Esperanza Rising (11 page)

Esperanza collected the dirt.

“See, you can do it.” Miguel raised his thick eyebrows and smiled. “Someday, you just might make a very good servant.”

Isabel giggled.

Esperanza could not yet find humor in the situation. Somberly she said, “Thank you, Miguel.”

He grinned and bowed. “At your service,
mi reina
.” But this time, his voice was kind.

She remembered that he had gone to look for work at the railroad. “Did you get a job?”

His smile faded. He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “It is frustrating. I can fix any engine. But they will only hire Mexicans to lay track and dig ditches, not as mechanics. I've decided to work in the fields until I can convince someone to give me a chance.”

Esperanza nodded.

After he left the room, Isabel said, “He calls you
mi reina!
Will you tell me about your life as a queen?”

Esperanza sat on the mattress and patted the spot next to her. Isabel sat down.

“Isabel, I will tell you all about how I used to live. About parties and private school and beautiful dresses. I will even show you the beautiful doll my papa bought me, if you will teach me how to pin diapers, how to wash, and …”

Isabel interrupted her. “But that is so easy!”

Esperanza stood up and carefully practiced with the broom. “It is not easy for me.”

“A
y
, my neck hurts,” said Mama as she massaged the back of her head with her hand. “It is not my neck. It's my arms that are sore,” said Hortensia.

“It is the same for everyone,” said Josefina. “When you first start in the sheds, the body refuses to bend, but in time, you will get used to the work.”

Everyone had come home that night tired and with various aches and pains. They gathered in one cabin for dinner, so it was crowded and noisy. Josefina warmed a pot of beans and Hortensia made fresh
tortillas
. Juan and Alfonso talked about the fields while Miguel and Isabel played with the babies, making them squeal with laughter. Mama cooked
arroz,
and Esperanza was surprised that Mama knew just how to brown it first in oil with onions and peppers. Esperanza chopped
tomates
for a salad and hoped no one would mention the sweeping. She was glad this day was over. Her bruises had been to her pride.

Isabel took a fresh
tortilla,
sprinkled it with salt, rolled it up like a cigar and waved it at Miguel. “How come you and Tío Alfonso won't let me go behind the cabin with you?”

“Shhh,” he said. “It's a surprise.”

“Why are you so full of secrets?” asked Esperanza.

But neither Alfonso nor Miguel answered. They simply smiled while they prepared their plates.

They ate dinner, but before they could slice a cantaloupe for dessert, Alfonso and Miguel disappeared, with instructions not to follow them.

“What are they doing?” demanded Isabel.

Hortensia shrugged as if she knew nothing.

Miguel came back just before sunset. “Señora and Esperanza, we have something to show you.”

Esperanza looked at Mama. It was obvious Mama was as confused as she was. They all followed Miguel to where Alfonso was waiting.

Behind the cabin was an old oval washtub with one end cut off. It had been set on its side, forming a little shrine around a plastic statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Someone had built a grotto of rocks around the base of the tub. Around it, a large plot of earth had been fenced in by sticks and rope and planted with thorny stems, each with only a few branches.

Isabel gasped. “It's beautiful. Is that our statue?”

Josefina nodded. “But the roses come from far away.”

Esperanza searched Miguel's face, her eyes hopeful. “Papa's?”

“Yes, these are your papa's roses,” said Miguel, smiling at her.

Alfonso had dug circles of earth around each plant,
casitas,
little houses, that made moats for deep watering. Just like he had done in Aguascalientes.

“But how?” Esperanza remembered the rose garden as a blackened graveyard.

“After the fire, my father and I dug down to the roots. Many were still healthy. We carried the cuttings from Aguascalientes. And that's why we had to keep them wet. We think they will grow. In time, we will see how many bloom.”

Esperanza bent closer to look at the stems rooted in mulch. They were leafless and stubby, but lovingly planted. She remembered the night before the fire, when she had last seen the roses and had wanted to ask Hortensia to make rosehip tea. But she'd never had the chance. Now, if they bloomed she could drink the memories of the roses that had known Papa. She looked at Miguel, blinking back tears. “Which one is yours?”

Miguel pointed to one.

“Which one is mine?”

He smiled and pointed to the one that was closest to the cabin wall and already had a makeshift trellis propped against it. “So you can climb,” he said.

Mama walked up and down, carefully touching each cutting. She took Alfonso's hands in her own and kissed him on each cheek. Then she went to Miguel and did the same.
“Muchas gracias,”
she said.

Mama looked at Esperanza. “Didn't I tell you that Papa's heart would find us wherever we go?”

