The mugging story, of course, makes him think of Carmen. And then it dawns on him. “Why don’t we call Carmen? She’s a lawyer.” The minute Miguel makes his suggestion, he worries that his mami will be upset. But instead of annoyance, a wave of relief sweeps over his mother’s face.
“She isn’t actually an immigration lawyer, but still …” Mami is thinking out loud. “She does work in a big firm. She’s bound to know someone who knows about visas. Maybe she can help us.”
Mami calls Papi to get Carmen’s number. Soon the two women are having a long conversation. Juanita and Miguel and Tía Lola sit around the table, watching Mami’s every expression. Before Mami hangs up, Carmen promises to call back after she speaks to some of her colleagues at work. Maybe something will work out.
Please, please! Juanita closes her eyes for the second time today and makes her wish: Let Tía Lola stay with my family!
Somehow the news spreads through town and at school. Tía Lola might have to leave the country.
“But she can’t!” Mrs. Stevens folds her arms and plants herself at the entrance to her school. She will not let anyone take her best volunteer away. “Who will teach the children Spanish? Who will organize carnaval parties and treasure hunts and paint murals to liven up the halls?”
“Who will run Spanish night?” Rudy says, shaking his head when he hears the news. “Who’s going to teach us to dance the merengue and cook flan and that great rice-and-beans dish arroz con habichoolas?”
“Arroz con habichuelas,” Tía Lola corrects him, but without her usual lively smile. Being asked to leave the country has made her feel like a guest who has overstayed her welcome.
“Who will make piñatas for me to sell?” Stargazer sighs. “And help me paint the sale signs for the store?”
Woody, Rudy’s son, sums up the whole town’s feelings: “Tía Lola can’t leave. She’s the best thing that’s happened to this town since …”
“Since the pilgrims came!” Dawn says, and that’s saying a lot, seeing as her ancestors came over on the Mayflower.
“Well, let’s not get carried away!” Colonel Charlebois, who is having his daily meal at Amigos Café, says in his cranky voice. But in fact, what he’s cranky about is this unwelcome news. “It certainly would be a sad state of affairs if Tía Lola left. One that I don’t think any of us could bear!” He clears his throat again and again. Usually a man with a hearty appetite, he barely touches his huevos rancheros, although they’re just the way he likes them tonight.
A few days later, Carmen calls Mami back. There are several options that would let Tía Lola stay in the USA. In order to arrive at a decision, Mami calls an informal town meeting over at Amigos Café for that Wednesday night.
The whole town shows up! The restaurant can’t fit such a large crowd, so the gathering is moved across the street to the library’s large meeting room.
Mami reads out all the possibilities Carmen’s lawyer friend suggested. Among the options is applying for an “extraordinary ability” visa, awarded to someone with an exceptional skill the country can’t do without. At the mention of this special visa, the whole town breaks into applause. “That’s it!” people call out. “Go for it! We can’t lose Tía Lola. She has the extraordinary ability to bring us all together!”
But Tía Lola still has to report to the immigration office on Friday to plead her case before a judge. Since Friday is an in-service day at school and there won’t be any classes, Mrs. Stevens volunteers to accompany Tía Lola and speak up on her behalf. After all, this is part of her in-service, keeping this treasure in her school.
“I’m coming along, too,” Mrs. Prouty says. “Without Tía Lola, I don’t know what we’d do.”
“Make that three of us!” Mr. Bicknell is always one to take up a cause if he believes it is fair and just.
Soon every teacher at Bridgeport has signed on, and that gets the students started. A group of sixth graders convince several parents to drive them up to the hearing. It’ll be like a field trip: watching how the United States of America works. Before you know it, kids from every grade are clamoring to go. Of course, Rudy is shutting down his restaurant to head up there, and Woody volunteers his own van, and Colonel Charlebois has room in his car for three more—five if two are skinny, which could only be if they haven’t discovered Amigos Café’s fine cuisine, which is what Colonel Charlebois calls good cooking.
By the end of the evening, most of the town’s inhabitants are planning to head up to the immigration office on Friday morning.
