Write me soon! It takes so long to get your letters. Of course it’s because mail must come by ship halfway across the world and up from San Juan to Utuado’s general store. (That part of the journey probably takes as long as the voyage due to the terrible roads!)
Regards from tu primo, and we send ours to your husband and to España!
Besos,
Valentina
P.S. When will you go to Paris?
Utuado
June 4, 1890
Querida Elena,
Vicente just brought me your letter. It was a lucky thing that his father sent him on an errand to town, otherwise it might have been several months before I received it. Unfortunately, that is where the mail is picked up and delivered. Everything is such a production here; so much effort is required for the littlest thing! How are you and the family? I thank you for your letters. It helps me to feel that I haven’t been forgotten by my family. Thank you for finding someone to bring my things, I can’t wait to get them. It’s been almost six months since we married! Sometimes it feels like a minute; sometimes, five years. Oh, don’t mind me. Tengo un poco de depresión. Gloria warns me to watch out because a city woman like me is prone to un ataque de nervios. Gloria is the servant I told you about. Sometimes I think that I’m the other one. Vicente’s mother, Doña Angelina (yes, I still call her doña), says that I’m learning to be a proper ama de casa, but some days I think that I’m in training to be a servant. Do I really need to learn how to make starch from scratch? Can’t I just buy it at the pharmacy like we did in Ponce? It seems that we can’t, because there is no pharmacy nearby, and people en el campo make everything themselves! Unfortunately, Vicente’s family isn’t wealthy like Dalia’s. (I don’t understand how that could be because they’re the same family!)
Elena, I’m sorry! I didn’t start this letter intending to worry you. It’s only that I was thinking of Dalia in Spain living mi sueño when Doña Angelina called me to help pick the bones out of the codfish we’re having for dinner. ¡Sí, bacalao! Don’t tell Papá. I wouldn’t want him to know how much of a jíbara his daughter has become. And it’s not that I’m really unhappy (or don’t like bacalao, because I do!), it’s just that while Utuado is very beautiful, it’s so far away from Ponce, from you, and our parents. Sometimes I feel so alone.
There is la doña again calling me to the kitchen. She probably wants me to help Gloria wash the pots. The other day, Vicente’s mother made me clean the—la doña is at the door! I must go!
Muchos, muchos besos,
Valentina
P.S. As to that other thing, I still can’t tell you in a letter! But I’m hoping that it will come to nothing.
P.P.S. I think I might be encinta! No one knows yet, not even Vicente. I know he’ll be glad, but it’s too soon!
CHAPTER TEN
RAULITO
When Raulito scavenged for food, he looked for edible roots for his mother to boil for soup. He threw stones at birds, even though he didn’t like to kill them. He picked fruit from trees that grew along the trails or about the mountain like mamey and quenepas and his favorite, jobo, which tasted deliciously of both pineapple and mango. He stole bananas and plantains from his father’s trees, careful not to get caught. Vicente told Raulito that his mother would give him rice and beans and eggs—they kept hens. But he never went because his mother Eusemia had forbidden him. A few times, he snuck onto his father’s land and dug out vegetables. Eusemia had warned him against taking anything from other farmers, but there were times when he disobeyed her and used the machete Vicente had given him to chop a few ears of corn from a field. Raulito was already experienced with a machete. As a special treat for his mother, he walked miles for cocos. One by one, he picked up the brown coconuts from the ground, shaking each and holding it to his ear, listening for sloshing liquid—no sloshing and it was fully ripe and the coconut meat would be ready to munch on or grind or boil in water to make coconut milk, a little liquid in the coconut and they could eat the meat with a spoon. It was a feat to climb a coconut palm for the green nuts filled with his mother’s favorite coconut water. He wrapped his arms against the rough bark, the soles of his bare feet gripping the trunk. He never worried that a coconut might bash his head in as he climbed, or that he might lose his grip and fall thirty-sixty feet. He thought only of the coconuts, of chopping the fronds and tossing the fruits on the ground until he had enough to fill a whole sack for his mother. She’d take them out one by one until there was a pile of coconuts in their bright green or brown shells at her feet. And then she’d give him one of her rare smiles, and he would smile back.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WAITING
It began the way such things always begin—with a glance that was more than it should be, with a phrase tinged with promises whispered in the ear. Naturally, Valentina was not experienced in such affairs, but she was young and pretty and all young and pretty girls enjoyed or tolerated such behavior from the males in their circle. When her father-in-law’s gaze lingered a moment too long, when he complimented the delicacy of her complexion, the fineness of her hands, the luster of her hair, she’d come down with a nervous stomach and Gloria would make her té de jengibre. The servant would hold the knob of ginger between her fingers and say, Valentina, feel this ginger, see how it’s firm, that’s how you can tell that it’s good, now watch how I use the tip of the knife to pare its skin, how will you learn to be a good wife if you don’t pay attention, muchacha, you won’t have me to make you ginger tea.
