“She’s got a boyfriend in Spain,” someone whispered.
“She got the hots!” one of them almost shouted, and everyone began to laugh.
“Shhh,” Miss Reilly said, annoyed. Very often she spent the entire lesson reminiscing about her trips to Europe and South America. Spain, however, was her very favorite. “… those wonderful bullfights. They are called corridas de toros. And the matadors. It is magnificent to see the pageantry and excitement that goes into a bullfight. The people cheering and the music playing. And the brave bulls. ¡Olé! ¡Olé! It is the culture, dear girls, the culture …”
Someone nudged Nilda; it was Sylvia. “Look, Nilda,” she whispered, and pointed to the blackboard. Someone had written something dirty in Spanish between the lines of the homework assignment: Miss Reilly is in love with a Spanish matador who fucks with a Castilian accent!
Nilda put her head on her desk to keep from bursting out in laughter. Very often one of the students would write profanities in Spanish on the blackboard, mostly about Miss Reilly. She often wondered if Miss Reilly knew what these dirty words meant. Maybe, Nilda said to herself, almost in disbelief, she don’t really know that they are words.
Everyone began to laugh and point at the blackboard. “Shhh. Stop being silly,” Miss Reilly said, and looked at the blackboard. She erased what was written in Spanish. “That’s enough nonsense, girls. Always writing silly things, wasting your time. Now we must get to work. We will read and, remember, I want the correct accent on the words. Edna, read from paragraph one in section Roman numeral twelve. Accent! Remember, proper enunciation, diction …”
Nilda watched as Edna got up to read, straining to get the accent and trying to lisp in the right places. Edna was born in Puerto Rico and found it very difficult to speak Spanish with the accent Miss Reilly required. Nilda knew the girl was nervous because the teacher had given her a low mark on her report card. Edna read the Spanish newspapers and very often helped the other students with grammar, but she could not manage to imitate Miss Reilly’s Castilian accent.
Edna finished reading and Miss Reilly smiled. “Very well, Edna, you are doing a little better. However, you must practice and stop speaking that dialect you speak at home; it is not helping you.”
Nilda waited for the bell to ring. Only one more class, math, she thought, and then lunch.
“We mustn’t forget,” the teacher continued, “what the Spanish tradition is and means. A love of language … and pride. Yes, pride; those people have their pride …”
February 1944
“What’s the name of your brother Frankie’s club again?” asked Sylvia.
“The Lightnings. They used to be the Junior Lightnings, two clubs, but then Paul and some of the older guys went to the service, so now the younger guys took over the club. You know, they are like in charge, only one club, no more juniors.”
“Well,” Sylvia went on, “I heard that there is going to be a rumble between them, the Lightnings, and the others, the Barons.”
“Really?” asked Nilda. “Where did you hear that?”
“Well, on my block lives a member of the Barons and he was bragging that they are going to fight the Lightnings and beat them. And that they got it in for Indio and Hector.”
“When is this gonna be?”
“That I don’t know. But soon,” answered Sylvia. “Is your brother Frankie in charge of that gang?”
“No, Indio is. But Frankie took my brother Paul’s place and he used to be vice president, but Frankie is too young so they made him like assistant something. But he is something, that I know.” Nilda looked at Sylvia and wondered if she liked her brother Frankie. She had never spoken to Nilda about it, but Nilda could tell from the way she acted in front of Frankie. She gets so nervous and looks so embarrassed every time she sees Frankie, thought Nilda. “Why are you always asking me about Frankie?” she asked, and smiled at Sylvia.
“I just asked about his club, that’s all,” Sylvia said.
“Do you like him?”
Sylvia stopped walking and looked at Nilda with surprise.
“It’s all right. I don’t care. Honest.” Sylvia looked upset. Quickly Nilda said, “Look, if you like him, just say so. Really, honest, I won’t say nothing to nobody. I promise.”
“He doesn’t even know I’m alive,” said Sylvia.
“Maybe he does; how do you know?”
