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Authors: Julia Alvarez

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In the Name of Salome (28 page)

BOOK: In the Name of Salome
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Lilís has announced that he will hold elections this summer. Between the croup and the rebellions always attendant on our elections, I expect a year of trouble.

Your sons remain well. Pibín and Max suffer often from coughs. Dr. Pietri has examined them as well as Dr. Arvelo and they concur with Dr. Alfonseca, the boys are in good health. But the doctors all noted that I seem overwrought with the boys' well-being. They do not know the vow I have made to you.

My one wish: that you were here.

Your Salomé

Miércoles, 11 julio 1888

Pancho, dear:

Some days the heart is lighter. Who can explain the mystery? Even Hostos, who is always emphasizing the rational side of things, agrees that we cannot begin to understand the deep springs of our being.

It seems your brother Federico showed him my poem “Tristezas.” Must your brother read all our correspondence? Even what I manage to get past him here, you return for his perusal.

Some good came of your brother's indiscretion: el maestro was so concerned about my state of mind, he came by for a talk. I must admit that I have felt uplifted the rest of this day. The work we are doing, el maestro reminded me, is a seed in the ground, invisible until it flowers—unlike a poem I can hold in my hands.

You accuse me of being bold in what I write—that is not a new proclivity of mine, as you well know.

El maestro sends his regards. So do these three little grackles who must make their mark here:

Papancho, come home soon! Your son, Fran

Papancho, bring me wood letters to complete my set, Pibín

XXXXXXXX (Max says he has written his “big name,” Maximiliano, I suppose)

And finally, your Salomé

Jueves, 6 septiembre 1888

How dare you doubt my integrity! I cannot believe your brother, who does not allow any worrisome letter of mine to get through for fear it might preoccupy you (so that I, who hate subterfuge, have had to devise this scheme of sending what letters I can in the hands of friends and acquaintances), then turns around to disturb your peace of mind with this insulting rumor.

NO MAN VISITS THE HOUSE except Federico and your countless brothers and our honorable friend Hostos. How dare you call me to account after all my sacrifices!

(ORIGINAL INCOMPLETO)

Domingo, 21 octubre 1888

My beloved husband:

We received your poem, which Federico kindly read to my students without telling them who had written it. But they all guessed you as the writer! Very pretty verses. There wasn't a dry eye in the room.

I also received the lovely silk gown you purchased in Nantes. But Pancho, dearest, where am I to wear such a dress when I go out nowhere without you here? Please recall for the next time that I asked that the boys' socks not be white as they are little ones and I have dismissed the laundry woman in order to save funds. Max, by the way, is already as large as Pibín—but these small ones will fit any number of our little nephews.

Hostos and his schools are under serious attack. My instituto, being for females, has so far escaped the blows. But Hostos's students are harassed when they try to enter his school. We have had to line the route with supporters. True to his Henríquez name, your brother is first among them. He stands by me as I write this and protests that I must not praise him so highly.

We are all well. My asthma is improved. Elections in August were peaceful—how could they not be? Only eleven thousand voted out of one hundred thousand franchised men, and all those were in favor of Lilís. His opponents flee to Haiti, where, we hear, they are planning an invasion. Our old enemy now harbors the seeds of our future! But it remains to be seen whether our patria shall ever flower.

We are working day and night to be able to graduate the next class by the time Hostos leaves in December. Yes, el maestro has accepted an invitation from Chile to organize schools there. We lose our best men. It seems they have only two choices: destierro or entierro, exile or death. The girls come at seven and they do not leave until six. If you are wondering when I take the boys for their seaside excursion—as you ordered—the croup epidemic is at such proportions that I no longer feel safe taking the streetcar.

Only Mimí is allowed out. Can the croup be transmitted by cats? Please confer with Dieulofoy.

Federico says not to worry you, to repeat that the boys are well, that my asthma is better, and your first poem in eight years is quite fine.

