Nilda (9 page)

Bending over, Miss Heinz moved her head, shaking the lumps of ringlets as she opened the center drawer of her desk. She searched around, moving paper clips, pencils, index cards wrapped in a rubber band, and finally pulled out a small shiny metal nail file. Holding it up in front of Nilda, she said, “Now, Miss, this is for you. I want you to take this home with you so that you have no more excuse for dirty nails. This,” and she shook the small shiny silver file, “is a nail file. Have you ever seen one before?”

Still sulking, Nilda answered, “Yes, I know what it is.”

“Good! Here, you may take it,” she said, smiling as she handed the nail file to Nilda, who did not move.

“Take it!” her mother said. Nilda reached over and took the metal file. Miss Heinz looked at Nilda, who said nothing. “Nilda! What do you say?” her mother asked.

“Thank you,” Nilda said in an irritated tone.

Miss Heinz turned away and, closing the folder, she said, “Before we can make any definite decision, we will have to have an investigator come out to your home for a visit. Since you have had public assistance before, you know the procedure I'm sure. It will take a little while, but we will let you know.”

“Good-bye, Miss Heinz, and thank you very much.”

“Not at all. Good-bye now,” and she bent over her desk again. Nilda and her mother walked out of the room and out of the building.

Walking alongside her mother, Nilda could feel the cold sharp air of winter. She held the shiny cold metal nail file in her hand. That mean old witch, she thought. And Mamá, she's mean too. Nilda felt her mother put her arm around her and she pulled away.

“What's the matter? You got a problem maybe, Nilda?”

“I don't have an upset stomach, Mamá. Why did you let her talk like that to me? Why didn't you stop her?” Nilda felt the angry tears beginning to come down her face. “You should have done something. You don't care anything about me. You don't care.”

“Nilda, stop it! I had to say what I did, that's all. I have to do what I do. How do you think we're gonna eat? We have no money, Nilda. If I make that woman angry, God knows what she'll put down on the application. We have to have that money in order to live.”

“I don't care. I don't care at all!” Nilda screamed. Without warning, she felt a sharp pain going across the left side of her face, followed by a stinging feeling. Her mother was in front of her, looking at her furiously.

“I'll slap you again, only harder, if you don't shut up.” Nilda began to cry quietly. They walked along silently to the bus stop.

Still holding the nail file, Nilda thought about Miss Heinz. Oh how I hate her. She's horrible, she said to herself. I would like to stick her with this stupid nail file, that's what. When no one was looking I would sneak up behind her and stick her with the nail file. Then she would begin to die. No blood would come out because she hasn't any. But just like that … poof! She would begin to empty out into a large mess of cellophane. Everybody in that big office would be looking for her. “Oh, where is Miss Heinz?” they would all say. They would be searching for her all over. Poor Miss Heinz. Oh, poor Miss Heinz. First her eyebrows disappeared. Did you know that? She had no eyebrows. And now she's all gone. Disappeared, just like that! Poor thing. My, what a pity.

The bus pulled up. As Nilda climbed inside she felt the nail file slipping between her fingers and heard a faint clink when it hit the pavement.

N
ilda held on to the metal bar at the top of the crib and, leaning forward, looked down at the baby as he moved his hands and kicked his feet. She was fascinated by the fingernails, which were as delicate as tissue paper, set on the perfectly formed little fingers. He is just wonderful, she thought. So small and yet all the parts are there; nothing is missing. Wow! His head was covered by lots of jet black hair that was soft and silky, and his face had the tiniest mouth and nose. “James Ortega, Junior,” she whispered.

The baby had been home for two weeks. Nilda's mother had shifted things in the apartment so that Sophie and the baby could have a room to themselves. Frankie now shared a bedroom with Victor and Paul, but slept on the sofa in the living room. Nilda had Frankie's cot in her parents' bedroom. She missed her bed and her room, especially her window. Her own bed used to be by the window and she could look out and see the sky anytime she wanted. She missed the privacy she had been used to because her stepfather had been home for a while now and still had to rest in bed most of the time. Nilda was constantly aware of the fact that she could not make any noise. The only good part of this moving-everybody-around business is the baby, she thought. Smiling, she extended her forefinger and put it up against the tiny hand. The baby, grabbing it, made a little fist and gripped on tightly. Nilda giggled and moved her finger back and forth as little Jimmy held on. “Hey, who do you think you are anyway?” she laughed. “So strong and so tough, eh!” The baby responded by turning his head toward her. Sophie walked in with a baby bottle in her hand.

