“I’ve been thinking about Luisa, and instead of being La Lectura, I want to be known as El Lector, like Grandfather.”
“Good for you.” Mary picked up the book and looked at the picture of Mark Twain on the cover. “I still can’t get over how much he looks like your grandfather.”
Bella nodded. “If he’d trimmed his hair and mustache, he’d be Grandfather’s twin.”
“I think we should do something special this weekend,” Mary said.
“Like what?”
Mary smoothed the back of her frizzy head as she thought. “Let’s take our sisters to the Ritz Theater.”
“For the Saturday cartoon carnival?” Bella asked.
“Do you still have those ice cream tops?” Five Sealtest tops paid the dime admission to the cartoons at the Ritz.
“I’ve saved up enough to pay for us all,” Bella said.
“Perfect,” Mary said.
“Remember the fun we had at those cartoons?” Bella asked.
“I always thought I’d win that bike.”
“Me too.” Bella nodded. “I held my breath every time they spun the prize wheel. I could see myself pedaling that red Schwinn down Seventh Avenue.”
“How many years did it take us to figure out the game was rigged and nobody was ever going to win?”
“The bike is so dusty you can’t tell it’s red,” Bella said. “Maybe we believed because we wanted to keep on wishing?”
“What if it’s just as silly for us to think we can go to high school when all our friends are going into the factories?” Mary said.
“No one has studied as hard as we have. We deserve to go.”
When Mary and her sister, Carmen, stopped by Bella’s casita on Saturday morning, Mary said, “I’ve got a surprise.” She opened her palm and showed five streetcar tokens. “Mama found them in a drawer.”
Isabel and Juanita jumped up and down. “We get to ride the trolley.”
The girls ran to the corner and waited until the trolley creaked to a stop. As they climbed on board, Juanita stared at the flashing signal lights and the glass doors that opened and closed with a metallic bang. The cars were painted a dark green and trimmed with red. The brass railings shone brightly, and a warm electric smell filled the compartment.
Carmen touched a lacquered oak seat. “It’s almost too pretty to sit on.”
“And look at the grand uniform on the conductor.” Juanita studied the smart cap and brass-buttoned jacket.
“Hang on,” Mary said as the trolley jerked forward with a crackle of sparks and a creak of the wheels.
A few minutes later the girls lined up under the long Ritz Theater canopy to buy their tickets. Bella asked, “Who’s going to win the bike today?”
“I am!” Juanita called.
Bella and Mary didn’t have the heart to tell their sisters the game was rigged. Each time the prize wheel was spun, they all cheered for their ticket numbers.
When the girls started home, Bella glanced down a side street and saw a curly head. “Isn’t that Pedro?”
He ducked out of sight. “I hope he isn’t hanging around the nightclubs,” Mary said. “We’ve all warned him.”
“The trouble with boys”—Carmen blinked behind her thick glasses—“is they just don’t listen.”
The girls all laughed.
When Bella got home, Mama asked, “Did you have a nice time?”
“It was fun.” Bella paused in the bedroom doorway. Julio slept soundly, while Mama sat in a straight-backed chair and crocheted a doily. Bella stared at Papa’s belt, which hung right behind Mama.
Juanita yelled on the porch, “Stop pulling my hair!”
“Pedro must be home,” Bella said.
Then Julio started to cry. “That boy,” Mama sighed.
Before Mama could get up, Bella lifted Julio from his crib. “Hush now,” she whispered, rocking him gently. He smiled as he quieted in her arms. If only Papa had lived to meet Julio. Bella was ready for the day when Julio would start to ask questions about what his papa had been like. She would make sure that he understood the true spirit of Domingo Lorente.
CHAPTER 7
The Silvertone 1100
Late Sunday afternoon Bella was sitting in the green wicker rocker on her front porch and thinking of how often she’d sat on Papa’s lap in this same chair, listening to his stories. And when the neighbors strolled by, she’d leaned over the porch railing to wave and smile.
