“Yuk,” says mother. “She is so vulgar.”
“Who gives a shit? Have you seen “Fuego?” [“Fire?”] Oh, mamma mia, the hottest female in the world, she sets fire to the screen.”
“Don’t mention that woman in front of my children, they know nothing about her,” says mother, reddening.
He apologizes and I say nothing, but we all know about Isabel Sarli and the man who discovered her, Armando Bo. She is an Argentinean model and actress and he is the producer of her steamy films. Her movies get sold out weeks in advance and are prohibited to minors, yet the suggestive posters outside the theaters leave little to the imagination and we all know what they are about.
~~~
For a few weeks everything is perfect but the second honeymoon ends rather quickly as Gustavo realizes he has the upper hand in the relationship, and begins fully exercising his power. There are no more movies with mother and no more outings with Oscar on Sundays because he now spends Sunday mornings sleeping the drinking spree of the night before. Oscar is disappointed, he is crazy about soccer, and dreams of the day Bolivia will win the World Cup. Mother says that soccer and Pelé are the only passions that unite us, alleviating at least temporarily the deep racial divisions that fracture our society most of the time.
Gustavo wakes up at noon in a foul mood and begins heaping abuse on mother. He no longer gives us money willingly to buy groceries and it falls upon me to remind him, then with a scowl he digs into his pocket and gives me the money grudgingly. There are no more jokes or lively conversation, now he keeps complaining about our narrow room and the fact that he has to sneak around all the time to avoid Aunt Sonia.
“Isn’t it time you told that lousy sister of yours that you are in a relationship? How long do I have to put up with this garbage?”
“I’m afraid that as long as I’m living under her roof, I’ll have to abide by her rules.”
“So why don’t you move?”
“You know very well why. I don’t have the luxury of living at home with momma like you do and rents are extremely expensive.”
“I could move any time I wanted to, but I don’t want to; nobody bothers me there, there’s no reason for me to move.”
“Well, we all have our own reasons for putting up with things,” says mother making up the beds with strain on her face.
~~~
The following weekend he enters the house in an openly loud and disruptive manner, singing songs and doing pirouettes as if deliberately wanting to be discovered. In a panic, mother and I rush to bring him downstairs, but he refuses to quiet down.
“I’m not a kid,” he says slurring his words. “And nobody can treat me like one.”
“Shush,” begs mother. “She’ll hear you, please.”
Before closing the door to our room we notice that my uncle has turned on the light in his bedroom upstairs. Mother starts crying and pulling her hair.
“He woke them up,” she wails. “The beast woke them up and now I will hear about it tomorrow.”
“Maybe not,” I say trying to reassure her. “We’ll tell him it’s the guy next door, he won’t know the difference.”
“But he never drinks or makes scandals like this.”
“He could have come from a party, ma, don’t get excited.”
Gustavo looks at us with indifference. “I like to go upstairs and tell the great lady a few things,” he says sinking into the bed lazily. “She and I should have a conversation.”
Mother takes off his pants and I take off his shoes. Oscar is awake and wonders how he could help. “Hang his pants on that chair,” I hiss. “And don’t forget to search his pockets.”
Oscar finds twenty Bolivianos and gives them to me. By now Gustavo is on his side, with his face turned to the wall mumbling incoherencies. Ever since he got cheap with us, we have begun what mother calls “las rondas,“ [“nocturnal raids”] so we can at least buy breakfast and sometimes lunch with this money before he goes out and drinks it again. I can’t believe how much more he’s drinking now, he always drank before but he at least made an effort to disguise his habit then, now all pretenses are gone and he doesn’t care who knows it.
The repercussions of his behavior don’t take too long to come, and the next day my aunt summons us upstairs.
“Have you no shame?” she yells at mother. “I have never been more humiliated in my life. I could hardly look at my husband in the eye this morning. And you,” she says glaring at me. “How could you keep this from me after all I’ve done for you? What kind of loyalty is that?”
She obviously knows it wasn’t the next door neighbor and it’s no use lying about it, so I evade her eyes wondering how many Sunday visits this is going to cost me. Mother looks down in misery.
“He never does that, I don’t know what happened last night he was so rowdy, I…”
“Never does that? Have you forgotten whose house this is? He’s not supposed to be here at all, period. How dare you bring a man like that into this house?”
“This is serious,” says mother tearing up. “He’s someone I’m going to marry, don’t make it sound so sordid.”
“Your life is sordid; all the choices you make are sordid. I’ve had it up to here with you and your problems. You have to go, I’ll give you time to find something suitable but you can’t stay here anymore, surely you’re aware of that now.”
Mom tries to say something but my aunt turns her back on her signaling the end of the conversation. Mother stands frozen for a minute and I take her hand and lead her out. As we come down the stairs, she leans on me for support. She is ashamed and demoralized, and her legs have gotten heavier. I hold her tight, afraid she’s going to faint.
“Dios mio” [“Dear God”] she moans. “She talks about humiliation? She doesn’t know what humiliation is. She is throwing us out like we were trash. No matter what he did last night, we don’t deserve to be treated like that.”
