As Lili, Malena could find out what happened, approach her mother in private (given that she was one of the living sisters), and then go back to her normal life. Whatever was left of it, anyway: no father, an empty apartment, and her second year of nursing school, which, let’s face it, was a problem. Not only did the sight of blood or nasty little frogs’ guts revolt her stomach, but she couldn’t stand being around needles either—much less pushing them through someone’s flesh! Sure, it had been her decision. Malena herself had chosen this smart, practical profession—just like her mother. God, she was so pathetic. It was likely that her mother had not been a nurse at all! But there was only one way to find out if this had also been a lie. She had to stay in San Isidro. It didn’t have to be long. Just until she could confront the sisters and learn the truth.
Just a little while longer.
And now, she had to dispose of this letter. It would be too risky to take it back to the house. She read it again and again, trying to memorize every sentence, every word, for she would never lay eyes on it again. When she was done, she shredded it into tiny pieces and dumped them inside a wide wastebasket by the bench. As she released the last piece of paper, her pulse slowed down, and she had a sudden urge to laugh, to hug someone. She had time now, all the time she needed. She picked up her purse from the bench and headed home, admiring the clear sky for the first time in the day.
The confidence Malena had gained at the park faded as she approached Calle Alameda. The fear of being discovered returned. Too many things could go wrong. She could say something inappropriate, Lili’s mother could call, or someone could ask a question she didn’t know how to answer. There were just too many variables she couldn’t control. How could she think for a moment that she was safe in this role?
She rang the doorbell to the Platas home. Not a minute had passed before Trinidad—flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead—opened the door.
“Niña Liliana! Where have you been? Doña Ana was so worried.” She held the door for her. “They’re all waiting for you.”
Waiting? For what? Malena followed Trinidad to the dining room, where the entire family had gathered—a soup of some sort in everyone’s bowls.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “I apologize for the delay.”
Ana set her spoon aside. “Where were you?”
“I went out for a walk.” She looked at all the somber faces staring back at her. “To get acquainted with the town.”
Rafael faced his wife. “Haven’t you told her the rules of the house yet?”
Ana nibbled at her thumbnail. Today she wore a white long-sleeved blouse with buttoned cuffs.
“Well, Señorita,” Rafael told Malena. “Lunch and dinner in this house are served every day at the same time. One and seven o’clock, respectively. Tardiness is not tolerated here, nor is it appropriate for a young lady to take walks by herself without permission. Next time you want to go for a walk, you would need to go with Claudia, Javier, or anybody else in here.”
Malena bit the inside of her cheek. Not even her father had imposed a schedule on her. In fact, she’d been the one to run the schedule in her house. And if she’d waited for a chaperone, she would have never left her apartment!
“Leave her alone, Rafael,” Amanda said. “You’re going to scare the poor girl.” She turned to Malena. “Come join us, please.”
Everyone had taken the same seats from the previous day and Malena’s chair sat empty. Her chair, her spot at the table. The spot she should have always used, and was finally claiming now, after twenty years, under false pretenses. She sat down. Trinidad promptly set a bowl of caldo de patas in front of her.
“As I was saying,” Amanda said. “Il Napolitano is not going to survive much longer under its current administration.”
“I’ve been telling you for years to sell your half to your brother-in-law, but you never listen,” Rafael said.
“Well, it’s too late now,” Amanda said. “Enzo won’t have anything to do with it anymore.”
Ana turned to her sister. “Why not? What happened to him?”
“He’s burnt out,” Amanda said.
“It’s understandable,” Ana said. “After so many years.”
“Maybe.” Amanda stirred her soup. “At any rate, I’ve made a decision.” She looked around the room. “I’m going to manage it.”
Everyone talked at the same time, their heads shaking.
“But that’s not all.” Amanda’s voice rose above the rest. “I’m going to turn it into a tango nightclub.”
