“Everyone all right?” he asked.
Dolores nodded. Surely, he knew she would have called if something was wrong. “Just my platter broke.”
“God must be angry with you for stealing it.”
“He and I are even now, though, right?” Dolores asked, only half in jest. She tried to glue the broken pieces together, but the platter was never the same. Still, she couldn’t bear to throw it away and stashed it in the cupboard behind her mixing bowls.
The next day’s Honolulu Bulletin reported a Richter scale rating of 6.8. Maui had sustained the most damage with landslides and burst water pipes. On Lana‘i, great cracks appeared in the ground. Honolulu and the rest of O‘ahu had seen only slight damage. Underneath its tropical beauty, Hawai‘i was restless and destructive.
They still spent a lot of time at Grandma Jessie’s. After Ruth got her four children off to school, she and Dolores packed up Carmen and Betty and went to the elder Medeiros house. It was always busy there, as they made a big lunch for everyone and cleaned the house. Rosa, Carmen, and Betty played in the yard while one of the women watched them from the kitchen window. Dolores washed her hands and peeled carrots. Ruth and Helen chopped potatoes.
Before long, Rosa ran into the house. “Rosa, what’s wrong?” Ruth asked.
“It’s Carmen!” She turned and rushed back toward the yard.
Dolores ran after her and pictured horrible things that could have happened. Ruth followed her. Carmen sat on the lawn, hale and hearty. Her face was oddly scrunched. Betty sat nearby, crying.
“She pushed a whole button up her nose,” Rosa said, her voice full of awe. “But now she can’t get it out.”
“Can’t get it out?” Dolores tilted her daughter’s face upward and tried to look in her nose. She saw a missing button on Carmen’s dress and assumed that was the one in her nose. “Carmen, what have you done?”
“I have a button in my nose.” She pointed to her right nostril, her index finger inside her nose to the first knuckle.
“Yes, darling, I know.” She imagined the button traveling up into Carmen’s head and lodging in her brain. She scooped Carmen up and dashed back in the house.
“Grandma Jessie! I’m taking Carmen to the doctor!” Dolores looked at her daughter’s grass-stained dress. Her feet were brown with dirt. Her face was a mess with snot dripping down her muddy face. Dolores couldn’t take her anywhere looking like this. She told Ruth, “Call Manolo! Tell him to meet me at home! And watch Betty!”
Dolores dragged poor Carmen after her and was out of breath when she got to the kitchen. There, Dolores stripped off the child’s clothes and gave her a fast but effective sponge bath. Then she dressed Carmen in a clean dress. Manolo rushed through the door just as Dolores was brushing their daughter’s hair.
“What happened? Ruth just said doctor.”
“Your daughter has pushed a button up her nose. It’s too far up. I can’t even see it. Come on, we have to go.” Dolores tugged at his arm and smelled whisky on his breath.
“And you’re giving her a bath?” His voice rose. “Give her to me!”
Dolores thought this was an overreaction since he had to give Carmen back to her when they got in the car. She hesitated and wondered how much he’d had to drink. It didn’t matter. They needed to take Carmen. In scant moments, they were on their way. Dolores didn’t wait for Manolo to open the car door but rushed right out when they arrived. Holding Carmen tightly by the hand, she told the receptionist why she needed to see the doctor.
It didn’t take long for the doctor to extract the button. His patient, peaceful demeanor was a balm to Dolores’s galloping heart. Manolo paced the narrow room with his arms folded across his chest.
“Promise not to put anything else in your nose?” The doctor said.
“I promise, Doctor,” the sweet angel said.
“We’ll watch her more closely, Doctor,” Manolo promised. He patted Carmen on the shoulder and gave her a loving smile. When he turned to Dolores, though, his face was grim.
They thanked the doctor and headed for home. Ruth had picked up her children from school, and they waited on the step with Betty, full of questions.
“Did they let you keep the button?”
“What made you think to do that?”
“How did they get it out?”
Rosa just took Carmen by the hand and led her across the yard. “You be quiet,” she told her siblings. “Carmen’s having a bad day.”
