Invigorated by the sun I decide to climb up the tree I’ve been looking at ever since we got here, and agilely begin my task before mom calls me for breakfast. I’m impulsive by nature and when I get something into my head I do it without thinking of the consequences. I get to the top and I’m standing on the branches feeling a great sense of accomplishment when they give way under my weight and I fall down with a great thump.
Mother and Oscar come out running and see me flat on my back. She raises me to my feet but I can’t talk, my lungs are constricted by the blow and I can’t breathe. She opens her eyes wide and begins slapping me on the back to get some circulation into my lungs, but I’m terrified because nothing is having any effect. At last, the heaviness in my lugs subsides and I can breathe again, but by now all the tenants have gathered alerted by her screams and I begin to cry, ashamed and miserable.
“We heard the noise,” said the woman in front of us. “You should take her to the hospital to make sure she is alright. She may have broken something.”
Mom takes me inside and makes me lie down. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” she cries. “Are you trying to kill yourself? How can you do such stupid things?
It feels so good to regain my voice that I can’t stop crying. “You did this once before,” she says wringing her hands. “You aunt took you to the circus when you were six and you saw acrobats standing on a ball, so true to form, you came home and tried to stand on a ball yourself. You hit the back of your head so bad you passed out, and we had to rush you to the doctor. Am I ever going to have any peace with you? You’re old enough to know better now. Promise me you’ll never do anything like this again.”
But I don’t have to promise, I’m so scared I’m still trembling, not being able to breathe was the most horrible thing I have experienced in my life, and now I hate that tree and want to take an axe and chop it up to pieces. I feel betrayed and stupid. Mother says I still look pale as a ghost and she gives me hot chocolate and bread for breakfast.
“The only good thing that came out of this,” I say meekly. “Is that the neighbors finally talked to us.”
“They had to,” she says frowning. “I was screaming like a maniac.”
“I can’t believe it happened, ma,” I say, tasting the sweetest hot chocolate ever. “It was so fast and I could have been gone just like that.”
“That’s how most things happen in life,” she says, gravely. “Tragedy doesn’t take years.”
Oscar doesn’t say anything but I notice he’s crying. “I’m sorry, I scared you,” I say hugging him.
“I thought I wasn’t going to have a sister anymore,” he says weeping harder. “And I wet myself again.”
”Esta bien hijo” [“It’s okay son”] says mother softly. “We had a terrible fright and nobody is going to punish you for that. Finish your breakfast and I’ll wash your pajamas. I hope the next time your sister wants to do something crazy, she thinks of the consequences.”
Mom serves chicken soup with rice and potatoes, and after we eat retires to take a nap while Oscar and I walk down to the river. She hasn’t told anyone where we live and we know that Gustavo has no way of finding us now, but I’m still worried how she is going to raise the new baby without any help from him or his family, but every time I bring up the subject she tells me, “don’t worry yourself about it, I’ll raise him the way I raised you and your brother,” and goes back to her knitting. But things are rough. I need a new pair of shoes because my shoes have holes in them but I don’t dare tell her about it.
I wear double socks to cushion my feet, but the socks are always getting wet and I have to take off my shoes at school to dry them during recreation periods. Luckily nobody but Jenny knows about it, and she shields me from the other students, who would have a field day if they saw what I was doing.
We come back from the river and mom is at the door furious and anxious. “It’s time to go to the hospital,” she yells. “The pains are coming very close now and you two chose the worst time to disappear on me.”
We get her coat and small valise in a hurry, and walk her to “Hospital Obrero” because we can’t afford a taxi. Luckily, the hospital is only five blocks away from our home and she leans on me heavily, taking deep breaths to alleviate the pain. The sun fades and the weather turns raw and cold. I feel her shivering under her thin, blue coat and tell her that someday I will buy her a fur coat so she’ll never have to be cold again. She squeezes my arm and tries to smile but she is in obvious pain and her face is distorted.
