How Not to Drown in a Glass of Water (37)



When I got there, Mamá did not smell like the sea. And she was not flaca. Of course, she tricked me!

Everybody came by to say hello, to put the nose in the maletas and see if we carried presents for them. Fernando was in the patio all the time. Inside the house there was nowhere to sit. Family tried to take him on the moto to the centro to hanguear. But he did not want to go. In New York Fernando was not afraid to be in the streets. He begged me to go out all the time. In Hato Mayor, Fernando was not so curious. He jumped when he heard the truck make loud sounds. He stepped back when primos came close to look at his sneakers and new jeans. Still, everything was going OK until Ricardo appeared.

Buenos días, Ricardo said through the iron gate, smiling. I felt a rock inside the chest when I heard his voice. A rock the size of a fist.

Mamá ran to open the gate for him.

I had to remember that I took care of myself. I had a job. That I raised my son alone. That he had no power over me.

What are you doing here? Papá said. He understood that Ricardo should not be there.

Pero ven acá, Ricardo said. Can’t a father see his son?

Mamá pointed to the plastic chair Fernando was sitting on, the same one I sat on outside the gate the night I left Ricardo. She said, Ricardo, this is your son.

Oh, oh! Ricardo said, like if time had not passed.

Get up, m’ijo! Say hello to your father, Mamá said.

Fernando knew we left Hato Mayor because I was afraid of his father.

You heard tu abuela, Ricardo said.

So, Fernando walked to stand in front of me. He was trying to protect me from his father.

Tell me, would he have done that if I had been a bad mother?

Papá stood near us, his bat leaning on a tree close by.

?él no habla espa?ol? Ricardo joked. You speeky English only?

Leave him alone, Ricardo, I said.

Ricardo went to hug him, but Fernando stepped back.

You’re going to disrespect your father like that? Ricardo said and lifted his hand like he was going to hit him.

Then I stood in front of Fernando. Ricardo pushed me to the ground. You should have seen the terror in Fernando’s eyes.

Ricardo laughed, like it was all a joke.

Qué maricón, he said.

Ay, Dios mío. I closed my eyes, afraid to look.

Fernando grabbed the neck of his father.

Nooo! I screamed. Fernando looked stronger than his father, but he was just a boy. Very fast, Ricardo had Fernando on his back. I jumped on Ricardo. I punched and kicked him.

He laughed.

Basta! Papá yelled and took his bat.

Thank God Ricardo respects Papá.

Fernando started to cried. In Hato Mayor, men can’t cry in public. It was like he proved what his father said to him.

Ricardo laughed, said goodbye to my parents. I’ll be back another day, he said.

Mamá waited until Papá left to yell at me. ?Pendeja! You left Ricardo. You stole his son from him. And you’re raising him like a mamagüevo? She slapped me.

She hit me in front of my son, like she hit ángela in front of me.

This is your fault, she said. You and ángela did not come out like me. You’re both pendejas.

I never returned back to that house.

Did Mamá call me after? Never. We call her. We send money to her.

Yes, of course we have to do it, if not everybody will talk. You know, everybody. Because she’s my mother and she has nobody but us.

What I’m trying to say is … I’m a different mother. With Fernando I tried to find him. I never gave up. Never. It’s the mother’s job to try with the children. My mother never tried. And with the time, she never changed. I changed. People say it’s not possible to change, but I changed.

Do I regret? What do you mean? Am I sorry for what I did? For trying to keep Fernando safe? No, I don’t regret. I was a good mother. I did everything I knew. But … but … I regret … How do I say? I never asked Fernando about his life. I don’t know why. Maybe I didn’t want to know. Of course, I asked myself if he had a girlfriend. I always said, Be careful in the streets. Be careful with the girls. I bought him a box of condoms and put it in the gaveta with his socks. Yes, really! I can be moderna too. But he never used them, so I thought maybe he was slow. He was always so silent. I thought he was quiet like Papá, who almost never talks. So I didn’t ask.

When we were children, Mamá didn’t talk to me or ask my opinions. She never did like ángela does with the children who asks, Yadiresela, how did that make you feel? Ha! Mamá never cared about that. She told me what to do y ya.

And if I said something, Mamá got angry and said, Stop inventando. And now I see how ángela says to Yadiresela to write down all the ideas on a paper! ángela wants to listen to everything the children think. Pfft! Things are very different now.

Like Mercedes Sosa sings, todo cambia.

Todo, except Mamá.

You know, one time La Profesora in La Escuelita asked us to make a picture from when we were children. I said, It was very nice. We were happy.

Lulú looked to me surprised because she had asked me many times if I remember a moment when Mamá was good to me, and I said no. The good things in Hato Mayor were the chinolas, the agua de coco, the music that played all the day in the houses, the jokes around the fire when the batatas cooked. But one good thing about Mamá? No. I could not remember one time she was sweet to me. Isn’t that strange?

Angie Cruz's Books