Mami stuck a label on one of the bottles and rubbed her fingers over it again and again. “We haven’t come up with a girl’s name yet, but definitely Gustavo Junior for a boy,” she said.
“But what would you call him?” Tía Chea asked. “We already have one Tavito.”
“He doesn’t need a nickname,” Mami said. “We can just call him Gustavo.”
“Or his nickname could have nothing to do with his actual name, like mine,” Muñeca said.
“Why is your nickname Muñeca anyway?” I asked.
Tía Chea reached across the table for a bow and chuckled. “The boys came up with that. They thought their baby sister looked like a doll. Before we knew it, we were all calling her that.”
“I like my nickname,” Muñeca said. “It makes me feel beautiful and special.”
We all laughed. Not too many people would like being called a doll, but as long as she was happy . . . I thought about what Abuelita had said about my name, and I held my head up high too.
Chapter 25
We had finished labeling about half of the bottles when Cosita came out and told us lunch was ready. We went into the dining room and sat at a long table under a crystal chandelier. The cook brought out platters of roasted chicken, rice, pinto beans, salad, and fried ripe plantains. Every time she came into the room, she yelled at Cosita to get out of her way. “You’re going to make me drop this food, you useless girl!” So Cosita planted herself in a corner of the room and did not move.
The white walls in the dining room were covered with framed paintings and wooden artifacts. “Where are those from?” I asked Tía Nona.
She looked at the masks I was eyeing. “Oh, different places. Some are African, and some Asian. And this” — she tilted her head toward a painting on the other side of the room — “is our latest acquisition from our trip to Spain. It’s an El Greco print. Isn’t it beautiful?”
I nodded as I looked at the spooky landscape in the painting.
“Isn’t there anything Dominican in here?” Abuelita asked.
Tía Nona laughed. “Oh, Mamá,” she said.
“I’m starved,” Mami said. “And everything smells delicious.”
We passed the food around and served ourselves heaping platefuls. “When does Lalo get here?” Tía Chea asked.
Tía Nona snorted. “He called this morning. Apparently, he missed his flight last night.”
“Don’t worry, Nona, he’ll be here in time for the wedding,” Abuelita said.
“Oh, I’m not worried. Either he’ll make it or he won’t. Whatever.”
Abuelita’s face got all tight and pinchy. “Well, you do need him to walk you down the aisle.”
Tía Nona put her fork down. “About that, Mamá. I really want you to walk with me.”
“What? That’s unheard of! It has to be the man of the family!”
“No, it doesn’t. It should be the parent, and you’re my only parent now, so I want it to be you.” Tía Nona reached over and put her hand over Abuelita’s. “Please. It would mean so much to me.”
Abuelita patted Tía Nona’s hand. “Well, okay, if it’s important to you. But only if Lalo doesn’t mind. I don’t want to offend him.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him.”
We ate until we were stuffed. Still, there was a lot of food left over. Abuelita looked over at the corner where Cosita was standing. I had forgotten she was there. “Are you hungry, mamita?” Abuelita asked.
Cosita glanced at Tía Nona. She shook her head and looked down at her feet.
“She’ll eat in the kitchen when we’re done,” Tía Nona said. She turned to the girl. “You can take these plates now and bring the ice cream.”
Cosita sprang toward us and grabbed the half empty chicken platter. When she came back from the kitchen, the cook was right behind her. “Take the silverware and saucers,” the cook said to her. “I don’t want you to drop any of these heavy platters.”
“Tía Nona,” I said when Cosita was in the kitchen. “Is that her real name?”
“Who?”
“Cosita.” I couldn’t imagine anybody naming their child “little thing.”
Tía Nona laughed. “No, I just call her that because I can never remember her name. Besides, she probably won’t last long here, so why should I bother?”
Well, that seemed kind of mean. But maybe Tía Nona figured the girl would leave at the end of the summer. After all, she did have to go to school, right? And my aunt already had so many names to remember, with all her patients.