“He never even mentions me, I bet.” Pausing, Sylvia asked, “Did he ever?”
“Well,” Nilda answered, “he just never knew you liked him. Maybe if he knew about it, he could say something to you.”
“Nilda!” Sylvia shouted. “You promised!”
“I didn’t say nothing. I’m just telling you what I think. Honest, Sylvia, I won’t say a word.”
“Nilda, you better not … I’ll die! I swear to you, really; I don’t want him to know I like him. I mean it. If you say something, I’ll never talk to you again, cross my heart and hope to die!”
“You don’t have to worry,” Nilda said. “I swear I won’t. I promise, okay?” There was a long pause and both girls walked along silently. “Here we are,” Nilda said. Sylvia looked at Nilda and they both smiled. “If Frankie says something, I will let you know.”
“Nilda!” Sylvia screamed.
“If he says something! I won’t say nothing. I said I promised. But just if he says something, okay?”
Sylvia giggled, “Okay.” In a more sober tone she said, “He probably already got a girl.”
“Uh uh, he don’t,” Nilda said emphatically. “That I surely know.” Sylvia smiled at her, looking relieved. “Hey?” Nilda asked. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow, if your mother lets you, and we can do our homework together?”
“I’ll ask her, but she don’t want me to walk home alone at night, when it gets dark, you know,” Sylvia said.
“That’s all right!” Nilda smiled and glanced at Sylvia knowingly. “Frankie can walk you back, and I can come along if you like.”
“You think so?” Sylvia’s eyes widened.
“Sure,” Nilda said. “My mother will probably ask him to escort you and let me go, too. I’ll talk to my mother tonight, just in case you can come to my house tomorrow.”
“Well.” Sylvia bit her bottom lip and shut her eyes. “Oh, maybe I better not, Nilda,” she said apprehensively.
“Why not? We’ll just walk you to your stoop, that’s all. No harm in that.”
“Okay,” Sylvia nodded and began to walk away quietly, “I’ll let you know by tomorrow.” She called out, “See you.”
“See you,” Nilda yelled, almost giggling aloud. Uh huh, she said to herself, I just knew she liked him and I was right. Pleased with herself, she felt quite clever. She liked Sylvia; they were close friends. She never saw Petra anymore, just Benji, now and then. In fact, the only one she saw all the time was Sylvia. Nilda began to think about Frankie: ever since her stepfather had died, they had gotten along much better and very seldom fought. She could never feel about Frankie the way she felt about Paul. She wrote to Paul and saved all the letters he wrote to her. She missed him very much. Not like Frankie, she thought. He’s such a terrible pest; I wonder why Sylvia likes him?
Frankie walked alongside the two girls glumly. He had both hands in the pockets of his brand-new club jacket. It was black with bright gold trimming and stitching. His name was stitched on the front, FRANKIE. On the back, the word LIGHTNINGS was stitched, as well as the symbol for lightning in bright gold felt.
Nilda and Sylvia walked along; all three were silent. Frankie had refused to walk the girls, but Nilda’s mother had insisted, losing her temper and threatening him. “Imagine!” her mother had shouted at Frankie. “Giving your mother such nonsense. At your age, your brothers would not dare talk to me in that tone. And I just gave you some money for that club jacket. You must think I play all day at the factoría; caramba, sweating like an animal on that machine. Mira, Frankie, in Puerto Rico, you know what a boy who is going to be sixte
en is? A macho! Yes, and taking care of a whole family, not running around like everything is a party. They don’t go to school and have your privileges. You get too smart with me, and you can come back and stay in all evening and not go to that meeting at all!”
Frankie was told to take Sylvia to her building and then bring Nilda back to the corner of their street. He had been furious with Nilda. “Why do you have to come?” he had protested. “Then I have to walk you all the way back, man, and really be late!”
“Just let me off at the corner,” Nilda had insisted, and her mother, who was annoyed at Frankie, had let her go along as well.
As they walked, Sylvia said timidly, “Frankie, you don’t have to take me, you know. I’ll go home alone, really. Go on to your meeting.”
