The music stopped and everyone sat down. The minister began to speak. “Today we have been blessed by the Lord. He is here in our house, entering our bodies, welcoming us to …”
“Shit!”
They heard a shout at the door. “Amalia, come on out!”
Benji whispered to Nilda, “That’s him; that’s Don Justicio.”
Nilda’s heart jumped. She turned to Petra and said softly in her ear, “It’s Don Justicio, that man.”
The church was completely silent. “Come on out! ¡Carajo! ¡Condená!” Several men followed as Don Wilfredo walked to the back where the man was standing by the door.
“Welcome, Don Justicio, to the house of God!”
“Amen.”
“Come in, brother.”
“Join us,” said Don Wilfredo.
“I want my wife. Amalia? Come on out, God damn it!” Don Justicio shouted angrily.
“Shhhh. Now, none of that, sir,” said one of the men. “Calm down, or you will have to leave.”
Nilda watched several men escorting a tall thin man up the center aisle to the platform. As they passed, Nilda could smell alcohol. “Phew!” she whispered to herself, and thought, Boy is he drunk.
The tall skinny man stood by the platform glaring at everyone. He wore a brown leather jacket, baggy pants and worn-out dirty shoes.
The minister smiled and, looking up at Don Justicio, said, “Welcome, Brother Justicio. You are blessed when you come to the house of the Lord.”
“Look!” the man said, swaying unsteadily on his feet, “I came here to get my old lady. That’s all. I’m gonna take her out of here. I’m the macho in my house. I wear the pants. I’m gonna take her out. We don’t believe in this here religion. I forbid her to come here.”
“Now now, brother, pray with us. Give Jesus a chance,” said the minister, putting his hand on Don Justicio’s shoulder.
Pushing away, Don Justicio said, “Shit, don’t you understand? I want my wife the hell out of here. What the hell are you doing to her anyway? Amalia? Where are you, coño! Amalia? ¡Condená!”
A short plump woman came running down the aisle. “Justicio, please behave yourself,” she cried.
Don Justicio saw his wife and ran toward her, raising his arm to strike her. She jumped back. Two men grabbed him, pinning his hands behind his back. “Stop it now, none of that,” the minister said
“Okay, all right, let me go. I won’t hit her,” Don Justicio said. “I won’t.” They released him. Looking at his wife, he made a fist. “Amalia, you’re going to pay. You hear?”
“Ay, Justicio, have faith. The good Lord will show you the way if you open your heart,” his wife pleaded.
“Praise the Lord,” people called out.
Jumping back, Don Justicio shouted, “You are coming out, Amalia. I don’t believe in this shit. Hypocrites! I shit and pee on this place.”
Benji tapped Nilda. “Here he goes.” Nilda was too shocked to move. She watched Don Justicio quickly jump up on the far end of the small platform, open up his fly and let loose a long stream of pee.
“Ay, Dios mío, stop him,” yelled his wife. The men jumped up on the platform and grabbed Don Justicio, pushing him down, almost knocking over the table full of food. Some, angrier than others, began to punch him.
“No! ¡Ay, no! Don’t kill him, please. Don’t kill him,” yelled his wife.
The minister shouted, “That’s enough. Enough! Take him outside.” Don Justicio got to his feet. Disheveled, with his nose bleeding, he was dragged out the door.
“Pig.”
“Animal desgraciado.”
“Disgusting.”
“We shouldn’t let him in here no more.”
“Bestia.”
People shouted as he walked by. Some people fixed the table and rearranged things. Some others were wiping up juice that had spilled; others were cleaning up where Don Justicio had urinated.
Off in a corner, Doña Amalia sat swaying and crying. Some of the women were consoling her. “Poor dear, what a cross you have to bear.” “Never mind, all the more to give yourself to Jesus.” There was a noise and scuffling outside the church door.
Nilda turned to Benji. “Man, what a mess!”
“Well, he really did it this time. He never really peed before,” said Benji, impressed.
“Did you get to see it, Petra?” asked Nilda. Although Nilda had seen Don Justicio urinate, she had not actually seen very much of his penis.
“Well, I saw some of it,” Petra said timidly.