The street was quiet today. A soft hint of pink had begun to streak the eastern sky, and small birds chirped in the spiky fronds of the palmetto. Mama had gone to the park with Julio and the girls, and Pedro was reading the funny papers for the second time.
Grandfather had taught Pedro how to read by translating his favorite comic strips, The Katzenjammer Kids and Dinglehoofer und His Dog Adolph, into Spanish. Then Grandfather had Pedro read the English to him. These days Pedro could understand everything but the hardest words.
Pedro pushed the Katzenjammer comic into Bella’s lap. “What’s ‘Vot der’ mean?”
Before Bella could answer, a crackling voice filled the air, and Rocinante started bleating in the backyard. Next door a half dozen of José Navarro’s friends stood on his porch, peering into his parlor. The voice was coming from inside.
Bella walked over. “Hi, Bella,” said José’s nephew, Carlos.
“What’s going on?”
“My uncle just got—”
Carlos was drowned out by a blaring static voice: “Welcome to the melodic sounds of the Twilight Trio.”
“José bought a radio?” Bella asked.
“Wowee!” Pedro was peeking into the parlor.
“It’s not just any radio.” Carlos pointed. “That’s a Silvertone Model 1100.”
Inside, José was kneeling in front of a large wooden cabinet and adjusting the tuning knob. “There we have it.” José stood up and brushed his hands together.
Music was playing now, and the static had dropped to a hum in the background.
“You can stay.” Carlos talked more loudly than he needed to.
“Really?” Pedro said.
“Sure,” Carlos said. “How about you, Bella?”
Bella shook her head and walked to the backyard, where Rocinante was rubbing her nubby ears against the oak.
“That’s only music, girl.” Bella tickled the goat’s chin and went back to the front porch. A radio! The new models cost more than seventy dollars. How could José, a janitor, afford one? Bella narrowed her eyes and thought. Mama said that José got extra money from a part-time job as Charlie Wall’s handyman. Wall was a local gangster, and José did odd jobs for him, like sharpening the killing spurs Charlie tied on his fighting roosters. José had once bragged to Mama that he made more working a half day for Charlie than the cigar factory paid in a week.
Bella picked up a book. But who could read with that noise?
When Mama came home with Julio and the girls, Pedro ran up the sidewalk to meet them. “Can you hear the Silvertone? Can you?”
“What are you babbling about?” Mama set Julio down.
“The Navarros bought a radio.”
“Really?” Juanita’s eyes brightened.
“I’ll show you.” Pedro ran next door, with his sisters trailing behind.
When Pedro and the girls came home, Juanita asked, “Mama, can we get a radio too?”
“Just because our neighbors have a radio doesn’t mean we can afford one.”
“We wouldn’t need a Silvertone,” Pedro said. “Carlos told me a Majestic is only five dollars.”
“He means five dollars down,” Mama said. “Then you have to make payments every month for a whole year.”
“If José can—”
“It’s time for bed.”
After the youngsters were settled in bed, Bella and Mama sat down on the porch. Mama got out her silver-handled hair-brush, undid Bella’s braids, and brushed her hair, while Bella read a novel.
“Hard to concen
trate?” Mama asked over the humming of the radio next door.
“It’s like a bee buzzing around my head,” Bella said. The last strollers had gone home, and the street was empty.
“This is my favorite time of the day.” Mama sighed as she pulled the soft brush through Bella’s long hair. “I love the peace and—”
“You can’t say ‘quiet’ like you usually do,” Bella said.
“No.” Mama shook her head. “Not with that radio on.”
Later, when Bella went inside, she caught a movement in Mama’s bedroom. She stopped. “Why aren’t you asleep?” Bella spoke quietly so she wouldn’t wake Julio.
Pedro stood up behind the bed. He was wearing Papa’s belt over his pajamas.
“Pedro?” Mama stepped past Bella.
Pedro said, “I like to put it on sometimes ’cause . . . I miss Papa.”
Mama hugged him. “I know you do. I know.” Mama helped him take the belt off. “Let me put that back where it belongs.”