Juanita has been sitting in the front row, worrying and wondering what will happen. Mami has told her and Miguel privately—so as to prepare them—that Carmen did say the chances are that Tía Lola will not be able to stay right away. Every foreigner has to take a turn, with preference given to the immediate family of American citizens: sons and daughters, parents and grandparents. That means that although Tía Lola actually raised Mami, still, on paper, she only counts as an aunt. She will have to go to the back of the line.
But Juanita can’t even imagine a life without Tía Lola anymore. It’s like Mami keeps saying: How can the United States of America do that to her family? They might as well deport Juanita, too, even though she’d have to leave her mother and father and brother as well as her own country behind.
Beside her, Tía Lola has been sitting quietly all evening, occasionally dabbing at her eyes with one of the handkerchiefs that Carmen gave her, for happy tears. But Juanita is pretty sure Tía Lola’s tears aren’t happy. How can they be when she is being asked to leave a country where all she has done is spread love and happiness?
As the meeting is starting to break up, Tía Lola stands and asks if Mami will translate a few words.
When Mami announces that Tía Lola has something to say, the noisy, fired-up crowd sits down obediently. You can hear a pin drop, as well as un alfiler.
“I want to thank all of you,” Tía Lola begins in a voice full of emotion, “for how you have welcomed me to your wonderful country. Whether or not I get to stay, I will always remain here, because you have let me into your hearts. And you will never be far from me, because I will take each and every one of you in mi corazón and in my memories.” Tía Lola will take the whole town in her heart back to the Dominican Republic.
Mami grows teary-eyed as she translates. From her chair in the front row, Juanita herself is seeing a double Tía Lola and Mami through the tears in her eyes. Meanwhile, Miguel is ready to bolt out of his chair and protect Tía Lola if the guards come to take her away, just like Carmen protected him from Rafi in the subway.
Throughout the room, people are blowing their noses and coughing away their sadness. Tía Lola’s words have a goodbye ring to them. But then her tone changes. “One last thing,” she says, flashing her lively grin. “Before I leave, I promise that with your help, I’m going to put up a good fight to stay!”
Once again, the room breaks out clapping and cheering, except this time the response is louder, fiercer, and seems to go on forever. Even Melrose, the town clerk, has to admit that he has never seen anything like this. “Maybe Tía Lola should run for governor or something.”
“Nunca es tarde cuando la dicha es buena,” Tía Lola concludes before she sits back down.
Mami struggles to translate the saying. “It’s never too late when you’re in luck. Or something like that. Anyhow, thanks, everyone, for helping us out!”
Instead of clapping and stomping her feet, Juanita closes her eyes. Please, please, please, let Tía Lola stay, she wishes with all her might. She tries it in Spanish for double strength: ¡Por favor, por favor, por favor, que tía Lola se pueda quedar! And then Juanita can’t help herself. She touches her forehead, her heart, her two shoulders, then kisses her thumb, sealing the biggest wish she can ever remember making in her life so far.
lesson nine
En la unión está la fuerza
In unity there’s strength
Along with everyone else in the county, Migue
l wakes up on Friday morning with a hopeful, fearful feeling. By the end of the day, Tía Lola’s fate will be decided. Mami has warned him and Juanita not to get their hopes up too high. But how can they help it when the day dawns so sunny and warm and bright?
After breakfast, Tía Lola appears at the door with a little suitcase. Miguel’s heart feels like a pebble dropped in a well, leaving an empty hole in his chest. “What are you doing with that maleta?” he asks, as if he can’t guess.
“Por si acaso,” Tía Lola says brightly. Just in case. “But notice how small it is, Miguel. If I go away, I won’t be gone long.”
Mami makes light of the suitcase as well. “It’s the ‘raincoat lucky charm.’ If you wear your raincoat, it won’t rain. If Tía Lola takes her suitcase, she won’t be sent away.”
Miguel groans. He can remember any number of times his mami has made him wear a rain slicker and it still has rained.
“Now, now, Miguel Ángel Guzmán,” Mami reminds him. “You’ll make your tía Lola nervous if you get too nervous. And remember, she has to charm the socks off the immigration judge. We have to present a united front. As Tía Lola likes to say—”
“En la unión está la fuerza.” Tía Lola quotes her own saying: In unity there’s strength. It sounds like something from the Declaration of Independence. That should charm the socks off an immigration judge!
