Please make me ashamed, Oh God.
Friday evening, January 8
R. dropped in for a visit today and stayed and stayed. I knew he was waiting for Mama to leave us alone. Sure enough, Mama finally stood up, hinting that it was time for people to be thinking about supper, but R. hung on. Mama left, and R. lit into me. What was this about B. kissing me? I was so mad at B. for telling on us after he promised he wouldn’t. I told R. that if I never saw his face or his silly brother’s again, it was perfecto with me!
Sunday afternoon, January 10
Minerva just got back with a very special secret.
First, I told her my secret about B. and she laughed and said how far ahead of her I am. She says she has not been kissed for years! I guess there are some bad parts to being somebody everybody respects.
Well, maybe she has more than a kiss coming soon. She met somebody VERY special in Jarabacoa. It turns out, this special person is also studying law in the capital, although he’s two years ahead of her. And here’s something else he doesn’t even know yet. Minerva is five years older than he is. She figured it out from something he said, but she says that he’s so mature at twenty-three, you wouldn’t know it. The only thing, Minerva adds, real breezy and smart the way she can be so cool, is the poor man’s already engaged to somebody else.
“Two-timer!” I still hurt so much about Papá. “He can’t be a very nice man,” I tell Minerva. “Give him up!”
But Minerva’s already defending this gallant she just met. She says it’s better he look around now before he takes the plunge.
I guess she’s right. I know I’m taking a very good look around before I close my eyes and fall in true love.
Thursday, January 14
Minerva is up to her old tricks again. She wraps a towel around the radio and lies under the bed listening to illegal stations.
Today she was down there for hours. There was a broadcast of a speech by this man Fidel, who is trying to overturn their dictator over in Cuba. Minerva has big parts memorized. Now, instead of her poetry, she’s always reciting, Condemn me, it does not matter. History will absolve me!
I am so hoping that now that Minerva has found a special someone, she’ll settle down. I mean, I agree with her ideas and everything. I think people should be kind to each other and share what they have. But never in a million years would I take up a gun and force people to give up being mean.
Minerva calls me her little petit bourgeois. I don’t even ask her what that means because she’ll get on me again about not continuing with my French. I decided to take English instead—as we are closer to the U.S.A. than France.
Hello, my name is Mary Mirabal. I speak a little English. Thank you very much.
Sunday afternoon, January 17
Minerva just left for the capital to go back to school. Usually I’m the one who. cries when people leave, but this time, everyone was weepy. Even Minerva’s eyes filled up. I guess we’re all still grieving over Papa, and any little sadness brings up that bigger one.
Dedé and Jaimito are staying the night with Jaime Enrique and Baby Jaime Rafael. (Jaimito always brands his boys with his own first name.) Tomorrow we’ll head back to San Francisco. It’s all settled. I’m going to be a day student and live with Dede and Jaimito during the week, then come home weekends to keep Mama company.
I’m so relieved. After we got in trouble with the government and Papa started losing money, a lot of those nose-in-the-air girls treated me awfully. I cried myself to sleep in my dormitory cot every night, and of course, that only made my asthma worse.
This arrangement also helps Dede and Jaimito, too, as Mama is paying them for my boarding. Talk about money troubles! Those two have had back luck twice already, what with that ice cream business, now with the restaurant. Even so, Dedé makes the best of it. Miss Sonrisa, all right.
Saturday night, February 6
Home for the weekend
I’ve spent all day getting everything ready. Next Sunday, the day of lovers, Minerva comes to visit and she’s bringing her special someone she met in Jarabacoa!!!
Manolo wants to meet you, Minerva wrote us, and then added, For your eyes only: You’ll be pleased to know he broke off his engagement. Since I’m the one who reads all our mail to Mama, I can leave out whatever Minerva marks in the margin with a big EYE.