“How about you, Marge?” Nilda asked.
“I was too shocked to look,” Marge said, looking annoyed at them.
Ignoring her, Nilda said, “I saw the whole thing. Right, Benji? From right here we could see it all. It was very big. Right, Benji?”
“That’s right,” agreed Benji. He looked at Nilda and Petra and the three of them began to laugh. Marge sat sulking. Making a face, she turned away.
People returned, taking their seats once more. The minister went up to the pulpit. “Brothers and sisters, we must all pray for Don Justicio. We must learn to forgive as God forgives. He is a sick man, possessed by the devil. God save our Sister Amalia, and let us pray that the Lord gets into Don Justicio’s body and drives out the devil that makes him behave in such an evil, disgusting way. Amen.”
“Aleluya.”
“Jesus save his soul,” people echoed.
The band played and a few hymns were sung.
“Now let us end our service with a new duty in mind, to serve our country against the enemy and turn more than ever to Jesus. Let us be free from sin. Lord be praised! Now we shall eat and drink of God’s food and thank Him as we realize how fortunate we are.” Lifting up his arms he said, “Amen.”
“Amen.”
“Aleluya.”
“Amen, oh Lord.”
Everyone stood and began to chat with one another, folding the chairs and lining them up against the wall.
At last! thought Nilda. I’m starving; I hope that man didn’t spill the maví. Groups of people were lining up for food. She went to the table with her friends. Looking toward the food, she saw pots of rice with chicken, a codfish stew with peppers, onions and tomatoes, and a large platter of tropical vegetables, steaming hot, sprinkled with oil and garlic. “Ummmm,” she said to the kids. “This looks just delicious.”
“Yeah,” they all agreed.
January 1942
It was time for the social worker to come to investigate. Everybody was jittery. Nilda had been coming home from school each day asking her mother if the investigator had come. It was already the middle of the week and they were still waiting. Nilda would look at her mother, searching for some reassurance that everything would come out all right, but the worried look on her mother’s face seemed almost permanently fixed. All week her mother had been saying to Nilda, “Don’t make noise; your papá is resting! Stop playing with the baby so much; he might throw up. Go on! Play someplace else. Stop being a nuisance.”
Her mother had been telling everyone what to say to the investigator in case they were asked questions. Every day she would repeat herself, telling Sophie what to say about her situation and why she was living here. Nilda and her brothers were instructed to answer with polite yes-and-no answers and, when asked about personal family matters, to say only “I don’t know” and not another word.
Nilda had just arrived from school and was quietly putting her things away so she could go play with Baby Jimmy. She heard her mother telling her to be quiet. Oh, I just wish she wouldn’t tell me the same things every day, she thought. Always the same story. I know I have to be quiet. Washing up, she went over to Sophie’s room and knocked softly on the door.
“Come in,” said Sophie.
“Hi, Sophie. How’s the baby?”
“All right. You wanna feed him?”
“Oh, thanks, Sophie.” She must be in a good mood, thought Nilda. Sophie very often gave the bottle to the baby herself or offered t
o let Frankie feed little Jimmy, even though she knew Nilda loved to feed him. Taking the blanket and the baby, Nilda settled down as Sophie handed her the bottle. “Hi, handsome! You are gonna get your bottle. Oh, I love you,” Nilda said, hugging the baby. “You know what, Sophie? He got bigger in one day. Look, he’s starving! Guess what? He smiled at me yesterday. He really did.”
Sophie began to hum. Nilda looked at her, surprised to see her so happy.
Looking at Nilda, Sophie said, “Jimmy’s coming.”
“Really?”
“Yes. One of his friends came to us this morning. Jimmy is living in another state, in New Jersey. But he will be coming back to New York to get me and the baby.”
“Are you gonna leave right away?” asked Nilda.
“Well, as soon as he gets here, I guess.”
“Are you gonna live far away, Sophie?”
“I don’t know, Nilda; it all depends on what Jimmy wants to do, or where he is. His friend said New Jersey so I guess that’s where we’ll go.” Nilda felt a lump in her throat as she looked at the baby. She did not want Baby Jimmy to leave and wanted to say something, but she felt too miserable to speak. Sophie picked up a nail file and, humming, began to file her nails.