“Hey, Tía Lola, why don’t you just quote your wise sayings to the judge?” Miguel says, half in jest. “That’ll show him why we can’t let you go.”
Mami drops down on the bench in the mudroom. It’s as if she has just had a suspicion confirmed. “Now I know it’s a fact: I have a genius son! That is a brilliant idea!”
Miguel loves a compliment as much as the next person, but Mami can go overboard. And when you get praised too much, it’s like you’re an animal paralyzed by headlights on the road: there’s no wiggle room to make a mistake or even improve at something you’re already good at.
“Tía Lola, we’ll prove to the judge that you’re our town oracle!” Mami claps her hands.
“What’s that?” Juanita asks. She wonders if an oracle is anything like a barnacle, a word she learned just last week in school when they were studying beach flora and fauna. But Tía Lola doesn’t remind Juanita in the least of those little shellfish that attach themselves to cliffs and the sides of ships.
“An oracle is a person or place or even a book full of wise knowledge.” Mami launches into an explanation about the Delphic Oracle in Greece; how in olden times in China, people consulted this oracular book called the I Ching.…
Miguel is half listening, half daydreaming. After so many ho-hum weeks, it’s going to be an exciting day! Papi couldn’t miss any more work, but Carmen is actually flying up with an immigration lawyer from her firm who has agreed to represent Tía Lola. They will all meet up at the immigration office.
At first, Mami hesitated when Carmen made her offer. “I don’t know that we can afford that, Carmen. That last lawyer wiped us out.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. There’s no charge,” Carmen had assured her.
But after hanging up, Mami was thoughtful. “I have a feeling that maybe Carmen is paying for this herself.”
“She is a true friend,” Tía Lola acknowledged, a hand on her heart. “Amiga en la adversidad es amiga de verdad.” A friend in adversity is a true friend.
If Tía Lola can keep saying her sayings, surely she will get that special visa. Miguel doesn’t feel like he is cheating his country in any way. Tía Lola does have so many extraordinary abilities. Look at all she has done for their little town. Free Spanish lessons, good food, and that special magic of hers that brings everyone together. Plus her sayings are wise. Miguel suddenly feels hopeful. It can’t be every day that the Department of Immigration gets an application for a special visa from an oracle—with a genius for a nephew, at that!
By the time Miguel, Juanita, Tía Lola, and Mami arrive, a crowd has gathered in front of the no-nonsense, boxlike brick building. DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY, a large sign announces. Several police cars are parked directly in front of the building, and the pathway to the door is blocked by sawhorse barricades. The officers look baffled as to why such a multitude has descended on their sleepy little town on a sunny April morning.
The minute Tía Lola appears, the crowd cheers. The three policemen are suddenly at attention, ready to protect the building against any attack. But coming toward them is a nice-looking young woman in an elegant black pantsuit, accompanied by a boy and a girl dressed up real nice as well. Behind them—must be the grandmother—is a perky, older lady with a jaunty purple flower in her hair and a bright yellow scarf draped over her coat. Only thing a little different about the family is their brown skin and their super-courteous manners. They stop to explain who they are, apologizing for any disturbance. So this is the family everyone has been expecting.
“Your lawyers just went in,” one of the officers explains. “They’re waiting for you inside.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mami says, eyeing Miguel and Juanita, who chime in, “Thank you, sir, thank you.” On the ride up, Mami has coached them, using Tía Lola’s saying about catching flies with a drop of honey, not a quart of vinegar.
“Muchas gracias,” Tía Lola echoes in Spanish, adding, “El amor lo vence todo.” It’s one of her sayings: Love conquers all.
“Not yet, Tía Lola,” Miguel whispers. She should save her sayings for later. This officer is not the person Tía Lola has to impress.
But Tía Lola’s smile is so radiant, the gruff-looking man smiles back. “Watch your step,” he cautions, and opens the door for her!
Inside, Carmen is so happy to see them, she gives them all hugs, even though she and Mami usually just shake hands. When they are done with their greetings, a tall brown-skinned man steps forward. His hair is black and disheveled, his glasses small and round. He looks more like an absentminded professor than a sharp New York City lawyer. “Ay, perdóname,” Carmen apologizes. She introduces her lawyer friend, whose specialty is immigration law: Víctor Espada. That is a lucky omen, Miguel can’t help thinking: a lawyer whose name means “victory sword.”