In the privacy of their bedroom, Dolores heaved a great sigh and turned to Manolo so they could laugh together about the day now that it was over. His face, though, darkened like a tropical storm. Dolores had smelled the alcohol. She knew he’d been drinking. She thought of running, of locking herself in the bathroom, of screaming. More importantly, she must protect the girls. A strange calm settled over her.
The blows rained on her chest and shoulders like God’s vengeance. One particularly vicious one to Dolores’s stomach doubled her over, and that stopped him. She straightened slowly. She watched the fire ebb from his face and waited for his fists to unclench. Dolores pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. She tried to put as much disgust in her face as possible. She clenched her hands into her skirt to keep them from trembling.
“I’ll be downtown,” he said. And just like that, he was gone.
Dolores’s entire upper torso ached. It was difficult to breathe. Manolo had avoided her face this time. No marks would show. Dolores sank into a chair, overwhelmed, all pleasantries erased by Manolo’s hate-twisted face. Love and hate were related, people said. No one ever said how fast a person could switch from one to the other. No one ever talked about how a family dealt with this.
The entire incident had happened quickly. Ruth was just coming inside with the children. “Where’d Manolo go? Doesn’t he want dinner?”
Dolores shrugged, then gasped. Ruth’s eyes narrowed. “Winona, will you take William and the girls to wash up for dinner?” Her eyes never left Dolores’s as the children left. “He hit you.” It wasn’t a question.
Dolores sat on the bed. “I’m so afraid he’ll start on the girls that I’m making myself sick.” She rubbed her stomach, which had been upset all day.
“Oh, honey.” Ruth sat next to her, went to hug her but stopped when Dolores flinched. She left the room, and Dolores could hear her talking to the children and getting into the icebox. Ruth returned with ice wrapped in a kitchen towel. “Where?”
Dolores took the ice and placed it on her chest.
“You should leave him,” Ruth said. “You deserve better.”
Leave him? That meant leaving Grandma Jessie and Ruth. She would truly be on her own. It also meant sinning against her church, which had joined Manolo and her for life. “I can’t,” she said.
“It’s not so bad living as a single mom,” Ruth said. “Family supports you.”
“But it’s your family, Ruth. How could Grandma Jessie take my side over her own son? How does that fit into family? I promised myself to Manolo in the church before God. I need to make this work. It’s best for my family.”
“But what about you?”
Manolo stayed away. Dolores didn’t know, nor did she care, where he was sleeping. When she groaned as she got in and out of bed, she didn’t have to stifle it. Dolores found four bottles of bootleg whisky in his cabinet hiding place and poured all of them down the sink. Her physical hurts were not important. They would heal. Her daughters were the most important. They must be whole. The first night of Manolo’s absence, Carmen asked about her father at bedtime.
“He’s working late, darling. He’ll come in to kiss you when he gets home.”
“Does it count if I’m not awake?”
“Of course, it does. Go to sleep.” Dolores kissed her on her nose. “Here’s one to hold you until Daddy comes.” Dolores gave another from her. With her sister settled, Betty, too, was content.
On the second night of Manolo’s absence, the girls were cross. Dolores�
��s body ached and her stomach still hadn’t settled. She was as irritable as her daughters. The front door opened, and Alberto called, “Anyone home?” He came in and found them in the girls’ bedroom. “What’s that, Carmen? You have a poopie doll?” He pointed at the toy in Carmen’s arms.
The girls squealed in delight. “Not a poopie doll, Uncle Alberto. A Kewpie doll!” Carmen said.
“Yo’ sure? Look like a poopie doll ta me.” Alberto feigned total ignorance, and the six-year-old loved it.
“They’re having some trouble falling asleep,” Dolores told him. “Can you tell them a story?”
And he did. He told the girls a story about menehune, “The Three Menehune of Ainahou,” and they listened with sleepy smiles. Alberto’s full attention was on them until he reached the end. His eyes met Dolores’s when he said, “The moral of the story is, no matter how hard yo’ life is, there is always someone ta help you make t’ings better.”