“You wanna give him his bottle, Nilda?”

“Can I? Oh please, yes!”

Sophie put the bottle down on the bureau and picked up the baby. “Take that blanket and put it over your shoulder,” she said, handing the baby to Nilda. With the baby in her arms, Nilda settled down on the bed. Sophie handed her the bottle. “Now, when he stops drinking just pick him up and pat him on the back like I showed you. Wait till he burps and then you can give him the bottle again. Okay?”

“Yes, I know. I can do it, I can do it.”

Nilda bent her head over slightly and took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet warm fragrance of the baby's hair. Pressing the baby close to her, Nilda felt warmth and pleasure. She disliked her dolls; the hard cold plastic surface was unappealing, so she usually put them away where she did not have to touch them. He's so beautiful, not at all like those dumb dolls, she thought, and laughed when she remembered what her mother had said about the baby. “Little Jimmy is not much bigger than a loaf of bread.” Her stepfather had been upset at the idea of two more people living in the apartment. When he returned home from the hospital, there had been a big argument.

“Where is your Communism now? Your love of the people, Emilio?” Her mother's eyes flashed with anger. “Your love of the common people is that you deny my grandchild a home? Like our Virgen María and Niño Jesús they will have no place to go. Well, they stay and this is their home right here! That's final! ¡Ya basta! Dios mío sagrado,” and she made the sign of the cross.

“And where is your son? Where is your Jimmy? Mr. Big Shot with the cars and the clothes, eh?” her stepfather yelled. “We were not good enough for him so he had to be dishonest, and
now we have to clean up his mess. And who will thank us? Not your son, that's the truth!”

Her mother replied quietly, “God. God will thank us and He will provide as He always does. And we will find Jimmy and he will do right by this young woman and his son. Yes, he will settle down.”

“Bullshit,” interrupted her stepfather. “Plain mierda, that's what that talk is. What will happen is what always happens. Your son is making us into a bunch of sucketas.”

In the long run, however, her mother had won and Sophie came home with the baby. When Nilda had complained about her room, her mother had told her it was only temporary, that as soon as Jimmy returned, he would get an apartment for his new family. “Why can't somebody else get changed? Why does it have to be me?” she had insisted.

“Nilda, we cannot take Aunt Delia's room away because she is an old woman and we must respect her privacy. It is up to you and your brothers to make some sacrifices. A new life is now part of our family, so we must all take care and protect the baby. It is our duty as his family.” Nilda had responded to this by sulking until the baby had come home, and then, after his arrival, she had become ecstatic.

Little Jimmy had finished the bottle and Nilda picked him up, leaning him very carefully against her shoulder and patting him on the back. She gently patted and rubbed her hand in a circular movement until she heard the baby utter a loud belch. “Good boy!” She started to walk out of the room with the baby in her arms and almost bumped into Sophie, who was entering the room. “He just finished his whole bottle at once, Sophie. He made a big burp. He's so good—”

“Just put him down now and leave,” interrupted Sophie. Nilda could see she was upset.

“Can I take him inside to the living room with me, just for a little while, Sophie?”

“Just leave him. Put him back.”

“Aw, please, let me take him for a little while.”

“Nilda, get out!” she snapped.

Nilda quietly put the baby back in the crib and walked out of the room. Whew, what a crab, she thought. Her mother was sitting in the living room with Aunt Delia. She wanted to complain about Sophie, but she knew her mother was nervous and worried about the investigator who was supposed to visit them soon. Instead, she asked, “Mami, what's the matter with Sophie? She is such a cranky thing. She won't even let me bring the baby in here for a little while.”

“You fuss too much over the baby anyway, Nilda. Besides, didn't you just give him his bottle? Well now, that's enough. Just go play with something else and let the baby rest.”

