Nilda

by Nicholasa Mohr

  Looking further into the box, she took out another cardboard cutout of a statue of the Virgin Mary that she had made after she had gotten home from St. Anselm’s Camp for Catholic Youth. Underneath the Virgin’s feet she had printed in tiny letters, trying to imitate the script in church, “Thank you, oh blessed Virgin, for THE MIRACLE.” Remembering the “miracle” and camp, she wondered if what took place today would somehow make her stepfather better.

  “Nilda?” Nilda looked up and saw her mother whispering to her from outside her room. “Nilda, you have to come inside with us; we need you for a moment, please.” Her mother spoke very softly. “Doña Tiofila says we must have the youngest and most innocent one in the family present.” Nilda followed her, sulking. “Now look, Nilda, only for a moment.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you always say and then I have to stay and say all them prayers too, I bet,” Nilda said crossly.

  “Shh. You have to help. Stop that nonsense! This woman is very good to come and help. So you just get another expression on your face. Right now! Or I’ll put one there for you,” her mother said angrily. They walked back to the kitchen, where Doña Tiofila was holding a jar of holy water.

  “You must follow me and recite the prayers I gave you, as instructed, Doña Lydia.” Doña Tiofila closed her eyes and continued, “First we recite one for your son Jimmy and his young family. If he is in trouble with the police, the Most Just Judge will stand behind him, and soon you shall have news of his whereabouts. Then we shall pray for Victor, as he fights for his country and all of us; may the enemies’ bullets never find him. Finally, we shall reach your father, Doña Lydia. I have the blood of the sacrifice. He shall leave those evil souls he is hanging out with and go back to rest in peace. I will receive the illness and then I will rid myself of it.” She started to walk, pouring the holy water on her hands and sprinkling it over the walls, woodwork and floors, going into the hall and from room to room.

  Nilda and her mother recited the prayers, whispering in Spanish. As they entered Aunt Delia’s room, she was quietly reading the newspaper. When she saw Doña Tiofila, she nodded and kneeled before her small altar, silently praying. They went into her brothers’ room; it was empty. Doña Tiofila continued to pray. They stood before her parents’ bedroom. Her mother looked in and said in a barely audible voice, “He is fast asleep.”

  “I will go in and come out quickly,” said Doña Tiofila and walked into the bedroom. Tiptoeing, she gently sprinkled the holy water as she walked all around the bed where Nilda’s stepfather slept.

  Nilda could see her stepfather stretched out and could hear him snoring as the woman moved her lips and made gestures.

  Doña Tiofila stepped out. “All done,” she said. Nilda’s mother crossed herself with relief.

  They walked back to the kitchen and Doña Tiofila reached into her shopping bag and took out candles, herbs, incense and oil. She began to rub her hands together and whisper to the evil spirits. Nilda could not make out what the spiritualist said.

  Nilda’s mother watched anxiously as Doña Tiofila went into a trance. Finally, the spiritualist opened her eyes wide and said, “¡Ay, ayyy qué dolor! What pain! I feel the pain in my heart.” Grabbing herself, she gasped, “I feel the spirit coming into my body. Yesss. Go … go away … go! Leave this house! Leave these people in peace! Go!”

  Nilda watched, terrified, as the woman groaned and moaned, convulsed with pain.

  Doña Tiofila collapsed in a heap in a chair. “I have to rest. Dios mío. My goodness. I have a heart condition now … you must light candles,” she said, catching her breath. “Place the blood of the sacrifice on the altar and light your candles beside it. The evil spirits will leave your home and leave my body. But you … you must continue the prayers and lighting the candles for a period of …”

  As her mother listened attentively to every word Doña Tiofila said, Nilda quietly slipped out of her chair and into the hallway. She walked into her room and sat on her bed, glad to be away from them. Nilda sat for a moment, thinking about what had happened, when suddenly she heard loud voices. She left her room and went toward the living room.

  “What is all this?” her stepfather shouted. “You at it again? Look at the walls and the floor. The house is all wet, for Christ’s sake. I almost tripped and broke my ass! When are you gonna learn, Lydia? What is this gonna get you, eh?” he asked.

