Letters from Heaven / Cartas del cielo

by Lydia Gil

  Letters from Heaven

  Lydia Gil

  Letters from Heaven

  Lydia Gil

  Letters from Heaven / Cartas del cielo is made possible by a grant from the City of Houston through the Houston Arts Alliance. We are grateful for their support.

  Piñata Books are full of surprises!

  Piñata Books

  An imprint of

  Arte Público Press

  University of Houston

  4902 Gulf Fwy, Bldg 19, Rm 100

  Houston, Texas 77204-2004

  Cover design by Mora Des!gn

  Inside illustrations by Leonardo Mora

  Cover photo by Eloísa Pérez-Lozano

  Gil, L. (Lydia), 1970—

  Letters from heaven = Cartas del cielo / by/por Lydia Gil.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Celeste is heartbroken when her grandmother dies, but when letters begin to arrive with her grandmother’s advice and recipes, Celeste finds consolation in preparing the dishes for herself, her mother, and their friends. Includes six traditional Cuban recipes.

  ISBN 978-1-55885-798-8 (alk. paper)

  [1. Grief—Fiction. 2. Grandmothers—Fiction. 3. Cooking—Fiction. 4. Cuban Americans—Fiction. 5. Letters—Fiction. 6. Spanish language materials—Bilingual.] I. Title. II. Title: Cartas del cielo.

  PZ73.G4828 2014

  [Fic]—dc23

  2014022875

  CIP

  The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984.

  Letters from Heaven © 2014 by Lydia Gil

  Printed in the United States of America

  October 2014–November 2014

  Versa Press, Inc., East Peoria, IL

  12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  1 Café con Leche

  2 Cangrejitos de Guayaba y Queso

  3 Synchronized Eating

  4 Congrí

  5 Mariquitas

  6 Ropa Vieja

  7 Misunderstandings

  8 Asking for Help

  9 Flan

  10 Family Dinner

  To Güeli

  1

  CAFÉ CON LECHE

  I’m sick and tired of everyone being so nice to me! I don’t have to wait in line in the school cafeteria because my classmates let me cut in front. If I forget my homework, the teacher says I can turn it in the next day, no problem! At home, I’ve gone an entire week without making the bed or doing the dishes, and Mami didn’t say anything. It’s not that I became a superstar overnight. My grandma died last week and my friends seem to think that if they treat me nicely, I won’t feel as sad. I don’t know how to tell them it’s not working. So I don’t say anything. I move to the front of the line, grab a strawberry yogurt, sit myself down and eat in silence. But the silence never lasts very long.

  “Can we sit down?” Karen asks.

  I shrug my shoulders because it doesn’t bother me, but being with them doesn’t cheer me up either. These past few days everything feels the same to me.

  “Do you want some grapes, Celeste?” Silvia offers.

  “No, thanks,” I say.

  “Come on, Celeste, so we can synchronize!”

  Synchronized eating. Our favorite sport. We take a bite at exactly the same time, open our eyes wide, raise our arms, spin around in unison, once, twice, sometimes three times … Our routines are quite elaborate—like synchronized swimming. Super fun! But not today. I’m not in the mood for games.

  “Excuse me,” I say bluntly, and leave the table.

  The day feels like it’s never going to end. Math, Science, English, Social Studies, it all blurs together in my head and the only thing I can think about is my grandmother’s green dress. Such a bright green, like grass after a good rain. Green was her favorite color.

  “Green, how I want you green,” she used to tell me so I’d eat my vegetables. She said it was a verse from a famous Spanish poet, Federico García Lorca.

  “If your face isn’t turning green, then you need to eat some more vegetables!” she’d add.

  But I always licked the plate clean. Because my grandma’s cooking, no matter what she made, was always the best in the world. At least for me it was.