The next morning, Hortensia put a piece of fabric over the window and sent Alfonso next door with Miguel, Juan, and the babies. Hortensia, Mama, and Josefina brought in the big washtubs and filled them half full with cold water. Then they heated pots of water on the stove and warmed the baths. Esperanza was excited at the idea of getting into a tub. All they had done since they arrived was wash their faces and arms with cold water in the sink. She hadn't had a real bath since she left Aguascalientes. But it was Saturday and tonight was the
jamaica,
so the entire camp was getting cleaned up. Baths were being taken, shirts ironed, and hair washed and crimped.

Hortensia had given Esperanza her baths since she was a baby and they had an established routine. Esperanza stood near the tub with her arms outstretched while Hortensia undressed her. Then she got in the tub and tried not to wiggle while Hortensia washed her. She'd tilt her head back, keeping her eyes closed, while Hortensia rinsed her hair. Finally, she stood up and nodded, which was Hortensia's signal to wrap the towel around her.

Esperanza went to one of the washtubs, put her hands out to her sides, and waited. Josefina looked at Hortensia and raised her eyebrows.

Isabel said, “Esperanza, what are you doing?”

Mama walked over to Esperanza and said softly, “I've been thinking that you are old enough to bathe yourself, don't you think?”

Esperanza quickly dropped her arms and remembered Marta's taunting voice saying, “No one will be waiting on you here.”

“Yes, Mama,” she said, and for the second time in two days, she felt her face burning as everyone stared at her.

Hortensia came over, put her arm around Esperanza and said, “We are accustomed to doing things a certain way, aren't we, Esperanza? But I guess I am not too old to change. We will help each other. I will unbutton the buttons you cannot reach and you will help Isabel, yes? Josefina, we need more hot water in these tubs.
Ándale,
hurry.
”

As Hortensia helped her with her blouse, Esperanza whispered, “Thank you.”

Isabel and Esperanza went first, bathing in the tubs, then bending their heads over to wash their hair. Mama and Josefina poured cups of water over them to rinse off the soap. The women took turns going back and forth to the stove for hot water. Esperanza liked being with all of them in the tiny room, talking and laughing, and rinsing each other's hair. Josefina and Hortensia talked about all the gossip in the camp. Mama sat in her slip and combed out Isabel's tangles. The women took their turns and when Hortensia needed hot water, Esperanza rushed to get it for her before anyone else could.

Clean and dressed, with still-wet hair, Esperanza and Isabel went outside to the wooden table under the trees. Josefina had given them a burlap bag of almonds that she wanted shelled. Isabel bent over and brushed her hair in the dry air. “Are you coming to the
jamaica
tonight?” she asked.

Esperanza didn't answer at first. She had not left the cabin since she had made a fool of herself yesterday. “I don't know. Maybe.”

“My mama said it is best to get it over with and face people. And that if they tease you, you should just laugh,” said Isabel.

“I know,” said Esperanza, fluffing her own hair that was already almost dry. She dumped the nuts onto the table and picked up an almond still in its flattened pod. The soft and fuzzy outside hull looked like two hands pressed together, protecting something inside. Esperanza popped it open and found the almond shell. She snapped the edge of the shell and pried it apart, then pulled the meat from its defenses and ate it. “I suppose Marta will be there tonight?”

“Probably,” said Isabel. “And all of her friends, too.”

“How does she know English?”

“She was born here and her mother, too. They are citizens,” said Isabel, helping shell the almonds. “Her father came from Sonora during the revolution. They have never even been to Mexico. There's lots of kids who live in our camp who have never been to Mexico. My father doesn't like it when Marta comes to our
jamaicas,
though, because she is always talking to people about striking. There was almost a strike during almonds but not enough people agreed to stop working. My mama says that if there had been a strike, we would have had to go into the orchard and shake the trees ourselves for these almonds.”

“Then we're lucky. What is your mother making with these nuts?”

“Flan de almendra,”
said Isabel. “She will sell slices at the
jamaica
tonight.”

Esperanza's mouth watered. Almond flan was one of her favorite sweets. “Then I've made my decision. I will come.”

The platform was lit up with big lights. Men from the camp, in starched and pressed shirts and cowboy hats, sat in chairs tuning their guitars and violins. Long rows of tables were covered in bright tablecloths where women sold
tamales,
desserts, and the specialty,
Agua de Jamaica,
Hibiscus Flower Water punch made with the red Mexican
jamaica
bloom. There was bingo on wooden tables and a long line of chairs circling the dance area for those who wanted to watch. That's where Mama and Hortensia sat, talking to other women. Esperanza stayed close to them, watching the growing crowd.

“Where do all the people come from?” she asked. The other night, she had heard Juan say that about two hundred people lived in their camp, but there were many more than that now.

“These
fiestas
are popular. People come from other camps,” said Josefina. “And from Bakersfield, too.”

When the music started, everyone crowded around the platform, clapping and singing. People started dancing in the area around the stage. Children ran everywhere, chasing and hiding. Men held young boys on their shoulders, and women swaddled their infants, all of them swaying to the sounds of the small band.