“A few more blocks, ma, we’re almost there.”
“Don’t forget what I told you, Vicky, don’t open the door for anybody tonight and don’t tell anybody you’re home alone. I want you and your brother to stay at home this afternoon, don’t go out anymore, and don’t attract attention to yourselves. There is enough food for two days. I don’t think they’ll keep me too long at the hospital. If I give birth tonight, I should be home in a couple of days at the most if there are no complications. I’m counting on you to be a big girl and take care of your brother.”
“Don’t worry, ma. I’ll take care of everything.”
We finally get to the hospital and she checks in, handing her small valise to the nurse that contains her flannel nightgown, some underwear and a pair of slippers. She hugs and kisses us effusively and tells me not to forget that if something were to happen to her I should let my aunt know immediately because she is after all, the closest relative we have.
“But nothing is going to happen to you,” I say holding her hand. “Please don’t talk like that, it scares me.”
“We have to be prepared for everything in this life, Vicky. I left a letter for your aunt just in case, on the top of my dresser.”
They take her away and we have tears in our eyes. The thought that something could happen to her is inconceivable to us. I can’t imagine how my brother and I would survive without her, yet I have heard of people dying while giving birth, so her fears are justified. A girl in my class recently lost her mother due to an infection after her brother was born, and she was devastated, crying and fainting in the classroom. Poor people like us are forced to use the public health care system in our country but it’s understaffed and overcrowded. People catch all kinds of diseases in our clinics due to poor hygiene, and dying from infections is not rare. My aunt never had to resort to public clinics to have her children; she had them in private, spotless hospitals with all the conveniences available to women of her stature.
I walk out holding my brother’s hand tight and praying to the God that’s everywhere, the God of the sun, moon and stars, the God that controls the oceans and earth, the God that made us in his image and the God that made my Bello, for nothing bad to happen to my mother. My ears are full of her admonitions to make sure we lock the door with the chain she picked up from the market, and to have the big stick we found in the street handy, just in case God forbid, someone upstairs found out we were alone and tried to force the door open.
She has reason to worry. There are two teenagers living upstairs and when I went looking for my cat a few days ago, they cornered me and tried to lift my dress. I was saved by the woman next door, who upon hearing my screams quickly came to my rescue and scolded them, but I’m afraid of them since that time and will not longer go upstairs even when Bello is missing. I hid the unsavory incident from mother because I didn’t want to add to her troubles, but the woman must have mentioned it to her because she took an intense dislike to them since that time and gave them killing glances whenever they passed by our room.
We heat the chicken soup and eat it with “marraqueta” cutting it into little pieces and soaking it in the soup.
“Do you realize that we don’t have to swallow cod liver oil tomorrow morning?” says Oscar with delight. “That’s reason enough to throw a party.”
Hunger satisfied and belly warmed up by the soup, we cuddle under the blankets, somewhat scared because we have never been truly alone before, ex
cept for the time our grandmother died, but Aunt Sonia was upstairs within reach then, whereas here we are truly alone and that’s a lot more sobering. It’s raining harder now and Oscar hopes tomorrow will be nice so he can chase chickens in the courtyard to his heart’s content, and watch them running for their lives, lifting dust and fluttering their feathers.
The chickens leave me cold but I love the two red roosters in the building, and have named them Pedrito and Miguelito. I love the way they walk with a proud, distinctive dance like matadors, and their coo coo roo coo every morning.
I’m so scared tonight I bend the rules and allow my brother to sleep next to me rather than at my feet. My cat Bello always sleeps with me too, so it’s a bit crowded with the three of us there but we finally fall asleep, and wake up hours later to the sound of somebody knocking and pushing at the door forcefully. Startled, I turn on the lamp and see that it’s midnight. I look at my brother with alarm while he, with the agility of a cat, jumps from the bed and grabs the big stick from behind the door.