  The bell finally rings, so I run outside even though I’m not sure if anyone will be out there waiting for me. I stand at the corner looking in all directions, waiting to see who’s going to pick me up today. Yesterday it was Doña Esperanza, our next-door neighbor. On Tuesday it was Lisa, my mom’s friend with the long hair and no make-up—sometimes she even goes around barefoot! Ugh! Lisa picks me up on Tuesdays and Fridays, but sometimes she switches with Doña Esperanza. Mami, on the other hand, never comes. Well, she did come on Monday, because she was still off work for the funeral. But she had to go back the next day. Like she always says: “If you don’t work, you don’t eat.” Although now that grandma’s gone, you might say we don’t eat much at all …

  “Celeste, cross the street, m’ija!” Doña Esperanza yells at me from across the street.

  “I’m coming,” I say, but I cross the street slowly, as if my feet ached.

  “What happened? Did you get hurt dancing or something?”

  “I’m just tired,” I tell her. “And I’m not in dance anymore.”

  “Eat some tostaditas when you get home and you’ll see how fast you feel better … ” she says. “Like your grandma Rosa always said, may she rest in peace, ‘full belly: happy heart.’”

  I keep walking as if I can’t hear what she is saying. I want to talk to her, but nothing comes out.

  When we get in the car, Doña Esperanza takes my hand and says: “I really miss her too … ”

  On the way home, I imagine that when I get there my after-school snack will be waiting on the kitchen table. Grandma always had a warm cup of café con leche and toast ready for me. But when she got sick, I had to learn to prepare it myself. She taught me how to make it by using measurements, so that it would come out right every time.

  “You have to measure the ingredients and not just go by sight,” she’d say. “Otherwise, one day you might have a great cup of coffee, but the next day it might taste just like laundry water … ”

  Grandma loved her café con leche, even after she got sick. I’d take it to her room and rather than saying “thank you,” she’d say, “This coffee is ready to be entered in a contest.” But the last time I brought it to her, she drank it slowly and in silence. At first I thought she didn’t like it and wondered if I’d messed up the measurements. But when she finished, she said: “Now, this cup takes first place!”

  Café con leche

  2 teaspoons of sugar

  2 shots of strong Cuban coffee or espresso

  ¼ cup of milk

  • Prepare the coffee very strong and let it brew over the two teaspoons of sugar.

  • Heat the milk briefly in a separate container, being careful not to let it boil.

  • Serve the sweetened coffee in a nice cup with a saucer. Gently pour the milk, stirring well.

  2

  CANGREJITOS DE GUAYABA Y QUESO

  After the snack, I sit down to do my homework. Fractions again! Sometimes that’s how I see my brain … divided into parts. A trick Grandma taught me is to think of fractions like the number of pieces you’d cut out of a flan: the number that would add up to a whole flan is the number on the bottom; and the number of pieces that I’m going to eat is the number on top … So it’d be something like ⅞, because I always make sure to leave one piece for Mami.

  The doorbell rings. I walk over to the window u
pstairs very quietly, making sure my footsteps don’t make noise. I take a peek around the curtain to see who it is. I’m only allowed to open the door to Doña Esperanza or Lisa, because they know that I’m home alone while Mami is at work. It’s the mailman. He’s left a small package next to the door. When I see the mail truck turn the corner, I run to get it.

  It’s addressed to me! Even though it doesn’t have a return address, the handwriting looks familiar. The script is elegant and light, and the words lean slightly to the right. The package has a weird shape: it’s long and thin and doesn’t weigh much. For a second I wonder if I should wait for Mami before opening it. But since it’s addressed to me, I decide not to wait.

  Inside the package there is another box wrapped in a paper bag with a note folded inside. I immediately recognize the handwriting. It’s from Grandma!

  Dear Celeste,

  I know you miss me as much as I miss you. Don’t be sad. Where there is love, there is no sadness. Remember, just as everything comes, everything goes. It’s the same with this sadness you are feeling.

  While I may no longer be there with you, there’s a way you can feel that we’re still together. When you prepare the meals we used to enjoy, stop for a second and take in the aroma. I promise you that the first bite will take you back to when we were together! Try this whenever you miss me. I know this will work.

  Remember me with love … and flavor!

