Nilda (6 page)

“N
ilda, you have to go this morning to the welfare food station with Sophie. I have to get ready to go see your papá in the hospital.”

Nilda's stepfather had been home, had a relapse and had returned to the hospital about a week ago. “Can I open the food when we get back home?”

“Let Sophie do it and you can help her put things away, okay?”

Nilda made a face. “All right,” she said.

Sophie had been living with them for a week, arriving the day after her stepfather had taken ill again. There had been a timid knock on the door and Frankie had opened it up.

“There's some lady here to see Mamá,” he said.

Nilda went to see who it was and there stood a tall young woman with a suitcase by her side. “Hello, you wanna see my mother?” asked Nilda.

“Does Jimmy live here? Is this his house?” she asked.

“Yeah, this is his house, but he don't live here. He's gone someplace else. He's—”

“Who is it?” Nilda heard her mother's voice and turned to see the look of surprise and then shock on her mother's face. “Yes?” her mother asked.

“Does Jimmy live here? Are you Jimmy's mother?”

“Yes, I am. You want to come inside?”

The young woman shyly picked up her suitcase and walked in. She looked at the older woman and burst into tears. Putting her hand over her face, she said, “I'm sorry but I have no place to
go. My mother put me out. She won't let me stay there any longer. I'm pregnant. I'm gonna have Jimmy's baby!”

Victor walked out of the bedroom and stood there looking at Sophie and his mother. “Hi, Sophie,” he said.

“You know this girl?” her mother asked.

“Yes, she's Jimmy's girl from 102nd Street.”

Nodding her head and half-closing her eyes, Nilda's mother said, “Dios mío. All right. Sophie? That's your name? Come on in, Sophie, over to the kitchen. You want some tea, ¿sí?” She turned to look at the children who, by now, were absolutely fascinated by the turn of events. “That's enough. Now go on about what you were doing. I'm going to talk to Sophie.”

“Somebody raped that girl?” Aunt Delia asked Victor.

“No!”

“Then what happened? What's she doing here? She looks pregnant. She's got a suitcase!”

Victor bent over to talk in Aunt Delia's ear, trying not to shout so that they could not hear him in the kitchen. Nilda watched as Aunt Delia sucked her gums and looked at Victor incredulously.

“Is she Spanish? Puerto Rican?”

“Russian parents but she was born here.”

“What? She what?” the old lady asked.

“No, she's not. She's American.”

“Well,” the old woman said, shrugging her shoulders, “it happens all the time in the newspapers.” Victor turned and went back into the bedroom. Aunt Delia looked around her and, seeing that no one was going to listen, walked away with her newspapers tucked under her arm.

Sophie had moved in that night, sharing a room with Frankie and Nilda, and had been living there since. No one knew where Jimmy was.

Nilda resented Sophie. “Try not to fight with her,” she heard her mother say. “She's older and you have to show her respeto.”

“I don't like her sometimes, Mamá; she can be mean.”

“You have to try to make an effort because she's a guest and after all you live here. Esta es tu casa.”

“She calls me brat and ugly. She always finds something I do wrong. She says I eat too much and I'm too spoiled and that if I had her mother I'd really learn how to behave and …”

“She's probably teasing you and you take it too seriously.”

“Does she have to … is she gonna stay here all the time? With us?”

“Right now she does; she has no place to go. Pobre infeliz, she's pregnant and maybe she's a little nervous.”

“All right, Mamá,” she said, putting her arms around her mother's waist, giving her a big hug.

Returning the hug, her mother rocked her and stroked her hair. “I love you,” her mother said.

“When is Papá coming home, Mamá?”

“¿Quién sabe?. Soon, I hope. I don't know how much longer we can hold out without his working.”

Nilda walked along with Sophie and held her hand tightly. Now and then she would give her hand a squeeze. When she thought Sophie wasn't looking, Nilda would turn her head slightly to glance at Sophie's swollen belly. Every once in a while Sophie would slow down and stop, bringing her hand around to rub the small of her back, arching and pulling her shoulders back. Her belly would thrust upward, looking even larger. Nilda wondered if Jimmy knew about Sophie and if they were going to get married and have a wedding. Her mother had warned Nilda not to ask anything, so she said nothing. Sophie's mother must be real mean to throw her out, she thought. She remembered a part of
the conversation that she had overheard between her own mother and Sophie.

