Nilda (8 page)

“I hate that teacher; she's mean and she's always giving lectures and saying she's gonna do this and that and …”

“Good, you could use some lectures. You do as the teacher says and learn, so you can be somebody someday. Amount to something. I don't want to hear no complaints, because it'll be much worse for you here with me. Comprende? I only got to the fourth grade; I never had the advantages you got here in this country. You want to be a jíbara when you grow up? Working in a factoría? Cleaning houses? Being a sucketa for other people?”

Nilda went to the bathroom to wash and could still hear her mother talking. She doesn't even care about my side of it,
thought Nilda. But she was too happy about the lunch to brood and came out smiling and ready to eat.

Her mother set out a plate filled with food and she sat down. She chewed each mouthful with enormous pleasure, eating vigorously.

“Papá is coming home this weekend. Gracias a Dios, we will be able to have a nice dinner and a few things for him when he gets home. Nilda, that reminds me, you have to accompany me next week to the welfare office to see about Home Relief.” Turning her head away, she continued in a half whisper, “Papá can't work no more. Thank God for the number,” she said, making the sign of the cross.

Aunt Delia walked in with a brand-new housedress on. It was yellow and the fabric was covered with a tiny red-and-white flower print.

“You look pretty, Titi,” said Nilda, pointing to her dress. Aunt Delia smiled, showing her gums. “Your mother bought it for me; she hit the numbers.” The old woman sat down and opened her paper. Slowly and intently she began to study its contents. Nilda could hear her reading quietly to herself. Looking at Aunt Delia, she wondered how the old woman could read every word in English and yet not speak one word of it in a regular conversation.

“We'll be able to get some new things for the baby, Nilda.” Her mother smiled and went on, “It will be my first grandchild.”

The clinic had told them that Sophie was due to have the baby any day now. All attempts to locate Jimmy had failed and no one had heard from him. Nilda was used to sharing her room with Sophie now, and sometimes almost liked her.

“It's getting late. Hurry, or you'll be late for school.”

“Mami, can I have money for milk and cookies tomorrow? Please?”

“Sí, but only for tomorrow, because we have to stretch what money we have.”

“Bendición, Mamá,” said Nilda.

“Dios te bendiga. Hurry up now and be careful.”

She ran down the steps two and three at a time, bouncing up when she hit the ground. Outside she felt buoyant as the cold sharp air filled her lungs. Skipping, she ran toward the tunnels, rushing to make it back to school before the late bell rang.

N
ilda looked at the big round clock on the wall facing the rows of benches in the large rectangular waiting room. They had left the apartment early that morning, taking the bus downtown to be at the Welfare Department by nine A.M., and it was now a quarter past eleven. The hands on the clock looked so still, as if they were never going to move on to the next number. She concentrated on the red second hand that jumped sporadically from black dot to black dot until it finally reached a number. Shutting her eyes, Nilda would open them quickly, hoping to catch the red second hand in action. At the beginning, she had lost almost every time, but after a while she was able to catch the second hand just as it landed on a dot. She began to figure out just how long it took the second hand to reach the next number, thereby causing the large black hand to move ever so slightly. The game was beginning to bore her and she lost interest. She leaned against her mother, who was shifting her weight from side to side, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard bench.

“Mami,” Nilda whispered, nudging her mother, “I'm tired. How much longer we gonna be?”

“Be still, Nilda,” her mother answered quietly.

“I'm thirsty. Can I get another drink of water?”

“You been up to get water at least five times. Just be still; they'll call us soon. Everybody here is also waiting. You are not the only one that's tired, you know.” Her voice was almost a whisper, but Nilda knew she was annoyed. Nilda hated to come to places like this where she felt she had to wait forever. It's always
the same, she thought, wait, wait, wait! She remembered the long wait they'd had at the clinic last time. It was over five hours.

“Stop leaning on me, Nilda; you are not a baby. ¡Ya basta! Sit up and be still!” This time her mother had turned to look at her and she knew she had better be still.