  Your grandma that loves you,

  Rosa

  I unwrap the box inside and find myself holding a bar of guava paste and a note. On it is Grandma’s recipe for Cuban croissants, her cangrejitos de guayaba con queso! We used to make them every Sunday before lunch, or whenever company showed up unexpectedly. Because in our home, people show up unexpectedly all the time. My friends tell me that this doesn’t happen at their houses. No matter how old or how young you are, you must call ahead and make an appointment. Grandma used to say that calling ahead was like going to the dentist instead of visiting a friend. But in Cuba, her island, half the fun of visiting friends was to surprise them. I asked her what happened when people came from far away and no one was home.

  “They’d wait around for a very long time to see if the family would come back,” she said. “And if they didn’t return by the time it got dark, then the visitors would leave a note saying that they’d stopped by. You see, the note was important, because even if you missed the visit, you’d still get to enjoy the surprise … To know that someone cared enough about you to come by.”

  I smile thinking that Grandma was doing the same thing to me now with her letter.

  Cangrejitos de Guayaba y Queso

  (Guava and Cheese Croissants)

  1 (8 ounce) tube of refrigerated crescent dough

  1 (16 ounce) package of guava paste

  1 (8 ounce) package of cream cheese

  • Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

  • Unwrap the tube of crescent dough and separate the eight triangles by cutting along the dotted lines.

  • Cut eight ¼ inch slices of the guava paste, each about 1 inch in length, and place them at the base of each triangle.

  • Cut eight slices of cream cheese, with about the same dimensions, and place them over the guava slices. Save leftover paste and cream cheese for another use.

  • Starting at the base, roll the dough, making sure to seal the edges, so that the filling doesn’t come out while baking. Gently fold the edges and twist slightly, so that it forms the shape of a little crab.

  • Place on a cookie sheet coated with non-stick spray or covered with wax paper, and bake until the dough rises and is golden. About 10 to 12 minutes.

  • Allow a few minutes to cool before serving.

  3

  SYNCHRONIZED EATING

  Mami gets home from the factory exhausted, like always. She opens the door, throws her bag on the floor, takes off her shoes and falls onto the couch.

  “Mami, Mami! Close your eyes!” I say eagerly.

  “Ay, cielo. I’m so tired that if I close my eyes I’ll fall asleep right here.”

  “No, Mami, close your eyes for a second,” I tell her, “and smell.”

  I watch her close her eyes and her lips slowly curl up into a little smile.

  “Something smells wonderful,” she says.

  “Don’t open your eyes just yet,” I say, running to get the tray of cangrejitos.

  “Now,” I tell her.

  When she sees them, the smile is erased from her face and she begins to cry. I start to cry too. I place the tray on the table so that they don’t get wet with tears and I hug her. We stay like that for a while until we catch the scent of the cangrejitos again and we devour them in silence. I decide not to show her Grandma’s letter. I don’t want her to cry anymore. Besides, she wouldn’t believe it was from her. I don’t quite believe it myself …

  The next day I pack three cangrejitos for school. One for Karen, one for Silvia and one for me.

  “I have a surprise for you,” I tell them.

  They look at me as if I was speaking Chinese.

  “Don’t you want to see what it is?”

  “It’s not that,” Silvia says. “You actually talked to us.”

  “Shhh, Silvia!” Karen elbows her. “Of course we want to see!”

  I show them the cangrejitos and Silvia pretends to faint.

  “How yummy!” she says. “Just like the ones your grandm … ”

  “Yeah, my grandma,” I say. “It’s okay. You can mention her. That isn’t going to make me any sadder than I already am.”

  “I’m sorry,” Karen says. “She’s dumb.”

  “Alright, try them,” I say.

  The three of us synchronize ourselves so that we take our first bite at the same time. We close our eyes, spin around and raise our arms as if we’re doing the sun salutation from gym class, and then say “Aaaaaaahhhhh!” with our mouths full. It isn’t very polite, but it sure is fun.

