Mofongo

by Cecilia Samartin

  “We didn’t drink wine in Puerto Rico, mostly beer and rum, but I acquired a taste for it in later life,” she explained demurely. “A little bit won’t do us any harm.”

  “No harm at all,” Charlie agreed, his eyes glittering.

  Lola said a brief prayer in Spanish over the meal, something Sebastian had never observed her do before. “Señor te damos gracias, y te rogamos que bendigas estos alimentos.” “Lord we thank you, and we ask you to bless this food.” Then she took up her fork, inviting the others to do the same. Sebastian admired the dish before tasting it. Interspersed throughout the fluffy rice was an assortment of vegetables, tender meat, and bits that looked like tiny rice cakes, lightly toasted to a golden brown. He realized that this was the pegao Lola had spoken so passionately about, and he planned to taste this first. He inhaled the savory aromas that had blended together to create something that he knew would be delicious. Sebastian hadn’t had his first bite, and already he was thinking about his next helping.

  Charlie eagerly assembled a mouthful on his fork. His eyes fluttered in ecstasy as he chewed and swallowed. He shook his head in wonderment and raised his glass. He said something eloquent about how delicious the meal was, and how delightful the company, but Sebastian wasn’t really listening. He was transfixed by the expression in Charlie’s eyes. He looked as though he’d just witnessed a miracle, and suddenly understood the purpose of his life, and from what Sebastian could tell, it was for this moment, for the opportunity to gaze into his grandmother’s eyes and say, “Lola, you’re an amazing woman.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was almost a week since Sebastian had last seen his father. Sitting across the table from him at the hamburger restaurant, he tried his best to find that sense of peace that lived in the calm blue realm of his eyes, but this time it eluded him. Even so, spending this time with his father made Sebastian realize how much he missed him, and that he could forgive him anything. He wanted to ask him when he was coming home, but decided against it. It was better not to ask questions that might result in painful answers, and he could tell by the way his father avoided looking at him directly, and by the nervous click of his spoon against the rim of his coffee cup, that he was in turmoil too. Even his half hearted attempts at humor, resulted in little more than a wince of a smile from either of them.

  Perhaps if Jennifer had been there, it would’ve been different, but ten minutes before their father was due to pick them up, she announced that she wouldn’t be going for dinner after all, and Gloria didn’t try to persuade her daughter to change her mind.

  Sebastian was waiting by the door when Jennifer left on her way to a friend’s house. “I thought you said that we were sticking together no matter what,” he said.

  Jennifer’s eyes flashed, surprised and annoyed that Sebastian had confronted her with her own words. She took a deep breath before responding. “Look little man, we are sticking together, but that doesn’t mean that we’re glued at the hip. Sometimes sticking together just means understanding each other.”

  “Why don’t you want to see Dad?” Sebastian asked.

  She pulled her sweatshirt over her head, and her answer was muffled. “Because I’m still really mad at him, and I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret later.”

  “What should I tell him? He’s expecting you to come too.”

  “Tell him the truth. I don’t care,” Jennifer replied sharply.

  But later when Sebastian climbed into his father’s jeep alone, he didn’t say anything about Jennifer’s anger. Instead, he told him that one of Jennifer’s friends had had an emergency. He thought he told a fairly good story that included plenty of details about how upset Jennifer’s friend was, and how considerate Jennifer was to help her and how much she liked this friend who had an emergency. Sebastian was surprised that his father didn’t ask what kind of emergency it was because if he had, Sebastian was prepared to tell him that her friend’s dog had been run over by a car. But his father was silent and thoughtful all the way to the restaurant. Even as they ordered and sat down at the table to eat he spoke very little.

  They’d been sitting at the table for several minutes when Dean said, “You’re not eating little man. Don’t you like your hamburger?”

  Sebastian nodded, picked up his bulky hamburger with both hands and took a big bite. He tasted mostly grease and salt, and he chewed for a long time before swallowing. He didn’t like it very much, but for some reason, eating as much of his hamburger as he could felt like an important thing to do.