“My mother don't like Puerto Ricans. She warned me to keep away from that spic Jimmy. Now she told me she no longer has got a daughter, that her daughter is dead.” Nilda had heard her mother mumble an answer, and then Sophie crying.

It was a long walk to the welfare food station. They went past rows of tenements and crossed many streets. She had walked this route with her mother time and time again, going to pick up surplus food early in the morning. She never knew what they would give in the big shopping bag. Usually it was mostly canned goods, cereal and flour. Sometimes they gave clothes and shoes that were very ugly and didn't fit right. Once they gave canned dessert, big cans of plums. Nilda closed her eyes wishing that today they would give something good. Like those good red cherries, sweet and syrupy, that come in a glass bottle.

It was a warm day, the last spell of Indian summer, and she was thirsty and tired when they got to the food station. There was a long line of people already waiting and they took their places at the end of the line. “Do you think we'll get something good?” she asked Sophie.

The young woman looked down at Nilda, shrugged and turned away. Nilda felt uneasy. Sophie had been very quiet and moody this morning and she did not quite know how to approach her. They waited and waited. She knew it was going to be a long time before their turn would come.

As they approached the counter Sophie looked down at Nilda. “We are going to get ice cream today,” she said in a quiet voice.

Nilda couldn't believe her ears. Almost afraid to ask, she did. “What flavor?”

“Vanilla.”

Nilda jumped and turned around. “Vanilla? Vanilla!”

“Shhhhh … don't make a fuss and scream, now. Be quiet or we won't get any.”

“Are you sure, Sophie? They never did that before.”

Sophie looked down at her and with a look of annoyance brought her forefinger up to her lips. “Look now, see?” She pointed over to the back of the counter. Nilda stretched up on her toes trying to see in back, beyond the long high counter. “See,” Sophie said, “they are putting it into those white containers.”

Sure enough, she could see the women in white uniforms transferring the soft velvety white substance with large ladles into white cardboard containers, sealing them and putting thin wire handles on them. “Just like the candy store,” Nilda half whispered. She turned to look at the rest of the people in line who had come after them, wanting to shout, Vanilla ice cream for everybody! Instead she smiled a knowing smile at the lady in back of them who smiled back at her briefly. She's not very excited, thought Nilda. Wait till she finds out.

She wanted to carry the ice cream home, but it was packed away with the other things in the large shopping bag. All the way home she wondered if there would be enough for everyone. She hoped the ice cream wouldn't melt before they got home.

“I'm getting thirsty. How about you?” Sophie asked.

“Uh huh!” nodded Nilda.

“I can just imagine what it tastes like, sweet, creamy and cold,” Sophie said. She went on, becoming talkative all the way home.

As they climbed up the stairs after the long walk, Nilda's head throbbed and her throat was unbearably dry, but she was happy to be the bearer of good news. Once she entered the apartment she went to find her mother, then remembered that she was visiting her stepfather in the hospital. “We got ice cream, vanilla ice cream!” she said.

No one answered. Except for Aunt Delia, who was studying her newspaper, the apartment was empty.

“We got ice cream today, Titi Delia.” The old woman looked up. “We got vanilla ice cream at the food station.”

“Did you read what happened to that couple? They were stupid enough to open the door to …”

Nilda looked at her and said, “Never mind.” She went back to the kitchen.

“Sit down, Nilda. I'll serve you a little bit now,” said Sophie.

“Maybe we better wait for Mamá.”

“She's not gonna mind. After all, we went to get it. Right? Sit down; go on. I've already got the plate. Go on, now.”

“Okay then.”

“Hurry up now before it melts.” Sophie put the plate in front of Nilda.

