by Oscar Lewis
A whole year passed before I went to school again. I spent this year working, first sewing and then in a shoe factory downtown. A friend of Marta’s had told me that a dressmaker, Señora Federica, was looking for an assistant. “I don’t know how much she will pay, see, but she is very nice.” That was enough for me to go and take the job. The señora said she would put some money aside for me each week but she never paid me.
Actually, the pay did not matter to me. What interested me most was not being hit or scolded and not having to watch my father’s actions. I thought, “What do I want to be in the house for? If my father doesn’t like the way I serve him, let Antonia wait on him.” Tonia and I took turns serving my father his supper. Unfortunately—I don’t know whether it was my fault or not—my father never liked what I gave him. If it was cold, he would say it was dog food. If it was hot, he said I never paid any attention to anything. If there were lumps of milk in the coffee, or if there weren’t, it was swill. He would say, “You’re good for nothing, useless! The day you go to some other house they’ll slam the door in your face. You can’t do anything.”
I think Tonia also felt mortified. She would say to me, “Wait, Consuelo, I’ll give him supper.” But my father wouldn’t accept this. It had to be her one day and me the other. He would say, “Dope! Learn from your sister. She’s clean. She knows how to do things. But you? What do you know?” That is why I preferred to be working without pay.
Señora Federica first taught me to turn the cloth tapes. Afterwards, I learned the jobs of making hems, pressing, and sewing on burtons. She was also going to teach me to sew on the machine and she did give me opportunities to use it when she went to deliver a dress, thinking perhaps I would begin to sew. But I never dared. When she wasn’t there, I wouldn’t touch the machine for anything. I was afraid of it. I thought that if I stepped on the treadle, I might sew my fingers to the material and not be able to stop the machine.
She had a young nephew who hid, from the first day, whenever he saw me come in. He was very shy, which seemed unusual to me because the young men of the Casa Grande were very brazen. When they saw girls, they would call them their “flowers.” I felt very homely, and when this boy ran from me, I thought I really was.
I would go home from the señora’s at eight or nine at night. When there were blackouts, her brother, Gabriel, or her sister and their nieces would take me home and once in a while I asked them in. The first time I did this, I walked through the door praying that my father would not be rude, and I think it helped. My father just lifted his eyes from the newspaper and invited them in. I served coffee and we had supper. It was the first time I had ever brought visitors to the house.
During this year (when I was fourteen years old), I visited my aunt more often, but I didn’t seek her out as much as I did Señora Yolanda, who was the one who knew my troubles as well as I knew hers. She taught me to crochet and to knit with needles, to make panecillo and polvorones and to make use of old tortillas. I was the person she trusted most at that time. But this friendship broke up later, leaving only a feeling of resentment on my part, because Yolanda became good friends with Tonia and changed toward me, little by little. Tonia would give her sugar, coffee, and dead flies or bananas for the birds. Papá had never allowed us four to help ourselves to the fruit he brought daily. If we did, there were big blowups in our house. But Tonia could take whatever she wanted.
The change in my father toward us was not unnoticed by Yolanda, who warned me on various occasions, “Don’t be foolish. Keep an eye on your father or Antonia will take him away from you completely.” I would try to follow her advice, but how could I make my father take any notice of us? When I tried to converse with him, even about the same things Antonia did, he would only say, “I’m not interested in other people’s affairs, just my own, and that’s all.”
As for caressing him or doing things for him, neither Marta nor I could. But Tonia got into the habit of washing his feet when he came home from work and cutting his calluses. If she hurt him, he would just laugh. When he came from the bathhouse where he would go every third day, she would insist on combing his hair and putting on the brilliantine. Once in a while she would find a gray hair and pull it out and my father would joke about it. “A gray hair? And I so young?” and they would laugh together. But everything he asked us for had to be brought to him on the run and then he would take it almost angrily.