  While they ate Sebastian watched the people waiting in line for their meals, how they studied the lighted menu board over their heads as though they were making the most important decision of their lives. Would it be chicken fingers? Fajita rolls, or a cheese burger? Would they have fries or onion rings? Would they eat it here or take it to go? Almost everybody chose to take their food to go. All except for an older unkempt looking man with dirty trousers, and a teenaged couple who stood together with their arms intertwined. Only people who had nowhere better to go would want to eat in a place with sticky tables, and dead flies scattered along the window sills.

  Dean finished his hamburger and wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to explain what happened, but I don’t know what to say,” he said. “I guess it’s because I don’t really understand it myself.”

  Sebastian set his half eaten hamburger down. “You need time and space to figure it out too?” he asked.

  Dean smiled sadly. “Is that what your mother said she needed?”

  Sebastian nodded.

  “And your sister too?”

  He gazed sorrowfully into his father’s eyes. He should’ve known better than to think he could fool him.

  “Well, I don’t blame her for being angry with me, and I’m glad that she’s supporting your mother right now. I think that’s…well, that’s how it should be.”

  “Daddy,” Sebastian said, grateful that his father had broken the ice because he needed to ask him a question that had been torturing him ever since he moved out. “Are you going to divorce Mom and marry Ms. Ashworth?”

  Dean’s eyes flew open, and it took him a moment to answer. “Absolutely not,” he replied. “I love your mother. I…I…don’t have those feelings for your teacher.”

  “Then why don’t you look at Mom the same way you look at Ms. Ashworth?”

  “I’m not…not sure what you mean,” he stammered.

  Sebastian leaned forward across the table, and lowered his voice. “The way you look at Ms. Ashworth, like your insides are melting, is the same way you look at Mom in that picture on Abuela Lola’s wall.”

  “Really?” Dean said, turning red.

  “Yes, but I’ve never seen you look at Mom that way in real life.”

  He chuckled nervously. “You’re quite the observer.”

  “Is it because Mom isn’t so pretty anymore?”

  “Well I wouldn’t say…”

  “Because let’s face it, Ms. Ashworth is pretty. She’s so pretty that I can’t stop looking at her sometimes. And she smells good too.”

  “A woman’s appearance shouldn’t be the most important thing, son. Anyway, when I met your mother, she was…well, believe it or not, she was even prettier than Ms. Ashworth. In fact, she was way past beautiful, but that isn’t the reason I fell in love with her.”

  “Then why did you?”

  Sebastian’s father leaned back in his chair, and his gaze wandered out past the dingy window. “Oh, she had a way about her, a smile that could turn me inside out. I loved how she laughed, and more than anything I loved to make her laugh. But people change, Sebastian, there’s no way around it. I’m sure I’ve change too.”

  Sebastian immediately thought about his grandmother’s recent transformation and couldn’t agree more.

  They left the restaurant, and went to the park down the street from the house. They sat on the swings while watching children of all ages playing on the grass
y field and the equipment, jumping, rolling, frolicking and shoving and bumping into one another, running with abandon until they fell to their knees panting and laughing, winded to the point of joyful exhaustion.

  “One day, I’m going to be the fastest runner in my class,” Sebastian said.

  “Are you now?”

  “Yes, after I have my operation.”

  Sebastian’s father furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about, Sebastian, what operation?”

  “Dr. Lim says that when I’m strong enough, he wants me to have another heart operation. After that, I’ll be able to run as fast as I want, and play soccer and make lots of goals.”

  Dean stopped swinging. “When did Dr. Lim say this?”

  “Last time I had a checkup. He says it almost every time I go, but Mom doesn’t like to hear it. She always tries to change the subject.”

  “I see,” he said. “And when do you see Dr. Lim again?”

