Going Home (11 page)

The one thing I had to look forward to was Friday when Tia Maria was taking me to the youth center at her church. I knew I would see Provi and Gladys again and get to meet some other kids and hang out. Then maybe I would have something good to write to my friends about.

I looked out at the wide view before me, ready to do some drawing. I had to admit that even if there wasn't much to do here, it sure was pretty. From where I sat I could see the surrounding mountains and all the houses, mules, horses, and square patches of earth where different vegetables were growing. Fruit trees stood next to tall palm trees that swayed in the breeze. The narrow country roads had cars and trucks going back and forth on them. There were a lot of things happening out there, but it was a quiet kind of busyness, not really noisy or disturbing like in the city.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet and spicy smells of the flowers and vegetables all mixed up together. It felt really good to breathe this air. Then I picked up my pad and a large charcoal pencil. Maybe I'd start by drawing the sky. Today the cloud formations were so gigantic that I could make out animal forms and whole kingdoms in them. When the sun ducked behind the clouds, all the colors on the earth darkened and there were long shadows. When it reappeared, everything got bright again, dazzling my eyes. I began to sketch in all the outlines.

“It's just beautiful,” I said aloud. And then I began putting the colors in my picture.

 

Today was Friday and Tia Maria was getting ready to take me to the youth center and church. She told me I also had to go to confession.

I absolutely refused. “I have my own priest at home, I'll go to confession when I get back,” I told her. I mean church is all right, but confession is something I can live without.

Tia kept on insisting. “That's wrong, Felita. It's not proper that you be here almost two months without receiving the holy sacrament.”

“Well, I'm not going.”

“We'll see about that, young lady. I'm the one in charge of you.”

“No, you're not! Tio Jorge is in charge of me. He's my real granduncle. Let's ask him.”

“It's very rude of you to speak to me like that.” Tia Maria clicked her tongue and shook her head. She had a habit of doing this every time she disapproved of anything. “I'll go to speak to Jorge right now!” she said and stormed over to Tio Jorge's. I waited a few minutes and then I went to see what was happening. Inside I could hear them arguing.

“I'm sure Rosa would certainly disapprove, Jorge. It's not proper for a girl her age to—”

“Listen, Maria, you are of course entitled to your opinion, and I appreciate that you're looking out for Felita. But she is my grandniece and I am the one who is responsible for her. If she doesn't want to go to confession, then she doesn't have to.”

“Well, if that's the way you see it, Jorge, then there is little I can do to make sure Felita continues to live like a good Christian. I only hope you will answer to her mother for this and that I will not be blamed!”

“Yes, Maria, I will! I'll take full responsibility for this with both Rosa and Alberto. Satisfied? Now, I'm not gonna argue with you anymore, so that's that.”

Boy, was I ever relieved to hear Tio's words! I kind of knew he'd back me up, since at home Tio never goes to church. He says that God is in nature and not in a building with ceremonies and statues. I was real grateful to Tio, and felt sorry that lately I'd been so angry at him.

As we drove to the youth center Tia Maria sat next to Tio Manuel, sulking. I sat quietly looking out at the scenery. We passed lots of small churches along the way, like Pentecostal, Seventh Day Adventists, and different kinds of Baptists.

“Look”—Tio Manuel pointed to a small wooden cabin—“that looks like it's been converted to a church. Didn't that used to be a vegetable market?”

“Heaven help us all. It seems that nowadays anybody can convert a shack by putting up a sign and calling it a house of God.” There Tia Maria went, clicking her tongue and shaking her head again.

“It's still better than having people hanging out in cafés and bars. Besides, Maria, they aren't harming anyone.”

“Maybe so, Manuel, but I still say it's sacrilegious. But then who listens to me anyway? It seems all I'm good for is to cook and clean.” I knew that remark was meant for me because of our argument about confession. I glanced over at Tio Manuel, who raised his eyes and kept silent.