  “You don’t believe, Emilio? Okay. But don’t interfere; never mind! It’s my business then. Okay?” her mother answered angrily.

  “Your business? Some business all right. We can’t afford to eat chicken, but your friend, the healer, can, eh?” he shouted. “She’s the only person in the whole Barrio who eats chicken every day.”

  “Emilio, please, that is a terrible thing to say. She does not even charge. Each person gives only what they can,” her mother said, outraged.

  “Why should she charge? She only has to give a list of groceries with chicken every day. She keeps the chicken and we get one lousy ounce of blood. Don’t tell me she don’t eat it. Devil knows what else she orders for supper as well. Then, little by little, the idiots pay her rent. Between that crew at St. Cecilia’s with their crap, and this basura, it’s a miracle we can afford to eat Spam!”

  Doña Tiofila had her coat on and the kerchief around her head. She was standing by the door, holding her cloth shopping bag, ready to leave.

  “Ay, Doña Tiofila, please forgive him. I’m so ashamed for his behavior.”

  “Never mind, m’ija,” Doña Tiofila said smiling. “I told you it doesn’t matter. I understand. I will help you.”

  “Thank you, Doña Tiofila. You know how grateful I am, and I will pray for you and your goodness,” her mother said.

  “What is all this water on the floor? Did she pee here, too? It’s not enough with these fairy tales, she has to come here to pee? She can’t use the toilet? What do I have to look forward to next?”

  “Ay, Emilio, please shut up. ¡Basta ya! Virgen María, what language. Shame!” her mother said. Opening the door, she walked out with Doña Tiofila. “Por favor, Doña Tiofila. He is worse than ever. I think it’s his illness …” Her voice trailed off.

  Her stepfather was still muttering and complaining when her mother returned.

  “You ought to be ashamed, Emilio! That woman is a saint. You embarrassed me.”

  “I didn’t know saints ate chicken or wet the floors. Or …”

  “Stop that!” interrupted her mother. “It is for your own good I do this, hombre! And for Victor and for Jimmy.”

  “Oh, I see. This woman is gonna bring back your precious son. From where? Not a word do we hear from Jimmy, in how long? A lousy postcard now and then, with no return address. Who knows what he is up to? We got a drawer full of letters from the draft board for him. They have come here, in person, to look for him. The U.S. government cannot find him, but she’s gonna do it? She ain’t a saint, she’s a magician!”

  Nilda heard her parents arguing as she returned to her room. She thought, Boy am I glad that’s over. She began to think about Doña Tiofila, who was Catholic and always wore religious medals around her neck. I wonder what that lady tells the priest at confession, she thought. At Catechism, she had been taught that all superstition was wrong. Was the ritual today superstition? she asked herself. Nilda remembered her own confessions guiltily. She had made her First Holy Communion last October, feeling miserable since most of the kids were seven years old and Nilda was eleven. She still had not told the priest everything, like the time in church when she stole candles and lit them, or the time she received Communion without ever having been to confession, as well as other things. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Yeah?” she asked.

  The door opened and Paul walked in. “What’s all the fussing about?” he asked.

  “That lady Doña Tiofila, the espiritista, was here. And she did a lot of stuff. Then Papá woke up and he was yelling at her.”

  “Oh, man,” Paul laughed. �
�She was still here when he was yelling?”

  “Yeah.” Nilda started to laugh. “You shoulda heard all the things he said. Mamá was so mad, I thought she was gonna punch Papá. The lady was shocked. You shoulda seen her face.” They both began to giggle. After a while Nilda looked at Paul and asked, “Do you believe in that espiritismo stuff, Paul?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It can’t hurt nobody anyway, I guess. Do you?”

  “I don’t know neither. Mamá said that lady Doña Tiofila can talk to the dead.” Paul made a skeptical face. “Honest, Paul, she said she heard her in a seance and everything.”

  “Probably some fakeria,” said Paul.

  Nilda looked at him, smiled and shrugged, “Well, that’s what she said.”

  “Listen, Nilda. I’m gonna join the Navy.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be seventeen this year. I made up my mind, you know.”

  “Mamá’s not gonna let you, Paul. She’s not gonna like it.”