Nilda swallowed and finally asked, “Can I come to visit you and the baby?”
“Of course you can. All of you can come and, if we have an extra bed, you can stay overnight and baby-sit.”
“Oh, wow! Sophie, thanks! That’s great,” Nilda said, feeling happier.
The door opened and Frankie walked into the room. “Hi … oh, Nilda, you’re feeding him. I’ll take him when you finish.”
“Get out! I’m going to hold him for awhile. Right, Sophie?”
“Let her hold him for awhile; then you can play with him, Frankie.”
“All right,” he said. “Mamá told me about Jimmy. That’s great, Sophie.”
“I can’t wait. I want him to see the baby; it looks just like an Ortega,” Sophie said.
“Yeah, man. He sure looks like a spic!” Frankie said. They all laughed. He went on, “Aunt Delia calls him ‘la mancha de plátano.’ Man! Was she ever crying when you came home from the hospital.” Sophie and Nilda began to laugh.
“He finished his whole bottle!” Nilda said proudly. Holding up the empty baby bottle, she went on, “See? He always finishes it with me. Don’t he, Sophie?”
“He finished it with me, too,” said Frankie.
“He does it more with me,” Nilda said, sticking out her tongue.
“Show-off!” said Frankie.
“Come on now. Stop it,” said Sophie.
They heard the doorbell ring and all three of them quietly looked at each other. Soon muffled voices sounded and they knew a stranger was in the apartment.
“Frankie, go see who it is,” Sophie said. Quickly, Frankie left the bedroom. “Give me the baby, Nilda.” Nilda handed Sophie the baby and walked out into the living room.
There was a tall woman standing with her mother in the living room. She had sandy brown hair, cut very short, a tan camel’s-hair coat, belted in back and brown oxford shoes. She carried a brown briefcase and handbag; both were almost the exact color of her shoes. “It certainly is a help that you can speak English,” the woman smiled. “You would be surprised how hard it is to understand some of these people. How long have you been in this country, Mrs. Ramírez?”
“I been here about twelve years,” her mother said. “Won’t you please sit down? I’ll hang up your coat. Would you like a cup of coffee? I just made some fresh.”
“Oh, well, no, that’s all right. I’ll just put my coat right here on this chair and sit right down.”
Her mother hesitated and then said, “How about some nice hot coffee? Yes?”
“Oh, no, don’t bother.”
“No trouble, Mrs. Wood. I got it all ready.”
“No, thank you. I really have to get on with it, you know. I have many families to visit.” She pulled out a manila folder. Then she took out a brown fountain pen and began to write something on a white sheet of paper. Nilda watched her and wondered if the ink was going to come out brown. She was disappointed when she saw that it was coming out blue, just like ordinary ink.
“How many rooms do you have?”
“Six.”
“How many people living here?”
Her mother wet her lips and said, “Well, I got a married son … but, living here … we got three boys and my daughter, my husband and my aunt. She’s alone. She’s a widow many years.”
“Then that’s seven people. Three adults and four children. Correct? How old are they? Are they all in school?”
“My older boy, Victor, is seventeen years old; Paul is fifteen, and Frankie, my youngest boy, is almost thirteen. My daughter, Nilda, is ten. They are all in school. My son Victor will be graduating high school this June,” she said proudly.
“Does your aunt have children?”
“No, she married when she was very young and her husband died after they were married a short time; she never had no children.”
“Does she do any sort of work?”
“No. She’s sick and old. She has a small check from the Home Relief, but it’s very little and just enough for food and medicine.”
“Can’t she help out?”
“Well, she gives if she got something, but she barely has anything for herself.”
“You know we cannot pay rent for you if you have other people living here,” the woman said, and jotted something down on the paper. “Does your aunt have her own room?”
“Yes,” her mother said. “We don’t use the dining room because we eat in the kitchen, and that way we can have an extra bedroom.”
“Well, Mrs. Ramírez, she will have to pay, you know. Something, even if it’s minimal.”
“All right, she will give something, don’t worry,” her mother said anxiously. “She will.”