25 octubre (CONTINUACÍON)

Such a touching scene, Pancho. I wished you had been a witness. Imagine my six oldest girls, bent over their diagrams of the insides of flowers (such memories, Pancho, such memories). They stay after school to finish their botany lessons so that they can graduate before el maestro leaves. Every once in a while, a sigh of weariness or wonder escapes their lips.

Suddenly, I look up to find them gathered around me, their pretty eyes moist, their faces downcast. Eva speaks up and says,

—Maestra, we all feel so sad to think you have given up your poetry to teach us.

Poor girls. For years they have been harboring this feeling of culpability.

I explain that my silence has had nothing to do with them. My country's sufferings, its falls, and lapses are the primary cause.

—You cannot know yet—I told them—young as you are, how deeply one can love one's country.

Tu Salomé

Lunes, 10 diciembre 1888

Pancho, dearest:

I am sending this with the Grullóns who depart next week.

Your brother is insufferable. He shows up at all hours, even at week's end when I close off the bottom of the house. It would seem a kindness if it were not for his suspicions. Yesterday evening,
Hostos dropped by to examine the girls and say goodbye. Along came Federico, snooping. Today (I had to laugh!) he heard Mimí with her new litter under my bed and insisted on checking the room, “for my own protection.”

You say you require more frequent news of your sons. But what am I to do when your brother will not permit more frequent transmissions? He says we cannot afford to be sending correspondence as often as I like.

I understand that you have passed your courses, but now there is some controversy between me and Federico about when you are to come home. My understanding is that you will be back in June once you have written your thesis: a two-year separation, remember? But no, Federico says, shaking his head with assurance. The medical degree from the University of Paris is granted after six levels and you have passed only your first two. There is at least a year or two to go.

I have felt at the point of madness hearing this.

(ORIGINAL INCOMPLETO)

Lunes, 17 diciembre 1888

Pancho:

Last Saturday we graduated my second set of teachers. It would have been a joyous occasion if it were not that we all knew that this was also a farewell to Hostos.

Lilís's spies were as thick as flies.

And now our apostle is gone. On Thursday, a crowd of his followers accompanied him and Belinda and the four boys and little María to the docks. It might have been you leaving again—I felt such desperation—

Ay, Pancho, Pancho, life without you frightens me!

I hear Pibín calling—

Your Salomé

Lunes, 24 diciembre 1888

Noche Buena, dearest! and a good night it is, for your brother allows me an extra letter for our last packet of the year.

My gift has already come. Pibín is fully recovered! Yes, I tell you the news now, for your brother would not allow me to breathe a word of this in my earlier letter: our son succumbed to the croup and for days he was between life and death. I have aged years in this one month: Pibín's illness, Hostos's departure. The poem I am sending you, “Angustias,” speaks for itself.

My vow remains unbroken.

Your Salomé

Viernes, 1 marzo 1889

Pancho:

How did you catch the measles? Is there an epidemic there? I understand from your letter to Federico that you have been named our delegate to the Americanist congress and will prepare a paper on how the bones of Columbus reside here.

How unkind of you, Pancho, not to mention this to me. Every thing that affects you, affects me. And remember, such secrets always come out. The packets and letters, addressed to Federico, are as often as not delivered here. And you really don't expect me to wait until your brother comes by to open them.

Of course, this news is upsetting to me. You have explained about the six levels that you only found out about after you got there. I have resigned myself to another year of waiting. But if the time is so short, why fill it with other distractions?

I cannot comprehend why you must move from rue Jacob, which seemed adequate, to Mazarine, where the board is more expensive, as you yourself admit. Surely not just to be close to Café Procope where Molière and Voltaire drank coffee!

(ORIGINAL ROTO)

Sábado, 7 abril 1889

Pancho, dear:

Are you quite serious about my sending Fran?

We had a conference about it—all of us—and I'm afraid we're evenly divided as to what to do. Tía Ana and Federico both think it would be a fortifying experience for our young son to go. His bad behavior, his tantrums, his violence are cause for alarm. Ramona and Mamá (“Mon and Manina”—the boys rename everyone!) both say that it is unpardonable to ship a six-year-old child across an ocean, even if he will be accompanied by our good friend Don Eugenio.