I’m probably messing up our whole privacy system because I’m teaching Mamá to read. I’ve been after her for years, but she’d say, “I just don’t have a head for letters.” I think what convinced her is Papá’s dying and me being away at school and the business losing money and Mamá having to mind the store pretty much by herself. There was talk at the dinner table of Dedé and Jaimito moving back out here and running things for Mamá. Dedé joked that they’ve got a lot of experience with ailing businesses. Jaimito, I could tell, didn’t think she was one bit funny.
There’s going to be a scene when we get back to San Fran.
Sunday morning, February 14
We’re expecting Minerva and Manolo any minute. The way I can’t sit still, Mamá says, you’d think it was my own beau coming!
Dinner is all in my hands. Mama says it’s good practice for when I have my own house. But she’s begged me to stop running everything by her as she’s losing her appetite from eating so many imaginary dinners in her head.
So here’s my final menu:
(Bear in mind today is the Day of Lovers and so red is my theme.)
Salad of tomatoes and pimientos with hibiscus garnish
Pollo a la criolla (lots of tomato paste in my San Valentin version)
Moors and Christians rice—heavy on the beans for the red-brown color
Carrots—I’m going to shape the rings into little hearts
Arroz con leche
—because you know how the song goes—
Arroz con leche
wants to marry
a clever girl
from the capital
who sews who dams
who puts back her needle
where it belongs!
Night
Manolo just loved my cooking! That man ate seconds and thirds, stopping only long enough to say how delicious everything was. Mama kept winking at me.
His other good qualities, let’s see. He is tall and very handsome and so romantic. He kept hold of Minerva’s hand under the table all through the meal.
As soon as they left for the capital, Dedé and Mama and Patria started in making bets about when the wedding would be. “We’ll have it here,” Dedé said. Ay, si, it’s final, Dedé and Jaimito are going to move back to Ojo de Agua. Mama’s told them they can have this house as she wants to build a more convenient “modern” one on the main road. That way she won’t be so isolated when all her little chickens have flown. “Just my baby left now,” she says, smiling at me.
Oh, diary, how I hate when she forgets I’m already eighteen.
Monday night, February 15
Back in San Fran
I keep hoping that someone special will come into my life soon. Someone who can ravish my heart with the flames of love. (Gems of Mate Mirabal!)
I try to put together the perfect man from all the boys I know. It’s sort of like making a menu: Manolo’s dimples
Raúl’s fairytale-blue eyes
Berto’s curly hair & smile
Erasmo’s beautiful hands
Federico’s broad shoulders
Carlos’s nice fundillos (Yes, we girls notice them, too!)
And then, that mystery something that will make the whole—as we learned in Mathematics—more than the sum of these very fine parts.
Monday night, March 1
San Fran
As you well know, diary, I have ignored you totally. I hope this will not develop into a bad habit. But I have not been in a very confiding mood.
The night after Manolo came to dinner, I had the same bad dream about Papá. Except when I pulled out all the pieces of wedding dress, Papá’s face shifted
, and it wasn’t Papá anymore, but Manolo!
That started me worrying about Manolo. How he went after Minerva while he was still engaged. Now he’s this wonderful, warm, loving man, I say to myself, but will that change with time?
I guess I’ve fallen into suspicion which Padre Ignacio says is as bad as falling into temptation. I went to see him about my ill feelings towards Papá. “You must not see every man as a potential serpent,” he warned me.
And I don’t really think I do. I mean, I like men. I want to marry one of them.
Graduation Day!!! July 3
Diary, I know you have probably thought me dead all these months. But you must believe me, I have been too busy for words. In fact, I have to finish writing down Tía’s recipe on a card so I can start in on my thank-you notes. I must get them out soon or I shall lose that proper glow of appreciation one feels right after receiving gifts one does not need or even like all that much.
Tía Flor’s made a To Die Dreaming Cake for my graduation party. (It’s her own special recipe inspired by the drink.) She hauled me into my bedroom to have me write it down, so she said. I had praised it over and over, in word and—I’m afraid—in deed. Ay, sí, two pieces, and then some. My hips, my hips! Maybe I should rechristen this To Die Fat Cake?!
