Woman of Light (46)

Teresita opened the door in a white dress with a ruffled collar, holding a diapered baby. She promptly handed the baby to Luz before spinning around and hollering for Lizette to come downstairs. Her hair had slipped away from its braid like a frayed rope. “Next weekend,” she said, dabbing sweat from her brow, “we’re having a card party. Saturday night. We’ll have cake for you.”

“For me?” Luz asked, rocking the baby in her arms.

“Yeah, isn’t your birthday that Monday?”

Luz nodded and held the baby slightly into the air. “Who does it belong to?”

Teresita laughed. “It belongs to Priscilla next door. I’m watching him while she’s at Tikas.”

Before Luz could answer, one of the boy cousins, Antonio, ran by in cowboy boots, a dress shirt, and underpants. No trousers. He forcefully hugged Luz around her waist and then aimed a gun-shaped stick at her face. “Bang. Bang, Lucy Luz.” Another boy cousin, Miguelito, this one younger and less loud, came chasing after Antonio with alligator tears rolling down his cheeks. “He took my stick!”

“Did you take your brother’s stick?” Teresita shouted. “Give him back his stick.”

“Bang. Bang,” Antonio said with a sadistic giggle as he darted into the kitchen in a blur of brown boots.

Teresita looked at Luz. “I’m gonna beat that little shit.”

Lizette appeared at the top of the stairs, her eyes done up with blue shadow and her lips in red. She wore one of her best dresses, blue-finned with capelet sleeves and gray floral details along the hem. She smiled like a pageant queen as she came down the stairs, but paused, scowling, when she saw the baby in Luz’s arms.

“Where’d you get that?” she asked.

Luz shook her head. “He isn’t mine.”

“Well, of course not,” said Teresita, taking the baby from Luz. “I’m watching him.”

Lizette redirected her confusion toward her mother. “But aren’t you coming with us?”

“Sorry, jita. Can’t. These kids are running wild and Priscilla isn’t back yet.”

Lizette’s face dipped into disappointment. She resembled a sad clown as she continued down the staircase. Another one of her brothers, this one named Jesús, came running from behind, pushing Lizette to the side and snickering. “Hope you find a good dress!”

Teresita took off after him, the baby balanced on her left hip, slobbering shiny pools across his arms. “What have I told you about the stairs? Careful, careful,” she said.

Lizette raised her eyebrows at Luz. “Let’s get out of here.”

The dressmaker wasn’t far from Tikas Market. The narrow storefront was nestled between a bakery and a shoe repair. When they walked in that afternoon, Luz felt like she was inside a closet that stretched into an infinite darkness. The shop wasn’t busy, but it was designed as if it could handle a high volume of orders. There were three stations with the newest Singer pedal machines and one four-paneled mirror where Luz imagined brides-to-be stood before their reflections and pictured themselves walking down the aisle, gallantly crying as their fathers gave them away.

Lizette approached the glass counter and hastily rang the silver bell. “Hello, hello,” she said, and after no one answered for a while, she became impatient. “You want our business or not?”

The cousins took seats along the front windows, slumping into lazy postures as they waited. The shop had a stale stench, as if mold grew behind the walls. The lighting was dim and gave the room the sensation of being covered in moss. It was cold near the window, and Luz could feel the fine baby hairs along her neck rise whenever a truck lumbered down the street.

She whispered, “Where did you find this woman?”

Lizette shrugged. She bit at a hangnail on her left pinkie. Droplets of blood appeared on her skin. “The dancers all know about her. She makes their gowns.”

“What dancers?” Luz asked, with suspicion.

“The flamenco dancers. I know people other than you, Luz.”

“I know,” Luz said affectionately. “But what would you do without me?”

Lizette rested her head on Luz’s left shoulder. “Why? Are you running away, joining the circus? I can see the show now. The great Madame Luz, clairvoyant nightingale.”

The dressmaker appeared from a door carrying an oversized spindle of white fabric. She walked with a slight limp, as if sidestepping over a roped bridge. Her red hair was pulled away from her round face with metal butterfly barrettes, and she wore an unattractive sack dress with brown printed flowers. She told them she was Natalya, and she spoke with a thick and musical Russian accent.

“What can I help with, girls?” she said, keeping her eyes lowered to the white fabric.

Lizette stood at the front counter and tapped her fingers on the glass. “I’m getting married, and I’d like you to sew my gown.”

Natalya placed the fabric on a low table behind her, and opened her palm to Lizette. “You have idea? Or pattern? What you have?”

“Here,” said Lizette, pulling the folded pattern from her purse.

Natalya cleared her throat as she took the piece of paper. She maneuvered the chained spectacles up from around her neck and placed them on her face. She moved to examine the pattern in the natural light streaming in through the front windows. “Modified from McCall’s?”