Nilda noticed it looked different from regular ice cream, but scooped a spoonful into her mouth anyway. Something horrible was happening to her. She could not swallow what was in her mouth. A lumpy liquid began to drip down the sides of her mouth down to her chin. Gagging and coughing, she spit out the sticky oily substance. Lard! God, that's what it was. It was lard! she thought, closing her eyes. She could hear cackles of laughter behind her. Turning around to look, she saw Sophie. Sophie's eyes were wet and her cheeks streaked with tears as she held on to the sink to balance herself. Her large belly swayed and shook with uncontrollable laughter.

Nilda waited in her room. “I hate her and I wish she would drop dead! When Mamá comes home I'll tell her and she'll throw her out.” She had been crying in her bed with her back to the door in case Sophie walked in. “When she asks for forgiveness she'll have to eat a whole big plateful of lard. All of it! She can't leave
nothing over or she can't stay. I'm gonna tell Paul so he won't think she's so nice anymore.” In spite of her anger she felt ashamed that she could be so easily and completely fooled. “Maybe I'll only tell Mamá. They might tease me, especially that Frankie; he thinks he's so smart.” A sinking feeling somewhere inside was beginning to interfere with her anger.

Nilda heard the front door shut, and voices. Taking a deep breath, she sat up. She wasn't crying anymore but she was afraid she would burst into tears again, so she waited a little while, looking out the window. The clotheslines were full of towels, sheets, underwear and all kinds of clothes. They were moving, flapping, swaying as the wind blew. Living on the top floor of the tenement, she could see down the alleyway in back. She could see the clotheslines going crisscross and zigzag all the way down to the bottom floors. After waiting a little while, she got up and walked to the kitchen.

Her mother was sitting with her elbows on the table, her face buried in her hands, supporting her head as she bent slightly forward. Aunt Delia was sitting on one side of her and Sophie was sitting on the other side. Her mother lifted her head. Her eyes were red from crying. “He might be home in about ten to fourteen days.… God, I don't know what I'm going to do. María Purísima.”

“Mamá, what happened?”

“Your papá is still very sick and he has to come home, but he can't work. Complete rest for God knows how long.”

“Mamá, I gotta tell you something, Ma.” Her mother did not answer. “Mamá, I gotta tell you something!”

“What is it? Go on, tell me!”

“No, I gotta tell you alone.”

“What alone! You have something to say, Nilda, say it. Por Dios, what do you want from me, eh!”

Nilda could see her mother was angry, but she went on anyway. “Well, it's what Sophie did.”

“Well, what did she do?”

“She told me we were getting ice cream at the food station instead of lard, and then … well, when we came home from the food station she gave me some lard to eat.”

“She gave you lard to eat, and you don't know the difference between ice cream and lard?”

“Mamá, she said it was ice cream and …”

“It was just a little joke, Mom,” Sophie said. “I was just kidding.”

“Some joke, you mean witch!”

“Nilda, you are too sensitive. You can't live in this world being that sensitive,” Sophie added.

“And you are too awful and you get out of my room!”

“¡Nilda! ¡Basta! Stop that right now!”

“But, Mamá, she was laughing at me.” Nilda could feel the tears swelling in her eyes.

“With all my problems and all the things I have to do, I have to worry that you don't know the difference between ice cream and lard.” Her mother shouted, “Go to your room! Go on, get out of my sight!”

As Nilda ran out she could still hear her mother. “Ten years old; when I was ten I had no mother and …”

“I hate them all, I just hate them all!” Nilda whispered to herself as she lay face down on her bed.

As she often did when she was upset, she took her “box of things” out from under the bed. Nilda loved to draw; it was the thing that gave her the most pleasure. She sat looking at her cardboard box affectionately. Carefully she began to stack her cardboard cutouts. Her stepfather would give her the light grey cardboard that was in his shirts whenever they came back from the Chinese laundry. She cut these into different shapes, making
people dolls, animals, cars, buildings or whatever she fancied. Then she would draw on them, filling in the form and color of whatever she wanted. She had no more cardboard but she had some white, lined paper that Victor had given her. Drawing a line and then another, she had a sense of happiness. Slowly working, she began to divide the space, adding color and making different size forms. Her picture began to take shape and she lost herself in a world of magic achieved with some forms, lines and color.