In the middle of telling me about beating the batter until it’s real foamy (make it look and feel like soap bubbles, she told me) suddenly, straight out, she says, We’ve got some talking to do, young lady.
Sure, Tia, I say in a little voice. Tía is kind of big and imposing and her thick black eyebrows have scared me since childhood. (I used to call them her mustaches!)
She says Berto and Raúl aren’t like brothers anymore, fighting all the time. She wants me to decide which one I want, then let the other one go eat tamarinds. So, she says, which one is it going to be?
Neither one, I blurt out because suddenly I see that what I’m headed for with either one is this mother-in-law
Neither one! She sits down on the edge of my bed. Neither one? What? Are you too good for my boys?
Wednesday afternoon, July 7
Thank-yous not yet written:
Dede and Jaimito—my favorite perfume (Matador’s Delight). Also, an I.O.U. for the new Luis Alberti record when we next go to the capital.
Minerva—a poetry book by someone named Gabriela Mistral (?) and a pretty gold ring with an opal, my birthstone, set inside four cornerstone pearls. We have to get the size fixed in the capital. Here’s a drawing of it:
Manolo—an ivory frame for my graduation picture. “And for your final beau when the time comes!” He winks. I’m liking him a lot more again.
Tio Pepe and Tia Flor, Raúl, Berto—the cutest little vanity table with a skirt the same fabric as my bedspread. Tío made the vanity & Tía sewed the skirt for it. Maybe she’s not so bad, after all! As for Raúl, he offered me his class ring & wanted us to be novios. Soon after, Berto cornered me in the garden with his “Magnet Lips.” I told them both I wanted them as friends, and they both said they understood—it was too soon after Papá’s death. (What I didn’t tell either of them was that I met this young lawyer who did my inheritance transfer this Friday, Justo Gutierrez. He’s so kind and has the nicest way of saying, Sign here.)
Patria and Pedrito—a music box from Spain that plays four tunes. The Battle Cry of Freedom, My Little Sky, There Is Nothing Like a Mother, and another I can’t pronounce—it’s foreign. Also a St. Christopher’s for my travels.
Tío Tilo and Tía Eufemia, María, Milagros, Marina—seashell earrings and bracelet set I would never wear in a thousand years! I wonder if Tía Eufemia is trying to jinx me so her three old maid daughters stand a better chance? Everyone knows seashells keep a girl single, everyone except Tía Eufemia, I guess.
Mamá—a monogrammed suitcase from El Gallo for taking to the capital. It’s settled. I’m going to the university in the fall with Minerva. Mama also gave me her old locket with Papá’s picture inside. I haven’t opened it once. It spooks me on account of my dream. She has transferred my inheritance to my name. $10,000!!! I’m saving it for my future, and of course, clothes & more clothes.
Even Fela gave me a gift. A sachet of magic powders to ward off the evil eye when I go to the capital. I asked if this also worked as a love potion. Tono heard me and said, “Somebody has a man in her life.” Then Fela, who delivered me and knows me in and out, burst out laughing and said, “A man?! This one’s got a whole cemetery of them in her heart! More heartbroken men buried in there than—”
They’ve both grown careful since we found out about the yardboy Prieto. Yes, our trusted Prieto has been reporting everything he hears in the Mirabal household down at Security for a bottle of rum and a couple of pesos. Tio Chiche came and told us. Of course, we can’t fire him or that would look like we have something to hide. But he’s been promoted, so we told him, from the yard to the hogpen. Now he hasn’t much to report except oink, oink, oink all day.
Friday night, full moon, July 9
Justo María Gutiérrez
Don Justo Gutiérrez and Doña Maria Teresa Mirabal de Gutiérrez
Mate & Justico, forever!!!