“She didn’t mean it, ma. She was just upset.”
“Oh, she meant it, alright and you know she’s ruthless, we have to go.”
I open the door to our room and look at Gustavo snoring away his drunkenness. “It’s his fault,” I yell, pointing to him with disdain. “He brought us nothing but trouble, let him take care of us now.”
“Maybe it’s just as well,” says mother looking around her pitifully. “The room she gave us is a disgrace, look at the walls, the lack of sun and fresh air in the room, maybe God knows why this happened, maybe there’s something better out there for us. He’s a good man; I think he’s just going through a phase right now.”
“Some phase,” I scoff. “If he’s going to take care of us the way he takes care of himself, we have nothing to worry about.”
“You’re such a cynic, Vicky. Sometimes it’s hard to believe you’re only thirteen years old, you talk like an old woman. It must be my sister’s influence, the fact that you’re always around old people, they have turned you from the sweet child you once were into a crabby old lady; why, you’re even beginning to look like one.”
“Aunt Sonia is not old.”
“She is old next to you, you should be playing with dolls, mingling with people your own age, not gossiping with the vacuous old ladies that frequent that house and learning their cynicism and bad habits.”
Everyone always said I was “una alma vieja” [“an old soul”] because I prefer the company of older people, never girls my own age with the exception of Jenny Torres, who is my age and similar in temperament, but I was never aware that I was a cynic. I take Oscar with me to the bakery and ask him if he thinks I’m a cynic. He doesn’t know what that means and I tell him and he says sometimes I have a big mouth and talk to mom sharply and that’s probably why she said it. He says he admires me for speaking my mind all the time, though, and wishes he could be a cynic like me.
~~~
It’s March 1963 and mother says the tyrant’s reign is finally crumbling. Victor Paz Estenssoro appoints General René Barrientos Ortuň
o as his running mate to pacify people because there is great opposition and unrest in the country, but mother doesn’t think Paz Estenssoro will win the presidency again in October, no matter what new shenanigans he uses. For appearance’s sake, he had grudgingly resigned the presidency in 1956 when his term was up to pursue an ambassadorship in England, but he returned in 1960, winning by a landslide. He has since drafted and passed a new constitution which will allow him to rule indefinitely, but mother says his time is running out because there is a lot of anger and dissatisfaction with him in his own party.
Mom says the country is fed up with his autocratic and self enhancement policies, and it won’t be long before they revolt against him in a civil war. She is very happy about it because she feels he is a dangerous person whose power was virtually undiminished for years, even when he was miles away in England, and says it’s time to get rid of him for good.
“On the other hand,” she says listening to the news on the radio. “He has already influenced and transformed Bolivia forever. He has a death grip on this poor nation, and that’s not going to end just because he appoints the general. I’m afraid his ghost will continue to haunt this unfortunate country long after he dies.”
I don’t understand any of this but I’m very happy when she talks to me as though I did. It makes me feel all grown up and it helps me understand the unrest and dissatisfaction I feel everywhere in the country, and the reason why our school is always closing due to strikes, protests and police clashes that often necessitate the use of tear gasses, and in extreme cases explosives like dynamite to control the angry masses. Mother says Paz Estenssoro has a thirst for glory and doesn’t care what happens to the country as long as he remains in power, but Gustavo believes he is a great president and that women should stay out of politics because they don’t understand anything and should stick to the things they know about such as cooking, cleaning and rearing children.
Mother tells him he is still living in the dark ages and he gets red in the face and threatens to hit her if she doesn’t shut her stupid mouth and stops insulting his president. Mom is always forced to back down but I notice the tears of rage and frustration in her eyes at the sight of his closed fists, and seeing her misery and impotence I already know that when I grow up I will never get married or have children. I will be like my aunt’s friend, Clarissa Ascamón, who travels, has her own apartment, and has no problems with anyone shutting her up or threatening her with his fists.
~~~
If mom hoped that my aunt would mellow and allow us to remain in the room indefinitely, she was mistaken because she kept applying the pressure for us to move. Faced with mom’s precarious housing situation, Gustavo solved the problem by drinking more and staying away longer. Sensing that she was losing him, mom despaired, wondering how she was going to be able to move out without his help and with the soaring rents everywhere.
“We’ll manage, ma, we always do,” I tell her trying to console her but she begins sobbing, and I instinctively sense there is more. I bring her a glass of water and watch her drink it slowly. Her shoulders are down, and she seems very small. She is always forging ahead, resolving her problems one way or another so we never have to know hunger and deprivation the way she has known it, but today she looks defeated, and I feel afraid of her demeanor. Oscar sits next to her on the other side of the bed, and we hold her hand.
“What is it, “mamacita” he asks, giving her a kiss. She blows her nose with her handkerchief and dries her eyes.
“I’m pregnant,” she says at last. “And I don’t know what I’m going to do about it.”
We look at her in shock, she starts crying again saying she didn’t do it on purpose but nothing is completely guaranteed in this world and accidents do happen. She sees our stupefied faces and becomes angry and defensive saying that she needs support not condemnation because there is a new life growing inside of her, and we all have to assume the consequences.
