Nilda (23 page)

“No,” Carmela said. “He is just a boarder.”

“Well, I'm going to have to talk to the vice principal because I will not take the responsibility for accepting this. Anybody can make an X and imitate that!” Mrs. Fortinash looked at her wristwatch, shut her eyes, and shook her head. “Incredible,” she whispered.

“My mother said that is her mark,” Carmela said. “That is how she makes her mark all the time. She signs checks and everything like that.” Several girls began to giggle; then everyone laughed.

“Shhh. Stop it, girls! Carmela, you will have to come with me to the office. You can tell them all about it.” Carmela stood by and said nothing. “Well, go on. Go on, get to your seat.”

Nilda remembered her own note, that first day back at school. Her mother had still been upset after the funeral, so Nilda had written the note herself, and her mother had signed it absentmindedly.

Dear Mrs. Fortinash,

Please excuse my daughter Nilda Ramírez for being absent from school. Her father died and she got lots of things to take care of at home. That is our custom. Thank you.

Very truly yours,
Lydia Ramírez

“What custom is that?” Mrs. Fortinash had asked. “How dare you return to class after almost three weeks and hand me such a note! You just walk in, like it's nothing; perhaps you were away on a picnic!” Nilda had not known what to say or do, so she looked at the floor, avoiding the teacher. “You will just have to come with me to see Mr. Shultz. You people are the limit! No wonder you don't get anywhere or do anything worthwhile with these kinds of customs. People pass away every day—you are not the only ones, you know! That does not mean that one stops meeting responsibilities! Your mother will have to come in and explain that custom and what tribe you belong to!” Nilda felt the blood rushing to her face and the anger surging in her as Mrs. Fortinash went on talking. “Irresponsible, that's what you people are. Then you expect the rest of us here to make it easy for you. Well, you are not the first ones to be allowed into this country. It's bad enough we have to support strangers with our tax dollar; we are not going to put up with …” Mrs. Fortinash had turned beet red and was screaming. Nilda had looked up at her and felt herself shaking. “Don't you look at me like that! You should be ashamed!” Nilda thought, Dear God, make her stop! Please make her finish. “You come down with me right now. Follow me!” she screamed.

Nilda waited on a bench at the office of Robert Shultz, Vice Principal. Mr. Shultz opened the door. “Come in, Nilda,” he said. She followed him into the office. “What about this note?” he asked. “Can you be more specific and explain what happened?” Mrs. Fortinash stood close by, looked at her watch and tapped her foot. Nilda was unable to answer; I will not cry in front of them, she thought. There was a long pause. “When you said custom,” Mr. Shultz said, “did you mean that is the way things go in your family?”

“Yes,” Nilda said softly.

“I see,” Mr. Shultz said gently. “Go on.”

“Yes.” Nilda paused. “My mother was sick and so I had to do a lot of things and help. My older brothers, they are away in the service and so …” She hesitated, shrugged and stopped talking.

“Well, I'll tell you what, Nilda. Could you manage to have your mother write another note, explaining a little better what happened?” Mr. Shultz paused. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Nilda said, “I'll tell her.”

“That's all. Thank you. You can go back to class now.”

Her mother had written a note, as requested, and had not been asked to come to school after all.

Now, Nilda watched Mrs. Fortinash and said to herself, “I hate her worse than Miss Langhorn almost.” She felt a sense of relief when the bell rang sharply, and she could go on to her Spanish class.

A petite woman with silver hair, neatly done up in a permanent wave, greeted the class. “Buenos días, alumnas,” she said in a thick American accent.

“Buenos días, Señorita Reilly.”

“Today we are going to review chapters seven and eight in our Spanish grammar book. Turn to page forty-eight, girls.” She spoke to the class in English most of the time. When she did speak Spanish, Miss Maureen Reilly's American accent was so
thick that Nilda had a hard time understanding what she said. Most of the time the teacher spoke about her trips to the different Spanish-speaking countries around the world. Her favorite country was Spain, and today she spoke in English about Spain. “Now, of course, with this terrible war, there is no traveling. But I just can't wait for the war to end; I must go back to Spain and just listen to the way they speak. There they speak Castilian, the real Spanish, and I am determined, girls, that that is what we shall learn and speak in my class; nothing but the best! None of that dialect spoken here. If only you could hear yourselves chat chat chat! Like a bunch of Chinamen!” Pausing, she picked up her hands and brought them together, clasping her bosom. “Spanish is a language of drama … inspiration … love. Not to be slaughtered, young ladies, as some of you do to it!” As she went on talking, the girls looked at each other and giggled.