The only good thing is that I don't have to go to school, she thought. Her mother would give her an excuse note tomorrow, so she did not have to worry.

Nilda looked around the large room again; each long row of benches was filled with people sitting silently. There were no other children her age. Now and then someone new came in from the outside, walked up to the front desk and handed the clerk a card, then sat down on a bench, joining the silent group.

She looked at the grey-green walls: except for two posters, placed a few feet apart, and the big round clock, the walls were bare. She began to study the posters again; she knew them almost by heart. They were full of instructions. The one nearest Nilda had a lifelike drawing of a young, smiling white woman, showing how well she was dressed when she went to look for employment. The reader was carefully informed about proper clothing, using this figure as the perfect model. Her brown hat sat on her short brown hair. Her smiling face had been scrubbed clean, her white teeth brushed and she wore very little make-up. Her brown suit was clean and her skirt was just about six inches below the knee. She carried a brown handbag, wore clean gloves and nicely polished shoes as she strolled along a tree-lined street, confident about her interview. She sure looks happy, thought Nilda. She must be a teacher or something like that.

The second poster was a large faded color photograph of a proper breakfast. The photograph showed fresh oranges, cereal, milk, a bowl of sugar, a plate of bacon and eggs, toast with butter and jelly. The reader was warned that it was not good to leave the house without having had such a breakfast first. Looking at the food, Nilda began to remember that she was hungry. She had
eaten her usual breakfast of coffee with boiled milk, sugar and a roll. It seemed to her that she had eaten a long, long time ago, and her stomach annoyed her when she looked at the bacon and eggs. I hope they call us soon, she said to herself.

The lady clerk at the front desk looked up and read a name aloud from a card. “Mrs. Lydia Ramírez,” she called out.

“Come on,” her mother said as she stood up and walked past the benches full of waiting people. Nilda followed her up to the front.

The lady clerk pointed and said, “Into the next room. You will see Miss Heinz.” She then handed her mother a card. Nilda walked with her mother into another large room lined with rows of desks. A woman, seated at a desk across the room, raised her arm and waved to them. “Over here, please.” They walked quickly up to the woman and waited. The social worker, without lifting her head, pointed to the empty chair at the side of her desk. Her mother sat down. The woman continued to write something on a form sheet. Nilda stood next to her mother and looked down at the social worker as she went on writing. Her head was bent over and Nilda could see that her hair was very white and fine, with tiny waves and ringlets neatly arranged under a thin grey hair net. The tiny grey hairpins, which were carefully placed to hold each little lump of ringlets together, were barely visible. Her pink scalp shone through the sparse hair. Nilda had never seen such a brilliant pink scalp before. I wonder what would happen if I touched her head, she thought; maybe it would burn my finger. Finally, after a while, the woman lifted her head, nodded, and, still holding the pencil she had been writing with, asked, “Mrs. Lydia Ramírez?” Before her mother could answer, the social worker turned to Nilda and said, “My name is Miss Heinz. Does your mother understand or speak English?” Nilda turned to her mother with a look of confusion.

“I speak English,” her mother replied quickly. “Maybe not so good, but I manage to get by all right.”

“Let me have your card, please,” Miss Heinz said, holding out her hand. Nilda's mother bent forward and gave Miss Heinz the card she had been holding. “Well, that's a help. At least you can speak English. But then,” pointing to Nilda she continued, “why is she here? Why isn't she in school? This is a school day, isn't it?”

Nilda could see her mother turning red. Her mother never liked to go to these places alone; she always brought Nilda with her. Ever since Nilda could remember, she had always tagged along with her mother.

“She wasn't feeling too well so I kept her with me. She goes to school of course,” her mother said. Surprised, Nilda looked at her mother. She had not been sick at all.

“Well, she should be home in bed, not here! Or are you alone?”

“No, I am not alone,” her mother bit her lips and went on, “but there was no one at home this morning.” Nilda knew Aunt Delia was home with her stepfather, and so were Sophie and the baby. Pausing, her mother went on, “My husband is resting; he is sick. So, I just thought—”

“This is not going to do her any good,” interrupted Miss Heinz. Looking at Nilda, she asked, “What's wrong with you?” Nilda looked at her mother wide-eyed.