Cosita and the cook came in with the ice cream and bowls. Then Cosita took her place in the corner again.
“Come here, mamita,” Abuelita said to her. When Cosita stood beside Abuelita, my grandmother put her hand on the girl’s arm. “What’s your name?”
Cosita looked down at her feet and spoke softly. “Clarisa.”
“Oh, okay,” Tía Nona said. “I was close.” She dug her spoon into her ice cream and took a mouthful.
“How old are you, Clarisa?” Mami asked.
“Eleven.”
“My Anamay is eleven too!” Mami pointed at me by puckering her lips in my direction.
Clarisa kept her gaze on the ground.
“What grade are you in?” Abuelita said.
Clarisa lifted her head and stared at Abuelita. “Grade?”
“Yes, at school.”
Clarisa looked at Tía Nona.
“Why don’t you go in the kitchen and have your lunch now, Cosita,” Tía Nona said.
Clarisa smiled and ran off.
“Doesn’t she go to school?” Mami said.
Tía Nona shrugged. “Probably. I don’t know any kids her age that don’t.”
“Well, shouldn’t you find out to be sure?” Abuelita said.
“Why? That’s not my problem.”
Mami’s eyes opened wide, but she didn’t say anything.
“Nona,” Abuelita said, “that little girl looks up to you and depends on you. As her employer, you have to treat her well and help her better herself.”
“She’s not my child.” Tía Nona licked the ice cream off her spoon. “She came to me for a job, and I did her the favor of giving her one. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve done more than enough.”
Abuelita opened her mouth. Before she could say anything, Mami touched her arm and shook her head just a little. My grandmother pursed her lips shut and picked up her spoon. She scooped some half-melted ice cream and slurped it like soup.
Abuelita reminded me of Papi when he talked about the needy people in our community and how we should all help one another. And Tía Nona was like me. I always told Papi that other people’s problems weren’t my responsibility. We should all take care of ourselves. But Clarisa was just a little girl, and maybe her family couldn’t help her. But Tía Nona could. If she wanted to. Obviously, she didn’t want to, and no one could make her.
Chapter 26
After lunch I went to the living room to practice piano while the rest of the family watched television in the recreation room. Tía Nona had asked me to play Bach’s Prelude in C Major for her entrance into the church, and the music was already on the piano. I warmed up with scales and finger exercises. Then I decided to play something fun. Something Claudia would sing when we hung out together, except there wouldn’t be any singing this time. But that was okay. I could imagine her voice in my head, singing John Lennon’s “Imagine.” It started softly. And it seemed so real, like she was standing right next to me.
I stopped playing and turned around. “Clarisa! I didn’t know you spoke English.”
Clarisa shook her head and clutched the feather duster in her hand. “I don’t speak English.”
“But you know that song.”
Clarisa shrugged. “I’ve heard it on the radio, but I don’t know wh
at it means.”
“Should I keep playing while you sing?”
Clarisa nodded fast, a big smile on her face. I started again. Her voice was beautiful, even better than Claudia’s. And I couldn’t believe she didn’t know what she was saying. “Do you want me to tell you what the words mean?” I asked after we were done.
Clarisa nodded and sat next to me on the piano bench. I went through the song line by line and translated it for her. “That’s beautiful,” she said.
“You have a great voice,” I said. “Do you sing in a choir?”
She shook her head and jumped up. “I have to finish cleaning in here.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Did I upset you?”
Clarisa smiled. “I’m not upset. I just have to clean or your aunt will be mad. But you keep playing. Listening to you makes the work go faster.”
I was happy to hear that. At least I was helping a little. “Do you know this one?” I started to play Adele’s “Someone Like You,” and Clarisa immediately joined in. She moved around the room dusting and singing. A couple times she stood still, held her arms in front of her, closed her eyes, and sang her heart out. She seemed to be having so much fun that I played the song a second time.