“Hola, mucho gusto,” he greets them in perfect Spanish. It turns out that Víctor’s ancestors came from Mexico a long time ago. “Actually, they didn’t come here as much as the United States came to them in 1848.” Miguel remembers learning about the Mexican-American War in history class, how a whole chunk of the Southwest was handed over by Mexico when the United States won the war.
After the introductions, Mami explains about the oracle idea her brilliant son came up with. “Sounds like a plan,” Víctor says, giving Miguel a man-to-man nod. It’s enough of a compliment without being all gushy, which Miguel appreciates.
“What do you say we bring in a few of the town’s prominent citizens to speak up for Tía Lola?” Víctor looks over at Miguel like they are planning this case together. That is how Mrs. Stevens and Rudy and Colonel Charlebois, dressed in his old army uniform, are allowed inside the building.
Once their party is all assembled, the switchboard person calls for a Homeland Security officer to come escort them to the hearing room, where Judge Reginald Laliberte is waiting for them.
“Reginald Laliberte?” Colonel Charlebois recognizes the name. “Why, I shipped out to Korea with his father. Got shot down. Left the family fatherless. Mother died soon thereafter. Heard the six kids were farmed out to relatives, a couple to a home. Last I heard, some did well, some ended up behind bars. I guess we’re about to see one of the ones who did okay. Reggie’s son—who would have thought!”
Miguel isn’t sure if this is good news or bad news. Sounds like this judge has had a tough life, and sometimes that can make a person be tough on everyone else. But it’s too late to request an alternate.
They file down the hall quietly, overtaken by the somber air of the place. The walls are bare, except for a few posters with warnings (no smoking, no firearms, no pho
tographs)—nothing cheerful like kittens playing with balls of yarn or photographs of pretty scenes in Vermont. Only Tía Lola seems relaxed, smiling eagerly, as if she’s about to enter a party rather than a room where her fate will soon be decided.
“Aren’t you nervous, Tía Lola?” Miguel whispers just before they go in.
“A mal tiempo, buena cara,” she replies, flashing him an extra bright smile. In bad times, put on a good face. And that’s exactly what she does when she stands before the judge, who sits behind a big desk on a raised platform. He is an older man, gray-haired but with eyebrows that have not aged: they are an astonishing jet-black. This gives him a stern look, as if he is permanently scowling.
“Good morning,” he says, not unkindly. “Looks like spring has finally arrived.” Miguel knows the gray-haired man is talking about the sunny day outside the window. But he can’t help thinking that perhaps the judge is also paying a compliment to Tía Lola’s colorful flowered dress, now in full display as she removes her coat.
“Una golondrina no hace el verano,” Tía Lola reminds him. “We’ll have to wait and see if spring is here!”
Víctor translates the saying.
“Very wisely put,” the judge says, making a note on his pad. “One swallow does not make a summer,” he murmurs, chuckling to himself.
“It doesn’t make a summer, but it’s a start,” Tía Lola adds, winking at the judge when he looks up from his notepad.
Mami is the first witness. The judge wants to know the whole story of why Tía Lola came up from the Dominican Republic. As Mami talks, he listens, head bowed, so he looks like he’s praying. Every once in a while, he glances up, as if verifying with a probing glance the truth of some remark.
Mami begins by explaining how Tía Lola took care of her as a little girl after her mami and papi died. (The judge looks up. Maybe he’s thinking about the deaths of his own parents?) How Mami got the opportunity to come to the States to study; how she met her husband, also an immigrant; how they married, had two kids, separated, divorced. (Mami hurries through this part.) How she took a job in Vermont. How she needed another family member in the household to help with her kids when they came home from school. How Tía Lola came to visit and then decided to stay. How her visa was for sixteen months and is now about to expire. How they went to a lawyer and paid him a lot of money to help get Tía Lola a residency card so she could stay with the family, but he must not have done anything because Tía Lola just got a notice that she has to leave.
How Tia Lola Learned to Teach Page 8