El Lector

by William Durbin

  After waiting for the sound to die away, Mama said, “The magnolia will be in full bloom soon.”

  Each spring Bella looked forward to seeing the giant white blossoms. The flowers were a foot across, and they had brilliant red seed cones that opened in autumn.

  “Where’s Rocinante?” Bella asked.

  Mama looked up. “I hope she hasn’t chewed through her rope and wandered off again.”

  “The rope’s right here.” Bella picked up a loop and gave it a tug. She heard a sad Baa huh huh coming from behind the oak. “Time for breakfast.” Bella pulled harder on the rope, but the goat wouldn’t budge.

  “She must not be hungry,” Mama said.

  “Rocinante’s always hungry.” Bella followed the rope to the tree and peeked around it. “Hi there, pretty—” Bella stopped. “Oh my!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Look at poor Rocinante,” Bella said. The fur was half gone from the top of her head, and little patches of pink skin showed down her back. “That’s all right, girl,” Bella said. She knelt down to scratch the goat’s chin whiskers.

  “Who on God’s green earth could have—” Mama turned toward the house. “Pedro!”

  “What will that spoiled brat do next?” Bella asked.

  Mama rousted Pedro out of bed and pulled him into the kitchen. “What did you do to that poor goat?”

  “Does she look bad?” Pedro rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “It was getting dark, and we couldn’t see so good.”

  “We?”

  “Joe and I. We watched the barber shave Grandfather the other morning, and we wanted to give it a try. Since neither of us have beards—”

  “Thank heavens for small favors.” Mama rolled her eyes. “You would have cut each other’s throats.”

  “We figured Rocinante wouldn’t mind if we practiced on her.”

  “That poor creature may never be the same!” Mama threw her hands skyward. “I swear I should hang myself from the clothesline and end all my miseries! You’re not leaving the house for a week.”

  “But I didn’t hurt nobody.”

  Mama cuffed Pedro on the shoulder as he scooted by. She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and whispered, “If only my Domingo, may his soul rest in peace, were here to set that boy straight.”

  By the time Bella and the girls had hung out the last load of laundry, the sun was blazing. “It’s lucky we got an early start,” Bella said.

  “Do you want me to do goat duty?” Juanita asked. They had to make sure Rocinante didn’t get loose and chew up the laundry.

  “Poor Rocinante is too embarrassed to come out from behind that tree today,” Isabel said.

  As soon as the girls stepped into the kitchen, Mama handed Bella a paring knife. “Start chopping the peppers and onions for dinner.”

  “Is Pedro still in the parlor?” Juanita asked.

  “A morning in the corner will encourage him to think before he starts shaving things,” Mama said.

  “He deserves it,” Isabel said. “You’d think he’d have learned after snipping off his eyebrows last summer.”

  Lola was the first to arrive for Sunday dinner. “How about some help out here?” she yelled from the front porch. “My arms are breaking.”

  The children ran to the door. “Hooray!” Pedro said. “Tía Lola’s brought a flan.” Lola’s caramel and egg custard was the children’s favorite.

  Pedro reached up for the plate. Lola held a bouquet of black-eyed Susans in her other hand.

  “Not so fast.” Lola lifted the plate high. “I expect a proper greeting.”

  “Good afternoon, Tía Lola.” Pedro stretched on tiptoes to kiss her cheek. Then he took the dessert to the kitchen.

  “For you, Rosa.” Lola handed Mama the flowers.

  “And how are my favorite girls?”

  “Fine, Tía Lola,” Isabel said.

  Lola put her hand on Bella’s shoulder. “Is Mary holding up?”

  “She’s doing the best she can,” Bella said.

  “I guarantee there’ll be greater heartbreaks ahead for you both,” Lola said.

  “What a way to cheer me up!”

  Lola stepped back and looked Bella up and down. “One thing that would improve your mood is standing up straighter. Remember what I’ve told you about posture? Lift your chin. Be proud of yourself.” Juanita threw her shoulders back and stood at attention. “And why do you insist on wearing such baggy blouses?” Lola tugged at Bella’s neckline, making her blush. “A little concealment can be a good strategy, but don’t throw a tent over the whole camp.”