“Is supper ready yet?”

“In a little while we are all gonna eat. Why don't you take a rest, eh? I'll call you when the food is ready.” Her mother smiled and coaxed her, “Go on now. Go on, rest a bit. I'll call you.”

Shrugging, Nilda walked into her parents' bedroom and sat down on her cot. Her stepfather was sleeping and she could hear his soft snoring and the ticking of the clock on the little night table. Next to the clock sat a glass filled with water, and in it were his false teeth. Nilda stared at them and, after a while, they seemed to be floating. She half expected them to speak, and she shuddered.

Turning away, she lay back on the cot and looked up at the ceiling. Very carefully, she started to search in between and around the cracks, discolorations and peeling paint, that took on different shapes and dimensions, for her favorite scenes. This
was a game she loved to play. By using her eyes she discovered that, if she concentrated carefully, she actually began to see all kinds of different shapes and forms and exciting events taking place on the ceiling. One of those scenes was a group of horses running wildly in the woods. Mounted on the horses were men dressed just like in the movies of the Count of Monte Cristo. They wore plumed hats and capes, and the horses had saddles covered with tassels and fringes. After a little while, Nilda finally saw the riders and galloping horses in the cluster of woods. It was all so exciting that she concentrated on the adventure.

She was completely engrossed when she heard her stepfather saying softly, “Nilda, is that you?”

“Yes, Papá.”

“What are you doing, nena?”

“Just resting for a little while. I was feeding the baby, but then Sophie wouldn't let me play with him anymore.”

“You are gonna wear him out, Nilda. He is not a toy, you know.” Lighting a cigarette, he inhaled and blew out the smoke. Nilda turned over onto her stomach and propped her head on her arms as she watched her stepfather.

Smiling, he said, “You want me to make some rings?”

“Oh, yes, go ahead, Papá, make them.”

Inhaling from the cigarette deeply, her stepfather began pursing his lips and forming them into the shape of an O, rapidly expanding and contracting them as he exhaled. He kept repeating this, and each puff of smoke took on a circular shape. Nilda laughed as she looked at the circles of smoke and her stepfather.

“You look like a fish,” she giggled.

“Oh, yeah? But I bet you a fish can't do this trick with a cigarette,” he laughed.

“Tell me a story, Papá, all about where you come from again, and the war and all that. Please.”

Smiling, her stepfather began to talk. “Well, my town is a small village on the northern coast of Spain. The people there are poor and hardworking. They all live in little houses.”

“Everybody has a little house?”

“Yes, there are no big buildings, or subways, or department stores. Everybody lives in a little house of their own.” Pausing, he went on, “Today, of course, the people are not free. Fascism has taken the land and is destroying the people.”

“Even the children?”

“Of course the children! What do you think war is? Hitler, Mussolini, aiding that pig Franco. That's how he won, you know. Oh, yes! Look at that, Nilda.” With a look of disgust he pointed to the small altar set upon a shelf in a corner of the bedroom. On the altar a small red candle burned, emitting the scent of incense. In a small white vase were paper flowers. Some holy pictures had been placed alongside. Above the shelf hung a framed drawing, in color, of a saint as he walked down a street, clad in rags, his body full of bleeding sores and all the dogs in the town eagerly licking his wounds. “The Catholic Church helped Franco as well, with that kind of shit that your mamá believes.” Looking irritated at the altar, he went on, “Garbage to enslave the masses.”

Nilda loved to hear her stepfather talk, he carried on so. Especially when her mother was not around, he did a lot of cursing. She already knew most of what he said, and was about to say, since she had heard it for as long as she could remember. Before her stepfather, she had only a vague memory of scattered moments in her life. She had been not quite three years old when her mother had married him. Now she had his last name and called him Papá. No one talked about what happened before. In fact, it was never mentioned at all. This had not bothered her at all until recently, when her mother had spoken to the lady social worker at the welfare station. She knew that her real father, Leo, and her mother had never married. Many times
when she thought of Leo she had a close feeling for him, but she also knew she could not talk about it.