Saturday night, September 18
Tomorrow we leave for the capital.
I’m debating, diary, whether to take you along. As you can see, I haven’t been very good about writing regularly. I guess Mama’s right, I am awfully moody about everything I do.
But there will be so many new sights and experiences and it will be good to have a record. But then again, I might be too busy with classes and what if I don’t find a good hiding place & you fall into the wrong hands?
Oh diary dear, I have been so indecisive about everything all week! Yes, no, yes, no. I’ve asked everyone’s opinion about half a dozen things. Should I take my red heels if I don’t yet have a matching purse? How about my navy blue scalloped-neck dress that is a little tight under the arms? Are five baby dolls and nightgowns enough, as I like a fresh one every night?
One thing I was decisive about.
Justo was kind and said he understood. I probably needed time to get over my father’s death. I just kept quiet. Why is it that every man I can’t love seems to feel I would if Papa hadn’t died?
Monday afternoon, September 27
The capital
What a huge, exciting place! Every day I go out, my mouth drops open like the campesino in the joke. So many big elegant houses with high walls and guardias and cars and people dressed up in the latest styles I’ve seen in Vanidades.
It’s a hard city to keep straight, though, so I don’t go out much unless Minerva or one of her friends is with me. All the streets are named after Trujillo’s family, so it’s kind of confusing. Minerva told me this joke about how to get to Parque Julia Molina from Carretera El Jefe. “You take the road of El Jefe across the bridge of his youngest son to the street of his oldest boy, then turn left at the avenue of his wife, walk until you reach the park of his mother and you’re there.”
Every morning, first thing, we turn to El Foro Público. It’s this gossip column in the paper signed by Lorenzo Ocumares, a phony name if I ever heard one. The column’s really written over at the National Palace and it’s meant to “serve notice” to anyone who has been treading on the tail of the rabid dog, as we say back home. Minerva says everyone in the whole capital turns to it before the news. It’s gotten so that I just close my eyes while she reads me the column, dreading the mention of our name. But ever since Minerva’s speech and Mama’s letter (and my shoe spell) we haven’t had any trouble with the regime.
Which reminds me. I must find you a better hiding place, diary. It’s not safe carrying you around in my pocketbook on the street of his mother or the avenue of his little boy.
Sunday night, October 3
We marched today before the start of classes. Our cédulas are stamped when we come back through the gates. Without those stamped cédulas, we can’t enroll. We also have to sign a pledge of loyalty
; There were hundreds of us, the women all together, in white dresses like we were his brides, with white gloves and any kind of hat we wanted. We had to raise our right arms in a salute as we passed by the review stand.
It looked like the newsreels of Hitler and the Italian one with the name that sounds like fettuccine.
Tuesday evening, October 12
As I predicted, there is not much time to write in your pages, diary. I am always busy. Also, for the first time in ages, Minerva and I are roommates again at Doña Chelito’s where we board. So the temptation is always to talk things over with her. But sometimes she won’t do at all—like right now when she is pushing me to stay with my original choice of law.
I know I used to say I wanted to be a lawyer like Minerva, but the truth is I always burst out crying if anyone starts arguing with me.
Minerva insists, though, that I give law a chance. So I’ve been tagging along to her classes all week. I’m sure I’ll die either of boredom or my brain being tied up in knots! In her Practical Forensics class, she and the teacher, this little owl-like man, Doctor Balaguer, get into the longest discussions. All the other students keep yawning and raising their eyebrows at each other. I can’t follow them myself. Today it was about whether—in the case of homicide—the corpus delicti is the knife or the dead man whose death is the actual proof of the crime. I felt like shouting, Who cares?!!!
Afterwards, Minerva asked me what I thought. I told her that I’m signing up for Philosophy and Letters tomorrow, which according to her is what girls who are planning to marry always sign up for. But she’s not angry at me. She says I gave it a chance and that’s what matters.
In the Time of Butterflies Page 14