“It’s all right, Sylvia,” he said. “Honest, I don’t mind walking you; it’s big-mouth here.” Sylvia looked the other way, embarrassed. “Nilda,” he said, annoyed, “you are going to make me real late to my meeting.”
“You don’t have to walk me back home, you know,” Nilda said. “Just forget it; I’ll get back by myself. Big deal!”
“Yeah,” Frankie said, “then tell Mamá and I get it. Tattletale!”
“I’m not gonna say nothing, Frankie!” Nilda yelled.
There was a long pause and Frankie stopped, then continued to walk a few paces ahead of them. Nilda stuck out her tongue and made a face at him.
“Honestly, Nilda, you are making it worse,” Sylvia whispered.
Boy, some friend she is; thanks a lot! Nilda said to herself. They heard a shrill whistle.
“Hey, man, Frankie!” someone shouted. Nilda turned and saw a tall boy, wearing the same kind of jacket that Frankie had, running toward them. Out of breath and wide-eyed, he said, “Frankie, man, you better split, split fast. Those motherfucker Barons, they raided us, down the basement in the clubhouse. They got Indio and Charley. They stomped the shit out of them. They had knives, sticks and chains. Man, they dragged Mateo out and we don’t know if he’s alive!”
“When?” Frankie asked.
“Just before, during the meeting. We were planning the rumble and they attacked us—just like those Japs, man—sneaky, behind our backs. ¡Maricones! They ain’t no Americans, man; they’re Japs!”
Nilda watched as the tall boy spoke. He had the name HECTOR stitched on the front of his jacket. His light brown skin was bright and flushed and his hair was mussed; some blood trickled down his nose and the right side of his mouth.
“A lot of us were able to get out. I fought a few of them and ducked down an alley. You was lucky you wasn’t there.”
“I got stuck; I had to walk my sister and her friend. Oh, man, Hector, shit. I wish I coulda been there. I woulda stomped on their asses.”
Hector had managed to stand inside the doorway of a small dry-goods shop that was closed. “Well, just split now, man,” he said. “The Barons are after us and that bastard Pícalo got his knife. I don’t know what they did to Mateo or where they took him. Man, I hope he’s all right.” With a worried look, Hector stretched and looked up and down the dark street. “But listen, the cops are after us, too. Look, Frankie, get off the streets. You better walk back through the roofs and alleys, man. Get your ass home and keep cool; don’t wear the jacket for a while. I’m cutting, man. See you, Frankie,” and he walked away.
Nilda and Sylvia looked at each other and then at Frankie, who stood there confused. “Wait,” he called out. “Man, wait, I’ll go with you.” Turning to the two girls, he said, “Look, I better cut.”
“All right,” Nilda interrupted him. “Go ahead, Frankie, split. We’ll be okay. I won’t say nothing to Mamá. Honest, go on!”
“You better go, Frankie,” Sylvia said.
Frankie ran toward Hector and they both disappeared into a building.
“I told you, Nilda. Remember about the rumble?” Sylvia said.
“Maybe I should have told my brother,” Nilda said, feeling miserable. “I’ll walk you to your corner; we are almost there.”
The two girls walked on quietly. “Here we are. Do you want to come up, Nilda? My father could take you back.”
“No thanks, I better not. Else my mother would ask about Frankie. It’s okay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sylvia said.
“Good-bye. Please don’t say nothing to nobody, or Frankie will think it’s me who snitched. Okay?”
“I won’t. I won’t say a word,” Sylvia said, and pausing, she asked, “Nilda? Please tell me what happens.”
“Of course,” Nilda said. “So long.” She started back down the avenue, heading for home.
“Nilda!” She heard someone calling her name and stopped to see who it was. It was Chucho, Benji’s brother. “Hi, Nilda. What are you doing here?”
“Oh, hi, Chucho. I was walking my friend home.”
“Wait, wait a minute. You going back home now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Manuel is coming right down. We went to our aunt’s house; you know Estelle, my mother’s sister. We’ll walk you back, Nilda.”
