other place where people really
wanted to have fun. My parents were glad to see everybody go so they could get some sleep.

The next morning, we exchanged the usual presents of scarves, hats, and gloves from
La Marqueta
, and then my parents went to the
bodega
. Just for one half of the day, they had said; after all, it was Christmas.

And now, a week later on New Year's Eve, I looked at my mother listening to Pepe y Flora sing, and it was like seeing a different person. She was excited but there was something else — she kept looking over her shoulder expectantly. At a certain point, she asked Pepe y Flora if they could sing a particular song. I looked to Abuela to see if she had any idea what was up, but she revealed nothing. At last Mami said:

“Can you sing ‘¿
Si me dan pasteles
'?”

“Sí, como no,”
said the singers, and they launched into the silliest song ever.

In a nutshell:

Right at the end, like it had been all planned, Pops entered with a small cooler full of frozen
pasteles
!

“I have a surprise for everybody….” said Mami with the littlest-girl look on her face you can ever imagine. “
Pasteles
for everyone! These are still frozen. Let's go boil them and all eat them hot so we don't get a stomachache!”

I couldn't believe it, and neither could Pops, though he was going along with her. He looked so confused, it made me laugh.

“¡Esta mujer se ha vuelto loca!”
he said, sounding like Ricky Ricardo yelling about how crazy his wife, Lucy, was. Dropping the
pasteles
off, he scooted out the door. “I gotta get back!”

But she didn't look crazy to me. She looked great.