Now Valentina worried all the time that Vicente’s father might approach her in a way that would make it impossible to live in the same house with him. And then what would she and Vicente do, especially now that she suspected she was pregnant? Valentina would be in the kitchen with Gloria—Valentina, this is the proper way to iron your husband’s shirt, heat the iron on the hot coals, the shirt should be a little damp, if not, sprinkle it with water, next, sprinkle it with a few drops of starch, which should be at hand, I taught you to make starch the other day. You forgot? Did you write it down? See this plant? Looks like a lily? This is a yautía plant. The tubers are in the earth. I will show you how to dig it out. This stone molino is what you use to grind corn into flour to make sorullos, this is how you soak beans, this is how you boil the guayaba for pasta de guayaba, because Vicente has a sweet tooth, this is how you tell the difference between culantro and cilantro, they are cousin herbs or maybe brother and sister—and Gloria would snap her fingers in Valentina’s face. ¿Muchacha, dónde estabas? Your mind should be in this pot of beans.
One day, the woman’s stare unnerved Valentina.
“Oye muchacha, te doy un consejo.” Gloria carried a coconut and a cleaver over to the table. “Never be alone with Don Raúl.”
“But he’s Vicente’s father, mi suegro.”
With the tip of the cleaver, Gloria poked a hole in a soft part at one end of the coconut.
“Bring over that glass.”
Valentina set a glass on the table.
Gloria flipped the coconut upside down, filling the glass with coconut water.
“He tried his pocas vergüenzas with me long ago when I first came, but Doña Angelina threatened to cut off his thing when he was asleep and that was that.”
Valentina gasped.
“Pay attention.” Gloria balanced the coconut on her palm and gave it a couple of whacks with the cleaver.
“I couldn’t do that! I’m afraid of large knives.”
Gloria set the cleaver on the table and broke the coconut in two with her hands.
“You’ll learn.”
“What should I do about Don Raúl?”
Gloria picked up the cleaver. “If he tries anything, he’ll have to deal with me.”
“¡Gloria! ¡Eres loca!” Valentina laughed, and Gloria did, too.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DON RAÚL, MUJERIEGO
It had never happened to him before. Never. He’d never believed in it when others spoke of it or wro
te about it in poems or décimas. For Raúl Vega it was a thing invented by silly poets or men who liked their liquor. Until Valentina, he’d never understood the passion of men who killed each other for falda—not when there were so many women. Still, he doubted that what he felt was love; it was more of a hunger. From the moment he saw Valentina naked, the washcloth in her hand, Raúl Vega determined that he would have her just like he would any other woman. That she was his son’s wife only made it a little bit more exciting and dangerous. But Raúl Vega didn’t waste time in introspection. He spent his days in coffee, his nights in the arms of women who weren’t his wife. For years, he’d taken the women and girls, mostly willingly, but not always, for his own pleasure; and if the woman or girl was also pleased, so much the better. He married out of family obligation, and because Angelina had done the same, he did not need to consider her feelings as long as he kept a roof over her and did not bring another woman into the house—as some men had been known to do. Raúl Vega fathered two sons and went about his business. His wife did not quarrel with him about this. When she brought Inés into their bedroom and moved him out, he didn’t even object.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SOME DAYS
Vicente usually worked for his father, and if he labored nearby, he returned for the midday meal. These were Valentina’s favorite days. She would hear his voice calling her name as he rode his horse up to the batey, and she would drop whatever she was doing—learning a mundillo stitch from Inés, rinsing a blouse, chopping garlic.