“Go away,” I yell, trying to quell my panic for I already imagine it’s the two teenagers from upstairs. “We have a gun here.”
“I bet you do,” says a familiar voice. “Open the door right away or I’m going to break it down. I’m getting drenched out here.”
We look at each other in shock, it’s Gustavo who has obviously found out where we live, and has chosen a perfect night to make his appearance. I look at my brother with questioning eyes, while he, still holding the stick shakes his head and whispers, “remember, my sister, we can’t let anyone in.”
“We can’t just ignore him, Oscar, he’s already creating a scene; he’ll get us thrown out of here too.”
I open the door a crack and see that he is sober for a change, there is no smell of alcohol and he’s standing out there in a wet raincoat with a package in his hands.
“Are you going to let me into the new palace?” he says looking at our dwelling with mocking eyes. “Not much improvement over the old one, is it?”
“It was all we could afford,” I answer him, icily.
“Let your father in, I have a present for my son and it’s getting drenched out here.”
“You call yourself a father?” I say sarcastically. “Some father you are.”
“Okay, okay, I deserve that, but I can be a real father to you if you let me. Now open the door.”
Reluctantly, I open the door and he hands me the package. Shivering, he takes off his raincoat and shakes it in a corner of the room.
“Where is your mother? What is she doing out in a night like this in her condition?”
“She’s at the hospital having your baby. How the hell did you find us? We didn’t give anyone our new address.”
“High and mighty like your aunt, aren’t you? Watch how you talk to me, Vicky. It wasn’t easy but I managed. I have a lot of friends everywhere and put the word out, luckily for me one of them lives in this area and saw a blonde girl with short hair and bangs coming back from the river and followed you, so I knew right away it was you, there aren’t many blonde girls in La Paz so you stick out everywhere you go.”
“Damn hair, I wish I had dyed it black.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference; you’d still have the big green eyes.”
So Gustavo’s friend had followed us from the river, great; despite our best efforts someone had seen us. Damn River, I say to myself, hating the fact that it’s only a few blocks away from home and our favorite hang out. We love to get our feet wet there and throw stones pretending we are fishing with our imaginary rods. It’s a beautiful place with mountains in the background and open skies, and despite the murky water and pungent smell from the steady litter of the area, we make believe we are in India soaking our feet in the sacred river Ganges.
We see different moods and colors of the sky from there; sometimes bright red lines crisscrossing that reflect with soft, pink hues on the rocks, and at others somber grey skies with a tinge of purple.
~~~
Gustavo lies down on mom’s bed with weariness, kicks off his shoes with a thud, and looks at us with affection.
“Come give your father a hug,” he says patting the bed next to him. “What kind of a welcome is this?”
“Mom is going to be really upset you’re here,” says Oscar with anger. “She doesn’t want you anymore. She says you’re a bum.”
“She’s right but a “chango” can change. “Chango” is his favorite word and he uses it all the time mindless of the fact that it refers to a young person, usually a child.
“I haven’t touched a drink in weeks. I know it gets the best of me so I won’t do it anymore, but it’s a good thing I came because you shouldn’t be alone in a neighborhood like this. My buddy told me a lot of bad things about this area. You need protection, now take that scowl off your face and come give me a big hug.”
Oscar makes the first move and I follow suit. He hugs each one of us in his strong arms and we feel better. His dark eyes look at us with tenderness and there is a hint of tears in his eyes.
“I missed you; it was a terrible thing your mother did to me just disappearing like that. I went to the house looking for you and that arrogant woman who calls herself your aunt came down and treated me like dirt. She threatened to call the police if I didn’t leave the premises immediately and wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say, all I wanted to know was where to find you but she threw me out like I was a vagrant and I couldn’t believe that someone so pretty could be so mean.”
“So she finally met you,” I say with sarcasm.
“Yes,” he says yawning. “And I don’t think she was very impressed with me. That woman thinks she’s better than anybody, doesn’t she realize we’re all human? We are all going to die and end up eaten by worms, nobody is better than anybody in this world.”