The girls snuggled into their pillows with smiles. Alberto quietly shut their bedroom door as he joined Dolores. They walked out to sit on the lana‘i. The sun was just past the most glorious part of the sunset, but the palm trees still held golden glints of daylight. The mountain loomed purple above them.
“It’s a beautiful evening,” Dolores said.
Alberto looked at her. “Sometimes another person’s fishing spot look better dan yours, and yo’ lose sight of the important t’ings, ya? The ocean be beautiful ever’ where, despite what lurks in the depths.”
Dolores nodded. Life didn’t seem beautiful at the moment.
Later that night, Dolores struggled to her knees at her own bedside to thank God for her little blond angels, and for Alberto and Ruth and the rest of the family. She asked Him to give her strength, but she didn’t need to ask for the help of the menehune. She had Alberto.
When Manolo returned, three days later, he walked in as if nothing had happened, hung his hat on the rack, sat down in his big chair, and opened the Honolulu Bulletin to hide his face. Dolores said nothing as she set another plate for dinner. The girls ran to greet him, and he asked Carmen about her day. “Did you play with Rosa today?”
A silent emotional conversation swirled in the air between the adults. What happened to your promise not to drink?
“Yes, Papa,” she replied.
“Did you see any of your uncles?” Does the family know about my binge?
“The girls went through Grandma Jessie’s closets today,” Dolores told him. “Carmen felt the fabrics and Rosa described the patterns.” I told no one. What would I say?
“Then Rosa and I listened to Bing Crosby on the radio and whistled. I’m better than her.” Carmen smiled her pride.
“I’m sure you are, darling. Did you watch out for your little sister?” Your mother can’t seem to take care of both of you.
“The entire family watches the children. Alberto came by with his motorcycle, so both your brothers showed up.” Everyone else in the family was there.
The conversation, spoken and imagined, lapsed. Dolores served dinner silently. She let the girls chatter to their father. She picked at some rice and pork but didn’t have much of an appetite.
At bedtime, Dolores went into their bedroom alone and locked the door. She stood with her back against it and listened as Manolo tried the handle then made himself comfortable on the couch. She tossed all night. In the morning, she felt so nauseous she suspected she was coming down with the flu.
The illness persisted, worse in the mornings. At first Dolores passed it off to the high stress of her marriage, but eventually, to her horror, she realized she was pregnant. She spent the day in tears, alone in her bedroom. She could hear Ruth talking to the children during the day but felt so far removed from reality she couldn’t stir herself to join them.
When dusk darkened the room, Ruth came to find her. “Dolores? No dinner tonight?” Then she saw the red swollen eyes and sodden handkerchief. “What did he do to you now?”
“It’s not like that.” Dolores’s mouth twisted. “Well, he did it, but I’m not injured. I’m pregnant.”
“Oh, Dolores.” She sank to the bed and clasped Dolores’s hands in both of hers. “You must do something now. You can’t let him hit you.”
“You think I let him before?”
“No, no, that’s not what I mean.” She got up and began to pace. “You can move in with Grandma Jessie.”
“I took vows in church,” Dolores reminded her. “I won’t forsake them.”
“Then Alberto can sleep on the couch.”
“Oh, yes,” I scoffed. “Manolo will be all right with coming home to find another man sleeping here.”
“I don’t know the answer, Dolores, but there must be one. You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I know that.”
With Ruth’s help, Dolores stood up, washed her face, and made pulled pork sandwiches for dinner.
Manolo arrived home and raised an eyebrow at the sandwiches. They ate in silence until Dolores worked up some courage. “Manolo, I have some news.” She could not work enthusiasm into her voice. He must have thought she was dying. She took a breath. “I’m pregnant.” She waited for the world to fall in.
“That’s wonderful, Dolores! No wonder you’ve been a little testy all week.” He pulled a flask from his coat pocket and drank in celebration. He offered her a slug, but she declined. A three-day binge followed. Dolores wished he’d go away again instead of reeling home drunk. The girls disliked spending all evening in their room, but she wouldn’t let them near Manolo when he was drunk. Alberto appeared on her front room couch. He left only when Dolores did.