In the middle of a note, Clarisa suddenly stopped singing. I figured she was just taking a breath, but she remained silent. Then I looked up and saw Tía Nona standing in the doorway.
“That’s very nice, Anamay,” she said as she walked in and stood by me. “How is my wedding song coming along?”
I looked at Clarisa. She was dusting away, not looking at us. “I was just about to work on that,” I said. “I was warming up first.”
Tía Nona smiled. “Of course.” She moved away. “I don’t want to interrupt the artist at work! Come, Cosita, this room is fine. Go clean up the kitchen now.”
I wanted to tell my aunt about Clarisa’s wonderful voice. After all, that was the kind of thing we would normally share. And Tía Nona always appreciated true talent. But somehow, it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. So I just watched her leave the room, with Clarisa trotting behind her. Then I practiced Prelude in C Major, one hand at a time, again and again.
After about an hour, I went outside to join my family on the porch, where we rocked in the rocking chairs like old ladies. Tía Nona handed me a wicker basket covered with a cloth napkin. “Here you go, Anamay,” she said. “We saved some turrón for you.”
“What’s turrón?” I said as I took the basket and peeled back the napkin.
“Oh, you’re going to love it,” Tía Nona said. “It’s made from coconut. And, of course, lots of sugar.”
I lifted a thick tan square out of the basket and took a bite. I opened my eyes wide as I crunched on the most delicious thing I had ever eaten in my life. “This is sooo good!” I said. There were two more pieces in the basket, and I ate them both.
Tía Nona laughed. “I knew you’d love it, because I do too!”
After I finished every last crumb, I was truly stuffed. I sat back and rocked some more. I was about to doze off when a dusty pickup truck crunched into the pebbled driveway. Tío Rogelio honked and waved at us from the cab. Papi and my little sisters got out of the truck, and Tío Rogelio pulled away. Rosie and Connie ran over and grabbed my hands. They pulled me down the steps and onto the front yard. “Anamay, listen to this game our cousins taught us.”
“Which cousins?” I said.
“Rogelio’s boys,” Papi said. He sat in my chair.
Muñeca and Gracie came down to join Rosie, Connie, and me. “What game?” Muñeca said.
“I don’t know the name of it,” Rosie said. “Just watch.” She and Connie faced each other and clapped their hands while they sang about a skeleton guarding a cemetery. Each hour of the day, the skeleton ate or drank something.
De la una a las dos, el esqueleto come arroz
They put their hands to their mouths and pretended to eat rice just like the skeleton. While they “ate,” they sang some more.
Chumba que chumba que chumba ba
Then they clapped again.
De las dos a las tres el esqueleto bebe café
They held pretend cups and sipped their coffee like the skeleton.
Chumba que chumba que chumba ba
This went on until they got to the eight to nine o’clock hour.
De las ocho a las nueve el esqueleto no se mueve.
Now the skeleton stood still for an hour, and Rosie and Connie competed to see who would move first.
Muñeca laughed and clapped her hands. “I love this game,” she said. “I used to play it all the time when I was little.”
We watched Rosie and Connie and waited for someone to budge. But they were too good. Finally, Gracie got tired of looking at them.
“Let’s play, Muñeca,” she said. Gracie kept messing up the words. She was supposed to say, De las siete a las ocho el esqueleto come sancocho, but instead of having the skeleton eat stew, she gave him cake. Rosie doubled over in laughter.
“Not bizcocho!” she said. “Sancocho!”
“Ha ha. I win! I win! I win!” Connie ran around with her arms up like a victorious boxer.
The sun was beginning to set when we got into Tía Chea’s van. I looked back at Tía Nona’s house as we pulled away. Clarisa came out of the front door with a large paper bag in each hand. She turned in the opposite direction from us and walked into the blinding dusk with her head down and her shoulders slumped. She looked so tiny, like a little sister who needed someone to take care of her. I had had fun hanging out with her that afternoon. It seemed unfair that she had to work while I just loafed around for hours. What would her life be like if she lived in New York and we sat next to each other in school? We would probably be friends. Could we be friends now?