I myself vacillate horribly.

The child is quite determined that he wants to go to Paris and see his father and the bears. Why he thinks that there are bears in Paris, I don't know. The things of children! But just his saying so reminds me that he is a child. He has been behaving much better so as not to ruin his chances of getting to go on a ship. He no longer hits my little girls or disrupts my classes with his violent Achillean tantrums.

Pancho, I will let myself be guided by your opinion.

Your Salomé

Lunes, 17 junio 1889

Dearest Pancho:

This missive goes pinned to the coat of our dear one as amulet and admission that I am sending him, our love child, to keep myself in your heart. On my darkest nights I have feared that another muse has captured your imagination and that is why you delay your return and write so seldom. I know I must not trouble you as you have so much on your mind. But my own imagination works on your absence as if it were a blank sheet of paper.

Fran leaves tomorrow. Don Eugenio promises me that he will not let our boy out of his sight during the crossing. Twenty-four days at sea! I try to anticipate the desperation I will feel when I see his beribboned sailor cap grow smaller and smaller as the ship leaves the dock.

Did I tell you I have a reverie I allow myself in low moments? I picture myself sailing across the sky until I am above you in Paris as you walk to your dissection classes or your hospital rounds at Necker. I hope Doctor Dielafouy will like the cigars I am sending with our Fran. Please tell him that I have appreciated all his consejos about how to treat my asthma. But between us, my dear, I will gladly drink all the papaya juice I can get my hands on, but I draw the line on enemas of sulphur gas. Where, for one thing, am I to get sulfur gas in our little capital? Por Dios, Pancho, this is not Paris!

Do take into account our oldest's violent temper, which has only grown worse since your departure. The attention of a father will no doubt improve his character. He prefers café con leche to water with chocolate as he wants to be a little man. (I prepare mostly hot milk with a dash of coffee.) He does wet his bed on occasion, so be sure to remind him to empty his bladder, and if perchance, you share a bed with him, take precautions.

I am relieved to hear that Mlle. Chrittia is willing to take care of our little one. How convenient that she lives in the same pensión and has already been doing your cleaning. Your move to Mazarine was a wise decision, after all. (How quaint of her to to say: “For another franc, why not add Fran!”) I am sending her two silk handkerchiefs Mamá embroidered. We are too poor to send more, but we felt we must send the kind mademoiselle a gift of some sort.

I also include the photograph Julio Pou took of our three grackles, and one of a lady you might not recognize with her tired face and weary look. But perchance, you will recall the little cross you gave her?

Take good care of my treasure. Now I entrust his health and happiness to you.

Your Salomé

Miércoles, 24 julio 1889

Dearest:

Thank you for letting me know by cable about our son's safe arrival in Paris. Please do not be too hard on him. Remember there are bound to be lapses. He is only six years old, and you have been gone two years, which is one third of his existence.

You cannot believe everything the child says. The scar on his forehead is the result of his banging himself on a door during a temper tantrum. His brother Pibín did not push him. (Pibín has a wonderfully peaceable nature.) As for his fears of the Haitian cuco, I would never terrify my children into good behavior. Besides, I have never thought our bogeymen live anywhere but in our own country.

In your last letter, you ask what I have been writing. Dearest, I lack the tranquillity of mind to be able to read, no less write. Nights are spent preparing tomorrow's classes and burning azufre to disinfect the house. I see no improvement with my asthma, but the boys no longer suffer from as many colds as before.

They flourish. You will not know them upon your return. I have surpassed my promise. Your Pibín knows his numbers to a thousand—and drives me quite to distraction reciting them—and Max is so cariñoso. In the midst of a game, he will drop everything and run to my side to give me an abrazo. At those times, I tell myself, he is being seized by his father's spirit, and it is you, all the way over in France, desiring to hold me.

Tell Fran, his Mimí has had a second litter of kittens! I wish Federico would supervise her a little better.

Tu Salomé

Jueves, 15 agosto 1889, eve of Restoration Day

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