The Memories of Ana Calderón

THE MEMORIES OF
Ana Calderón

GRACIELA LIMÓN

Also by Graciela Limón

El Día de la Luna

En busca de Bernabé

Erased Faces

In Search of Bernabé

La canción del colibrí

Left Alive

Los recuerdos de Ana Calderón

Song of the Hummingbird

The Day of the Moon

The River Flows North

GRACIELA LIMÓN

This volume is made possible through grants from the National Endowment for the Arts (a federal agency), the Lila Wallace-Reader's Digest Fund and the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation.

Recovering the past, creating the future

Arte Público Press

University of Houston

452 Cullen Performance Hall

Houston, Texas 77204-2004

Cover design by Giovanni Mora

Original painting, “Seated Girl in Ruffled Dress” (mixed medium), by Nivia Gonzalez

Limón, Graciela.

The Memories of Ana Calderón : A Novel / by Graciela Limón.

    p.    cm.

ISBN 978-1-55885-355-3

1. Mexican American women—Fiction. 2. Women—United States—Fiction. 3. Mexican American—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3562.I464M46  1994

The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48-1984.

Copyright © 1994 by Graciela Limón

Printed in the United States of America

11 12 13 14 15 16 17                  11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3

To

Minerva Preciado
who was first my student and is now my friend

Acknowledgments

The Memories of Ana Calderón

I especially thank my friend, Mary Wilbur, who took time to read the manuscript of
The Memories of Ana Calderón
with care and diligence. It is to Mary that I owe the fine tuning of the circumstances and congruity of events of this novel. I also am grateful to Sister Martin Byrne, friend and colleague, who assisted me in detecting the flaws that marked the original version of the manuscript. And I am indebted to Dr. Nicolás Kanellos, Publisher of Arte Público Press, whose editing has made possible the final version of my novel.

G.L.

 

...el ángel del Señor le dijo,
“Agar... ¿de dónde vienes tú? ¿y a dónde vas?”
Ella respondió,
“Vengo huyendo...”
el ángel del Señor le dijo,
“...el Señor te ha oído en tu humillación...”

Génesis
16:8, 11

...the angel of the Lord said,
“Hagar...where have you come from and
         where are you going?”
She answered,
“I am fleeing...”
the angel of the Lord said to her,
“...The Lord has heard you in your humiliation...”

Genesis
16:8, 11

My name is Ana Calderón, and my story begins in a
palapa
close to Puerto Real in southern Mexico. Even though many years have passed, my recollections of the hut often come to me. Its roof was made of long interlaced fronds which were lashed to a supporting frame of poles hacked out of palm trees. Its floor was the black sand that had been washed ashore ages before our time. Our
palapa
was on the fringe of a cluster of dwellings, and even though we weren't really a part of the port city, still, its lights could be seen from where we lived. We could even see the ships that came down the coast from Veracruz.

My father's name was Rodolfo and like all the men of the village, he was a fisherman. My mother was named Rosalva. I don't remember her as well as I do my father, and that's because she died when I was twelve years old, but I know that I loved her very much. Although I have memories, even vivid ones of when I was a child, I've always thought that my life really began on the day that my little brother, César, was born. That happened on the day I turned ten.

I was listening to my Aunt Calista's voice calling out for me that afternoon, and even though it sounded heavy with frustration, I pretended not to hear her. I was sitting under the shade of a small palm tree, wiggling my toes in the sand, with my knees drawn tightly under my chin as I gazed at the emerald-colored water. I used to dream most of the time when I sat by the ocean.

When I heard Tía Calista calling me, instead of running to where she was, I closed my eyes trying to forget that my mother was having another baby. I didn't want to think of it. I knew that it meant that I would have to take care of another sister because, of all my mother's children, only the girls lived. Each of the boys had died. That began to happen after I was born.

Ever since I could remember, everyone always reminded me that I must have done something bad to my mother's womb when I was inside of it because after me two boys, one right after the other, died. It wasn't until Aleja came along three years later that we had a new baby. But even after her there was another boy, and he died too. So everyone convinced me that it had been me that had done it.

They said that no boy could live where I had lived. I knew my father resented me for what I had done to my mother's insides and that made me feel very lonely. So from as far back as I could remember, I tried to let everyone believe that I didn't care what they said. But I did care. Sometimes I even shook all over just thinking of what I had done. So I decided, when I was very little, that I would live inside of myself, down deep where no one could blame me for what had happened.

Of the sisters, I was the oldest, and because of that I was expected to take care of the smaller ones. I didn't like it, but when I complained I was told that all girls were born to have babies, or to take care of them. My Tía Calista, my mother and my father really believed that, but even then I knew that there was another reason for what they told me. My mother had to wash clothes for the people of Puerto Real to help my father feed us, so somebody else had to watch my sisters. But I told myself that it wasn't that bad because when they reached two years or so, each one would go off on her own during the day. I don't remember exactly where they went. I think they spent their time playing with the neighbor children.

I had only turned ten, but already I knew how to deliver a baby and how to take care of it from the beginning until it began to walk. The only thing I couldn't do was feed it. For that I had to take the little girl to wherever my mother was washing clothes. I didn't have to say anything because she knew why I was there. She would stop what she was doing and sit under a tree. With her arms still dripping soap, she would uncover her breast and stick its rose-colored nipple into the baby's mouth. I remember that my mother's breasts were large. They were round and brown. They reminded me of the clay jugs in which we kept the water we drank.

Alejandra was born when I was three years old, and after her the ones that lived were five girls. My father, I think, had lost hope of ever having a son until César came. He was the only one able to live to be a young man. Then when he was born, my mother stopped having babies.

There was also Octavio Arce. We called him Tavo. He was not my brother. I don't remember when he first came into our family. He was an orphan, and although no one in particular took him in, he spent most of his time with us. He even slept in our hut. He, Alejandra and I were like triplets. I mean, we were hardly ever apart one from the other. That is, until we
were grown-up people.

On the day of César's birth, Tía Calista was calling me, but I was dreaming of becoming a famous dancer, so I pretended not to hear her. Alejandra and Tavo were with me, but I had that special way of going inside of myself to be alone with my plans. I used to do that because I wanted to prepare for the day when I would show my father that I could be just as good as the son he longed for. I wanted to do that every day, but he hardly ever looked at me except to let me know with his eyes that he hated me because I was not a boy, and that he believed that I had poisoned the way for the brothers that followed me. But one day, I knew, I would make him see that he had been wrong.

On that day, I could hear my aunt's voice. I didn't want to answer because in my mind, along with my imaginings, I was also seeing my mother's legs spreading out. I could see the syrupy liquid that leaked out of her body, and even how it stained the rough sheet under her, making it stick to the sandy ground. I didn't want to go to the
palapa,
but I knew that if I didn't I would be sorry for it later on.

“Ana-a-a-a! Ana-a-a-a!”