When we got to Santa Teresa's, there were lots of cars there already. People were standing by the large old church, talking. I searched around until I spotted Provi and Gladys. I waved and they waved back. Tia introduced me to some of the parishioners and then to Father Gabriel, a short man with a friendly smile. “This is Father Gabriel, our parish priest. My niece Felita, from the United States. She will be spending the summer with us.”

“You are most welcome to our church, daughter,” said Father Gabriel, smiling. I excused myself and went over to Provi and Gladys. They were now with a larger group of girls. Provi looked real happy to see me and introduced me to some of the other kids. “There's a large recreation room,” she said, “and we have Ping-Pong and games. Come on, I'll show you around.” We went into a very large airy room with high ceilings and enormous windows. There were two Ping-Pong tables, chairs, a couple of couches, and game tables. Two women dressed in brown suits and white blouses spoke to us. “Come in, young ladies. I see a new girl,” the younger one said.

“This is Felita Maldonado, Sister Tomasina,” said Provi. “She's visiting here for the summer from New York City.”

“How nice,” Sister Tomasina said.

“Do you understand us?” the older woman asked me. “Do you speak Spanish?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Very good. This is Sister Tomasina and I am Sister Pilar. I'm glad you know Spanish. So many children who visit us from the United States don't know Spanish.” She turned to the other kids. “Listen, listen, everyone here! This is Felita, a new girl. You are all to make her feel comfortable and welcomed!” Then Sister Pilar looked at me again. “What do you like to do most, Felita?”

I wasn't prepared for that question, so I didn't know what to answer. “Do you have something you particularly like to do?” This time she spcke to me like she was losing her patience.

“I like drawing best.”

“All right. I think we have some crayons and pencils around here somewhere. Let me get them for you.”

“Oh, no,” I said quickly. The last thing I wanted to do today was draw. I did enough of that at Tio Jorge's. “I'd just as soon do something else here. But thank you, Sister.”

“Very good”—Sister Pilar patted me on the arm—“you'll find something to keep you busy, I'm sure.” I saw that there were mostly girls and only a very few boys.

“Sister Pilar is really nice,” Provi whispered to me. “Don't let her way of talking put you off. Sometimes we call her ‘the sergeant,' but she's buena gente—really good people. Why don't we all go outside and bring a rope, in case we want to play?”

Gladys and four other girls, Anita, Marta, Judy, and Saida, followed us out into a very large courtyard. Now I saw where most of the boys were. They were busy playing basketball way over at the far end of the yard.

“The boys around here are heavy into sports,” Provi said. “That's Brother Osvaldo. He's the coach and he's also in charge of a lot of the summer activities.” She pointed out a younger man wearing a gray jogging suit and blowing a whistle. “He's nice, we all like him.”

We decided to jump rope. But since I didn't know the games in Spanish, Provi picked a simple one and explained it. “It's real easy, Felita. When it's your turn to jump, we'll all ask you, ‘What are you going to be when you grow up? Single? Engaged? Widowed? Or married?' You have to answer, ‘Married.' Only if you say married can you jump, since the next question we ask you is, ‘How many kids will you have?' That's when you jump and we keep on counting with you, because the number of times you skip rope is as many kids as you're gonna have. You can keep on skipping until you miss or get too tired.”

It was wonderful to be playing with kids my own age for a change. We were all good jumpers so most of the time we stopped because we got too tired to go on. One time I was going to have two hundred children! All of us laughed so hard we could hardly move. After a while we got bored with the game and sat under a large shady tree.

“What shall we do now?” asked Anita.

“Let's do rhymes,” said Marta.

“Great idea”—Anita motioned to us—“let's form a circle and we'll go all around.”

“But I don't know that game,” I told them.

“It's easy, Felita. We'll teach you,” said Anita. “You see, we all just repeat a rhyme and each girl tries to go faster than the last girl, until someone makes a mistake. Then she's out. We keep going until the last girl who says the rhyme fastest and correctly wins.”

