Lucky Broken Girl

by Ruth Behar

  “You’re nuts, Roofie.” He makes the crazy sign with his finger.

  “No, I’m not! I’m happy! Happy, happy, happy!”

  “Come have breakfast!” Mami calls from the kitchen.

  Papi has already left for work. On Saturdays, he has a second job fumigating apartments in Spanish Harlem.

  Izzie and I eat our eggs and toast quickly, so we can run outside and play.

  I put the dirty dishes in the sink and Mami stops me as I grab my chalk.

  “Izzie can go play. But I need you to do the grocery shopping with me.”

  “But why do I have to help and not Izzie?”

  “Because you’re older. And you’re a girl. That’s why. Now take off those boots. They cost a lot of money. You can’t be wearing them every day.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “Do as I say. Please, Ruti.”

  Mami looks at me with her sad eyes and I give in. I place my go-go boots in their box and put on my old sneakers.

  It’s a sunny day, so we walk all the way down the hill to Queens Boulevard instead of taking the bus. I drag the shopping cart behind me, slowing my pace so I can walk along with Mami, who is wearing her high heels. There are lots of cracks in the sidewalks and she has to be careful not to trip in her high heels. But Mami always wears heels. She says she’s so short she doesn’t want the entire world looking down at her.

  I leap over the cracks, pretending I’m playing hopscotch. I sing the tune the kids in my class taught me:

  Step on a crack,

  Break your mother’s back.

  I look over at Mami, thankful she doesn’t know enough English to understand.

  At Dan’s Supermarket, Mami asks me to translate into Spanish the labels of everything she sees for sale on the shelves. What’s the difference between regular milk and skim milk? What’s a Salisbury steak? How do you cook a TV dinner? Why don’t they have coconut ice cream?

  Finally we bring all our groceries to the checkout lane. The cashier is a bald man with yellow eyes who stares at Mami as if she’s for sale too.

  “I see you got Cap’n Crunch, little lady. Good choice! It’s my favorite cereal,” he says.

  Mami can’t understand what the man is saying. She turns to me to translate for her.

  “Dice que es un cereal muy bueno,” I explain to Mami.

  The man licks his lips. “You are mucho bonita, missus.”

  I see Mami’s hands are shaking. She looks frightened, like she wants to run away. I reach into her wallet and hand the money to the man.

  “Ya, Mami, vamos,” I say.

  I grab hold of Mami’s hand as if she were a little girl lost in the woods. With the other hand, I grab hold of the shopping cart and push it out the door as quickly as I can.

  When we get home, I help Mami clean and then we take the sheets and towels and clothes to wash and dry in the machines in the basement. It’s dark and creepy down there, like a dungeon. We’re both a little afraid as we sit and wait on a bench in front of the machines. Mami says we can’t go upstairs and come back when it’s all done because our things might get stolen.

  “Why would anyone want to steal our old stuff?” I ask.

  Mami replies, “There are people even more poor than us.”

  It’s four o’clock in the afternoon when we finish.

  “Now can I go out and play, Mami?”

  “Just for a little while. Papi will be home soon. You know he gets home early on Saturdays.”

  I run down with my chalk and draw a long hopscotch board, adding flowers to the corners again. No one else is outside, so I play a few rounds by myself.

  Danielle must see me from her window across the street, and Ava and June must just have a feeling I’m outside, because a few minutes later the three of them show up.

  We play a few rounds and I win them all.

  Danielle is wearing her black go-go boots again.

  “Guess what?” I announce proudly. “My father just got me go-go boots too!”

  “So why aren’t you wearing them?” Danielle replies.

  Ava says, “Yeah, why not?”

  June chimes in, “If I had go-go boots, I’d never take them off.”

  “I don’t want them to get dirty.”

  Ava and June burst out laughing. Ava says, “But remember what the song says?” She sings, “‘These boots are made for walkin’,’” and June joins in, “‘And that’s just what they’ll do.’”

  “Shut your mouths!” I yell. “You think I don’t know the song? The boots cost a lot of money. I have to take care of them.”

  Danielle nods her head as if she understands. “Ruthie, will you wear the boots to school on Monday? We can both wear our boots! Won’t that be fun?”

