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Authors: Julia Alvarez

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Emigration & Immigration, #People & Places, #United States, #Hispanic & Latino, #Friendship

Return to Sender (18 page)

BOOK: Return to Sender
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Lots of love and
mucho amor,
Mari

28 enero 2006

Querido Tío,

 

We know you have two good reasons to be happy! Your lawyer reported that the judge at your hearing on Thursday said that you had suffered enough, especially being locked up during the holidays with no family to visit you. She would not insist you serve another two months.

Now you are in the hands of Homeland Security and your deportation hearing is next week. I know that this part is not welcome news as it means more waiting without knowing your fate. But at least the judge asked that the process be “expedited,” which means rushed, so you can get on with your life.

“Are you married, young man?” the judge asked you. “Do you have children?”

You seemed unsure why the judge wanted to know such personal information. But you shook your head and explained that you had been working since you were a boy helping your parents and six sisters and brothers. You hadn't had any time to court a girl, much less marry one and have kids.

“I hope your
tío
didn't tell them about Wilmita,” Papá said. I love it when he makes a joke. Usually, he is so sad and hardly talks at all. “Maybe now in prison, Tío Felipe will have the free time to court this
americana,”
Papá added. Last Saturday, the
patrón's
younger son said their visiting was cut short as another visitor had also signed up to share your hour.

His mother and your lawyer and our Spanish teacher were all very surprised, as they thought they were the only ones you knew in this area besides your family, who can't visit you for reasons I won't go into.

When they came downstairs, they found the second reason you must be very happy. The mystery visitor waiting to go up was an American girl, about the older son's age, who spent last summer working in an orphanage in México, so she speaks a whole bunch of Spanish.

I asked the
patrón's
younger son what she looked like. He shrugged. “Normal.”

That was no help at all. So I had to go piece by piece: What color is her hair? Is she tall? Short? Is she thin?

But it was hard to fit all his piecemeal answers into a whole picture. Finally, I gave up and just asked, “Is she pretty?”

The son shrugged again and said he didn't know!

But then when the older son came for the weekend to pick up his car that his parents are finally going to let him take back to school, he dropped in for a visit. So Tío Armando asked him if this girl was
bonita.

“Muy, muy bonita,”
the son said. “A real knockout!”

Knockout? I know from the
lucha libre
fights my uncles watch on TV what a knockout is, but it doesn't sound like something you'd want a girlfriend to do to you.

The son was laughing.
“¡Muy, muy caliente!”

Very, very hot?! Knockout?! Why doesn't this older son speak regular English or Spanish? Isn't he supposed to be in college? But my uncle and Papá seemed to understand because they couldn't stop laughing.

So even if you are deported to México, Tío, this girl already knows her way to México and can visit you in Las Margaritas. It should be a lot more fun than visiting you in jail.

 

 

Buena suerte
and good luck,

Mari

4 febrero 2006

Querido Tío,

Candlemas came and went and I didn't throw my party as you still are not free. Your deportation hearing was yesterday, but it won't be until next week that you will be on your way to México.
Papá says that once we get the call from Las Margaritas that you have arrived, we should invite the
patrón's
family and your lawyer and our Spanish teacher and her gringo and the grandma for a special meal to thank them for all the ways they have helped us during this difficult period.
I know I should be happy that you are finally going home, but it is not very welcome news for my sisters and me.
Without you, who will make us laugh, Tío? And we could sure use your help right now as Papá has made a new rule: only Spanish TV in this house.
It started when Ofie announced that she was not moving to México. This came up when you were caught and Papá was preparing us for the eventuality that we might all be deported.
Papá seemed to be waking up from a long dream that started eight years ago when he and Mamá and I came to this country. His shoulders slumped as if he were carrying a heavy load.
The very next morning, Ofie asked, “Papá,
necesito dinero
for my lunch
porque hoy sirven
grilled cheese sandwiches.”
Papá was on his way out the door to start milking. He stopped in his tracks.
“En español,”
he reminded her. He already knew that Ofie wanted money to buy her lunch instead of taking leftover tortillas and beans. But he wanted her to ask him in Spanish.
Ofie folded her arms and stood her ground. “I'm American. I speak English.”
Papá gave her several slow nods.
“Bueno, americanita, tendràs que comprar tu almuerzo con tu propio dinero.”
“That's not fair,” Ofie cried. “Why should I buy lunch with my own money that I already
spent!” The little American girl had understood every word of Papá's Spanish!
Papá put on his
no comprendo
face that he wears when an American approaches him speaking a mile a minute. He finished zipping up his jacket and walked out the door. That night, when he and Tío Armando returned from the evening milking, he turned the TV to a Spanish channel.
“Se terminó la televisión en inglés,”
he announced. No more English or Spanglish in the house. We had to practice our Spanish.
What an outcry from Ofie! Luby, who always starts crying when someone else does, joined in. Off they both went in a huff to our bedroom. I followed to counsel and comfort them. I guess by now with Papá always telling me I'm the little mother, I have become one.
“I have an idea,” I proposed. “Why don't we all try speaking just Spanish for a few days.”
“But we're American,” Ofie countered.
“Nobody can tell us what to do.” Luby added her two cents she'd borrowed from Ofie.
Not a good start. “You
are
Americans,” I agreed, trying a different tack. “But remember, America is the whole hemisphere, north and south. We are
all-
American!
Raíces méxicanas y flores norteamericanas.”
I made believe I had a bouquet of flowers, with Mexican roots and North American flowers. I took a whiff and
offered them each a little invisible bunch. They giggled.
Finally, they were listening. As you used to say to me, Tío, I would make an excellent lawyer because I know how to move the heart with words—if only I were bolder.
“¿Bueno?”
I asked. “How about it?”
Luby looked over at Ofie, who nodded reluctantly. “Okay,” she agreed.
“You have to say
de acuerdo,”
Luby reminded her.
“I'm not starting till tonight,” Ofie snapped. She always has to have the last word. Maybe
she
should be the lawyer!
So that night we had our first all- Spanish supper in a long time. Only once did Ofie mess up. “Please pass the milk,” she asked Papá.
Papá had picked up the jug, but now held it in the air, waiting for Ofie to correct herself.
“I mean,
por favor, pásame la leche.

