Rosa No-Name

by Roger Bruner

  “Yes, Señor. Chalina—she was my midwife, but then she became my very good friend and substitute mother—explained that folic acid is necessary for good health…especially the health of an unborn baby.”

  I could hear the concern in my voice when I added, “She said I should have taken folic acid while I was pregnant, especially during the early months.”

  “Chalina was very right.” He looked serious. Concerned. “Your lack of folic acid may affect your baby’s health. How old is she?”

  I drew back in apprehension. Although he had examined me thoroughly, he had never seen Alazne.

  Why are you bringing this up? At least he hadn’t accused me of being a bad mother for my failure to do what I hadn’t known to do. And couldn’t have done if I had known.

  I was thankful for that.

  “Rosa?”

  Whoops. I had forgotten to answer his question. “She is almost two weeks old. Why do you ask?”

  “Did Chalina ever mention something called spina bifida?”

  My stomach started churning violently. I couldn’t speak for a moment. Although I thought I might throw up, I didn’t. “She said it is a serious illness that often affects babies who don’t receive enough folic acid while they are developing. It causes all kinds of problems and abnormalities. It can result in death.”

  “That is correct.” Dr. Morales’s voice was gentle. Kind. He was trying to keep from frightening me.

  “Did she explain that one type of spina bifida is far less dangerous than the other kinds? It is described as occulta.” He spelled it out for me. He must not have known I couldn’t read. “You know the word oculta in our language?”

  “That word describes something that cannot be seen.”

  He nodded. “Some babies—many babies, in fact—are born with spina bifida occulta and grow up perfectly normal. Most of them never know they have it.”

  “No, Chalina didn’t tell me that. Do you have some reason to think my Alazne has this occulta spina bifida?”

  “I cannot speak of that. I haven’t examined your baby, and there are doctors better qualified than I—”

  “We have an appointment with a—what do you call it?—a baby doctor next Monday.”

  “Excellent. If anything is wrong with your baby, a pediatrician will be able to tell.”

  He paused as if wishing that the examination of Alazne was already over with. I wished the same thing myself.

  “Your baby is not the one with the least serious form of the disease. I—”

  “The kind known as occulta,” I said, hoping to make him move along faster.

  But my interruption only made him repeat himself. “Yes, occulta. Your baby is not the one who has it, however. I couldn’t have determined this without the X-rays. You have spina bifida occulta.”

  He must have seen me jerk involuntarily. “You understand this isn’t a threat to you, don’t you? You should never suffer any ill effects from it. Not a one.”

  I was in too much shock to respond. I felt like crying, yet I didn’t have any reason to. I trusted Dr. Morales. I believed him. My spina bifida wasn’t dangerous and it wouldn’t harm me. “So I am okay? I am in good health otherwise?”

  “If you mean, ‘Did the X-rays and blood work reveal other problems?’ then you are fine. You must begin eating well-balanced meals, and I’ll prescribe several medications to make you as strong and healthy as any other sixteen-year-old—”

  “I am nearly seventeen!” I said in mock protest. “If seventeen is larger than sixteen, that is. I know my birthday is soon because I saw wildflowers growing on the roadside while we were driving to your office building. Tomás told me to always say that I am eighteen.”

  I giggled in embarrassment at the silliness of my outburst.

  Dr. Morales took off his glasses and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He was silent for a very long moment. “How young you are to have such responsibilities, and how sinful to be so pitifully unprepared for them.”

  He had emphasized the words young and sinful. He had sounded angry, but not at me.

  “How unfortunate that you allowed…” He corrected himself before I realized what he was about to say. “I’m sorry. How unfortunate that you didn’t know how to prevent this pregnancy. You are well, yes, but my concern is for your baby. May God be with you as you take her to the pediatrician.”

  God? Who is God? I had never heard of him before. Not except when Tomás grew so angry he made every word sound like a curse word. Perhaps Nikki and Chalina could explain.

  Dr. Morales followed me to the door.

  “If you ever need my help. Anything…” He scribbled something on a business card and slipped it into my open purse.

  13

  Chalina, Nikki, and I had quite a discussion in the car on the way to lunch at a nice restaurant, and it continued non-stop until we got back to the apartment. Reporting the results of my first physical required everyone’s patience since Chalina had to translate for Nikki while I anxiously waited to continue.

  Although Chalina tried to simplify things by summarizing what I said, Nikki kept interrupting to ask for additional details. Finally, Chalina reverted to telling her exactly what I was saying, although she kept interrupting me with her own questions.

  If only one of them had come into the examining room with me.

  Nikki wouldn’t have been much help—the language barrier. But Chalina would have understood everything. And she knew so much about health and doctors I might have been nervous letting her listen to—and perhaps participate in—my talk with Dr. Morales.

  The two of them would undoubtedly have discussed things I couldn’t understand.

  No, I was glad I had been by myself.

  But who was this God Dr. Morales mentioned? Had he been present during the examination without my seeing him—and how could that have been? Then, too, how could he work in one doctor’s office and go with me to Alazne’s appointment with another doctor? I didn’t think doctors worked together that way.