Then my father gave instructions that neither my clothes or Marta’s should be sent out for washing any more. It seemed to me that he was beginning to treat us like strangers. La Chata taught me to wash. Later I also had to wash his heavy work clothes. It was all the harder for me because my papá had never before permitted me to do any housework. He had said, “Don’t scrub floor, it’s harmful to the lungs,” “Don’t sew, it’s bad for your lungs,” or, “Don’t hit her on the back.” My papá was always afraid that I would get Elena’s disease.
The first time I washed his clothes I cried into the tub, partly because my back burned and the bones in my hands hurt, and partly because I was afraid that the clothes would not come out clean. When I finally got to wring out the clothes, I felt as though my strength was gone. I ended up soaked from head to foot.
And the floor! The first time I washed the floor my father had to take me to the doctor. My legs, from my knees to my ankles, were swollen, and the hand with which I held the brush was bleeding. Not very much, but it bled. This was the end for me. Now I really felt outside the family. I began to make faces behind my father’s back when he scolded me. Only once did I tell him what was happening to me, but he paid no attention, so after that, never again.
One night, while I was still working for Señora Federica, my father said to me, “Antonia’s sister, Elida, is coming to take you to a woman who is going to teach you to work. She is coming for you at seven in the morning. Be ready.” Tonia’s half-sisters, Elida and Isabel, had begun to come to the house to visit and I knew them well. I liked Elida and was glad to go with her the next morning.
We took the bus downtown and got off at the Alameda. It was the first time I had ever been in the center of the city. As we walked past the park, I hardly listened to what Elida was saying. I saw trees, the monuments, the passing automobiles, the men wearing suits (instead of work clothes) hurrying along. It was the other end of the world for me. I felt so skinny, so badly dressed in spite of being clean, that I imagined everybody was watching me. I stumbled. I felt upset.
When we arrived, Elida said, “Look, go up to the top floor. Ask for Sofía, the maestra. Tell her I sent you.” Upstairs, the señora greeted me pleasantly. I began by painting the edges of the shoes. She showed me how to hold the shoe so I wouldn’t dirty my dress. She knew a lot about shoes and leather and had taught Elida and Isabel. That’s why they called her maestra. Before that, maestra had meant to me only a school-teacher.
At one o’clock everybody put down the tools and went out. The señora said we were going to eat up on the roof where there was a woman who cooked for the “boys.” “Boys?” I said. “But they are men. They don’t look like boys.” We began to go up the stairs. It was the first time I had ever gone up so many steps. I felt as though I were in a high swing. I was afraid to go up fast and kept looking down. I thought that if I stepped while I was looking up I would fall down the stairs. When I got out on the roof, I felt saved and sighed with relief.
There was a rule that the men must not bother the women. The men ate on one side and we on the other. When the señora and I appeared at the door, all the boys looked at me, which made me lower my eyes and put on a very serious face. Naturally, somebody started kidding, “Sofía, don’t be rude. Introduce us to your little sister.” The señora smiled and said, “Why not, boys? Step up and I’ll introduce you to the child.”
But they didn’t consider me a child. They all called me señorita. I felt like calling them idiots. They offended me with the word. When they said it, I thought there was some hidden meaning behind their
words. Afterwards I got used to it. Everybody respected me there, except a boy named José. He continually came over to speak to Sofía. While I stood there with my eyes cast down, he would pucker up his mouth and throw me a kiss. I would keep myself from laughing and would not look at him. I didn’t believe that such a handsome young man would pay any attention to me.
Once, when I came to work early, José grabbed my arm and began to make declarations of love. I listened without believing him. I just let him talk, and when he finished I told him that I was too young for him. It made me laugh to hear him say he wanted to marry me. I couldn’t even imagine what the word meant. José was the first one to ask me if anybody had ever kissed me. “Kiss?” How could I have done anything like that? It was a dirty thing, I told him.
But once I was in the darkness of my house, when everybody was asleep, I would dream with my eyes open. I could see myself in a beautiful evening gown, in a luxurious room, dancing to soft music with José. Or him in a dark suit, smoking nervously, waiting for me in the street. I would think, “Good. Let all those girls in the courtyards see what it is to have a boy friend.”