Bella felt a pang, watching Mama’s eyes well up with tears as she hung Papa’s belt on the wall.
The next morning Bella awoke to a train whistle. Every time she heard a train or saw a hobo walking down the tracks, she thought of Mary’s father. The newspaper said that millions of men were hopping trains and hitchhiking across the country in search of work. Mary’s father had to send money soon!
After the clattering of the train faded, Bella enjoyed the oooh-ooo-oo of a mourning dove calling from the magnolia. Whenever Julio slept late, the house was so peaceful.
As Bella was filling the washbasin, the radio crackled through the window, and she almost dropped the porcelain pitcher.
“Welcome to Morning Cheer,” a voice sang out.
“Not already,” Bella groaned.
Julio woke up crying. “Your little brother is no radio fan either.” Mama picked him up. “I’m going to speak with José about waiting until a decent hour to turn on that squawk box.”
CHAPTER 8
Payday
On Saturday afternoon Bella stopped at El Paraíso to walk Grandfather home. She noticed that the small yellow blossoms on the paradise tree had begun to brown. That meant clusters of purple berries would soon be tempting the waxwings and jays.
Bella paused on the lawn and listened to the final reading of the day, a sonnet by Shakespeare that Grandfather had translated into Spanish: “Not marble, nor the gilded monuments / of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme . . .”
The stately words drifting out the windows suited the still, green afternoon. If only she could learn to read so grandly! Grandfather had told Bella, “At day’s end I like to offer a short story or poem for the glad hearts to carry home.” Bella often thought about the poem she would read at the end of her first day as a lector. For now she’d chosen John Donne’s “Go and Catch a Falling Star.”
Grandfather finished the sonnet to the clapping of chavetas on the benches, followed by the scraping of chairs being pushed back. It was payday, and everyone was eager to be on their way.
The first workers who came out the door were arguing union politics. One man said, “Weren’t you listening to Señor García today? He explained it all.” Bella stiffened. Could Grandfather’s prolabor readings get him into trouble?
The week before, Lola had told them about rumors that the Ybor factory owners were thinking about removing the lectores, but Grandfather had only said, “I wouldn’t be doing my job if the owners didn’t get upset. They’re always looking for a scapegoat to blame their union troubles on. If that’s the game they want to play, I have broad shoulders.”
As the factory emptied, it got noisy outside. From the time she was little, Bella had enjoyed watching the cigar rollers settle their weekly accounts. The tabaqueros were paid in cash, based on the number of cigars they rolled. An average worker made around twelve hundred cigars each week, but a man nicknamed Rapido Rodriguez finished as many as two thousand cigars.
Bella heard him over the crowd. “With less coffee drinking and more work you fellows could do as well.”
“They don’t put pockets in coffins.” A short man jabbed Rapido in the ribs with his elbow.
Another man called, “Live well when you can, Rodriguez.”
“Fools and their money are easily parted.” Rapido stuffed his pay into his pocket. Unlike most cigar rollers, who wore white shirts and ties, Rodriguez came to work in the same tobacco-stained clothes every day. He even refused to spend money on a hat.
After each worker was paid, he stopped at a table set up in the shade of the paradise tree to pay Manuel, the cafetero, for the coffee he delivered three times each day. Curling petals fell from the branches onto Manuel’s table. When Bella was little, she used to fill a cup with petals and take it home to Mama, who loved having “a scent of paradise” in her kitchen.
A man beside Manuel was collecting money to send to Spain to help the people fight for independence from the king. Any worker who refused to contribute his fair share was called a fascista. The only worse thing a cigar worker could be called was rompehuelgas—strikebreaker!
An elderly lady named Miss Margie also waited near the front door, with a coin box in her hands. As a young girl she’d been crippled by an accident in a cotton mill. But the generosity of the cigar workers allowed her to live in her own house.
The final stop for each man was Juan Fernandez, the presidente de la lectura, who collected Grandfather’s weekly fee of twenty-five cents from the workers who understood Spanish.