  “I don’t know,” Sebastian replied, mesmerized by the children who were taking turns jumping over a tree stump. Some were able to clear it easily, while others had to scramble over the top like squirrels. “The black haired old lady at the hospital who was in the bed next to Abuela Lola told me that people who dance with death can see things that other people can’t see, and that it gives them courage.”

  “What black haired old lady was this?”

  “She never told me her name, but it was like she knew me Dad, and I wasn’t afraid of her after that.”

  Dean shook his head in bewilderment, and would’ve asked more about this black haired old lady, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what Sebastian had told him regarding another surgery. Gloria usually filled him in after Sebastian’s checkups, but she’d never mentioned a word about it.

  After they spent an hour or so at the park, they were driving back home when Sebastian asked, “Where are you staying now?”

  “With a friend who lives downtown. He has an extra room, and it’s not far from the office.”

  “Do you have plenty of blankets and food to eat?”

  “Yes I do, thanks for asking, Son.”

  When they pulled up the drive, they saw the curtain in the front window flutter. “Do you want to come in and talk with Mom?” Sebastian asked, concerned that she might’ve noticed him sitting in the front seat. She wouldn’t like that.

  “Not this time, little man. Maybe next time, but I’ll see you in a couple of days okay?”

  “Okay,” Sebastian said, but he hesitated getting out of the car. “Abuela Lola broke her promise and started cooking again. Mom and Uncle Mando and Aunt Gabi want to move her to a convalescent home, but she doesn’t want to go.”

  Dean sighed wearily. “I’m sorry, little man,” he said. “I know that must be very upsetting for her, and for you.”

  Sebastian sighed as well. “Yeah, but I think I’m more upset about it than Abuela Lola.”

  ***

  Gloria was folding laundry on the kitchen table when Sebastian entered. She gave him the once over. “You have ketchup on your chin,” she said, pointing to the spot.

  Sebastian wiped his chin with his sleeve. He wanted to tell her all about his outing with his father, but wasn’t sure if it would upset her to hear about it. At the moment, she was looking for some missing socks, and it was irritating her considerably.

  “I don’t know where they go,” she said, tossing a single sock into the basket. “There must be a sock eating monster lurking about this house. Maybe he comes out at night and gobbles up all the socks while we’re sleeping. I wouldn’t mind so much if he ate them in pairs and not one at a time the way he does.”

  Perhaps she wasn’t in such a foul mood after all. Sebastian sat at the table, studying her above the growing pile of folded laundry. He waited until she’d found one of the missing socks.

  “Dad’s staying with a friend. He says that it’s close to the office.”

  “Yes, I know,” she replied, not bothering to look up from her work, but neither did she turn away, leave the room or change the subject entirely.

  “He says that he doesn’t love Ms. Ashworth.”

  The laundry fell from her hands, and she was very still.

  Sebastian continued. “He says that you’re more beautiful than Ms. Ashworth.”

  Gloria began to shake her head, and the skin around her eyes and mouth tightened as though she was trying not to cry. “Sebastian, I don’t want you to get involved in this…this thing between your father and me. It isn’t your responsibility.”

  “I’m just telling you what he said,” he replied.

  “Did he tell you to tell me that?” she asked, looking down at him with sharp eyes, eager to confirm her suspicion.

  “No, we were just talking,” Sebastian returned nonchalantly.

  She resumed her folding, pressing down on the creases with unnecessary force, and muttering to herself.

  “What did you say, Mom? I didn’t hear you.”

  “I said that I know damn well I’m not more beautiful than Ms. Ashworth. Not that it matters. In fact, it doesn’t matter one God damned bit.”

  Sebastian stared wide eyed at his mother. Never had he heard her curse, and it scared him a little bit, but he also understood that she was speaking more earnestly than she ever had before. “I think you’re beautiful Mom,” he said. “Especially when you’re asleep because then you look just like the pictures on Abuela’s wall, and it’s like you never disappeared.”

