Salsa Stories
Authors: Lulu Delacre
F
LOR'S
S
TORY
A
BUELITO'S
S
TORY
A
BUELITA'S
S
TORY
A
BITA'S
S
TORY
U
NCLE
R
OBERT'S
S
TORY
D
OÃA
J
OSEFA'S
S
TORY
T
ÃA
M
ARILIA'S
S
TORY
“Esteban!
Turn down the stereo,” Mamá calls to Papá from the kitchen. She swirls the chicken in its marinade with one hand, then answers the telephone with the other.
Our house stirs with laughter and chatter as guests arrive, one by one. The cousins run noisily about our basement to the beat of salsa music that blares from speakers on two floors. In the dining room, Abuelito, Abuelo Jaime, Uncle Robert, and Papá click dominoes together, concentrating on each move of their game. They play with Abuelito's lucky dominoes, the ones he brought with him from Cuba forty years ago.
In the kitchen, my grandma Abita, our housekeeper Flor, and I rhythmically chop and slice. The rich, pungent scent of garlic cracking in olive oil rises from the stove. We are helping Mamá prepare the
sofrito
sauce for her
arroz con pollo
. This is the rice dish for which Mamá is famous among all our friends and family.
Flor and Abita chatter away in Spanish, as they
struggle to hold back tears from the chopped onion. Flor tells Abita about the trip she will soon make to Guatemala for Holy Week.
“I've been saving for over a year to visit my family,” she says. Flor has saved not only for her ticket, but also for the gifts she will bring to everyone from America: new jeans, walkie-talkies, a small TV, and the latest toys.
Abita nods her approval.
Above the din of music, children's shouts, and clattering pots and pans, we miraculously hear the doorbell.
“Carmen Teresa, get the door!” my little sister Laura calls from the basement stairs.
“You get it â please!” I shout back. “I'm busy.” I'm afraid that if I abandon my spot in the kitchen, I will lose it to someone else who is anxious to help. I love to cook, and when company comes, a good spot in Mamá's kitchen is hard to come by.
I watch Laura dash to open the door.
“Doña Josefa!” she calls out, then flies into the old woman's open arms.
“
Feliz año nuevo, Laurita,
” Doña Josefa says, as she gives Laura a warm hug and a present. Doña Josefa is from Peru. She is one of the doctors from the free clinic where Mama volunteers. Mama always says Doña Josefa loves to dote on us since she has no children of her own.
Laura thanks her for the gift, then steals into the dining room to open it.
Doña Josefa finds me in the kitchen. She is holding a package wrapped in brown paper. Her leathery hands are a shade darker than the wrapping. She's about to place the package into my open hands, but stops herself when she notices they are covered in cilantro. She takes the package back to the entrance and puts it on a small table instead.
“For after you clean your hands, Carmen Teresa,” she says.
The last to arrive are TÃa Marilia and TÃo Rodolfo. They've brought bottles of
coquito
and the latest hits from Rubén Blades and Willie Colón.
“Would you believe this?” TÃa Marilia jokes, glancing at the guests. “All the men are enjoying themselves while the women slave in the kitchen. There are some old customs that not even life in the States can change!”
TÃa Marilia is my favorite aunt. She has such a quick wit, and when she is around, there is laughter everywhere.
Suddenly, my sister tugs at my sleeve.
“Look, Carmen, look what I got!” Laura shows me a beautiful cloth doll that Doña Josefa gave her. “Let me see yours, what did you get?”
Curious to find out, I wash my hands and look for my gift. But it is not on the table where Doña Josefa left it. And no one is near the table except our little cousin Alex. When Laura sees him, she eagerly takes his hand and tries to play with him. But Alex has just learned to walk and he prefers to gleefully charge around the house.
“Laura!” calls Abuelita. “The cinnamon!”
Laura quickly forgets about Alex and my gift and runs to do her only and favorite job in the kitchen. She must sprinkle cinnamon over the cool
natilla
. Abuelita prepared the velvety cream for dessert and filled twenty-five small bowls with it. This dessert is Laura's favorite, and after carefully studying each bowl, she mischievously covers the fullest one with a blanket of the spice. That's her way of claiming it.
Mamá calls everyone to eat. We've set the platters on the kitchen counter and people stream in to serve themselves. Then they sit wherever they please at the dining room table, at the kitchen table, or in the living room.
Abuelito stands up to say grace. He can sometimes go on for quite a long time, for he loves to be the center of attention. And he always ends his prayer with the same old Spanish saying: “
¡Salud, dinero, amor, y tiempo para disfrutarlos!
Health, money, love, and time to enjoy
it all!” he says. Everyone is very hungry by the time he finally gets to this part.
I take a huge mouthful of steaming
yuca
when Doña Josefa sits next to me.
“Did you like your gift?” she asks.
I quickly swallow and excuse myself to avoid the embarrassing situation of having to tell her I've misplaced it.
I look again on the entrance table and under it, but the package is gone. In whispers, I ask my parents and some relatives if they have seen it, but no one has. To avoid Doña Josefa, I duck into the kitchen where I find TÃa Marilia and TÃo Rodolfo. They've been lured to the center of the kitchen floor by the dance music that's become irresistible to them. Gracefully they twirl into each other's arms and show off their fiery moves. Inspired by her sister-in-law, Mamá pulls me to “the dance floor” to teach me some basic salsa steps. Reluctantly, I follow.
“Don't look at your feet,” warns Mamá. “Just feel the rhythm of the music.”
Across the room, I spot Laura next to Alex. I abandon the dance lesson to find out if she has seen my missing gift. Before I can ask, Alex topples the little rooster that was perched on the hand-carved nativity scene. And while Laura carefully rearranges the pieces, Alex
has moved on to playing with something else. I peer over his shoulder to find he's trying to unwrap a brown package.
It's my gift!
“Oh, Alex,” I say. “Let me help you with that.”
I let him unwrap the small parcel, then give him the wrapping paper to play with. He seems quite happy to noisily rustle and crinkle the paper.
My gift from Doña Josefa is a book filled with blank pages and covered with a red fabric sprinkled with daisies. Inside I find an inscription:
Dear Carmen Teresa,
When I was your age, I kept a journal in a book just like this one. I hope you'll find a treasured use for yours, as I did for mine.
Doña Josefa
“Show me!” demands Laura. A smug look comes over her face when she sees the book. She is pleased that it is not something she likes better than her doll.
Relieved to have found the gift, I run to Doña Josefa to thank her.
“What should I write in this book?” I ask her.
Doña Josefa's creased face lights up with her smile. “There are many things you can write,” she says. “Perhaps you will want to keep a journal, like I did.”
“Or,” offers Abuelita, “you could write about things that have happened to you when you were younger.”
“Yes. Or maybe, you could collect stories from our family and friends,” suggests Mamá, “since everyone is here today.”
“Stories â
ahh, ¡cuentos!
” calls Abuelito from his seat at the dining room table where he has been eavesdropping. “I have a great story for your book, Carmen Teresa. But first,” he says in his deep voice, “Abuelita, bring me more of that wonderful
arroz con pollo
, please.”
Abuelita nods to Flor, who quickly refills his plate.
Abuelito glows as everyone gathers around him to hear his tale.
“When you are finished, Señor,” Flor adds, “I have a story for Carmen Teresa, too.”
“¡Ah! No, no, damas primero,”
says Abeulito. “Ladies first.”
“Always a gentleman,” replies Doña Josefa. “And who knows, maybe we'll all take a turn. Why don't you start, Flor?” As soon as we are comfortably settled around the dining room table, Flor begins her story.