Everyone wished Juan a pleasant weekend as they dropped their quarters into his cigar box, but one man shook his head. “You have no choice, Cesar,” Juan said. “Since you listen to the lector’s readings, you must contribute to his salary.”
“No money for the Spaniard,” Cesar said. “Those rich Spaniards came to Cuba and stole my family’s land.”
“You can’t work here if you don’t follow the rules,” Juan said.
“Rules!” The veins on Cesar’s temples stood out. “What are rules but an excuse to enslave the workingman? What are rules but a reason for revolution?”
When Grandfather heard the commotion, he came outside and approached the table. Grandfather nodded at Cesar; then he said something to Juan. Juan frowned but said, “Very well,” and waved Cesar along.
“Bella!” Grandfather said. “I must be on my way, compadres. It is not every day that a beautiful señorita is available to escort me home.”
The men by the table stared at her. One whispered and another grinned. Was there something wrong with her? Bella folded her arms over her chest.
“Good afternoon, Princess.” Juan tipped his hat to Bella. He’d called her Princess since she was a little girl.
Bella waved to Juan as she walked up to Grandfather. “What was that all about?”
“Cesar Hidalgo?”
Bella nodded.
“Cesar is new at El Paraíso, but I’ve worked with him at other factories. He claims that when the Hidalgo family lived in Cuba during the last century, Spanish occupiers stole their land. I’m Spanish, so he won’t pay me.”
“He’s angry after all those years?” Bella asked. “And you had nothing to do with it!”
“He’s a fiery spirit. As a young man Cesar fought beside José Martí during Cuba’s revolt against Spain. He used some of his family fortune to finance the war.”
“If he’s rich, he should pay you your quarter,” Bella said.
“With Cesar it’s a matter of principle.”
“Will they fire him?” Bella asked.
“Juan wanted him dismissed, but I pleaded his case. A man shouldn’t be punished just because he disagrees with the established way of doing things.”
“Even if it means you don’t get paid?”
“What is money compared to an issue of honor?” Grandfather offered his arm to Bella. “Shall we promenade?”
The cigar workers smiled and tipped their hats as Grandfather and Bella started up the walk. For a momen
t she imagined she was wearing an elegant white dress and stepping onto a palm-lined boulevard lit by a golden sun.
CHAPTER 9
The Babe is Caught Looking
“Bella.” The voice sounded far away. Bella looked up and saw Mary plucking bright red seeds from the magnolia tree in her backyard. Why would the seed cones be open when it wasn’t autumn? Bella walked closer. Her friend was dropping the seeds one by one and smiling. Bella looked at the ground. A man lay at Mary’s feet. Each time a seed hit his white shirt it turned into a drop of blood.
Bella opened her mouth to scream. It was Papa!
“Bella, wake up.” Mama touched her hand. “Would you feed Julio? He’s been fussing since five.”
The image of Papa lingered long after Bella opened her eyes. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She sat up slowly. She’d been having the nightmare since the day she’d learned of Papa’s murder. She sighed and began to dress.
Bella took care of Julio and then gave Rocinante her hay and water. As Bella looked up at the blossoms on the magnolia tree, she saw Papa’s face. The goat bumped her leg. “Sorry, pretty girl. I’m still dreaming.” Rocinante lifted her head at the word “pretty,” and Bella knelt to pet her.
Back in the kitchen she asked, “Mama, what’s the date?”
“April third. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve got to see Grandfather.” Bella quickly buttered Grandfather’s bread and stirred hot milk into his coffee.
“What can be so important?”
“I just need to check on something,” Bella said.
“Has the paper come?” Bella called through Grandfather’s open front door.
“No time to say good morning?”
Bella kissed his cheek. “Good morning, Grandfather. I wanted to see how the game turned out.”
“Game?” Grandfather thought. “Of course. The young lady from Tennessee who pitched against Babe Ruth!”
Bella opened the sports page. “Here it is. She did it!” she squealed. “She struck out Ruth! And Gehrig, too!”
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