We sleep soundly with him minding us, and wake up late the next morning. He takes us to “Mercado Camacho” for “Api and Llauchas” and when he pays, I notice he has a big wad of money on him. I figure he just got paid and before he spends it all on liquor, I have a bright idea. I start limping and take off my shoes saying they are hurting my feet. He looks at the shoes and sees the big holes by the toes.
“No wonder,” he says. “These shoes are shot; you need a new pair of shoes.”
“Oh, I usually staff them with paper, but we got up so late this morning I forgot.”
He looks at his watch. “Let’s go buy you a new pair, we still have time, your mom is probably resting now.”
I am delighted; he buys me a pair of brand new Manaco shoes with heavy soles, and I know they will last me a long time. Manaco shoes are made at home and they are much cheaper than the imported brands, so most people who aren’t rich buy them all the time. Mother always tries to buy us a pair of Manaco shoes at least once a year, but things have been very tough lately and we haven’t gotten new shoes in a couple of years. Oscar looks down at his own shoes wistfully, and I seize the opportunity.
“Can we get a pair for Oscar too? He hasn’t gotten new shoes in a very long time and I’m sure his shoes are shot too.”
“Show me your shoes, Oscar.”
“Huh, huh, I’m alright.”
I pinch him in the back and he takes them off. Gustavo lifts his eyebrows. “They are pitiful, let’s get you a pair too.”
We get out of there walking on air. We want to carry the new shoes with us but Gustavo insists we wear them right away and gets rid of the old shoes at the store.
“I won’t have you saving the new shoes only for special occasions,” he says firmly. “The soles are so thin you might as well be walking barefoot, get rid of them right now. I’m sure the saleslady can give them to the poor children in the neighborhood, won’t you, honey?”
The woman smiles and takes them away without a word. We walk to the hospital but keep looking at our new shoes. They look so shiny and great we can’t get over it, it brings back memories of the times mother was able to buy
us a new pair when we were little, and we hated to use them for fear of spoiling them. We would place them in our beds and contemplate them for hours, cleaning them with a cloth and obsessing over them till she would hit us over the head yelling “For the love of God will you stop fussing with the damn shoes and get off your asses?” But we would hate to break them in, we wanted to preserve them, hating to wear them, knowing that in a few months at the most in the rocky streets of La Paz, the shoes would be shot again.
~~~
Mother looks pale and haggard in the maternity ward, her hair is sprawled on her upright pillow, her eyes red. It’s unsettling to see her without the rosy cheeks she never seems to lose no matter what disaster befalls her. She tells us it was a difficult labor and she suffered for hours, it felt as though her back had broken in two and she had begged for someone to kill her, hit her with a hammer. She had befriended the other women in the ward and they confirmed her story, saying that it was a long labor and they had heard her screaming for hours. They said it with a look of admiration and sympathy as though all that suffering had earned her a badge of honor. One of the women had gotten a cesarean section and was still moaning in bed in a pitiful fashion.
After the doctor’s examination, the nurse brings the baby back to mother, and at the sight of him, her face lights up. “Congratulations,” says the white haired, pudgy looking doctor, following the nurse. “You’ve given birth to a healthy boy; he has good reflexes and strong lungs.”
“Thank you, doctor,” says mother with tears in her eyes. “Thank you very much.”
The doctor’s skin is dry and leathery and his blue jacket is covered with dandruff. His hands are blotchy and plump, and he keeps scratching his ear. “Well, I have other patients to see,” he says excusing himself. “I expect to see you soon for the baby’s first round of inoculations, that’s very important.”
“Sure,” says mother knowing that she’ll never take him. None of us had ever gotten inoculations because the system didn’t cover them and we couldn’t afford them. The new baby would get her “cure for all,” cod liver oil.
Beyond the Snows of the Andes Page 17