José kept on trying with me. One time I went down to get water for Sofía, and José, who was hiding on the stairs, took me by the arm. “Consuelo, I want to talk to you.” We spoke in low voices. “I have nothing to discuss with you, José,” I said, trembling to see his strained expression. I was afraid of him. For several days I had been hiding so as not to see him. When he was convinced I meant it, he didn’t bother me again. He would just shake his head when he saw me.
Fermín came to live in the tenement six or seven months before I celebrated my fifteenth birthday. He was a relative of my stepmother, Elena. This young man was a shoe finisher, and was very handsome, even though his hair and face were usually covered with the dust of the shoe shop, and he wore old overalls without a shirt. He would follow me when he saw me on the street and say, “Consuelo, Consuelo, don’t be so proud. Just turn around and look at me. Don’t be mean. Look at me, or else I’ll throw myself under a bus—while it’s parked.” I wouldn’t say a word but I would smile and, with him behind me, walk faster, frightened to death that we might meet Roberto. If my brother were to see me, he would knock me down.
When I paid no attention to him, Fermín tried to win Antonia’s confidence. One night my father sent Tonia and me for the bread. I don’t know whether they were in cahoots or not, but I saw Fermín standing in the entrance to the tenement, very clean and his hair combed. Antonia said to me, “You stay here while I go for the bread,” and walked on. I felt as though a bucket of ice water had been poured over me. I was afraid because of all the insults I had given him, like, “Take a bath first,” “Pachuco,” “You’re loco.” I also thought of the gossip if I were to be seen in the street with a man at this hour.
But he said, “Consuelo, I love you, honest to God, I want to marry you. But don’t call me Pachuco just because I work.” He seemed so ridiculous talking to me like that, looking at me so sadly. I felt like laughing. He went on, “When I see you pass by, I feel like yelling, you are so pretty. Tell me when I can see you and you’ll make me the happiest man on earth. Tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do the impossible for you. Tell me!” I noticed that he had very nice features. To be talking in this way seemed stupid but on seeing how tender his eyes were, I stopped smiling. Tonia was coming back with the bread, so I hurriedly told him. “Yes, yes, wait for me in a little while in the corner of my courtyard.”
On the way back Antonia asked me what he had said. Disinterested outside but very excited inside, I said, “Nothing, he just wants me to be his girl.” Tonia said, “Do what he says. He’s very handsome. You see how he keeps after you.” But I didn’t get out that night. At supper time my father was right opposite me. When I heard a whistle that seemed to say my name, I almost spilled my coffee. Tonia made signals to me with her eyes. I finished my coffee quickly and asked my father for permission to show Señora Yolanda my sewing. It didn’t work.
A few days later I met Fermín as I was coming home from work. I explained that my father was very strict and didn’t let me go out alone at night. He accepted my explanation on the condition that I come out that night; if I didn’t, he was going to knock on my door. Holy Virgin! Knock on the door! The house would fall in on me! “Yes, this time I’ll come out. Honest, Fermín. Wait for me.”
At eight sharp I heard the first whistle, and it made me jump. “What’s wrong with you, clown?” my father immediately yelled at me. “Nothing, papá, I think I was falling asleep.” That was very good, because then he didn’t let us go to sleep immediately. I took advantage of the opportunity to ask him to let me go out for a little walk. He agreed.
I went to Irela’s house—a friend of Marta’s. I remember the advice she gave me: “Go on, don’t be a fool. Now that they’ve let you go out, give them something to hit you for.”
“All right, but tell me if anyone comes, eh, Irela?”
I shot across the courtyard like a skyrocket and was still trembling when I got there. Fermín greeted me, “Good evening, my love, I’ve been waiting for you and at last you’re here.” Then he kissed me. I held my breath and felt as though I was smothering. I pressed my lips together and with my eyes wide open looked at his eyes, which were closed. It lasted only a moment. When Fermín felt that I wasn’t kissing him back, he moved away and said he knew I didn’t love him but that later on I would. Meanwhile he thanked me for having given him that kiss. “I gave him a kiss!” I sighed with relief. Now I knew what a kiss was.
