Firefly Summer (14 page)

Sixta was also carrying a basket filled with her work.

“What's in your basket?” Sixta asked when the girls joined her.

“Lunch,” said Teresa. “Grandmother thought we might stop on the way back and eat it in some cool place, like we were out on a picnic.”

“I might have known it was a picnic you were thinking of all the time. But, since we have to eat somewhere, we might as well do it under the trees instead of in a hot, stuffy restaurant in town.”

Sixta was a good rider and the girls found it hard to keep up with her.

When they reached the smithy, Martín was standing at the door talking to a group of men.

“Wo!” he called gladly. “The
finca
has come to town.” He looked up the road, expecting to see another horse.

“No, Martín, Ramón and Antonio stayed home this time,” said Teresa.

He helped them down and took their horses away. When he returned, Sixta was gone and Teresa had taken the sandalwood box from the bottom of the basket.

“Will you keep this lunch for us, Martín? We are coming back here to meet Sixta after she delivers her work and picks up the new orders.”

“And where are you bound?” he asked. “Is it the candy shop again?”

“No, Martín, but to Tamarindo Street. How far is it from here?”

“Now, let me see. I have not been in that part of town for some time.” He thought for a while and then gave them some directions. “Go up Comercio Street,” he said, “until you come to Palma, then turn left and walk three blocks, then turn right. Yes, I think that is correct.”

He stood at the door, basket in hand, watching them run up the street. “Whatever's taking them to that street must be important,” he said to himself, “running that way and the heat of the sun rising.” Martín sighed. Many a time he, too, had raced up that street, but that had been many years ago. He looked for the coolest place in his shop to set down the lunch basket.

When the girls reached Palma Street, it seemed to them as if they had crossed the full length of the town. It was a narrow street shaded by high trees. The wooden houses stood close together on each side of the street. There was no sidewalk, so the girls walked in the middle of the street, dodging wheelbarrows, cats and scrawny-looking dogs, besides children and grownups who seemed to be out sunning themselves.

They turned left and walked three blocks. They came into the shortest street they had ever seen. Almost in front of them was a pole with a placard across it. Tamarindo Street they read on it, and the first house they came to had a number six written out in black letters.

“It's on this side of the street,” said Teresa. “Let's walk close to the houses—the numbers are not very clear.”

They checked each house, because in some of them the paint was cracked and the numbers were even missing.

At last they came to a large square house with a backyard full of trees. The girls stopped. Right on the door was a large 26.

“26 Tamarindo, at last! I wonder what is behind that door for us,” said Teresa.

“We will never know if we stand here just looking,” said Mercedes.

They knocked.

“
Entre
—come in,” said a voice.

They pushed the door and went in.

The room was filled with stools facing a large blackboard with the first six letters of the alphabet legibly written out in yellow and white chalk. Two middle-aged women sat on black rocking chairs, embroidering.

“
Buenos días
,” said Teresa. “We would like to see Ramona Ayala.”

The two women jumped to their feet. “What is that you said?” they asked.

Teresa repeated her question. “We have a card with her name and address in this box,” she continued, untying the handkerchief.

“The coral necklace! How did you come by this box, children?” they asked.

It did not take Teresa long to explain how it had come to her house and had become her possession, and how through Mercedes' curiosity she had found the yellow creased card.

“We want to see Ramona,” said Mercedes when Teresa finished.

“You have come to the right place,” said one of the women. “However, Ramona had been dead for many years.”

“Dead?” the girls exclaimed. “Then we have made the trip in vain.”

“We are the sole survivors of the Ayala family,” she continued, ignoring their remark. “I am Gloria, and this is my sister, Selina. We both recognized the coral necklace because it was a family possession until our mother donated it for a church bazaar. That card was the one she included with her gift. It was the usual thing to do in those days, so that notes of thanks could be written to all donors.”

“Given away as a prize?” said Teresa, losing all hope of finding out anything else about it. She was about to wrap the box up when Selina took it out of her hand.

“It's been a long time,” she said, almost caressing the small box. “Remember the man who won it, Gloria? How very excited he was that night.”

“What was his name?” asked Teresa quickly. “Do you remember it?”

“Remember it, we have never forgotten it, and often wonder what has become of him. You see, a bazaar draws visitors from all parts of town and nearby villages. They come and go. This man was a rare visitor and a talker, besides.”

Teresa thought she would never come to the point and answer her question. Selina was having a good time reminiscing while she and Mercedes hung onto her words, waiting.

“Before he left the booth,” Selina continued, “he told our mother he and his wife had been brought up in El Refugio, the orphanage for children. They had left it when they became of age, and had met years later in Guayama, where they got married.”

“You have not told us his name,” said Mercedes.

“Ah, yes, his name. Julián Ramón Santiago, that was it, and his wife was Amalia. He kept mentioning her all the time and saying that the coral necklace would make a grand gift for her.”

“Julián Ramón Santiago,” said Teresa, certain now that he must have been Ramón's father.

Selina looked at the creased card in the box. “Mother would have never guessed when she put this card in the box that it would come to play such a decisive part in the life of that young man's son!” She replaced the card and gave the box back to Teresa.

The door opened and a group of little children ran into the room chanting their greetings. “
Buenas tardes, Señorita
Selina y
Señorita
Gloria.”

“
Buenas tardes, niños
,” said Selina, turning her attention to them.

“These are our nursery, school children,” explained Gloria. “Mother always had a nursery school for children in the neighborhood, and we have continued with it.”

Teresa nodded as she tried to wrap the sandalwood box in the handkerchief again, before Selina had a chance to come back. “
Cielos
!” Teresa said to herself, “how she can talk!” She thanked Gloria and promised she would bring Ramón to the house next time they were in town.