  “Sure!” I tell her, hoping my mother will let me wear them to school.

  “Très magnifique!” Danielle says in her high-pitched voice.

  We play another round of hopscotch. But I’ve decided Ava and June are not really my friends. Only Danielle is my friend.

  It’s my turn and I am about to throw my stone down on the hopscotch board, but then I look up and see a sky-blue car with long white fins pull up to the curb. A man with dark hair and a dark mustache steps out and walks toward me . . . Wait, it’s Papi! But how can it be Papi?

  “Papi, whose car is that?”

  “It’s ours, Ruti! I just bought it.”

  “Wow, Papi, that’s great!”

  “It’s an Oldsmobile. The car I used to dream about in Cuba.”

  I give Papi a kiss and a hug, the way he likes. Danielle, Ava, and June stare at us. Maybe they’re jealous. No one has such a fancy car in our neighborhood.

  “Can we go for a ride? Please, Papi!”

  “Later,” Papi says. “Let’s go surprise your mother first.”

  “Mami will be happy we have a car! Now we can go anyplace we want!”

  “I hope she’ll be happy.” Papi sighs. “I never know with your mother.” He takes my hand. “Bueno, vamos.”

  “Bye, Danielle. Bye, Ava. Bye, June. See you later!”

  The moment the elevator opens on the sixth floor, I rush out and ring the doorbell, excited to tell Mami the news. But Mami doesn’t come to the door right away, so Papi lets us in with his key.

  “Mami? Mami? Where are you?”

  Mami is still at the window, where she often sits, watching the world go by. Now there’s worry in her voice as she says, “Don’t tell me, Alberto. You didn’t buy that car, did you?”

  Papi smiles from ear to ear like a little boy. “I did! It’s such a beauty and I always wanted a blue Oldsmobile when we lived in Cuba. Now we’re in America and I have one.”

  “Ay, Alberto, but we don’t have money for a car.”

  Papi smooths his curly hair with his hands and tries not to raise his voice. “I took out a loan. Stop worrying. We’ll pay it back poco a poco.”

  Poco a poco. Little by little—that’s one of Papi’s favorite expressions.

  “We don’t need a car,” Mami moans. “Let’s wait a year or two.”

  Papi makes a fist with his right hand and punches his left palm. And he shouts, “I’m breaking my back taking the subway every day! Working all week in a dingy office that has no windows and is the size of a jail cell where they treat me like I’m nobody! On top of that I spend Saturday fumigating apartments. Everything I do is to support you and the children. So don’t you tell me I can’t have a car!”

  “I’m sorry, Alberto,” Mami whispers back.

  I feel scared for Mami. She’s wearing the flip-flops she uses only in the house when she’s very tired. Without her heels, she looks smaller than small. I take hold of her hand, not much bigger than mine. We sink into a corner of the Castro convertible sofa.

  Papi turns his back on us and walks
away. He goes into the bathroom and slams the door. Mami tightens her grip on my hand. Will he remain angry for hours? We hear Papi turn on the shower. We wait, holding our breaths. After a few minutes, he starts humming tunes in Spanish.

  “Cha-cha-cha, qué rico cha-cha-cha.”

  Mami and I smile at each other, relieved.

  “Ay, qué bueno,” she says.

  Papi returns to the living room in the fresh clothes Mami set out for him. He smells like he spilled the whole bottle of Old Spice on his cheeks. He smiles at Mami, sits down, and takes her other hand. In a gentle voice, he says, “Rebequita, don’t worry, we’ll manage. Have a little faith in me. I’ll take a third job if we need more money. It was my big dream to have a car. I couldn’t have it in Cuba, but I can have it in America. You don’t want to rob me of that. Rob me of my dream?”

  “Alberto, I want you to be happy.”

  “I want you to be happy too, Rebequita. Let’s try to be happy, mi amor.”

  Papi takes Mami into his arms. They kiss and hug. But even as he’s holding Mami tight, Papi doesn’t let go of the car keys in his right hand.

  We hear the doorbell ringing, ringing, ringing. Izzie rushes in, red-faced, sweaty, in muddy clothes.

  “Papi, all the kids say so, but I don’t believe them. Is that Oldsmobile really ours?”

