How Not to Drown in a Glass of Water (36)

Eat more protein, she said. If not, he’ll be too small.

So I did.

Stop with the chicharrones, she said. If not, the baby will rip you.

So I did.

She even taught me how to have the baby alone, if necessary.

Ay, the pain! I made noises like the cows when they’re in suffering, low and deep. I sense the vibrations of my voice inside my chest. But Ricardo didn’t wake up. I pulled the sheets from him. He smelled heavy of rum and beer.

I kicked Ricardo hard in his back with my heel. Nothing.

The sun was already coming from the windows.

I kicked him again, even more hard. He fell to the cold cement floor.

?Co?o! he yelled, ready to fight me. Then he understood what was happening.

Go! I yelled. Tell the Old Woman Who Knows to hurry.

Ricardo was shaking like a leaf.

I stood up and pushed my back against the wall. It hurt. Ay, Dios mío, it hurt. I had seen many women have babies. But they had time to rest. Not me. My son didn’t wait for the Old Woman Who Knows. Ricardo was putting on his shoes when I felt it: Fernando’s head was right here. You see here, where the bones are, between the legs? Imagine having a creature stuck inside there.

I felt like an animal. I got low, close to the floor, my legs open, como cagando.

?Ayúdame! I yelled.

I’ll be right back, he said.

No! You can’t leave now. Get the towels. Get the water. Hurry!

He put the towels next to me and stood there, paralyzed.

So, who had to catch Fernando alone? This one here. And this will tell you a lot about me. Some people forget what to do in a moment like that, but me, I remembered.

Write that down: Cara Romero is good under stress.

When I felt the head, I knew how to push to make it come out: Patience. Don’t push hard. Give the body the time to do the work. Trust the body. Push when you feel the ganas. First the head. Then the shoulders.

Just like that, Fernando slipped out of me, like when my hands are wet and I hold a soap. I cleaned the nose, the mouth, and the eyes. And when I heard him cry. ?Ay santo! Nothing more amazing than that first cry. And he glued onto my teta immediately and soon after that my belly emptied, and there was Ricardo looking to everything inside of me that spill to the floor.

Everything.

And my son, a beauty. Un morenito with a head full of hair. All fingers in the hands and the feet.

Go! I said. Go get her now!

And he did. And that was good because I wanted to be alone with Fernando. Ricardo was useless. He proved that.

After Fernando was born, I lived with Ricardo two years. You know, I thought he was going to be happy, because finally he had a son. But no, he was difficult with me. If the sancocho I made was too salty, he accused me of being distracted. He got angry when the chickens didn’t produce eggs. He became more jealous. He made many excuses so I didn’t leave the house. He didn’t like the neighbors and got angry when I talked to them. He said he needed my help in the kiosko, with the animals, with the land—so I was always with him. Food and shit is the life of an animal. So food and shit was my life with Ricardo.

I was not his little cotorrita. I was the mother of his son. Punto final.

With or without what happened to Cristián, in the end, I would have left. There is only so much a woman can take.



* * *



No, I didn’t return to Hato Mayor for a long time.

For so many reasons. I was too busy. I didn’t have money. And, of course, Fernando.

It’s strange because in those years I never thought I was afraid to return, but talking with you makes me think I was trying to protect him.

Look, the one time Fernando met his father he had sixteen years. It had been over ten years since we were in Hato Mayor.

For many years ángela, Rafa, and I sent money to help our parents make the house more modern. The idea was that if we visited we could be more comfortable. But nothing ever worked. You know how they work over there. Oh, you don’t know? You have never ever traveled to the Dominican Republic? Interesting. Well, let me tell you.

To flush the toilet, you had to get the pail of water from the tinaco in the patio. Imagine, me, with my nose that is so sensitive. Forget Fernando, so gringo. I would tell him, Throw the toilet paper in the basura, not the toilet. But did he ever remember? He made poo and left it there for somebody to take care of. I was humiliated.

It was so hot. The humidity you can’t imagine; the sheets in the bed always wet. We only had a small fan attached to the window. But it was nice to share the room with Fernando. In New York he was in his room all the time. In Hato Mayor he stayed outside and also close to me.

We went to Hato Mayor together because my mother said she was sick. On the phone she complained that her tetas felt pain, but she didn’t want to go to the doctor.

From the night to the morning, she said. I’ve been emptied. I’m so skinny.

Get an exam of the blood, Mamá.

I have this fatigue that doesn’t go away.

Por Dios, make an appointment!

Ay, Cara. I’m only old. When you get to my age you’ll see.

The point is that I made the trip to see if she was dying or no. Getting flaca and having pain in the tetas is not good. I tell you this because you are young and women have to be careful for the cancer. Do you check every year for the cancer? Yes? Good.

If Mamá was not going to the doctor to check I had to go and see if I can smell the cancer on her. You know, the cancer smells like the water of the sea.