  “Would you stop that!” Mama called from the kitchen.

  “Just trying to be helpful,” Lola said.

  “I hope I haven’t missed dinner.” A deep voice rumbled from the doorway. Grandfather carried a package wrapped in butcher paper.

  “We can’t eat until you come, Grandfather,” Isabel said.

  “And why is that?” Grandfather knelt down and looked into Isabel’s green eyes.

  “Because you bring the dinner!”

  “So I do.” He chuckled and handed the package to Mama as he rose. “Red snapper. Sebastiano selected the fillets specially for you.” Sebastiano was one of Grandfather’s oldest friends, and he ran a famous fish market in the city.

  “So expensive,” Mama said.

  “My family deserves the best,” Grandfather said. “Besides”— he hung his hat on a hook—“I had my share of tough times when we first came to Ybor City, and I promised myself that once I made my mark in the world I’d never do without.”

  “Did you go hungry when you were little?” Juanita asked.

  “We always had food, even if it was only stale bread and beans. But the worst thing around here was the mud and the thick clouds of mosquitoes. Back then Ybor was surrounded by swamps. The snakes and alligators outnumbered the tabaqueros. Our drinking water was so muddy that we had to strain it with a rag.” Isabel shivered. “Fellows joked that the water was too thick to drink but too thin to plow.”

  “Hard times may be returning,” Aunt Lola said as Grandfather took a seat in the parlor.

  “Are they cutting wages again?” Grandfather asked.

  “I’ve heard we might lose another day.”

  “You’ll lose more than that if the owners keep installing cigar-rolling machines,” Grandfather said.

  “They could never replace these.” Lola held out her hands to Bella. “Are they not things of art?”

  “Is that a new color?” Bella asked, studying Lola’s red nails and her three gold rings.

  “It’s Paris Mist,” Lola said.

  “You have the hands of a concert pianist,” Bella said.

  “That’s my girl.” Lola patted Bella’s arm.

  “Machines or not, things are going to get a lot worse if the tobacco workers vote to strike again,” Grandfather said.

  “That might be our only hope,” Lola said.

  “Compromise is always the best policy.”

  “We can’t keep flapping our gums and taking the cutbacks without a fight—”

  “Lola,” Mama interrupted, “would you mind helping me start the fish?”

  “Of course.” Lola followed Mama to the kitchen. Bella was grateful that Mama had stopped the union talk. Lola and Grandfather always argued when it came to labor matters. Though Grandfather read labor newsletters to the workers at El Paraíso, he believed the union leaders were too bold at times.

  Juanita sat on Grandfather’s knee. “If there were so many snakes and mosquitoes in the pioneer days, why did you come here?”

  “Yes,” Pedro said, “weren’t things better in Asturias?”

  Grandfather smiled. “We left Spain because my father was tired of being lorded over by kings and churchmen. We came to the New World by way of Havana, where my father was hired as a lector. Later, we followed the cigar makers to Key West.”

  “And then the railroad came to Ybor,” Isabel said.

  “You’ve listen
ed well to my stories.” Grandfather chuckled. “Once Henry Plant brought his railroad and steamship lines to Tampa, Vicente Martinez Ybor started a cigar factory. Mr. Ybor invited me to move here with my beautiful Belicia and seek our fortune.”

  Grandfather paused. Bella had heard the rest of the story many times. How deeply Grandfather had loved Belicia. How a fire had burned down his first home. And then how a yellow fever epidemic had taken his wife and son, leaving him to raise two daughters.

  “But that is all ancient history,” Grandfather said. “We must look to the future. Pedro, whom do you pick in the Cincinnati-Boston game?” Grandfather loved baseball.

  “The Reds should have an easy win,” Pedro said. “Too bad the Great Bambino isn’t in town.”

  “I agree.” Grandfather patted Pedro’s hand. “Babe Ruth! I watched his longest home run ever. April fourth, 1919, right here at Plant Field. The crack of the bat sounded like a pistol shot! The ball flew five hundred and eighty-seven feet.”

  Bella said, “I just read that a seventeen-year-old girl from Tennessee is pitching against Babe Ruth next month.”