  Smiling, Papi replies, “Sí, niño, it’s our car.”

  “When can we go for a ride, Papi? Please, Papi, can we go now?”

  Izzie dances in circles around Papi like a wind-up toy.

  Finally Papi says, “I’ve had a long day at work. But tomorrow we go for a ride. You’ll see, children, this is the land of opportunity and poco a poco all our dreams will come true. Now I have to rest. Who’s going to get me my slippers?”

  Papi’s blue Oldsmobile

  On Sunday, Mami and Papi sleep late. They stay tucked under the sheets on the Castro convertible, in no rush to do anything, giggling with each other. Even after she gets up and takes a shower, Mami doesn’t rush to fold up the bed and turn it back into a sofa.

  While Papi sings his cha-cha-cha song in the shower, Mami asks me to translate the pancake recipe that’s printed on the Aunt Jemima box. She lets me break the eggs into the mix and we make a nice stack of pancakes. I tell Mami we’re supposed to have the pancakes with maple syrup, but we don’t have maple syrup, so we sprinkle sugar on them and they taste good.

  After I help Mami clean up all the breakfast dishes, she gives me a hug and says, “Gracias, Ruti.”

  Then it’s time to get ready for our first big trip in our sky-blue Oldsmobile. We’re going to Staten Island! Gladys and Oscar, who are Mami and Papi’s friends from Cuba, live there and they have a baby girl named Rosa. Papi says it will be a breeze to get to Staten Island in our car. Otherwise, we’d have to take two subways from Queens to Manhattan and then the ferry.

  I wait with Papi and Izzie in the living room. The bed is a sofa again. The three of us sit there while Mami styles her hair and puts on her makeup in the bathroom.

  After a while, Papi grows impatient. He yells, “¡Vamos! ¡Rápido!”

  “¡Un momento!” Mami yells back.

  Finally Mami appears. She looks like a movie star! She’s wearing a yellow dress with a matching yellow jacket. Her beige high heels match her beige purse. She has round black sunglasses and a thin scarf tied at her neck to keep her hair tidy.

  We pile into the Oldsmobile. Mami sits in the front with Papi. I sit in the back with Izzie. And we have to make room for Baba. We try to get Zeide to come, but he wants to stay home. “I’m tired from working six days a week at Super Discount Fabric. I need to rest,” he says.

  Zeide and Baba had a fabric store in Cuba, but Fidel Castro took it away when he decided everything should be owned by the government. They miss their store in Cuba. It was small but it was theirs. Now they both work at Super Discount Fabric on Roosevelt Avenue, a street crowded with immigrants like us looking for cheap things. Baba is so busy she wears her scissors on a chain around her neck to always have them ready. She complains about the headaches she gets working there. The store is under the Number 7 train and rattles like a maraca.

  Baba loves our new car. “It rides so smoothly,” she says. “I feel like I’m floating in the ocean.” She squeezes my hand with both of hers, which are rough from cutting calico and canvas all day.

  Papi drives very slowly on the highway. The other cars whip past us. He laughs as they go by. “Let them go as fast as they want. They don’t bother me and I don’t bother them. This is America, a free country, no?”

  Next to me, Izzie plays with his toy Cadillac. “Zoom, zoom, zoom,” he says, as his feet press against the back of Papi’s seat.

  “Stop it, Izzie!” Papi shouts.

  Izzie settles down and whispers in my ear, “It’s dumb to drive for an hour just to see a baby sleeping in a crib.”

  “Babies are cute,” I tell him. “And cuddly.”

  “No, they’re not. They cry a lot. And poop their pants.”

  But baby Rosa is smiling when we arrive. She’s only six months old and already can sit up. She has tiny gold balls in her pierced ears and a gold bracelet that says “Rosa” wrapped around her pudgy wrist. Her eyes are two dark moons and when she stares at you she looks like she can see through you.

  Gladys says if I sit very still on the sofa, she’ll let me hold baby Rosa. In my arms she feels fuzzy and soft and smells like the pancakes that Mami and I made for breakfast. Even Izzie thinks she’s sweet and he makes funny faces to make Rosa smile.