Silence sucked the air out of the room. For the first time during the discussion, Malena became interested in what Amanda had to say.
“Have you lost your mind?” Rafael said. “Do you want to drag your family name through the mud? You know that Pope Pius X forbid the tango, right?”
“That was decades ago!” Amanda said.
“So what? It’s still indecent.”
“Oh, she’s not serious,” Ana said. “She’s just teasing, right, Amanda?”
Amanda’s face was grim. “No, I’m serious.”
Mamá Blanca smoothed out the creases on her napkin. “Oh, dear.”
“But Amanda,” Ana pleaded. “Nobody here dances the tango. It’s an Argentinean dance.”
“No one dances the tango?” Amanda said. “The whole world loves it!”
“You’d better talk your sister out of this madness,” Rafael told Ana, throwing his napkin on the table and getting up from his seat. He darted by a wide-mouthed Trinidad, who stood anchored behind the table with a tray of rice in her hands, and slammed the door behind him.
“You see what you’ve done?” Ana told Amanda.
“I’m sorry if my decision makes your husband uncomfortable, but I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Don’t you see? Everybody is going to start talking about you … about us. It’s shameful, Tía.” Claudia’s voice broke. “What am I going to tell Sebastian?”
“A woman running a cabaret! Imagine that!” Ana said.
“A nightclub, Ana,” Amanda said. “A classy one.”
“Well, I would be more concerned over the fact that you’ve never managed a business before.” All heads turned to Alejandra as she voiced her opinion in a sweet but strong voice.
“Yes, but I lived with a businessman for five years. I saw how he did things. If an idiot like Enzo managed the restaurant for twenty years, I’m sure I can do it. Frankly, I’m surprised at all of your reactions. I expected more support.”
“It’s a man’s world, Amanda,” Ana said.
“Women can work, too,” Amanda said. “In fact, I know of some who are more competent than most men.” She looked at Alejandra.
“You know that’s different,” Ana said.
“I would have never guessed you had such a low opinion of me, Ana,” Amanda said sadly. “You must think I’m a moron.”
“Madre,” Ana faced her mother. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
Mamá Blanca finished chewing. “Amanda is an adult and she knows what she’s doing.”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Malena said—tango was so swell!
Ana and Claudia frowned. Amanda seemed to notice Malena for the first time.
“I do, too,” Javier said.
“Javier!” Ana’s high-pitched voice reached new heights.
“Have you thought of a name yet?” Malena asked Amanda.
“I have a few ideas.”
Ana stood up. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Claudia stood after her and followed her mother out of the room.
Mamá Blanca set her napkin by her plate. “I don’t feel so good. I’m going to rest.”
Malena rose. “I’ll help you upstairs.”
She held the older woman’s plump arm and helped her out of the chair. The two of them climbed the stairs carefully. Mamá Blanca used Malena’s arm as a cane, while Malena held on to the rail for balance. Mamá Blanca was heavier than she looked. Still, the expe
rience of holding her grandmother moved her. Her grandmother. At this point, she could only be certain of one thing about this family. Whoever her mother might be, Mamá Blanca was her grandmother.
For a moment, while helping the old woman lie down on her bed, Malena felt as though La Abuela was back, except that Mamá Blanca had a sweetness that Eva Sevilla had never had. La Abuela had been a pillar of knowledge and a strict disciplinarian, whereas Mamá Blanca reminded Malena of a child; someone who needed protection and care.
Malena brought a blue wool blanket to her grandmother’s legs. “Better?”
She patted the side of her bed. “Come here. Let me see you.”
Hesitantly, Malena obeyed. With cold fingers, Mamá Blanca lifted Malena’s chin, examining her entire face. Malena fought the urge to move away, to prevent the woman from discovering something about her. She focused on the old lady’s bosom as it moved up and down in rhythmic breathing.
“You don’t look anything like María Teresa or Manuel,” Mamá Blanca diagnosed after a thorough study. “It’s so strange. You look more like my Abigail.”