“She's got a boyfriend in Spain,” someone whispered.

“She got the hots!” one of them almost shouted, and everyone began to laugh.

“Shhh,” Miss Reilly said, annoyed. Very often she spent the entire lesson reminiscing about her trips to Europe and South America. Spain, however, was her very favorite. “… those wonderful bullfights. They are called corridas de toros. And the matadors. It is magnificent to see the pageantry and excitement that goes into a bullfight. The people cheering and the music playing. And the brave bulls. ¡Olé! ¡Olé! It is the culture, dear girls, the culture …”

Someone nudged Nilda; it was Sylvia. “Look, Nilda,” she whispered, and pointed to the blackboard. Someone had written something dirty in Spanish between the lines of the homework assignment:
Miss Reilly is in love with a Spanish matador who fucks with a Castilian accent!

Nilda put her head on her desk to keep from bursting out in laughter. Very often one of the students would write profanities
in Spanish on the blackboard, mostly about Miss Reilly. She often wondered if Miss Reilly knew what these dirty words meant. Maybe, Nilda said to herself, almost in disbelief, she don't really know that they are words.

Everyone began to laugh and point at the blackboard. “Shhh. Stop being silly,” Miss Reilly said, and looked at the blackboard. She erased what was written in Spanish. “That's enough nonsense, girls. Always writing silly things, wasting your time. Now we must get to work. We will read and, remember, I want the correct accent on the words. Edna, read from paragraph one in section Roman numeral twelve. Accent! Remember, proper enunciation, diction …”

Nilda watched as Edna got up to read, straining to get the accent and trying to lisp in the right places. Edna was born in Puerto Rico and found it very difficult to speak Spanish with the accent Miss Reilly required. Nilda knew the girl was nervous because the teacher had given her a low mark on her report card. Edna read the Spanish newspapers and very often helped the other students with grammar, but she could not manage to imitate Miss Reilly's Castilian accent.

Edna finished reading and Miss Reilly smiled. “Very well, Edna, you are doing a little better. However, you must practice and stop speaking that dialect you speak at home; it is not helping you.”

Nilda waited for the bell to ring. Only one more class, math, she thought, and then lunch.

“We mustn't forget,” the teacher continued, “what the Spanish tradition is and means. A love of language … and pride. Yes, pride; those people have their pride …”

“W
hat's the name of your brother Frankie's club again?” asked Sylvia.

“The Lightnings. They used to be the Junior Lightnings, two clubs, but then Paul and some of the older guys went to the service, so now the younger guys took over the club. You know, they are like in charge, only one club, no more juniors.”

“Well,” Sylvia went on, “I heard that there is going to be a rumble between them, the Lightnings, and the others, the Barons.”

“Really?” asked Nilda. “Where did you hear that?”

“Well, on my block lives a member of the Barons and he was bragging that they are going to fight the Lightnings and beat them. And that they got it in for Indio and Hector.”

“When is this gonna be?”

“That I don't know. But soon,” answered Sylvia. “Is your brother Frankie in charge of that gang?”

“No, Indio is. But Frankie took my brother Paul's place and he used to be vice president, but Frankie is too young so they made him like assistant something. But he is something, that I know.” Nilda looked at Sylvia and wondered if she liked her brother Frankie. She had never spoken to Nilda about it, but Nilda could tell from the way she acted in front of Frankie. She gets so nervous and looks so embarrassed every time she sees Frankie, thought Nilda. “Why are you always asking me about Frankie?” she asked, and smiled at Sylvia.

“I just asked about his club, that's all,” Sylvia said.

“Do you like him?”

Sylvia stopped walking and looked at Nilda with surprise.

“It's all right. I don't care. Honest.” Sylvia looked upset. Quickly Nilda said, “Look, if you like him, just say so. Really, honest, I won't say nothing to nobody. I promise.”