  Mami glances around at the gleaming wood furniture and at the ceiling lamp that has big teardrop crystals dangling from it. She looks down at the white shag wool rug and tells Gladys, “Tienes una casa muy bonita.” A very pretty house.

  “We’re happy here. Oscar got a good job in engineering, which he loves, and he’s earning more than he did in Cuba,” Gladys replies, stroking the gleaming diamond ring on her finger. “Of course you’re welcome to visit us anytime.” She smiles and pats Mami’s hand. “Mi casa es su casa.”

  “If only we lived a little closer.” Mami sighs.

  “I know, Rebequita,” Gladys moans. “In Havana, if I needed a cup of sugar, all I had to do was knock on your door.”

  “At least we have a car now. But I can’t drive. I doubt I ever will. The highways here make me nervous. I’ll always have to depend on Alberto.”

  “Ladies, let’s not be sad. What can I offer you to drink?” Oscar says, throwing an arm around Papi’s shoulder. “What do you say we have a drink and celebrate our being together again?”

  Oscar fills the glasses with rum and Coca-Cola and passes them to Mami and Papi and Gladys. “And you too, Señora Ester?” he asks Baba, winking at her. “Or do you prefer just the Coca-Cola?”

  “I’m not a little girl anymore and I’m not an old lady yet,” Baba replies.

  Oscar claps his hands, fills her glass, and says, “¡Qué bueno! That’s the spirit! Let’s toast to a free Cuba! ¡Una Cuba libre!”

  He turns to Izzie and me. “And for you, niños, how about apple juice?”

  We’re both disappointed. Izzie asks, “Mami, could we have Coca-Cola?”

  She shakes her head. “No, you can’t. You’ll both get so wild you’ll be doing the mambo.”

  “Give them each a Coca-Cola,” Papi orders. “It’s a special occasion and one soda won’t do them any harm.”

  “Gracias, Papi,” Izzie says.

  Papi nods with a stern gaze. “But behave. Don’t spill it.”

  I pass baby Rosa back to Gladys and get comfortable on the sofa. I sip from the tall glass of Coca-Cola, crossing my legs to show off my go-go boots, wishing we lived in such a nice house.

  “What pretty boots you have, Ruti!” Gladys says.

  “Muchas gracias,” I respond politely.

 
Mami starts laughing. “She likes those boots so much she wants to wear them to sleep. Can you imagine?”

  “Well, they’re very stylish,” Gladys says. “Isn’t there a song they’re singing now about boots? I heard it on the radio the other day.”

  “I know it by heart! Is it okay if I sing?” I ask.

  “Of course, mi niña. Sing it for us,” Gladys replies.

  I stand up and sing at the top of my lungs:

  These boots are made for walkin’

  And that’s just what they’ll do . . .

  I do my imitation of the dance routine from TV and finish with the finale:

  Are you ready, boots?

  Start walkin’!

  Everyone claps, even poor Izzie, who’s jealous and was pretending to be playing with his toy Cadillac the whole time I was singing.

  I sit back down next to baby Rosa, who has started to fidget in her mother’s arms. I notice a smell that’s not so nice.

  “Did baby Rosa just poop?” I ask.

  “Ruti, what a sharp nose you have,” Gladys says. “You noticed before I did that it’s time to change her diaper.”

  After baby Rosa gets a fresh diaper, she falls asleep and Gladys takes Mami, Baba, and me to her room so we can see how pretty it is. Flying birds are painted on the walls and her crib is white, her canopy is white, and her blanket is white with ruffles along the edges. It’s a bedroom fit for a baby girl who’ll grow up to be a princess.

  Gladys serves dinner in the dining room. We sit on chairs with red velvet seats and eat meat loaf with an egg cooked into the middle, chicken croquettes, black beans and white rice, fried plantains, and a salad with avocados. For dessert we each get a bowl of grated coconut in really thick syrup.

  “Delicioso,” Mami and Papi say.

  Oscar turns to Papi. “I have a couple of cigars left, from Cuba. Want one, Alberto?”

  “Sí, claro,” Papi says, beaming.

  While the grown-ups sit at the table, telling jokes and laughing, I go back to the baby’s room to spy on Rosa, listening to her breathe and let out little sighs as she dreams.