Rogelia's House of Magic (13 page)

“Well, your magic works,” Xochitl griped. “Most of the time.”

Nana looked at Xochitl thoughtfully. She placed her arm around her granddaughter’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “This has been hardest on you. I know how much you miss Graciela.”

Xochitl felt a hard lump in her throat. “I still can’t believe it’s happened. I can’t believe that Graciela is really dead. It’s like a bad dream, the worst dream ever.” Tears began to fill her eyes. She looked down, so that her long hair covered her face and she could allow the tears to fall. “I wish I could wake up and find that it’s all been a horrible mistake.”

Nana took Xochitl’s hand in her own and caressed it gently, compelling Xochitl to talk even more. “Everything is so different here. The way people dress, how they speak to their parents, how fast everybody lives their lives. My head is just spinning, and it seems like there is no time to catch up.”

Nana nodded in understanding. “It’s a different world,” she agreed.

“It would just be so much easier to handle all these changes if Graciela were here,” Xochitl ventured.

“I’m not denying the truth in that,
mi’jita,
” Rogelia said softly.

“I just can’t let her go,” Xochitl cried.

“El tiempo lo cura todo,”
Rogelia said soothingly.

“Time might heal wounds, but it’s not going to make me forget Graciela, ever,” Xochitl said adamantly.

“No, but I have the feeling that not only time but your new friends will help heal your broken heart,” Rogelia said. “If you let them.”

A horn honked outside. Rogelia moved back the white cotton drapes. Xochitl looked out the window. She could see Marina’s mother in her car, parked in the driveway with the motor running. She was inspecting her nails.

Nana gathered up her knitting and packed it into a canvas book bag. “I’ll be home Friday afternoon. Be ready for the
limpia.
”

“Why is Mrs. Peralta here? You don’t usually go to the Peraltas’ until tomorrow morning,” Xochitl said. She was just beginning to get to the bottom of her feelings, and she wasn’t ready to let Nana go.

“Mrs. Peralta needs me to watch Samantha. They’re going to some charity benefit tonight.” Nana kissed Xochitl on the forehead. “Would you like to come with me?”

Xochitl shook her head. “Can’t Marina watch her own sister?”

Nana stood and shuffled toward the door. “Marina doesn’t have many obligations.” She blew Xochitl a kiss. “I love you, Xochitl. You will make it through this.”

Xochitl watched Nana get into Mrs. Peralta’s car through the living room window. A hollowness filled Xochitl’s stomach. She hadn’t thought it was possible to feel more alone than before she had begun her little
plácita
with Nana. But she did.

Fourteen

O
n Monday morning, Marina rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as she sprawled on her queen-sized bed. Even after she rolled over, her hair remained spread like an open fan on her silken pillowcase. She touched the top of her head and felt the static electricity as individual strands followed the movement of her hand. She looked out to the backyard and watched the palm trees wave their fronds back and forth in the blustery wind. Marina sighed happily. She loved windy days.

Good morning,
mi amor. The woman’s voice sounded in Marina’s head.

Buenos días,
said the girl’s voice cheerfully. These two voices were becoming familiar, so that Marina no longer feared them.

Marina got up and shuffled down the carpeted hall, trying to gather up as much electricity as possible. Monica was just coming groggily out of her bedroom, her usually tidy hair in a single disheveled dark blond braid. Perfect target.

Marina scooted up to her sister and poked her shoulder with her index finger. The electric jolt pulsated against Marina’s finger with such force she thought her fingernail might pop off.

“Ow!” Monica rubbed her shoulder. “Jerk!”

Marina giggled and trotted to the kitchen to avoid her sister’s retaliation. When she got there, Marina saw Rogelia cleaning a weekend’s worth of dirty dishes.

“Good morning, Rogelia,” Marina said as she took a box of waffles from the freezer, pulled out two waffles, and shoved the box haphazardly back in the freezer. She popped the waffles into the toaster.

“Buenos días,”
Rogelia said.

“Buenos días,”
Marina repeated nervously.

Monica came into the kitchen and grabbed a breakfast bar out of the pantry. “Have you got anything for Grandpy’s birthday?” she asked Marina.

“No, I haven’t found anything yet,” Marina replied, taking the waffles out of the toaster and buttering them. She had been agonizing for weeks over what to get Grandpy for a present. She loved him the most of all her older relatives, and it worried her to think she hadn’t yet found the right gift.

“Better come up with something soon,” Monica said as she headed back to her bedroom. “The party is in less than two weeks.”