SEVENTEEN
World’s Fair 1939
Family surrounded her. Dolores didn’t know what Ruth and Alberto had told them, but they rarely left her alone with Manolo. Her morning sickness went away, and her belly grew quickly.
“Your body remembers what it’s like to be pregnant,” Ruth told her. “The first time, you don’t start a baby bump until you’re four months along. By the third time, you start showing almost before you know you’re pregnant!”
Dolores rubbed her belly. “I’m only a month or so in, but it looks like four months!”
Ruth laughed and took Betty by the hand. “Come on, Carmen,” she said, “let’s go see what Rosa is doing.” She led the two girls outside to join the other children, who were playing with Helen in Grandma Jessie’s yard.
The men were not yet home for lunch. Vovô snoozed on the couch. Grandma Jessie held her chopping knife. She turned to Dolores and said, “Aloha means taking others’ pain as your own.”
Dolores nodded, unsure where this was going. Was she talking about Manolo? Or about Dolores? “Maria used to tell me you could love someone without loving everything they do.”
“No family is perfect,” Grandma Jessie continued. “Lord knows I’m not saying what my son does is right, but we are all here to help you.”
“I know that,” Dolores assured her. “Manolo loves me; he loves his girls. They need him.” When Grandma Jessie’s gaze lingered, Dolores said, “I won’t leave him. I can’t. God created marriage to be permanent, and I know what’s best for my family.”
Grandma Jessie nodded, satisfied. “You’re a good Catholic, Dolores.”
Not for the first time, Dolores wondered about Grandma Jessie’s own marriage. Her husband had left her with five small children. They had never divorced. Dolores didn’t even know if he was still alive. He was gone, though, while Manolo kept coming back to inflict new pain. It didn’t matter in the eyes of the Church. Dolores was married.
After Alberto got a job as a shipfitter at Pearl Harbor, he was gone most of the day. He worked on various ships in the harbor. Dolores was glad he was settling down. Ruth stayed close to home. She sold her hand-sewn clothes door to door to make a little money, but when Manolo was due home, Ruth was always there. Dolores could find no words to thank her, and she knew they were unnecessary.
About a block away from t
hem on Beretania was a school that offered classes for children with sight problems. Dolores enrolled Carmen there in the fall. She expected backlash from Manolo, but he never said a word. So she walked Carmen to school every morning and listened to her chatter happily on the way home every afternoon. Betty toddled all over the house. Her chubby cheeks invited pinching. For all intents and purposes her husband had left them, but they were not alone. The Medeiros family had embraced them.
Manolo startled Dolores by appearing for dinner after Betty’s birthday in February. His animated face showed how eager he was to see her. “I have a surprise for you,” he said, barely waiting until he finished eating. Alberto and Ruth took the plates into the kitchen, and Dolores sent the girls to play.
Her stomach lurched, and then she flushed with guilt. A surprise was usually good. She gave him a thin smile. “What is it?”
He waved two tickets in the air, triumphant. “We’re going to the World’s Fair!”
“In San Francisco?” Dolores had never been to the mainland. She was excited to see the fair. And maybe they could see Paul and Sofia. But alone with Manolo? She calculated: six days there, six back, and how long at the fair? She wondered why he wanted to do this at all. “How can we afford it?”
He laid the tickets next to his plate and took her hand. “Please be excited about this, Dolores. A guy at work got the admission tickets from a customer. We can afford the passage—I got a raise last month, remember?” His thumb stroked her palm. “I know it’s been hard for you lately.” He looked at the table, at their hands, out the window. Everywhere but at his wife.
“Carmen needs shoes. Betty should have a new dress.” Dolores could only think of expenses.
His eyes found hers. “It will be romantic.”
Dolores saw the handsome young man she had fallen in love with at Hanauma Bay. She remembered him as he came out of the surf and shook water out of his dark curls. She remembered when his smile lit his eyes like Alberto’s always did.
The Aloha Spirit Page 16