  “So, who made them?” Karen asks. “Surely it wasn’t your mom … ”

  This time it’s Silvia who elbows Karen. As if I didn’t know that when Mami cooks, the plates taste better than the food …

  “I made them,” I tell them. “My grandma sent me a package with the guava paste and the recipe. I got it yesterday!”

  Right away I realize that I’ve said something I shouldn’t have. They look at each other and then at me. I know that look. It’s the look you give someone who tells you the tooth fairy left money under the pillow. Understanding, but also full of pity.

  “Don’t pity me!” I tell them, furiously. I take my empty lunchbox and leave.

  As soon I turn the corner I realize that Amanda, the bully, had been watching us the entire time. She walks over swinging her long blond braids from side to side.

  “So the ghost of your grandma writes you letters,” she tells me, mockingly. “Boooo! How scary!”

  “Leave me alone!” I tell her and keep walking.

  “Be careful that she doesn’t take you away and leave your mommies all alone,” she says.

  I turn around as if she’d thrown a bucket of ice water onto my back.

  “What did you say?” I ask her.

  “You don’t want to leave your mommy alone,” she repeats, correcting herself.

  “Don’t bother her, Amanda!” Silvia yells from the other side of the room.

  “Thank you, Silvia, but I can take care of myself,” I tell her. “Amanda, I’m going to ask my grandma to show up in your room and scare the sleep out of you.”

  “Oh, I’m shaking,” she says.

  I walk away. I would’ve liked to say more, but that was all I could come up with. I want to go home, crawl into my bed and stay there until summer. If only I could hibernate, I’d be so happy.

  4

  CONGRÍ

  Lisa comes to pick me up. I’m not thrilled about it, because whenever it’s her turn we have to walk. Lisa doesn’t own a car. She says she doesn’t need one, that with her own two feet s
he can walk or pedal to wherever she has to go. Even though I think she’s a little weird, Mami really likes her. She says that Lisa is like her sister, even though they don’t look anything alike. Mami likes to wear make-up, even if she’s going outside to get the newspaper. Her hair is always fixed and her clothes match perfectly. And she always wears perfume! Lisa, on the other hand, is all natural. I’ve never seen her with a drop of make-up and the clothes she wears are a bit strange—although I have to admit, she looks very comfortable in her long flowery skirt and old T-shirt. Mami says that Lisa doesn’t use make-up because she doesn’t need it, and I think she’s right. She’s very pretty with that long black hair flowing all the way down to her waist. Instead of lipstick she wears a smile.

  “Hi, beautiful!” she says cheerfully from the other side of the street.

  I half-smile as I cross to meet her. I don’t feel much like talking today.

  We walk on, in silence. Lisa looks all around, smiling all the while. It’s as if the trees and the birds were broadcasting messages that only she can hear.

  “Your mami told me that you made some delicious cangrejitos … ”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you have any left? I’d die for one.”

  “No,” I tell her. I think about challenging her just to see how she responds. “But since Grandma taught me how to make them yesterday, I can make them for you whenever.”

  I expect some sort of reaction to my madness, but Lisa doesn’t say anything. She keeps smiling, as she always does.

  “Well that’s great,” she says. “Your grandma really did know how to cook. It’s such a shame your mami didn’t inherit that talent … ”

  We both look at each other and burst out laughing. I think of the smell of burnt rice from the other night. Most of the rice stayed stuck to the bottom of the pot. Lisa had stopped by to see how Mami was holding up and after smelling the disaster, she turned around, got on her bike and came back with a rotisserie chicken and a loaf of bread. We ate it with such hunger that all that was left were the bones. There wasn’t a bite to share with the neighbor’s dogs!

  At home, I make my tostaditas and café con leche. I ask Lisa if she wants any, but she says she has a million things to do, and that she’ll stop by later. While I wait for the coffee to brew, I look into the pantry to see if there’s something to fix for dinner. There are a few cans of tuna, beans, tomato paste, olives, sardines … Actually, nothing. I’m hoping Lisa will bring something tonight or otherwise it’ll be tuna fish sandwiches again. Or breakfast for dinner … another one of my mom’s specialties. Translation: cereal with milk.