I was beginning to feel uneasy about my Spanish. “I don't know. I don't think I should play.”

“Come on, Felita, at least try,” said Marta.

“Say yes, so we can get on with the game,” Anita said. “Come, let's go!”

I really didn't want to play this game, but I also didn't want to be left out, so I agreed.

“Okay, now listen to this rhyme,” Anita said. “Pay attention, everybody.

It was a real tongue twister, about a little speckled bird who sat on a green lemon and with her beak picks up a leaf, and the leaf picks up a flower. It ended with “oh, my love, oh, my love.” I didn't think I could handle it, but everyone was watching me, so I began repeating each sentence after Anita.

“Good, Felita,” she said. “You go last. This way you'll have more time to practice, right?” I really wanted to say forget it, since that meant I'd have to go faster than anyone else. But I also didn't want to chicken out. They started: Anita went, then Marta, Gladys, Saida, Judy, Provi, and finally it was my turn. I managed to get through the rhyme all right, but I was speaking so slowly, it was almost a joke. I could hear giggles coming from Anita and Marta. “Listen, Felita, you went too slow,” said Anita, “but since this is your first time, you can stay in the game. But next time you better go faster.”

They began again, going even faster than before, so fast that I could hardly understand the words anymore. When my turn came, I took a deep breath and tried to keep up, but the words came out even slower than before and I made some awful mistakes.

“You're out!” Anita yelled, then she and Marta laughed louder than anyone else. Provi smiled uncomfortably at me and I could see she was feeling bad too. They went right on with the game, going faster and faster until everyone missed except Anita. “I'm the winner!” she said. “Let's do another game.” She said a rhyme that was even harder than the last one, and then she had the nerve to ask me to play again.

“Not me,” I said. “I'm not playing.”

“Come on, don't be so sensitive, Yankee!” When Anita said this, I couldn't believe my ears. I just stared at her. “Listen, gringita, all you have to do is try. Come on, now—”

“Hey!” I cut her right off. “My name is not Yankee or gringita, my name is Felita! Don't you call me by those names! You understand?” My Spanish became loud and clear.

“Stop being silly, everybody,” said Provi. “Let's all do something else.”

“Oh, sure,” said Anita. “Let's do something different to please Ms. Nuyorican here from the big city, who is too good to play with us.”

I walked right up to Anita, and I could feel everyone getting nervous. “I told you my name is Felita. And you better remember it if you're talking to me. Or are your ears stuck up your backside, stupid!” Anita backed off, looking surprised.

“Felita”—Provi stepped in between me and Anita —“she was only kidding around.”

“Anita didn't mean anything bad,” said Gladys. “You don't have to take it all so hard.”

“Oh, yeah? I don't think it's funny to be called names. If you all came to New York and didn't know English so good, you'd make mistakes too, you know.”

“That's true!” Anita said, smirking at me. “We'd make mistakes because we are Puerto Ricans. Since you are not Puerto Rican, what can we expect from you?”

Not Puerto Rican? Of course I am Puerto Rican. What was she talking about? “I am Puerto Rican.” I could hear my own voice shaking.

“You can't be because you weren't born here. You're from over there.” No one had ever said such a thing to me! I just stood there in front of Anita, speechless.

“Come on, that's enough of this. Let's go inside, Felita.” Provi put her arm around my shoulder and took me inside. As soon as I walked in I bumped into Sister Pilar.

“Well, Felita, are you joining our church social club?” I nodded weakly at her. Actually I wasn't sure anymore about anything. “Good, very good. The age range is from nine to about fourteen so you will fit right in. We will be having some supper soon. Please help yourself.” She walked off.

“Felita”—Provi held my hand—“don't you mind Anita and some of the others. They just like to tease and act smart when anyone from the States comes here. Especially if the person is from New York. It's sort of a game they play, that's all.”

“Too bad, Provi, because I don't like playing that game; not at all. They can't tell me what I am. I know what I am.”