  “You’re making that up.” Pedro jumped out of his chair and pushed Bella. “What does a girl know about baseball?”

  “I can hit a ball farther than you.” Bella pushed him back.

  “Can not!”

  “Settle down, children,” Mama said.

  “I’m not a child,” Bella said.

  “Then stop acting like one,” Mama said.

  “Bella’s right, Pedro,” Grandfather said. “The young pitcher’s name is Jackie Mitchell.”

  “They’ll slaughter her.”

  “Time will tell,” Grandfather said.

  Mama called, “Bella, would you please help me a moment?”

  “Why don’t you ever ask Pedro to help?” Bella asked. “Just because I’m a girl—”

  “I need you now, Bella,” Mama said.

  “A woman’s place is in the kitchen.” Pedro smirked.

  “Says who?” Bella pulled Pedro’s ear as she started down the hall.

  “Ow!” Pedro yelled. “I’m telling Mama on you.”

  “Go right ahead.” Bella clenched her teeth. If only Jackie Mitchell could hold her own against Babe Ruth next month. That would teach Pedro not to brag so much.

  CHAPTER 5

  One-Way Bread

  On Monday morning Bella woke to the clop of horses’ hooves and the tinkling of glass as the milkman carried the bottles up the walk and left them on the front porch. Ybor City followed a rhythm that was as steady as the tidal flow of Hillsborough Bay. Ybor lived and breathed in the clink of milk bottles, the clump of the bread man’s feet as he stuck his fresh loaf of Cuban bread on the nail beside the front door, and the sharp pick of the iceman chipping a block to fit the icebox.

  When they needed ice, it was Bella’s job to put a card labeled “25” in the window. That told the iceman to deliver a twenty-five-pound block. In the afternoon he used his tongs to swing the block onto his rubber-aproned back and carry it into their kitchen. During the summer, children clustered around his truck and begged for ice chips. Some neighbors had refrigerators, but Mama thought it cheaper to buy ice. She was also afraid of electricity.

  Rocinante bleated loudly in the backyard. Bella dressed and hurried outside. She looked across the yard and smiled. “You again!” A gray mockingbird was perched on a branch above Rocinante’s head, making goat sounds. The bird was a trickster that could imitate everything from a cat’s meow to a siren.

  Bella set out Rocinante’s food and water. “You have a good breakfast, pretty girl.” Bella ruffled her tiny ears. “And don’t worry about that bad haircut. Your coat will grow out as good as new.”

  Bella milked the goat and carried the pail to the kitchen.

  “Morning, dear,” Mama said. “Would you get the bread for me?”

  On the front porch she took their Cuban loaf from the nail. A single nail next to the door meant that they wanted fresh bread. Two nails meant they were ordering cheaper day-old bread. Mary’s family always bought day-old, and Bella pretended not to notice the second nail by Mary’s front door.

  While the coffee water boiled, Bella sliced and buttered some bread for Grandfather. Then she poured a steaming mug of coffee and boiled milk and set it on a tray. Since Grandfather lived right down the block, Bella often took him breakfast on her way to school.

  “Is that my morning angel?” Grandfather asked when he heard Bella coming up his front steps. Each morning Grandfather rose before dawn, lit the kerosene lamp in the parlor, and reviewed his readings for the day. Many of Ybor’s lectores lived in fancy homes, but Grandfather preferred a three-room casita. Though his salary was generous, he spent most of what he earned on Mama’s rent, his books, restaurant meals, gifts for the children, club dues, and a morning shave at the barber. Any extra money went to support the Spanish revolution against the king.

  Grandfather’s parlor walls were bare except for the painting of Grandmother Belicia, a silver-framed wedding photograph of Bella’s great-grandparents, and Belicia’s Spanish shawl, which had hung on the wall as long as Bella could remember.

  “Good morning,” Bella said. Though Grandfather’s clothes were always neat, his home was cluttered with books, magazines, and papers. A lifetime of collecting had left him with a library that was the envy of Ybor’s scholars, and he could find any book immediately.