But then I remembered how dirty he looked during work and it disgusted me. I said good-bye to him and went back to Irela’s house. “You’re terrific,” she said, and kept laughing to see me scrubbing at my mouth with my hand and making faces. I felt like throwing up. She asked me, “And you didn’t like it?” I told her I didn’t, thinking that I would set her a good example. But as she kept talking I realized that she could teach me things.
The next night at eight sharp, there was Fermín’s whistle. I managed to get out. As soon as he saw me, he kissed me. There was another kiss on leaving. Meanwhile he talked to me, “When I get the money together, we’ll get married, little one. You’ll just see what a pretty house I’ll fix up for you. Or I’ll take you to my homeland, my village in Jalisco.” I listened to all of this leaning on his shoulder or watching his eyes, which was what I liked best about him. But to manage to be with him was a triumph, as I would hardly ever get permission from my father. Fermín trusted me and waited hours for me to come out, sometimes with luck, other times not. Even if it rained, he was there. My father didn’t suspect me.
But I was happy only when I was at work. Once I got home it seemed unbearable to watch my father do nothing but read—or get mad if we made noise. How enraged I became when he beat Marta or Roberto with a belt. But I was not able even to speak. I couldn’t move from the spot. In those moments I wished I were made of smoke so I could just drift away.
While she did the house work, Antonia would turn on the radio and listen to Cuban music all day long. She liked the danzón, huaracha, and swing. She usually danced when my brothers were away. I must confess that when I saw her dance for the first time I was embarrassed. I was about twelve years old at the time and had never seen that kind of dancing. I suppose I was too strait-laced. She would listen to a huaracha, then begin to move her whole body from one side to the other. Híjole, how ugly it looked! Every once in a while she would clap her hands together to feel the music better. In spite of everything, I liked the rhythm, but I didn’t dare confess it even to myself. How I criticized my sister! I considered her indecent. When she stuck out her belly or sucked it in, it made me feel like turning away my face, but I kept looking.
Little by little, without really noticing it, I began to dance too. This would happen while we were sweeping or washing the dishes, to the music of the radio. Tonia would dance with my brother and I would watch them from the kitchen, seated on a stool, or on
top of the headboard of one of the beds. One day I saw Tonia shake her shoulders while she danced. I jumped right off the stool where I was sitting and clamored, “How do you do it? Teach me! Teach me!” She good-naturedly explained it to me, but as hard as I tried, all I could manage was a ridiculous movement that made her laugh. I finally learned it after days of practice.
There were almost always dances going on in one of the vecindad courtyards. But of course my papá wouldn’t let us out. I had to dance in the house while Tonia was doing the housework. But at that time I didn’t know what a real taste for dancing was. I was still satisfied with dreaming. I would see myself going to a dance, wearing a blue dress, well groomed, everybody turning around to look at me. I was the center of attraction. A very serious, good-looking young man would be escorting me. Nobody dared say anything coarse around me; there would be nothing but respect! I would dance in a reserved, dignified way to a slow, smooth tune. I wouldn’t be like Tonia who smiled at this one and made eyes at that one. My God, that wasn’t nice! She was a terrible flirt and had no shame.
One time my father bought new dresses for Tonia and me. Mine was gold-colored, with a branch on it picked out in tiny glass beads. It was the most elegant one I ever had and I put it on right away. The noise of a dance in progress was very loud and I began to move my feet and make signs to Tonia that she should ask permission. She shrugged her shoulders and wouldn’t. A pang of anxiety seized me. I would have to ask him myself! Tense all over, I asked my father for permission. “Papa, won’t you let me go to the dance? Please.” My father’s curt tone didn’t stop me. “Let the boys go with me, papá. Let Manuel and Roberto come with me. Please.” This time it worked. I got permission.
The dance was in the courtyard of No. 80. I went with my two brothers, one on either side of me. I didn’t put on my sweater so I could show off my dress. The courtyard was filled with people. I began to tremble all over. My brothers and I stood in a corner. Manuel, of course, found himself a partner and left us. Roberto stayed close to me. I kept my arms crossed tightly so as to hide my bosom and my excitement.