“He doesn't even know I'm alive,” said Sylvia.

“Maybe he does; how do you know?”

“He never even mentions me, I bet.” Pausing, Sylvia asked, “Did he ever?”

“Well,” Nilda answered, “he just never knew you liked him. Maybe if he knew about it, he could say something to you.”

“Nilda!” Sylvia shouted. “You promised!”

“I didn't say nothing. I'm just telling you what I think. Honest, Sylvia, I won't say a word.”

“Nilda, you better not … I'll die! I swear to you, really; I don't want him to know I like him. I mean it. If you say something, I'll never talk to you again, cross my heart and hope to die!”

“You don't have to worry,” Nilda said. “I swear I won't. I promise, okay?” There was a long pause and both girls walked along silently. “Here we are,” Nilda said. Sylvia looked at Nilda and they both smiled. “If Frankie says something, I will let you know.”

“Nilda!” Sylvia screamed.

“If he says something! I won't say nothing. I said I promised. But just if he says something, okay?”

Sylvia giggled, “Okay.” In a more sober tone she said, “He probably already got a girl.”

“Uh uh, he don't,” Nilda said emphatically. “That I surely know.” Sylvia smiled at her, looking relieved. “Hey?” Nilda asked. “Why don't you come over tomorrow, if your mother lets you, and we can do our homework together?”

“I'll ask her, but she don't want me to walk home alone at night, when it gets dark, you know,” Sylvia said.

“That's all right!” Nilda smiled and glanced at Sylvia knowingly. “Frankie can walk you back, and I can come along if you like.”

“You think so?” Sylvia's eyes widened.

“Sure,” Nilda said. “My mother will probably ask him to escort you and let me go, too. I'll talk to my mother tonight, just in case you can come to my house tomorrow.”

“Well.” Sylvia bit her bottom lip and shut her eyes. “Oh, maybe I better not, Nilda,” she said apprehensively.

“Why not? We'll just walk you to your stoop, that's all. No harm in that.”

“Okay,” Sylvia nodded and began to walk away quietly, “I'll let you know by tomorrow.” She called out, “See you.”

“See you,” Nilda yelled, almost giggling aloud. Uh huh, she said to herself, I just knew she liked him and I was right. Pleased with herself, she felt quite clever. She liked Sylvia; they were close friends. She never saw Petra anymore, just Benji, now and then. In fact, the only one she saw all the time was Sylvia. Nilda began to think about Frankie: ever since her stepfather had died, they had gotten along much better and very seldom fought. She could never feel about Frankie the way she felt about Paul. She wrote to Paul and saved all the letters he wrote to her. She missed him very much. Not like Frankie, she thought. He's such a terrible pest; I wonder why Sylvia likes him?

Frankie walked alongside the two girls glumly. He had both hands in the pockets of his brand-new club jacket. It was black with bright gold trimming and stitching. His name was stitched on the front, FRANKIE. On the back, the word LIGHTNINGS was stitched, as well as the symbol for lightning in bright gold felt.

Nilda and Sylvia walked along; all three were silent. Frankie had refused to walk the girls, but Nilda's mother had insisted, losing her temper and threatening him. “Imagine!” her mother had shouted at Frankie. “Giving your mother such nonsense. At your age, your brothers would not dare talk to me in that tone. And I just gave you some money for that club jacket. You must
think I play all day at the factoría; caramba, sweating like an animal on that machine. Mira, Frankie, in Puerto Rico, you know what a boy who is going to be sixteen is? A macho! Yes, and taking care of a whole family, not running around like everything is a party. They don't go to school and have your privileges. You get too smart with me, and you can come back and stay in all evening and not go to that meeting at all!”

Frankie was told to take Sylvia to her building and then bring Nilda back to the corner of their street. He had been furious with Nilda. “Why do you have to come?” he had protested. “Then I have to walk you all the way back, man, and really be late!”

“Just let me off at the corner,” Nilda had insisted, and her mother, who was annoyed at Frankie, had let her go along as well.

As they walked, Sylvia said timidly, “Frankie, you don't have to take me, you know. I'll go home alone, really. Go on to your meeting.”