  She gave him a puzzled look, and sat down at the table next to him. “Sebastian, even if I could look like those old pictures again, it wouldn’t automatically fix things between your father and me.”

  “Why not?”

  She shook her head, and sighed. “Because it’s much more complicated than that. When you get older, you’ll understand but for now …”

  “I know,” he said. “You need time and space to figure things out.”

  She nodded, and smiled. “That’s exactly right, little man.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lola began by combining chopped garlic, vinegar and adobo seasoning to make a marinade that she used to smother the chicken on all sides. While Sebastian chopped the additional garlic, onion and peppers, Lola sautéed the chicken pieces in corn oil, and then set them aside so they could drain on a paper towel. Sebastian then poured a good amount of olive oil into the same pan and started to sauté the vegetables until they were slightly brown. To this he added oregano, salt, black pepper and a can of tomato paste, stirring all the while with a wooden spoon as his grandmother looked on approvingly.

  When all the ingredients were well blended, Lola said, “I think we’re ready now,” and Sebastian jumped down from his stool and eagerly went to the refrigerator for a can of beer. He popped open the top and poured all of it into the pan. It was thrilling to see it foam up to the brim, and threaten to spill over, before retreating just in time. He had no doubt that the results of this mini culinary volcano would be delicious. All that was left was to add the chicken and rice to the pot, turn down the heat and wait. Terrence arrived shortly thereafter, with plenty to say about how delicious it smelled, and how he had no doubt that it would taste even better.

  About forty minutes later, Lola served the chicken and rice on the same platter. As she brought it to the table, she explained that back on the island this meal could sit on the stove all day and feed people as they arrived, and it always tasted fresh, even at the end of the day. And the next day, if there was any left over, it would be even better. But Sebastian couldn’t imagine how it could be any better than it already was. The chicken was moist and tender, and he could taste the fresh garlic and onion in every bite. The rice was soupy yet firm and infused with the same deliciousness that flavored the chicken.

  “You have a gift, Ms. Lola,” Terrence said. “Have you ever thought about opening a restaurant?”

  “Oh my goodness, can you imagine such a crazy thing?”

  Sebastian took in the sight of his redheaded
grandmother as he ate. On this day, she had decided to wear a green blouse that offset her red hair quite dramatically. Considering all that had happened in the last few days, he didn’t think that opening a restaurant sounded so crazy. In fact, he doubted that anything could surprise him anymore.

  “I can already see the line of customers forming around the block,” Terrence said, his eyes shining with promise.

  “That reminds me,” Lola replied wistfully. “There was this place on the island called La Lechonera. It was no more than a shack at the side of the road, but everyday at about noon a line of customers started forming, and they’d be there all afternoon until everyone was served.”

  “The food must’ve been something,” Terrence said.

  “You better believe it. They roasted a whole pig right in the window until it was golden brown and delicious. When we were kids we’d entertain ourselves by watching it turn as our mouths watered. The pork skin was divine, so chewy and crispy, nobody could make it better. The secret was in the sofrito they rubbed all over the pig, and in the slow even cooking.”

  “Sofrito?” Sebastian asked.

  “A blend of onions, garlic, cilantro and peppers, cooked in olive oil. Let’s just say that if you don’t start with a good sofrito, no self respecting Boricua will bother eating it. But there was something other than the food that made people go there,” Lola continued. “If you wanted to know what was going on in the neighborhood, you’d go to La Lechonera, and let me tell you, sometimes the gossip was even juicier than the pork.” She smiled at the memory. “Nothing was more satisfying than to sit outside in the fresh air, with a plate of roast pork on your lap while listening to a friend fill you in on who was having an affair with who, or who had decided to leave the island for good. Sooner or later, the person we were talking about would show up because the only way to make sure you weren’t the “daily special” was to make a regular appearance.”

  Terrence chuckled, “I know what you mean, Ms. Lola. The club where I play on the weekends isn’t too different. The regulars love to gossip so much that I don’t think they ever listen to my music.”