Teresa opened the door quietly while Selina was busy explaining to the children about the twotone color of the alphabet on the blackboard. Followed by Mercedes, she tiptoed outside.

As they stood there, the church bell struck twelve.

“Noon, Teresa,” said Mercedes, starting to run. “Sixta will be leaving without us if we don't hurry.”

When the two arrived at Martín's place, Sixta was sitting on a long bench waiting. Their two horses stood at the door where Martín had left them before going to lunch himself.

The girls slumped down beside Sixta and tried to catch their breaths.

“You look as if you have been chased all over town. Where were you?” asked Sixta.

“At 26 Tamarindo,” said Mercedes.

“Why, that's the Ayalas' house. What were you doing so far uptown?”

“Finding out about Ramón's family, and now we know it all,” explained Teresa.

Sixta looked from one girl to the other, not quite able to get the real meaning of what they were saying. Finally Teresa began from the beginning and gave her a complete account. When she finished, Sixta was as excited as they were.

“Let's not stop on the road for lunch,” she said. “I want to ride straight to the
finca
with you. Ramón must hear this news as soon as possible.

They way back seemed longer only because they wanted to get there in such a hurry. Sixta led the way and Teresa managed with difficulty to keep up with her. At last they came within view of the house. They climbed up the hill and rode to the rear, coming to a stop near the woodshed. They could hear the family's voices coming from the open shed.

“Ramón! Ramón!” called Teresa.

He ran to help them dismount and lead the horses away.

“Tie them here,” said Teresa, “and come with us to the shed. We have news for you.” She picked up the lunch basket and ran ahead to meet the family.

“Oh,
Mamá
,” she said, laying the lunch basket on the ground.

“We have heard all about Ramón's parents.”

“About Ramon's parents? Really, Teresa?” said her mother. “Where could you have heard about them when your father has tried all these years without success?”

“But we did, at 26 Tamarindo.”

Ramón had come back and stood waiting to hear what Teresa had to say, his face glowing with excitement.

Teresa opened the lunch basket and took the sandalwood box out. “I never knew there was a card here until Mercedes took out the necklace to try it on. Right at this address we found two women who had known your father, Ramón. This necklace was your mother's.” She passed the card to him to see.

“What else did the women say?” asked Ramón.

“One of them told us how your father had won the necklace at a church bazaar and had given it to your mother as a gift.”

“And how they had been brought up in El Refugio,” said Mercedes, “until they grew up and got married.”

The two girls took turns telling the story as they had heard it from Selina.

As their story continued, all eyes were on Ramón, on whose face was an expression of joy as they had never seen before.

To any other group not acquainted with Ramón's story, what the girls had said might have sounded fantastic, but for the Rodrigo family, who for years had struggled to get a clue that might have thrown more light on his past, the reality of the things they now heard was the fulfillment of a long search come suddenly to an end.

“Ramón Santiago,” said Don Rodrigo, calling him by his full name. His arms were soon around him as he kept repeating his name over and over.

Doña Anita watched the two with blurred eyes. She knew what the news had meant to her husband, for he was seldom carried away by emotion.

But it was Ramón who was the happiest of them all.

“Let us blow the conch shell,” he said, “and let every worker at the
finca
hear the news.”

“Yes, yes,” said Teresa, running into the house to get it.

When she came back, they gathered at the edge of the hill, and Ramón blew a long, sharp note.

Out in the fields the workers heard it and stopped their work.

“It's Don Rodrigo's call,” said Felipe. “Let us go.”

One by one, they followed him eagerly, wondering what the summons might mean. At the top of the hill, Ramón waited to share with them the most important news he had ever had.

Ramón pulled himself up straight and stretched out his arms to ease his tired back. He had been working all morning tilling a patch of land for planting. The sun beat mercilessly on his head, and the perspiration which matted his hair ran down his face. It might have been Sunday, for the serenity and quietness which surrounded him. Yet far away across the hill, he knew the peasants were busy working too, getting ready the new tobacco sheds Don Rodrigo had ordered built.

“Ramón Santiago,” he said softly at first, and then louder. He listened to the sound of his voice. He was beginning to get used to the new addition to his name. No more doubts, no more hours of wishful thinking and the secret hope every time a letter arrived at the
finca
. Nothing now but satisfaction and peace of mind. “Ramón Santiago,” he said again as he dried the perspiration on his face. Soon, he would have time to leave the
finca
and visit Guayama to pick up the trail of his parents. Then, finally,
many more questions would be answered to his satisfaction.

A week had gone by since Doña Anita suggested that Teresa share the coral necklace with Mercedes. He was glad that now the two girls, to whom he owed his status of mind, shared his mother's only treasure.

“Ramón Santiago!” called someone across the field.

“Ho!” he answered.

It was Esteban, carrying a sack on his back, followed by Antonio skipping along behind.

“I went to Vázquez's
finca
with Esteban,” said Antonio, stretching out under a tree.

Esteban threw his sack on the ground and sat next to him.

“What's in the sack?” asked Ramón.

“Potatoes for seeding,” he answered. “Bought them this morning.”

“I am going to help plant them,” said Antonio.

“He is a great help to me, Ramón. How is it that you don't get him to give you a hand.”

Ramón laughed.

“The further he can get from the house, the happier he is. When he is not tramping behind Mercedes and Teresa, he is at your house. Do you know why, though?”

Esteban shook his head.

“Afraid of the
cartilla
. You should see the face he puts on for everyone to see when his mother makes him sit all day next to Grandmother with his
cartilla
in his hands.”

“I thought you said you liked to read the lessons of the
cartilla
,” said Esteban.