Chapter 27
The next day we brought overnight bags to Tía Nona’s because she had promised to take us someplace fun. “We can finish the champagne bottles later this week,” she said. “You girls need to see the beach!”
The whole family piled into Tía Chea’s van. Well, there was only room for twelve of us, so Tío Pepe said he would follow in the pickup truck with Pepito and Juancito. “You don’t both have to squeeze into the truck,” Tía Chea said to the boys. “There’s a spot here beside your grandfather.” Don Feyo patted the seat next to him, but my cousins insisted the truck was more fun.
“Tía Nona, what’s Clarisa doing today?” I asked.
Tía Nona squinted at me. “Who?”
“The girl that works for you.” I was not going to call her Cosita.
“Oh, Cosita? She’s got laundry to do. Why? Do you need something?”
“No, I just thought that, since we have room for one more, maybe she could take the day off and come to the beach with us.”
Tía Nona laughed and shook her head. “It’s not a good idea to fraternize with the help.” She looked over at her house. “Although it might be helpful to have her around to carry things for us.”
“Carry things? But she’s so little!” Did my aunt think Clarisa was a mule or something?
“You need your laundry done, Nona,” Mami said. “Come on, let’s go.”
It took almost two hours to get to Puerto Plata. Connie asked about every flower and tree she saw along the way. Papi tried to answer her questions, since Mami — the real tree and flower expert — was engrossed in wedding talk with Abuelita and my aunts. Gracie and Muñeca giggled about cute boys, and Don Feyo showed Rosie some card tricks.
I couldn’t believe everyone was acting so normal. Didn’t it bother my parents that Tía Nona would treat a child like she wasn’t even a person? Maybe she was still mad at Clarisa for breaking her stuff. That would make me mad too, if it really happened.
Juan Miguel and his parents were waiting for us at their hotel when we pulled up. The place was amazi
ng, with palm trees stretching out of wooden boxes throughout the lobby, shiny marble floors, and fountains that looked like waterfalls. Muñeca’s mouth dropped open when we walked into our room. “This is so luxurious!” she said. She ran around stroking the lace curtains, the ginormous television, and the leather love seat in the sitting area. Then she plopped herself down, grabbed the remote, and clicked through every channel in the universe.
Gracie admired the embroidery on the linen bedspreads, then went to see the bathroom. Rosie was already in there. “Look at me!” she said as she tripped in a way-too-big-on-her fluffy white bathrobe.
“That’s for after you shower, silly!” Gracie helped Rosie out of the robe, and went to hang it back up.
“Let’s check out the balcony,” Rosie said. I stepped outside with her and felt the warm ocean breeze against my face. The beach was right there. Cool.
“Hi, Anamay!” Connie was in the neighboring balcony, where she was staying with my parents.
“Get your swimsuits on, girls,” Mami said. “We should take advantage of this beautiful beach.”
It really was beautiful. I put a toe in the water expecting to feel cold, but it was as warm as a bath. Then I walked all the way in up to my shoulders. When I looked down, I could see clear to my feet. This had to be the cleanest beach in the world!
“Anamay, I want to introduce you to some friends!” Tía Nona was at the water’s edge in an orange two-piece. A bunch of glamorous people were with her. She introduced me as her brilliant niece who was so much like her. The friends all bragged about themselves. One woman had been Tía Nona’s classmate and was now the top oncologist in the country. At least that’s what she said. One man was a top businessman, another one the best lawyer, and the other woman had perfect children who were nowhere to be seen.
Abuelita came over and draped a giant towel over Tía Nona. “A respectable girl like you should wear something more modest,” she said.
Tía Nona rolled her eyes. “This is my mother,” she said to her friends as she took off the towel and handed it back to Abuelita. “I don’t need this.”
Ana Maria Reyes Does Not Live in a Castle Page 11