“I know.” Marina set her plate of waffles on the granite counter, pulled out a high-backed wooden chair, and sat down. Next to her on the counter, Rogelia had made a pile for each family member of personal items such as clothes, mail, and homework. Marina felt awkward as she looked at a stack of her earrings, her favorite pair of fuzzy socks, and a couple of her
Lucky
magazines. A twinge of guilt shot through her stomach. As she pulled her stack closer to her plate, she felt squeamish thinking about how Xochitl’s grandmother was now responsible for picking up after her laziness.

“Sorry about leaving this around, Rogelia,” Marina said. “I promise to keep my sloppy ways to my bedroom.”

“It doesn’t bother me, Marina.” Rogelia set the last dirty glass on the rack of the dishwasher and closed the door. “It’s my job.”

“I just meant, well, I’ve never known anyone who has worked for us. Not very well, at least. The woman who cleaned the house before you came, Anna? I couldn’t even tell you her last name.”

Marina waited for a response from Rogelia as she dried her hands on a dish towel. She half expected Rogelia to say something nice that would help her feel better about not delving into the personal lives of her former maids. She wanted Rogelia to think well of her. But Rogelia said nothing to assuage Marina’s guilt or let her off the hook.

“El conocimiento es plata entre los pobres, oro entre los nobles, y una joya entre los principes,”
Rogelia said as she walked across the kitchen to the pantry and got out the broom.

“What does that mean?” Marina asked.

Rogelia thought for a moment before answering. “Literally, it means ‘knowledge is silver among the poor, gold among the noble, and a jewel among princes.’ But the reason I tell it to you is to say that no matter who you are in life, knowledge is valuable. And knowledge about others, particularly the people who affect your life—or in this case, pick up your dirty laundry—is one of the most important things you can gain. It means you respect them.”

“‘Respect’ is a big word in this house,” Marina’s mother said, sauntering into the kitchen, her high heels clicking hard against the tiled floor. “Something I don’t seem to get enough of.” She grabbed an apple out of a large maroon ceramic dish. “Marina, make sure you get outside for some exercise and don’t laze around all day.”

“It’s summer vacation,” Marina said. “By definition it means I’m supposed to lie around and do nothing.”
Yeah, I’ll get outside,
Marina thought.
Long enough to erase the tan lines on my back.

“See what I mean, Rogelia? No respect.” Marina’s mom opened the pantry and took out a water bottle. “At least clean your room, Marina. You should have more pride in yourself.”

“What does cleaning my room have to do with my pride?” Marina asked.

“Just do it, Marina, or I’ll take away your cell phone for a week. I’m off to work.” With a backward wave of her hand, Marina’s mother left through the front door.

“She’s in a bit of a twist,” Marina said haughtily with a flip of her hair.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Rogelia made no comment of agreement or dissent and merely continued sweeping the kitchen in her quiet, contented way. A kind of peace exuded from Rogelia. Marina never felt content, despite her comfortable life, all the clothes and electronic toys she wanted, and the fact that she didn’t really have chores or responsibilities aside from cleaning her room. What would it be like to feel as satisfied as Rogelia seemed? How did she do it? Marina longed to be closer to Rogelia, to learn her secrets, but didn’t know how.

“Mas val dar que recibir,”
Rogelia said confidently.

“What?” Marina asked, bewildered.

“‘It is more blessed to give than receive.’ I find peace in my service to others.”

Was this supposed to be an answer to her unspoken question? “I don’t really like hard work,” Marina said.

“Not many of us do, but there is a great sense of satisfaction when you conquer something uncomfortable or unfamiliar and make it your own. That’s something to be proud of.”

Following Rogelia’s wisdom, Marina thoroughly cleaned her room. Exhausted by the effort it took to tackle weeks of discarded clothes, makeup, and jewelry, and to dust the furniture, Marina retired to the pool. The wind had died down, and she caught some rays while lying on a chaise lounge. She had just picked up her magazine when, somewhere in the house, she heard Samantha howling in pain. Marina put her magazine down on the glass table to go help Samantha and saw the blur of Rogelia hustling toward the crying little girl. Rogelia had become Samantha’s nanny in addition to the Peraltas’ housekeeper and was quicker to respond to Samantha’s needs than their mother had ever been.

Marina walked into the house and followed the sounds of Samantha’s whimpering and Rogelia’s soft singing. She peeked around the corner into the living room. Rogelia sat on the dark green wing chair with Samantha on her lap. She took a bandage out of her apron pocket and carefully put it over a scrape on Samantha’s knee.