“Abigail was your daughter, right?”
“Yes. The light of my life.”
“I saw a picture of her in the study.”
Mamá Blanca picked up her knitting needles. “Yes. She was lovely, wasn’t she? Even on her deathbed.”
“What happened to her?”
“Kidney failure.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry,” Malena said sincerely. She knew everything about the loss of loved ones. “Did she ever marry?”
“She was engaged once, but fortunately that ended. It was best that she didn’t marry.”
Mamá Blanca leaned back on her pillow and closed her eyes. No, don’t go to sleep. Not now. Why was it best that Abigail never married?
Her grandmother opened her eyes again, as if she’d heard her.
“There is a young man in the picture,” Malena said. “Is he your son, too?”
“No, that was Fausto, my nephew. My husband and I raised him after my sister passed away. I loved him like a son. He also …” She shook her head.
Malena placed her hand on top of Mamá Blanca’s and looked at the woman with compassion, understanding now why she always wore black.
“He was wonderful,” she said. “He brought so much life and joy to this house. When he left, a part of all of us died.”
“Was he also sick?”
“No. A despicable man killed him when he was only nineteen. Alejandra was never the same after he was gone.” She paused for a moment. “Well, none of us … but it affected her the most. She adored him.”
Deep wrinkles framed Mamá Blanca’s mouth. Malena didn’t want to press the issue any further, though this knowledge had raised more questions in her mind. The old woman looked exhausted, physically and emotionally.
Malena stood up. “I’ll let you rest now.”
“Lili?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t ever mention Fausto in front of Alejandra.”
Malena tightened her grasp on the rusty metal chains and kicked her legs harder, swinging higher and higher above the sparse patch of grass under her feet. The cool breeze on her face was a blessing; the scents of moist grass and eucalyptus were comforting. She glanced at her bare tanned calves and her white and blue checkered uniform skirt waving with the wind. Her socks were pushed down to her ankles and her white sneakers were untied.
She looked around the park for the familiar voice nearby. La Abuela Eva was sitting on a bench, a few steps away, in that two-piece gray suit Malena despised. She was looking up at a woman standing in front of her, immersed in conversation. The woman had her back to Malena, and wore a hat with a white feather.
That has to be her. That has to be my mother. She needed to reach the woman before she left. Oh no, they were shaking hands and La Abuela was saying “Hasta luego.”
Malena jumped off the swing, landing painfully on her palms and knees. The ground was harder than she’d expected. She stared at her palms, now filled with soil and blood. It was hot out here. Why had she jumped? It was so refreshing on the swing. She looked for the woman. She was walking away. Malena tried to get up, but her legs wouldn’t move fast enough. They were heavy, and they ached.
“Mamá!” she yelled. “Wait!”
She stood up in slow motion. Her scratched knees burned.
“Turn around,” she muttered. If only she could see her mother’s face.
“What are you doing here?” a male voice asked her.
Malena met her father’s glare. “Papá, you’re back. You’re alive!”
“You’re supposed to be at school, Lili.”
Lili? “No, Papá, I’m Malena.”
Her father looked angry, and old. Older than ever.
“Whose handkerchief is this?” he asked.
Handkerchief? What was he talking about? Malena looked at her hands—they were still bleeding—but there was no handkerchief. “I need a handkerchief,” she said. “Don’t you see I’m bleeding?”
She searched behind him for her mother. Where had she gone? Why had she let her father distract her?
He repeated the question. “Whose handkerchief is this?”
Malena opened her eyes and looked around the bright room. Claudia’s room. She was alone and it was eight in the morning, according to the bedside clock.
She heard the male voice again.
“Are you going to tell me whose handkerchief this is?”
A female voice answered him. “Please keep it down, someone could hear you.”
Was that Ana’s voice? Malena removed the covers from her legs—her knees were intact—and stepped out of the bed. She tiptoed to the door and opened it.