Nilda thought, Wait till that lady sees Sophie and the baby. The two women went on talking. The social worker continued to ask questions.
Aunt Delia walked in with her newspapers folded and tucked neatly under her arm. Smiling, she looked at the woman and nodded her head courteously. Mrs. Wood looked up at Aunt Delia and returned the greeting with a slight nod.
“Oh, this here is my aunt, Mrs. Wood. She’s a little hard of hearing and she don’t speak English. She understands just very little.” Her mother looked at Aunt Delia and said to her loudly in Spanish, “Delia, this is the investigator. Understand?” Then turning to Mrs. Wood, she said, “This is my aunt—Mrs. Rivera.” Pausing, she went on, “Delia, this is Mrs. Wood.”
“Who?” Aunt Delia asked.
“Mrs. Wood,” her mother answered loudly.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Rivera,” Mrs. Wood said pleasantly. Aunt Delia gave her a broad friendly smile, exposing her gums. Then, with a serious expression, she said in Spanish, “It’s a crime what’s happening to the world today. Somebody is always getting raped. Listen,” she went on rapidly, “it’s a daily occurrence with the sex maniacs always attacking innocent women. They are the ones responsible for the war. Oh, yes. They are! Would you like to see it right here in the paper? Let me—”
“Delia!” her mother interrupted. “This lady is not interested. She’s the investigator! Not now. That’s enough!”
“What did she say? What did you say, Mrs. Ramírez?” Mrs. Wood asked.
Before her mother could reply, Aunt Delia said, “She can read, can’t she? She looks like an educated person. Lydia, let me show her here right here in this article. There’s a picture even. Wait!” and the old woman started to open up the Daily News.
“What’s that, Mrs. Ramírez? What is she saying in Spanish? What is she trying to tell me?” Mrs. Wood asked, perplexed.
Her mother smiled at Mrs. Wood. Making an effort to sound matter-of-fact, she said, “It’s nothing, Mrs. Wood. My aunt can’t hear too good.” Walking over to Aunt Delia, her mother slowly picked up the Daily News and fo
lded the paper, giving it to Aunt Delia. “Not now. Dear God!” She went on quietly but firmly in Spanish, “I have to talk to this woman. Please, Delia, go inside.” Reluctantly Aunt Delia accepted the newspaper.
“Is she trying to tell me something, Mrs. Ramírez?” Mrs. Wood asked, very curious by this time. “I think I should know what it is.”
“She’s just nervous about the things she reads in the newspapers, that’s all,” her mother said softly to Mrs. Wood. Aunt Delia was still standing, holding the newspaper in her hand and frowning at the two women.
Turning toward Aunt Delia, so that Mrs. Wood could not see her face, her mother looked at Aunt Delia, opened her eyes wide, gritted her teeth and said in Spanish, “Delia, get the hell outta here right now!” Turning back to Mrs. Wood, she said, “You see, Mrs. Wood, she’s just a little nervous. You know how the newspapers are full of crime these days and all that. She’s old and she worries about things like that.”
Aunt Delia started to walk briskly out, but turned back just before leaving. Looking suspiciously at Mrs. Wood for a moment, she winked and said, pointing, “I’ll bet you knew about it all the time, but wouldn’t let on.” Chuckling and mumbling to herself, Aunt Delia left the room.
“What’s that?” Mrs. Wood asked.
“She just said it was nice meeting you, Mrs. Wood, and you should be careful in the streets.”
“Oh, yes, well, how sweet. You can’t be too careful these days.” There was a short pause and Mrs. Wood said, “Well now, you know, I have to see the apartment and look around. Just routine, I’m sure you understand.”
Nilda looked at her mother, who didn’t say anything, and wondered, When is she going to tell her about Sophie and Baby Jimmy?
“Mrs. Wood, this here is my daughter, Nilda. Nilda, this is Mrs. Wood, the lady from the Welfare Department.”
“How are you, young lady?”
“Fine, thank you,” Nilda said timidly.
“How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“Oh, a nice big girl. Well. I’m sure you are a big help to Mother. Well. How do you like school? What grade are you in?”
“Yes. I am in the fifth grade. I go to P.S. 72 on 103rd Street.”
Nilda Page 10