“Sana, sana, colita de rana. Si los sanas hoy, sanarás mañana,”
Rogelia sang.

“What’s that mean?” Samantha asked, tugging on one of her pigtails.

“It means,” Rogelia crooned, “‘Heal, heal, frog tail is in sorrow. If I rub today, you’ll be healed tomorrow.’”

Samantha laughed. “That’s silly.”

“That’s why it works.” Rogelia chuckled, tapping Samantha’s nose with her finger. “See? You have stopped crying. It is a song I have sung to every one of sixteen grandbabies and five children.” Rogelia kissed Samantha’s nose. “Let me make you a peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwich. That’s your favorite, no?”

Samantha nodded. Rogelia guided Samantha’s legs to the ground. Marina ducked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Rogelia and Samantha entered the kitchen hand in hand. Rogelia took the whole-grain bread from the breadbox and laid several slices on the cutting board. While Rogelia cut the bananas, Samantha tried to sing the Spanish song. Rogelia made three sandwiches, put each on a plate, and handed one to Samantha.

Samantha gave Rogelia a tight bear hug around her middle. “You’re so squishy,” Samantha said, then bounded to the table.

“That’s not nice, Samantha,” Marina said.

“I like being squishy,” Rogelia answered with a smile. She handed Marina a sandwich. “I noticed you haven’t had any lunch.”

A weird sad feeling came over Marina as she gratefully took the sandwich. She watched Rogelia sit down next to Samantha and felt a void in the place her own nana ought to have filled. She had never had a grandmother to kiss her scraped knees, sing to her, or make her lunch. Was this little scene something she could have experienced if her nana had lived? Marina joined Rogelia and Samantha at the table. She took a bite of sandwich.

“This is the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten,” Marina said.

“Mmmmuhmo,” Samantha tried to talk, but since the peanut butter had stuck to the roof of her mouth, she just nodded fervently in agreement.

Marina and Rogelia laughed. Marina ruffled Samantha’s hair.

“What was your town in Mexico like?” Marina asked Rogelia.

“It was beautiful,” Rogelia said. “It was surrounded by a ring of mountains, and so green. Oh, you should have seen my garden.”

“I thought most of Mexico was a desert,” Marina said. “Except for beach towns like Puerto Vallerta.”

“I suspect there is a lot about Mexico you don’t know,” Rogelia said.

That afternoon Marina sat in her bedroom painting her toes a cool cranberry color and thought about what Rogelia had said earlier. She wasn’t sure she was ready to start cleaning houses, but maybe she could take on a bit more responsibility. She applied a sparkling quick-dry overcoat, and as she was weaving tissue around her toes, her bedroom light flickered twice. Marina looked up at the lights.

Go see Rogelia,
the woman’s voice said.

The lights flickered twice more. At this point, Marina needed no more persuasion. She jumped out of bed. Without knowing how she knew, she was sure it was time for her
plácita.
She hobbled to the front yard and plucked a handful of gardenias. Quietly, so as to not draw any attention from her family, she took a bowl out of the cupboard and filled it with water. She put the flowers inside and carried it down the hall.

Marina tapped lightly on Rogelia’s door. While she waited for Rogelia to answer the knock, Marina glanced behind her. What would her mother say if she saw Marina going to Rogelia’s room? Rogelia opened the door.

“Come in,” Rogelia said.

“These are for you.” Marina offered Rogelia the flowers and quickly walked in the room.

Rogelia took the gardenias and placed them on the altar. The familiar copal scent filled the room.

Rogelia sat on her bed and picked up a pair of knitting needles. “I was hoping you would come see me,” she said, patting the bed beside her. “Come sit down.”

Marina stepped inside and carefully avoided the dangling herbs on her way across the room.

“Do you know how to knit?” Rogelia asked.

“No,” Marina said, settling onto Rogelia’s bed.

“Would you like to learn?” Rogelia asked.

“Sure,” Marina answered.

Rogelia held up a basket of yarn balls. “Pick one.”

Marina was surprised to see a ball of soft yarn almost the exact same color as her cranberry nail polish. “I love this color,” she said, picking up the yarn.

“Take a knitting needle in each hand.” Rogelia handed Marina two wooden knitting needles. “Now let the yarn hang over the needles like this,” Rogelia instructed. “And I’ll show you how to get started.” She guided Marina’s hands in knitting. “Knitting is easy once you have done it a short time, and it’s very good for meditative work.”

“What’s meditative work?” Marina asked as she clumsily maneuvered the needles around the yarn.