  “Well, I’m gonna do it. I’ll run away to another state if she don’t. I’m gonna put it to her, ask her to sign.”

  “Ain’t you scared, Paul?”

  “Naw. I’m not scared. We gotta fight for our country, right? Look at Victor; he’s doing his part, you know. Man, I’m gonna do mine. Mamá is real proud of Victor. She got the American flag out on the window since he left for the Army, man. She ain’t taken it down yet. And now she’s sewing that red-white-and-blue thing you hang up. You know, made of material, with a star on it and his name, ‘Victor’.” Pausing, he looked at Nilda, who said nothing. “Anyway, I’m failing all my grades. I hate that school. God damn teachers always picking on me. Look, Nilda, if I join the Navy, I can learn me a trade, man. You know. Be something, be somebody. And help Mamá out and the family.”

  “Are you gonna wait until school finishes this June?”

  “No! I made up my mind. I wanna split as soon as I can. I’m gonna be Seaman Paul Ortega.” Jumping up and saluting, he said, “There you go, dadeeooo! You like the uniforms, Nilda?”

  “Yeah, they’re nice. It’s gonna feel funny, you being a sailor, Paul,” she said smiling.

  “How about that?” In a more serious tone he said, “Please don’t say nothing to nobody. I haven’t told Frankie yet, okay? It’s still a secret till I talk to Ma.”

  “Sure, I won’t say nothing to nobody.”

  “You coming to the burning tonight?” he asked.

  “What burning?”

  “The effigies, of Hitler, Tojo and Mussolini. Didn’t you hear? Down around on 102nd Street. Man, the whole street is getting together. They got a whole bunch of crates to burn and they are setting up a platform for speakers. There’s gonna be music and.…”

  “What’s an effi- effi-,” Nilda interrupted.

  “Effigy?”

  “Yeah, what is that?”

  “That’s what they call a duplicate, like a doll or dummy that looks like the enemies. You remember we did that last year? Before Christmas up on 106th and Lexington Avenue? They burned them dummies.”

  “Oh, yeah! That’s right,” Nilda said. “I remember. They had people speaking and music and all that.”

  “Well, tonight they are gonna have a big rally. To raise money, you know, war bonds and stamps. They made three dummies, real good, man. They look just like the Nazis and Japs, you know. Oh, wait,” Paul laughed. “They made Mussolini into a monkey, man! He got a tail and ears just like a monkey! You know Indio? Well, he’s a really good artist, man. He painted the faces really good.” Pausing, he smiled at Nilda and said, “He’s almost as good an artist as you are, Nilda.”

  “Really? Aww!” she said.

  “Honest, you are really good, Nilda. You’re gonna be a real good artist someday, you’ll see.”

  “Wow. Indio is bigger than I am. I’ll bet he’s way better than me,” she said.

  “No, he’s not. He’s good, but nobody beats you, Nilda. You can really draw.”

  Beaming, Nilda said, “I’ll send you some drawings when you’re in the Navy, Paul.”

  “Well, I gotta go. Can’t wait till tonight. Everybody’s gonna stomp on them dummies. Man, then a big blaze. Whoosh! … You coming tonight?”

  “Yeah, I’m gonna tell Benji and Petra; maybe they don’t know about it,” she said.

  Paul stood up to leave. “Okay,” he said. “I gotta go. Remember, don’t say nothing about what I said. Okay?”

  “I won’t, Paul, don’t worry. I promise.” Paul walked out of the room.

  Nilda put her “box of things” away and opened her schoolbooks. Taking her English grammar, she started her homework assignment. She thought about the rally tonight and her friends. Petra was already in junior high school. Next term, Nilda was going to the same school and was excited about the change. She had spoken to Petra and asked her all about it. Her friend had already gotten her period and was beginning to develop. She has to wear a brassiere, Nilda thought, impressed. She wondered when she would get her period, and what it would feel like. The thought that she would have to bleed every month scared her. She had heard different stories about it from her friends in the street. One girl had told her that it was very painful, and another said that sometimes the blood ran down one’s legs, leaving a trail on the sidewalk.