  I forced myself to quit thinking about it. I couldn’t solve a mystery like that.

  In light of what Dr. Morales had said about proper diet, Chalina and Nikki took rapid-fire turns advising me what to eat and what to avoid. Since I didn’t know one menu item from another, I asked them to choose for me. Any healthy food served in a good American restaurant would taste better than the village leftovers I had grown up eating.

  I don’t recall what I ate that day, but its healthfulness didn’t make it any less delicious.

  Although I teased my friends about their failure to warn me that the needle prick would hurt a little, our talk was generally serious.

  Chalina wasn’t the least surprised to learn about my spina bifida occulta. “They say that 40% of all Americans may have spina bifida occulta without knowing it. The percentage of Mexican villagers is undoubtedly higher because so few of their mothers had access to folic acid when they were pregnant.”

  Although I recognized numbers when spoken in that context, I didn’t know any math. “I don’t understand how many forty of something is or what percent signifies.”

  “Rosa, forgive me. You are so intelligent I sometimes forget you haven’t had the benefit of schooling.”

  “There is nothing to forgive…” The desire to address her as Madre—Mother—was almost overwhelming, but I didn’t think I should unless she asked me to. No matter how much she seemed to love me, why would she ask that?

  “Anyhow, percent means how many out of one hundred. Ah, but that means nothing to you, either.”

  She stopped talking for a moment and glanced around the interior of the restaurant. I couldn’t imagine what she was looking for.

  She must have found it, for she sounded satisfied when she continued. “You see that there are two tables close by: one in front of ours and one behind? One plus another one make two.”

  I turned quickly to stare. The young couple back of me paid no attention.

  “Yes, I understand two now.
One-two.”

  “And our table makes three.”

  “Yes, three tables, Chalina. One-two-three. Is that how counting starts out?”

  She nodded. “Ten people are sitting at these three tables.”

  “Ten, yes. I can’t count them, but I accept that there are ten because you say there are.”

  “Do you comprehend four?”

  “Only as a word.”

  “Rosa, you and Nikki and I make three—just like the tables. Four is one more than three.”

  “I follow you. One-two-three-four.” I smiled at this new-found tidbit of knowledge. “Like the three of us plus Alazne.”

  I wondered how many almost-seventeen-year-olds in the United States were as ignorant about numbers and counting as I was. Not many, I hoped. One-two-three-four-sixteen-seventeen. I knew some numbers must have been missing from that sequence, but I didn’t know how many or what they were.

  “Now I can explain about the 40%. Four of the ten people seated at these three tables probably have the occulta form of spina bifida.”

  I glanced around the dining room. “And they are obviously in good health.”

  “Just as you are.”

  Nikki must have asked Chalina what she and I were talking about, for Chalina spoke to her in English for several minutes. During that time, I thought briefly about occulta spina bifida before my thinking returned to numbers.

  “I thought you said percent had something to do with one hundred, but you told me about four out of ten instead. Is one hundred the same as ten?”

  Chalina looked so frustrated I thought she might cry. Was my question that stupid?

  “My child, how your lack of education grieves me. You need to learn from books, not just from your own experience and observations, which are more limited than I can imagine.”

  A silent sigh passed through my lips as Chalina hugged me. I hugged her back. Never had I been so conscious of my lack of learning.

  She turned to Nikki, explained what we had been discussing, and translated Nikki’s response.

  “Nikki thinks we should correct your lack of education. I think so, too. Because Tomás has very tight control over both of you, you have time on your hands. Too much time to waste. We will use a great deal of it to begin your home schooling right there at the apartment.”

  “To begin—?”

  “Education never ends.”

  ~*~

  When we got back to the apartment building, we picked Alazne up from Señora Isabel, the older neighboring woman who had cared for her while we were gone. Through Chalina, Nikki had assured me that Alazne would be in the best of hands.

  Since Tomás wasn’t home, we were free to continue our discussion from the restaurant.

  “But Tomás…will he permit you to do that—to teach me things I don’t know?”

  Chalina laughed heartily. “He’ll let me do anything he doesn’t know about.” She told Nikki what she had said, and Nikki laughed even harder. “It’s important that you pretend to remain ignorant and unlearned. Your future depends on it, and I’m quite serious about that.”

  “Will you teach me English as well, Chalina, you and Nikki?”

  “That is one thing we dare not do. Tomás goes nearly insane at the idea of anyone in his household learning a second language, especially of your learning English. If you were to slip and say something in English within his hearing—or even show that you understand something you shouldn’t understand—the explosion of rage would be so violent neither Nikki or I would be able to defend you, or ourselves.”

  I nodded. “This pride of his makes him crazy. I don’t fear for my own safety, but I couldn’t endanger you, Nikki, or Alazne. When do we begin?”

  “We must teach you to read and write first. Then you can study and learn on your own. You are smart enough to do that, and all of life’s answers are found in books.”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much, but I asked when, not what or how.”

  I hoped I hadn’t offended the first two people who had ever loved me. Had I been wrong to insist on returning to my original question?

