whispered, “This is God’s room.”
“God doesn’t need his own room,” I said. “And even if he does, I’m sure he would share it with Hector.”
The children looked from one of us to the other until Carmelita said, “Well, there is a perfectly good sofa if we throw on a blanket.”
Pocked María said, “Maybe a hook or two in the wall for his clothes?”
So it was settled.
The next morning Carmelita began filling every bowl in her kitchen with her most special recipes. The ones she wouldn’t give to anyone, not even Mrs. Fina, who owned the best taqueria in town.
Pocked María scrubbed the children so hard they cried. No sharing bath water this time either. Each got a fresh tub and a warm pan dulce from Carmelita’s kitchen if they promised to stay clean.
Me, I went shopping with my money from work. It’s just dusting and vacuuming at Widow Greenbaum’s gallery, but you would have thought I wanted to join the priesthood the way the uncles fussed.
“Why do you need to work, Ana?” Luis said. “There’s plenty of cleaning to be done at home.” He turned to Eliseo. “Aye. She is becoming like these American women. Too independent.”
Paolo snapped his grimy, red suspenders. “Wouldn’t you prefer to marry again, Ana? It has been seven years since Felipe. Mango on the corner has expressed interest, and you are not too old to bear.”
To bear! He thought this would entice me? To bear? I no longer had the optimism for such things. I already had my husband, my children, that part of my life. What else was I to do if not work? Besides, I had already asked Felipe’s permission, and he nodded assent, though I dared not bring this up to the uncles.
You see, though I was born with the strength of the Martinez women, when I first found out Felipe was dead my courage climbed into a deep hole. It was dark and cold and I swear my breath came out in white puffs. I often sat shivering on the burgundy sofa burrowing deeper into that pit.
Then I had the vision, and no it wasn’t because I hadn’t slept forsix days as the uncles liked to believe. I was crying in the alcove, eyes locked shut, when I heard “Ana.” I opened my eyes and there was Felipe, leaning out of his picture as if it were a window frame. He held out a black and white hand.
“I am here,” he said, pulling my hand to his lips for a kiss that was as soft as I remembered. “Do not worry. I am watching,” he said, and a spray of childish giggles erupted. I stole a peek at first one twin, then the other, and shut my eyes fast.
So I still had my family, and I would busy my days with cycles of work and sleep. Work and sleep, until the day I would finally join them.
But how could I explain this to the uncles?
“The children need new shoes,” I said to them. “You want the neighbors thinking we are only backward farmers who cannot afford to buy our children shoes?” I knew this appeal to their machismo would work. And so five days a week I donned a blue apron and trotted off to the gallery. My only endurance was passing Mango’s nursery. Whenever he saw me he tipped his straw hat and waved his fertilizer-encrusted hand. “You put my tulips to shame,” he would say, or carnations, daffodils, whatever he happened to be tending. Though I liked the compliment, something inside made me quicken my pace and gather my smock in front to hide my ovaries. I knew Felipe would scowl at this attention, but who can deny a husband’s jealousy?
Still, it was worth it to have my own money so I could buy the personal items Hector would need: comb, razor, toothbrush, scapula for protection. I slid into the alcove clutching the crinkled Wal-Mart bag. A soft afghan covered the couch, and a TV tray stood against one wall. A hand mirror hung above it from a nail. I laid Hector’s toiletries in a neat row on the tray and sat on the sofa to search the walls for Hector’s face. There he was, third row from the bottom, next toPatricia, his wife. “Today
“God doesn’t need his own room,” I said. “And even if he does, I’m sure he would share it with Hector.”
The children looked from one of us to the other until Carmelita said, “Well, there is a perfectly good sofa if we throw on a blanket.”
Pocked María said, “Maybe a hook or two in the wall for his clothes?”
So it was settled.
The next morning Carmelita began filling every bowl in her kitchen with her most special recipes. The ones she wouldn’t give to anyone, not even Mrs. Fina, who owned the best taqueria in town.
Pocked María scrubbed the children so hard they cried. No sharing bath water this time either. Each got a fresh tub and a warm pan dulce from Carmelita’s kitchen if they promised to stay clean.
Me, I went shopping with my money from work. It’s just dusting and vacuuming at Widow Greenbaum’s gallery, but you would have thought I wanted to join the priesthood the way the uncles fussed.
“Why do you need to work, Ana?” Luis said. “There’s plenty of cleaning to be done at home.” He turned to Eliseo. “Aye. She is becoming like these American women. Too independent.”
Paolo snapped his grimy, red suspenders. “Wouldn’t you prefer to marry again, Ana? It has been seven years since Felipe. Mango on the corner has expressed interest, and you are not too old to bear.”
To bear! He thought this would entice me? To bear? I no longer had the optimism for such things. I already had my husband, my children, that part of my life. What else was I to do if not work? Besides, I had already asked Felipe’s permission, and he nodded assent, though I dared not bring this up to the uncles.
You see, though I was born with the strength of the Martinez women, when I first found out Felipe was dead my courage climbed into a deep hole. It was dark and cold and I swear my breath came out in white puffs. I often sat shivering on the burgundy sofa burrowing deeper into that pit.
Then I had the vision, and no it wasn’t because I hadn’t slept forsix days as the uncles liked to believe. I was crying in the alcove, eyes locked shut, when I heard “Ana.” I opened my eyes and there was Felipe, leaning out of his picture as if it were a window frame. He held out a black and white hand.
“I am here,” he said, pulling my hand to his lips for a kiss that was as soft as I remembered. “Do not worry. I am watching,” he said, and a spray of childish giggles erupted. I stole a peek at first one twin, then the other, and shut my eyes fast.
So I still had my family, and I would busy my days with cycles of work and sleep. Work and sleep, until the day I would finally join them.
But how could I explain this to the uncles?
“The children need new shoes,” I said to them. “You want the neighbors thinking we are only backward farmers who cannot afford to buy our children shoes?” I knew this appeal to their machismo would work. And so five days a week I donned a blue apron and trotted off to the gallery. My only endurance was passing Mango’s nursery. Whenever he saw me he tipped his straw hat and waved his fertilizer-encrusted hand. “You put my tulips to shame,” he would say, or carnations, daffodils, whatever he happened to be tending. Though I liked the compliment, something inside made me quicken my pace and gather my smock in front to hide my ovaries. I knew Felipe would scowl at this attention, but who can deny a husband’s jealousy?
Still, it was worth it to have my own money so I could buy the personal items Hector would need: comb, razor, toothbrush, scapula for protection. I slid into the alcove clutching the crinkled Wal-Mart bag. A soft afghan covered the couch, and a TV tray stood against one wall. A hand mirror hung above it from a nail. I laid Hector’s toiletries in a neat row on the tray and sat on the sofa to search the walls for Hector’s face. There he was, third row from the bottom, next toPatricia, his wife. “Today
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