Rafael’s voice sounded louder in the hallway. “I don’t care. Answer the question. Whose is this?”
Malena followed the thin burgundy rug leading to the adjacent room.
Ana spoke in a soft voice. “I don’t know. It probably belongs to one of my sisters. Trini always mixes our things.”
“Then how come it was hiding in your bottom drawer?”
“Since when do you look through my things?”
“I wasn’t looking through your things; I was just trying to find a blessed handkerchief! Is it too much to ask to keep my things in order?”
Malena couldn’t hear Ana’s answer. She took a step closer to the door. Ana was reduced to a wordless sobbing while Rafael’s voice was tight and hard.
“I always suspected there was another man.”
Malena stood very still.
Ana managed to get a few words out. “Would you keep it down?”
“No, I don’t care who hears us! I’m not the one at fault.”
They were quiet for a moment. Malena even considered knocking at the door to interrupt whatever he was doing.
“Rafael, listen to me,” Ana pleaded. “I’ve never been unfaithful to you. I swear.”
“I don’t believe you. And don’t think this is going to end here. I’m going to find out who gave you this.”
The door opened without a warning, without a sound. Ana stepped out.
“Lili! I didn’t know you were here.”
“I’m sorry.” Malena hugged her arms, covering up the thin fabric of her nightgown.
Ana closed the door behind her. “I’m sorry about that. We were so loud. Did we wake you?”
“No. I was just … going to the lavatory. Excuse me.”
She locked herself in the bathroom and washed her face with cold water, unable to erase the image of the white handkerchief poking out of Ana’s tight fist.
Chapter 7
Ana, 1936
Ana had always known there was nothing special about her. She wasn’t ugly, when compared to the rest of the girls in town, and her body had a decent shape, but she had accepted early on in her eighteen years of life that she would never be one of those beauties who caused men to turn their heads as she walked down the streets o
f San Isidro. A beauty like her sister Amanda, for example.
Yes, she’d finally accepted it and lived with it. Except for times like this, when standing by her older sister turned out to be an unbearable ordeal. Times when Amanda’s beauty pained her, made her physically uncomfortable. She glanced at her sister in the backless silver rayon dress that Mamá Blanca had made for her, grumbling, since she didn’t approve of the design. It ought to be illegal, the way the silky looking fabric molded her waist and hips like a second skin. After endless pleas from Amanda and her sisters, it had been Amanda’s best friend, Ofelia, who ultimately convinced Mamá Blanca to sew the dress for the radio dance contest.
“You want your daughter to win or not?” she had told her. Ana’s mother had agreed to it, with the condition that Amanda would only wear it this one time.
So here they were, on their way to the contest, as soon as the photographer finished taking the family portrait for their parents. The photograph had been Amanda’s idea, but she was probably regretting it already. Ana covered up her one-piece crepe frock with her coat and looked straight at the camera, while Amanda argued with Fausto.
“Be still,” Amanda told him for the third time. But there was no way to control their younger cousin. Every time the photographer stood behind the camera and pressed the shutter, Fausto tickled Alejandra. Their younger sister would burst out laughing, testing not only the old photographer’s patience but also Amanda’s.
They should have known better. Put a young boy, a park, and his devoted cousin together, and you get exactly this: an explosion of mischief.
“Excuse us,” Amanda told the photographer, who was already loosening his bow tie.
Amanda grabbed the thirteen-year-old Fausto by the arm and dragged him aside.
“If you keep up with this nonsense,” she told him. “I am not teaching you how to tango.”
Fausto’s grin faded. With that serious expression on his face, his navy blue suit, and the shadow of a mustache above his upper lip, he looked like a man already. And what a handsome man he would turn out to be one day, with those enormous hazel eyes and curly eyelashes.
“You promised, Amanda.”
“I did. But now I’m promising a beating if you don’t shape up.”
The Sisters of Alameda Street Page 6