  To sooth any possible hurt feelings, I quickly added, “That sounds like a fine plan. A wonderful plan. Thank you for caring enough to take such risks on my behalf. I love you both dearly, and I apologize for sounding so impatient.”

  Chalina told Nikki what I’d said. Then the three of us hugged.

  “We’ll begin soon,” Nikki said. “I promise. I haven’t let you down yet, have I?”

  I felt my face lighting up with a big smile when Chalina repeated Nikki’s words. A humongous smile. I’d figured out that humongous means “very, very big.”

  We would wait until after Monday’s appointment with the baby doctor. If he found anything wrong with Alazne—anything drastic—we might have to delay my education even more.

  Since I was still so new at caring for what I hoped was a completely healthy baby, I couldn’t imagine having to care for a sick one. My friends would help all they could, Chalina explained, but as Alazne’s mother I was ultimately responsible for her care. I told her I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  “Today is a special day. I have had my first doctor’s examination and I have passed with—how do you say it here?—flying colors. And my two best friends have promised to teach me everything I do not know.”

  “We cannot teach you everything, Rosa.” Chalina could barely speak for laughing.

  I wrinkled my brow in confusion. “And why not?”

  “We don’t know everything. The world contains far too much knowledge for any one person to grasp even a tiny portion of it. You must start by learning what relates most closely to your life. If you desire additional knowledge, there is no end to what you can study and learn.”

  I often felt sorry for Nikki when Chalina and I were talking, for she couldn’t participate in our conversations as freely as she wanted to. But she nodded enthusiastically when Chalina translated what she had told me.

  “Today I told Dr. Morales I knew I was almost seventeen because I saw wildflowers blooming. I know seventeen only because I overheard a village girl say she had started working in the storehouse at sixteen and would soon be seventeen. Does eighteen come after seventeen?”

  Chalina smiled. “How did you know?”

  I started to tell her I was guessing, but that was only partially true. “Tomás told me to always say I am eighteen. Something about being legal in California.”

  Chalina smiled at me the same way I often pictured myself smiling at Alazne.

  ~*~

  On the way to the pediatrician’s—Chalina didn’t think my knowing that English word would upset Tomás—I begged her and Nikki to tell me more about how the doctor would examine Alazne. Sensitive to my terror about Alazne’s examination, they were even more patient than usual.

  “And the questions,” I said with a nervous laugh, “will the pediatrician ask Alazne the same questions Dr. Morales asked me? Alazne is too young to know what answers to give.”

  I had fun pretending she could already talk. And my silliness kept me from dwelling on what this doctor might discover. Surely Alazne’s health was as good as it seemed to be.

  But still…

  Joy and relief overwhelmed me when we arrived at Dr. Martinez’s office and I discovered that “he” was a “she.” Dr. Morales had been gentle examining me, but a woman doctor would handle Alazne as carefully as if she were handling a delicate crystal vase. Like one of the ones Nikki had smashed against the wall when she and Tomás were fighting.

  The doctor seemed young. Young enough to be my older sister. But her professional and personable manner—how quickly Alazne quit crying after the doctor picked her up and cradled her against her chest—convinced me she was well trained and capable.

  After examining Alazne from head to toe and back again, she turned to me and began asking many of the same questions Dr. Morales had asked.

  I smiled first and then giggled. “Shouldn’t you ask Alazne those qu
estions? She is your patient, not me.”

  She returned my smile. “She won’t learn to talk or handle questions as complicated as these for at least several more weeks.”

  She laughed in time to keep me from responding, “That soon? I don’t know much about babies, but I didn’t think they learned to talk nearly so young.” I would have been serious.

  I wanted to thank someone—perhaps this god Dr. Morales had referred to—for keeping me from embarrassing myself by revealing the depth of my ignorance. But the idea of thanking someone I had never seen and possibly couldn’t see seemed silly.

  How could I know god was close by for me to thank, anyhow? And surely thanking him—or, like Dr. Martinez, was “he” a “she”?—for something so trivial would be a waste of his time. Whoever god was, he must be more important than I was.

  I felt more relaxed talking with Dr. Martinez than I had with Dr. Morales. He had spoken of unpleasant things I felt uncomfortable hearing about, although I don’t believe he meant to upset me. So I didn’t anticipate that Dr. Martinez would be the bearer of bad news.

  I was wrong.

  “You have friends with you today?” Although she tried to speak calmly, concern was written on her face.

  I nodded. “Nikki and Chalina.”

  “They speak Spanish?”

  “Chalina does. Why?”

  “May I bring them in here with us?”

  Why didn’t you answer my question? My heart jumped into my throat with fear, but I managed to nod again. If Dr. Martinez had found something seriously wrong with Alazne, I wanted—I needed—the support of my best friends.

  Dr. Martinez held Alazne, sleeping peacefully now that her examination was complete. The doctor spoke quietly with Nikki and Chalina on the other side of the room. I strained to hear, but I couldn’t make out enough of their discussion to understand it.

  The doctor must have noticed me gripping the arms of my chair as if I might fall out, for she looked in my direction periodically and gave me a comforting look. I tried smiling back, but my mind was on one thing only. What was so urgent that she needed to tell my friends first?