“Los amores.” Gloria would shake her head in mock disapproval.
Vicente would carry his wife into their bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. Gloria and las damas heard the creaking of the bedsprings, their murmurs and laughter; the women paused to recall a time in their lives when they had succumbed to midday lovemaking, overpowered by a force stronger than reason.
One particular morning when she was alone at the table, a spoonful of sugar poised over her coffee cup, Raúl Vega sat next to her. She put down the spoon.
“I’m thinking of giving Vicente a few cuerdas of land so that he can build your casita,” he said.
“Don Raúl, how wonderful! Vicente will be so grateful.” Valentina looked into the hazel eyes so like her husband’s.
“What about you? Are you grateful?” His fingers grazed her wrist.
“Of course, Don Raúl.” She looked down at the cup; it was real porcelain. Angelina had told her that the china set had been a wedding present.
Gloria came into room. “Valentina, I need you in the kitchen.
Valentina picked up the cup and saucer and went to the kitchen with Gloria. They heard the door slam.
•
Raúl Vega began to send Vicente to the outer reaches of his farm so that he couldn’t return until he finished work. It happened on one occasion that Valentina had un antojo so strong for grapefruit that she had to satisfy her craving. Las damas had retired to their room to rest when Valentina went to the citrus grove carrying the fruit picker, a long pole with a net at the end. Valentina raised the picker up in the tree’s crown toward the golden globes. She moved the net back and forth until her arms and shoulders ached, but still she couldn’t grasp the grapefruit.
Raúl Vega came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
Valentina dropped the picker on the ground.
“I’ve dreamt of this.” Raúl Vega stuck his face in the soft spot between her neck and collarbone.
She pushed at his arms, trying to break his embrace.
“Valentina! Valentina!” Someone was calling her.
“¡Que diablo!” Raúl Vega released her and she sprang toward the voice.
Her legs tangled in her long skirt and she braced herself for the fall.
“Valentina! Are you hurt?” She looked up to see Raulito kneeling on the ground beside her. He helped her up and she brushed the dirt from her dress.
“I was bringing you a plant from my mother,” Raulito said. “I dropped it somewhere.”
“I had a taste for grapefruit.”
“I’ll pick some for you.”
He maneuvered the pole among the branches; a bird with a green back and a black-and-white head flew out of the foliage. Raulito picked a dozen grapefruits and took off his shirt to carry them back to Valentina. She told him to take half to his mother and thank her for the plant.
They lay on their bed, his hand caressing the imperceptible swell of her stomach.
“It seems impossible,” he said.
Valentina laughed because he was so silly, because he loved her, because in his arms she felt that the world was wonderful.
“Should we tell them now?” Vicente kissed her belly.
“Not yet. It’s too soon.” Valentina ruffled his hair.
They heard las damas’ voices as they passed their room.
“I have to work,” Vicente said.
“Me, too, if I know your mamá.” Valentina watched her husband get dressed.
“Do you think we could have our own house before the baby is born?”
“Amor, won’t you need help with the baby?”
“We can take Gloria with us.”
“She’s not a person to take, this is her home,” Vicente said.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know you didn’t.”
Gloria knocked on the door. “Vicente, you’d better hurry if you want to eat something, Don Raúl is waiting for you.”
“Do you really have to go?” Valentina reached her arms around his neck.