“She had an upset stomach,” her mother answered.

Miss Heinz, blinking her eyes, heaved a sigh and picked up a folder with the name
Ramírez, Lydia.
“Now let's get on with this. I'm way behind schedule as it is, you know. Plenty of other people to see. Mrs. Ramírez, you have one married son and four children in school, three boys and a daughter. Your husband suffered two heart attacks, his second leaving him incapacitated, and you want us to give you public assistance. Am I correct?”

“Yes,” her mother said in a voice barely audible. “He can't work no more.”

“Well then, we'll have to ask you some questions. Now, are you legally married?”

“Yes.”

“How long? I see that your boys have a different last name. They are named Ortega.”

“I been married twelve years.” Her mother wet her lips.

“Were you legally married the first time and, if so, are you a widow or a divorcée?”

“Divorce.”

“In Puerto Rico or in this country?”

“I married in Puerto Rico, but I got divorced here.”

“That was twelve years ago? Then is this your second husband's child?”

Her mother sat up straight and answered, “Yes.” Nilda glanced at her mother. Surprised and confused, she knew that she had been almost three years old when her mother married her stepfather.

“Your oldest son, Victor, can he help out?”

“He goes to high school, but he gets something after, like a delivery boy sometimes, and he gives us what he can.”

“You also have an aunt living with you. Does she help?”

“No, she's an older woman and she has a relief check, but it's very little, and she can only spare for food and medicine. You see, she's also hard of hearing and—”

“Okay,” she interrupted. “How is your health, Mrs. Ramírez?”

“I'm fine. Okay.”

“Can't you find some employment?”

“I got a lot of people to care for and small children I cannot leave.”

Nilda realized that she was tired of standing. Looking at the woman, Nilda saw her write something each time she asked another question. Her fine grey mesh hair net came down over her forehead and stopped abruptly at the spot where her eyebrows should be. Nilda carefully strained her eyes, focusing on that spot, looking for her eyebrows, but the woman didn't seem to have any. Her skin was very pink, with a variety of brownish
freckles that traveled on her hands, arms and neck, giving her skin the look of a discolored fabric. She wore a light beige dress with a starched white collar. On her right hand she wore a silver wristwatch and two silver rings. Nilda thought, she looks tightly sealed up. Like a package, only you can't see the wrapping because it's like see-through cellophane.

“How many rooms in your apartment?”

“We got six rooms.” They went on talking and Nilda felt her legs getting heavy under her and a sleepiness begin to overtake her.

“Let me see your hands! Wake up, young lady! Let me see your hands!” Startled, Nilda saw that Miss Heinz was speaking to her. Extending her arms and spreading out her fingers, she showed the woman her palms.

“Turn your hands over. Over, turn them over. Let me see your nails.” Nilda slowly turned over her hands. “You have got filthy nails. Look at that, Mrs. Ramírez. She's how old? Ten years old? Filthy.” Impulsively, Nilda quickly pushed her hands behind her back and looked down at the floor.

“Why don't you clean your nails, young lady?” Nilda kept silent. “How often do you bathe?” Still silent, Nilda looked at her mother. She wanted to tell her to make the woman stop, but she saw that her mother was not looking her way; instead she was staring straight ahead.

“Cat got your tongue?” Miss Heinz asked. “Why doesn't she answer me, Mrs. Ramírez?”

Without turning her head, her mother said, “Nilda, answer the lady.”

“I take a bath when I need it! And I clean my nails whenever I feel like it!” Nilda exploded in a loud voice.

“No need to be impertinent and show your bad manners, young lady.”

“Nilda!” Her mother turned around and looked at her. “Don't be fresh! Stop it!” Looking at Miss Heinz she said, “I'm sorry.”

“That's quite all right, Mrs. Ramírez, I understand. Children today are not what they used to be. Young lady, you are no help to your mother. I hope you're proud of yourself.”