  Bella set the tray on top of the Gaceta newspaper. “One-way bread,” Grandfather said, “just as I like it.” One-way bread was the name the waiters at the Columbia Restaurant gave bread that was buttered with one pass of the knife instead of the usual back-and-forth motion that scraped half the butter off.

  “Have a seat.” Besides his bookcases, the only furniture he owned consisted of a bed, a table, a bureau, a wicker rocker, and three straight-backed chairs.

  “You could use another chair,” Bella said, lifting a copy of Émile Zola’s novel Nana from a chair before she sat down.

  “A great thinker once said a man needs only three chairs: ‘one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society.’ ”

  “Is Nana a good book?”

  “It depends.” Grandfather took a taste of coffee and a big bite of bread. “Ah”—he smelled the brown crust—“bread is sacred food.”

  “What do you mean, ‘It depends’?”

  “Some like it. Some don’t. Two workers in my factory once argued whether it was proper to read Zola with ladies present.”

  “Who won?” Bella asked.

  “Neither, unfortunately.” Grandfather took another sip of coffee. “That night they settled it with pistols.”

  “Over a novel?”

  “Literary disagreements are serious in Ybor City. Sadly, they both died.”

  They were silent until Grandfather had taken his last sip of coffee. He wiped his mustache and said, “Delicious.”

  “I don’t understand how you stay so thin,” Bella teased. Grandfather not only had bread and coffee at home, but he also stopped for a second breakfast on his way to El Paraíso.

  “Reading burns up lots of calories.” Grandfather chuckled. Bella knew he was only half joking, because he performed with such energy. He and Bella often acted out scenes in books and plays, and he could change his voice to fit any character.

  El Reloj tolled up the street. Bella kissed Grandfather and ran out the door to school.

  Bella didn’t have a chance to talk with Mary until they were walking home that afternoon.

  “I hope I didn’t ruin things on Saturday night,” Mary said.

  “Of course not! You can’t help worrying about your father,” Bella said.

  A boy walked past and made a canary whistle at Mary’s yellow shoes.

  “You little twerp.” Bella glared at him, then turned to Mary. “I hope the boys are more mature next year.”

  Bella and Mary took their time walking home. “Smell the guavas?” Mary asked.

  Bella nodded and
closed her eyes as she breathed in the steamy jungle scent of the nearby plant. “Did you talk to Tony today?” Mary had a crush on Tony Martino, but she changed her mind about boys so often that Bella said she belonged to a love-of-the-month club.

  “I’m sure he noticed me this morning when I walked past the drinking fountain.”

  “I don’t know what you see in him,” Bella said.

  “Muscles. And big brown eyes.”

  “He reminds me of Rocinante, the way he struts around showing off,” Bella said.

  “I can’t argue with that,” Mary laughed. “Maybe we should call him Pretty Boy Martino?”

  “Next fall you’ll have to keep your mind on the books when we’re in high school,” Bella said.

  “You mean if we—”

  “Don’t say ‘if.’ In September we’ll be walking up the steps of Hillsborough High School just like we’ve always promised ourselves.”

  When Bella finally arrived at their casita, Mama looked ready to scold her for being late. But when she noticed Bella’s face, she said, “How are you, honey?”

  “It’s Mary. If her family can’t pay their rent, they might have to move.”

  Mama took a bottle of milk from the icebox and poured a glass for Bella. “It must be hard with her father gone.”

  “She’s still hoping he’ll come home.”

  “If only our Dom—” Mama stopped.

  “I know, Mama.” Bella set down her glass and hugged Mama.

  What if Mary had to leave? After losing Papa, Bella couldn’t imagine another empty place in her heart.

  CHAPTER 6

  Sitting at the Ritz

  “In the ancient city of London, on a certain autumn day in the second quarter of the sixteenth century, a boy was born to a poor family of the name of Canty, who did not want him. On the same day another English child was born to a rich family of the name of Tudor, who did want him. All England wanted him too.”

  Bella stopped reading and tossed the book onto the bed. “I can’t concentrate.”

  Mary had stopped by Bella’s after school, and they were studying for a test on The Prince and the Pauper. “You can’t expect to follow in her footsteps and become La Lectura if you don’t practice.” Mary looked up at the photo of Luisa Capetillo on the bedroom wall.