“Papá is waiting.” Vicente kissed her.
The day came when Inés also began to watch over her. Whenever Raúl Vega returned to the house, either Gloria or Inés chaperoned Valentina. When he ordered Gloria to the kitchen to make him coffee or cook him some eggs, Valentina went also. Inés was not so easily commanded, and would continue working on the mundillo stitching that was always at hand.
The women were shelling beans; Angelina had gone to her room to rest. Valentina wanted to tell Vicente that his father’s behavior made her uncomfortable.
“What good would that do? Vicente would have to fight his father.” Inés dropped shelled beans into the big bowl on the table.
“Don Raúl would kill his own son,” Gloria said.
“¡Dios libre! Don’t talk such boberías, Gloria,” Inés said. “But Valentina, Raúl might throw you and Vicente out, and then what would you do?”
“We could go back to Ponce, live with my family.” Valentina dropped the shells in a second bowl.
“Vicente in a city? He’ll never leave the countryside, and I can’t see him living in someone else’s house.” Inés paused in her work.
“I’m living in his parents’ house,” Valentina said.
“It’s different for the man,” Inés said.
“I don’t see why. My father could help him get a job someplace.”
Gloria picked out a few small beans among the shells. “Valentina, you dropped beans in the shells. Be more careful.”
“Vicente lives for coffee,” Inés said.
“Maybe he’ll have to live for me instead,” Valentina said.
“You’ll have to take him away at gunpoint,” Gloria said.
Utuado
August 16, 1890
Querida Elena,
You’re about to become a tía! Our baby will arrive in November. Vicente says that our baby will be a coffee farmer because he is waiting to be born after la cosecha. How I long to have my baby in Ponce with you and Mamá. Vicente reminds me that I am in a house with women who can take care of me and help me with the baby. I’m trying not to complain because I know it bothers him that we’re still living with his parents. (But not as much as it bothers me!)
And how are you, dear sister? Our beautiful parents? Your husband and children?
Siempre,
Valentina
P.S. I had a letter from Dalia. She saw Rudolfo at some ball in Sevilla with a beautiful se�
�orita on his arm. I knew he wouldn’t be faithful!
P.P.S. Where is my trunk? Don’t make me come get it!
Utuado
August 16, 1890
Dear Dalia,
I have news for you! Your cousin Vicente and I are about to have a baby! We’re so happy, and as you can imagine, so are your aunt and uncle. We are getting ready to move into our own little house any day now, although the damas are begging us to stay until after the baby is born. They love waiting on me hand and foot. They can’t do enough for me!
What a happy coincidence to meet Rudolfo at a house party in Sevilla. Rudolfo was always a picaflor. Like you, I’m not surprised that he had the most beautiful girl on his arm. Please give him my regards, and don’t forget to tell him how ecstatic I am with my farmer.
I’m including the recipe for Gloria’s arroz con gandules as requested. She asks that you let her know how it turns out. She doesn’t think that Spanish cooks can be as good as cocineras criollas.
Abrazos,
Valentina
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THERE ONCE WAS A MOTHER
Lesson number one from Doña Angelina: Why are you still in bed, Valentina? It’s after eight o’clock. A quien madruga, Dios lo ayuda. It’s not good for a pregnant woman to stay in bed like one of those Victorian maidens in your books. Get up and into the fresh country air. Si te molesta caminar, or if you’re too lazy, then you can always stand in front of the house and breathe. Gloria has fixed you something to eat. After that, I’m going to take it upon myself to teach you how to survive in the country. I promise you that if you do as I say, you will be prepared to live in your own house. One day, you’ll be grateful. Go to your parents in Ponce until after the baby is born? ¡Que ridículo! Travel on our country roads that are barely roads? You want this baby, es verdad? Entonces, olvidarás esa locura. Don’t even mention it to my son, because his father won’t be able to spare him. Why do you need your mother when you have three women already? Get dressed!
The Taste of Sugar Page 9