“Sure,” she said. “Will he be long? My mother is expecting me back right away.”
“No, he’ll be right back. As a matter of fact, we were outside in the street when Manuel remembered he forgot something and went back up.” Chucho smiled. “Look, there he is. See?” and he pointed to a young boy who hurried toward them. He was younger than Chucho but almost the same height
“Hi, Nilda. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Manuel, we’ll take Nilda home; it will only be a minute out of our way.”
“Sure, good,” Manuel said.
The three young people walked silently for a while. It was windy and cold out; they all walked quickly, trying to stay warm.
“Nilda,” Chucho said, “we hardly see you anymore. You don’t come to services very often now, do you?” He added, “You’re missed.”
Oh, man, thought Nilda, annoyed. They’re gonna start that business again. “Well, I been busy, you know. Now that Mami is working every day, I have to help out a lot,” she said.
“This weekend, Nilda, try to come,” Chucho said. “It’s something special. We’ll have our meeting right on the corner of 116th Street and Lexington Avenue. You know, right by the subway station? The musicians will play and we’ll set up a platform and amplifiers. We would like you to come and be with us, Nilda.”
“I’ll try,” she said timidly. She hated those street meetings and she knew Benji hated them. She remembered the last time she had been out in the street with them and how embarrassed she had been; she had wanted to cry. Everyone pointed and looked at you, she thought. The kids who recognized her had made fun of her, shouting remarks and making faces. She recalled how she had tried to leave but couldn’t, because her group had been right in the middle where everyone could see them.
“Have you been reading the Bible we gave you and the word of Jesus?” Chucho asked.
“Yes,” she said. I wish he’d stop preaching all the time, Nilda said to herself. Chucho was the most religious and the oldest of Benji’s brothers.
Nilda heard a siren and saw a police car speeding down the avenue. It passed them, stopped abruptly and backed up. A police officer yelled out of the car window. “Hey, you! Wait a minute!” He stepped out of the car and ran across the avenue toward Nilda and the two boys. As he approached them, the patrol car made a U-turn and stopped in front of them. “Where you going?” the policeman asked. “What the hell are you doing hanging around the streets at night?”
Nilda, for a moment, could not believe that he was talking to them. Shocked and frightened, she looked at the large policeman as he spoke to Chucho. “Where do you live?” the policeman asked, and looked angrily at Chucho and Manuel, a nightstick grasped in his hand. As Chucho answered, the other policeman got out of the car and walked toward them. “That’s quite a few blocks from here. What the hell are you doing way up here, God damn it!” the first
cop said.
“We went to visit our aunt who lives two blocks up,” Manuel answered.
“Shut your ass. I’m talking to him,” he said, angrily pointing to Chucho.
“Yes, that’s right, officer,” Chucho said. “We just came to visit my aunt, that’s all.”
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“And you?” the cop asked Manuel.
“Fourteen.”
“Who is this girl?”
“She’s a friend and we are walking her home,” Chucho said.
The two policemen stared at the boys for a while. Then the first policeman asked, “Where’s the rest of you guys?”
Chucho looked, bewildered, at Manuel, who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“Come on, cut the shit. We know all about the rumble between the Lightnings and the Barons.” Nilda felt her insides begin to sink.
“We do not know, sir, who they are. We don’t belong to any gangs,” Chucho said.
Nilda did not know when or how it happened, but the first policeman held Chucho by the collar and up against the side of the building. “Look!” he shouted into Chucho’s face. “Don’t give me any shit, spic. I’m tired of this trouble. Now, either you tell me where you punks are, and quit lying, or I’m gonna smash your face.”
“Officer, we don’t know!” interrupted Manuel. He rushed to his brother, shouting, “We’re of the Pentecostal faith. We do not believe …”
The policeman released his grip and let go of Chucho. He picked up his nightstick and swung hard at Manuel. Nilda heard a thud and saw blood coming down the side of Manuel’s face as he reeled over.
Nilda Page 18