“Dios mio,” she wails. “What am I going to do now? How am I going to support this child?”
“Gustavo is going to have to help you,” I say, reddening with anger. “I know where he works; we’ll go there and create a huge scandal, that’s all.”
She brightens up. “How did you find out?”
I asked him to show me his place of work when we went to the park with Oscar weeks ago, and he took us there. He introduced us to everyone in the bank as his children.
“And you didn’t tell me? But never mind that, at least you used initiative; that was very smart of you.”
“It will come in handy now; that’s for sure.”
She dries her tears and perks up, but a new wave of emotions assails me, anger, sadness, disappointment and fear now that there is going to be another baby to take care of, and we’ll have to share what little we have in our lives. How are we going to manage paying rent and feeding another mouth if Gustavo doesn’t come around? I can’t understand why mother wants to wait for Gustavo to show up again, I want to go there immediately and announce the news in front of everybody, but mother says that will only lose him his job and where would that leave us, so we decide to give him another week to show up, but I’m so troubled by the news that even my favorite pass time which is going to the movies on Sundays doesn’t cheer me up. I feel we have been teetering on the edge of an abyss for years and this will plunge us headlong into it.
~~~
Gustavo shows up drunk and disorderly again and we announce the happy news the next morning. He reacts in a baffling manner, alternating between moods of pride and concern, to genuine joy.
“My very own child?” he says patting her belly which is still very small. “I never had anything that truly belonged to me before. My parent’s attention was divided among my four sisters who did everything right and there wasn’t much room for the one who did everything wrong, but this will change things for me, this will show them that I’m a man once and for all.”
“Then you’re not angry?”
He takes her in his arms and does a little dance with her. “Are you kidding? I’m very happy.”
Mother is radiant, she says that the baby is a blessing and that she misread him, afraid he would feel she did it on purpose to entrap him, and here he is rejoicing with her. She is hopeful again and I don’t dare contradict her but I’m afraid he’ll forget all his happiness about the baby when he drinks again. Yet he can be so nice when he’s not drinking, he’s gentle, playful and affectionate.
He plays games with me and Oscar where he pretends to be a doctor; puts on mother’s white apron and checks our ears and eyes saying we need hearing aids and glasses. He pretends to write prescriptions and gives us money for the drugstore knowing we will run to the store to buy chocolates. He defends me when mother attacks my emotional absenteeism, my indolence, saying that I’m only a child and shouldn’t be treated like an adult.
At moments like that, when he rallies to my defense and understands me, I love him, allowing myself to dream that we could still be a family, that he could be reformed, but the dreams never last long because he drinks again and we go back to the uncertainty and fear we are so used to living with.
Chapter Four
Mother begins showing and it isn’t long before my aunt discovers the truth of her condition and calls me to her side in a fury. She is on the terrace with Aunt Eli when I walk in, and they both start attacking me for keeping yet another secret. I try to defend myself but their scolding starts me stuttering and that only irritates them more, and they order me to go downstairs and get my mother.
Mother comes down from the meeting in tears; she says they took turns humiliating her, calling her irresponsible and criminal, and that the whole thing was brutal.
“Bringing a child into this world is criminal but aborting it is great,” she says wiping her eyes. “They both had their tubes tied years ago and blame me for not doing the same without realizing that I never had the money. Now they have offered to pay for the abortion and say that I can stay
in this room indefinitely, but only if I agree to kill this baby.”
“Oh, ma,” says my brother hugging her waist. “We’ll help you. I’ll get a job; I can work on the buses.”
“Never, I rather beg in the streets than let you go work on those buses, besides they would never hire you; they only take Indian children for that job.”
“I could shine shoes, ma,” says Oscar stubbornly.
“Are you crazy? You already have a full time job as my assistant. Stop talking like that. “No estamos en las últimas tampoco.” [“We are not in such dire straits either”]
But I know we are and want to beg my aunt to reconsider but she won’t hear of it because once she’s made up her mind about something, it’s final.
“I’ll go to every store in town to offer your work, ma,” I tell her firmly. “If we all work together we can get out of this mess.”
She looks down miserably. “We were still living in Oruro when you first offered to get a job to help me. You were only five years old and were already worried about money because you saw me scratch and claw for a living every day of my life. Children shouldn’t have to grow up like that, it’s not fair. I hate the kind of life I’m giving you. I’ve always dreamed of so much more for you, why does God insist in punishing me? What kind of karma am I paying?”
“Mom, I ran into your friend Luisa Calero the other day and she said she’s still having trouble with her nieces,” I lie, anxious to distract her.
She lifts her head. “Why didn’t you tell me that before? And what the hell is that got to do with anything?”
“I forgot to tell you because she was really upset, she said she was going to come over soon and tell you all about it.”
Her nose is red and her eyes are cold. “You always find the worst moments to tell me these things. Are you making it up?”
“No, mom, I just forgot to tell you, that’s all. She was talking about that famous crime too.”
Beyond the Snows of the Andes Page 14