  She shuddered, frightened by the whole idea. Her mother had assured her that it was a perfectly normal function in a woman’s body, and not to pay attention to such nonsense, but she had her doubts. Trying not to think about this, Nilda concentrated on her homework and began to write her assignment.

  April 1943

  The Same Night

  It was cold out and Nilda stood apart from a larger group of people gathering near the platform. There were amplifiers being set up and signs posted all over the stand and on the sound truck:

  WAR BOND RALLY.…

  BUY A WAR BOND.…

  SAVE A LIFE. BUY A WAR BOND.…

  KEEP THEM WINNING.…

  KEEP AMERICA STRONG.…

  BUY WAR BONDS AND STAMPS TODAY.…

  SUPPORT OUR BOYS ALL THE WAY.

  Snow flurries sprinkled wet snow on everything. Nilda stood by the fire burning in a large trash can. There were several kids who lived on the block standing with her. On her way to the rally, she had stopped to call for Benji and Petra, and they had told her they hoped to come. Now and then she looked eagerly toward Madison Avenue, hoping to see her friends. Music began to blare out; a chorus sang, “Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition, Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition, Praise …”

  A tall dark-skinned boy walked up to Nilda; she recognized Indio. He was almost her brother Paul’s age and she was surprised to see him approach her.

  “Hi, Nilda,” he said.

  “Hi, Indio,” Nilda smiled. “Those dummies are real good, Indio. You did a nice job.”

  “Oh, thanks,” he said. “Hey, Nilda, you seen Petra? You know if she’s coming tonight?”

  “She said maybe she could come. But she didn’t know for sure,” Nilda answered.

  “Oh, okay, man.” He paused. “Look,” Indio lowered his voice, “if she comes by, tell her I wanna see her, okay?”

  “Sure,” she said. Indio turned and walked away. Nilda looked at him, bewildered. He likes Petra? she wondered. He is way older. Petra had not said anything about Indio, and Nilda did not know whether her friend liked Indio or not. Feeling hurt, she realized that her friend often had excuses about not being able to go out to play anymore and, at times, Nilda felt that Petra was avoiding her and Benji.

  Nilda shifted from one foot to the other, trying to keep warm near the fire. Some of the cold wet snow traveled swiftly into her nose and mouth, and she leaned forward toward the flames in the trash can, feeling a prickling sensation as the drops of snow melted and the warmth penetrated her face. The music continued and more people started to come into the street. A microphone was being set up.

  “Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone els
e but me … anyone else but me … Oh … don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone …” The Andrews Sisters sang out over the loudspeakers.

  A wooden scaffold had been built right next to the platform, and each dummy was suspended from a rope tied around its neck. There was a huge pile of old wooden crates, broken lumber, battered cardboard and old newspapers, ready for burning. She saw Benji coming toward her.

  “Hey, Benji, over here!” she called.

  “Nilda? Man, what a time I had getting out. You know how Papi is. But we convinced him it was for the war effort, so he let me go. I came with my brothers, Manuel and Chucho, over there,” he pointed. “See? But he didn’t let my sisters come out nohow. We have to be home in one hour anyway. I hope I don’t have to miss anything.”

  “They’re already getting everything for the burning. You won’t miss it, Benji, don’t worry. Did you see Petra?” she asked.

  “No. Are they coming? Marge and her?”

  “I told them on my way to here. She said she would try.” Pausing, she whispered to Benji, “You know what? I think that guy Indio likes Petra.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. He asked me to tell her, if she comes, that he wants to see her.” Nilda nodded her head.

  “Wow,” Benji said, “he’s way older, ain’t he?”

  “I know. Petra never told me nothing about him, and I’m her best friend,” Nilda said.

  “Maybe she don’t even like him,” Benji said. There was a long silence and he said, “It sure is cold. I wish it was summer again, Nilda. You?”

  “Oh, yeah, I wish it was, too. I’m going back to that camp again, you know, Bard Manor.” She had told Benji all about her secret garden and all about camp when she had returned home last summer. “I wish you could come with me, Benji; if it was a boys’ camp, you would have a real good time. I swear.”

  “Don’t matter anyway. What’s the difference? The way Papi is, everything is a big sin all the time.”