How Not to Drown in a Glass of Water (4)

What is a person without an occupation? Since I could walk, Mamá taught me how to take Papá’s shirt, put it into a ball, and scrub the devil out of it with a bar of jabón de cuaba. If ángela, Rafa, and me didn’t work, they hit us. If we worked wrong, they hit us. If we tripped, they yelled. If we looked to them wrong, cocotazo. If we cried from the cocotazo, another cocotazo.

Ay, don’t look to me like that, like you feel sorry for me. All of that made me strong, you know? I had to be strong because what waited for me in this life. ?Uf!

Let me tell you this: compared to my parents, my husband, Ricardo, was good to me. In the beginning, we were happy. But even the moon and the honey go dark and rancid. And I tell you, if I stayed in Hato Mayor, I would be dead.

Wait. One second. Permit me to drink some water.

Yes, I’m OK.

Maybe you’ve lived long enough to understand what I’m going to tell you: My husband Ricardo hadn’t touched me since my son was born. Two years! That’s una vida entera for a woman like me. I mean, look at me, you think I look good now, but imagine me thirty-eight years younger with brilliant eyes and all my hair. But suddenly you look in the mirror, and time bites off your face. All those years to not be caressed by somebody made me a dead person.

And then, Cristián appeared.

When somebody looks at you—pero really looks at you—and takes your hand and slides their finger up your lifeline. It is impossible not to fall. And I fell. Even if my son was sleeping in the other room.

It was only one time. I thought, Who will know? But men talk when they drink, and the words travel. My husband lost his head.

One night, he went to the house where Cristián lived, carrying a machete the length of his arm. Cristián lived down the road in the big house with the gates and the fancy cars that came and went. He was a quiet man with a reputation of being good. He never made trouble for nobody. Cristián was asleep, I’m sure, and just like that, Ricardo cut off his leg. One clean chop.

My mother always said, Don’t mess with a butcher. And Ricardo could kill and skin a goat in five seconds.

Believe me, when I heard the scream, I understood that I was in trouble. I got up and pulled Fernando out of the bed, packed whatever I could carry in a garbage bag, and ran. Thank God Mamá lived only one mile away. The night, so dark I couldn’t even see my hands in front of me. Better that way. I don’t even want to think about what else was out in that dirt road.

Have you been to the monte in Dominican Republic? Have you? No? Oh.

Well, imagine, my son crying against my chest. Me, trying to shh him so not to wake the dogs, the snakes, the rats, the pigs. Not a car in sight. How many women have disappeared walking on that road? But I had no time to be afraid of the night or what waited for me. Better the earth eat us both than me to return to Ricardo. Ese salvaje. He would kill me to end the humiliation he felt. Forget about the million women he had fucked—but the one time I do it, the one time. Pfft!

Ay, I could feel all my skin, all my life, exploding. I was afraid my mother was going to send me back to Ricardo. She had said it too many times, she couldn’t feed one more mouth, forget about two. She later asked, Why did you get under another man?

Yes, I was lonely, but I knew then and I know now: I did it because I wanted to change my life. That’s what we have to do. We step in the shit on purpose so we’re forced to buy new shoes. You know what I’m saying?

Why do you look at me like that? What I’m feeling?

I don’t know. I don’t feel nothing.

I know, I know. All of this sounds like from a movie. But I tell you the truth—that night on the road a car came speeding. And because life is life, another car came from the other direction, and right in front of me they crashed. Head-on. Like two crushed cans. A man went flying through the window and his body fell to the ground like, prá! My son Fernando cried. I tried to look for the body, but even with the lights of the car, it was not enough. The other driver was not moving, a river of blood coming out of the head.

I yelled. But who could hear me? How many people have died this way?

I knew in that moment that if I stayed in Hato Mayor, I might as well be left to die like those two men on the road. Who knows where they were speeding to that night. Maybe they were good men. But life was finished for them.



* * *



You look worried for me. Don’t worry. I am OK.

Write that down: Cara Romero is strong.

Lulú always says that when someone asks me about mangoes I talk about yuca.

Next time, I promise we will talk about how you will find me a job.

I’ve said enough for today. Don’t you think?





APPLICATION


THE JOB YOU WANT & CO.

Washington Heights, New York, NY


Please fill out all the sections below:

Applicant Name: Cara Romero

Address: Washington Heights, NYC

Email: [email protected]

Date of Application: Spring 2009

Are you a citizen of the United States: No

If not, are you authorized to work in the U.S.? Yes The oral interview is to assess the following:

Interest in attaining employment

Personal character

Judgment

Ability to plan and organize tasks to meet deadlines

Ability to develop alternative solutions to a problem