Papá laughed and passed her the milk. I guess he decided to allow Ofie two words in English!
And, Tío, I think my plan is working. Already, Papá says that this weekend, Ofie and Luby can watch their cartoons in English, provided they switch the channel to Spanish during commercials.
By the way, while we were eating our supper
en español,
the telephone rang. It was the visitor Papá and Tío Armando are already calling your girlfriend. She was calling to tell us that she is going to Chiapas during her spring vacation. If we want to send anything to our family, she will carry it down for us. Right away we asked if she would take your Wilmita. She hesitated until we explained Wilmita was your guitar.
“In that case, sure!” She laughed. “I thought one of you sisters wanted me to sneak you across.”
On Candlemas Day, I asked the grandma about the groundhog, if he had seen his shadow or not. “I'm afraid he did, dear. As they say, if Candlemas is bright and clear, there'll be two winters in the year. So we've got some more winter left.”
I didn't need the groundhog to tell me that. Just the fact that you won't be coming home means that winter will be with us for a long time.
That same night, we lit candles, and Papá and Tío Armando told us how back in Las Margaritas on Candlemas the priest blessed all the seeds for planting in the spring. “It was always a time of looking forward to the promise of the future,” Papá reminded us. “Not anymore,” he muttered bitterly.
But I am looking forward to something in the future: seeing you again, Tío. Until then, I will be
like that groundhog and crawl back into the hole in my heart to sleep out the long and lonesome winter of your absence.

 

 

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo,
from Luby
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo,
from Ofie
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo,
from me!

FARM FOR THE LOST & FOUND

When Tyler asks the Cruzes what they think of their first Vermont winter, they just shake their heads as if there isn't a word in Spanish for how cold it gets in Vermont in winter. In class, when Mr. Bicknell talks about global warming, Mari's eyebrows shoot up.

“María?” Mr. Bicknell calls on her, guessing she has a question.

But Mari just looks down, too shy to speak up. Later, she asks Tyler how it can be getting warmer when it's gotten so cold outside.

“It's not that cold, Mari!” Tyler tells her how some years the temperature has gone down to thirty below zero. “Gramps used to have to wipe off the cows’ teats or else the milk would freeze where it dripped.”

Now they both look down shyly. For some reason Tyler can't quite figure out, talking about certain body parts with a girl has become embarrassing. Even if the private body part in question happens to be on a cow.

Maybe it's because he's about to turn twelve, which ac-cording to Ben is the beginning of adolescence, when all a boy can think about is girls. Tyler's twelfth birthday will be on March eighth, which Mom says is real special as that's International Women's Day. “Best gift I could have given myself, a wonderful, enlightened young man.”

Tyler doesn't know about enlightened, but being born on a girls’ holiday isn't exactly something he's going to be bragging about anytime soon. Even if he will soon be an adolescent with a mind supposedly wallpapered with girls.

BOOK: Return to Sender
10.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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