Ambientes_New Queer Latino Writing

by Lazaro Lima

  “Tired of touring?” said Miguel.

  “I wish I could keep playing at occasions like this, but . . .”

  “But, you are making it big and soon we will have to go to the capital if we want to hear you play.”

  “I would play for your grandmother anytime.”

  Ramonita laughed and gulped as much of the soda as she could. She didn’t want to talk to anybody else. Her head was full of her plans. Her chords were full of the itch to sing out and her fingers eager to tap the buttons and make the music of this life.

  Dulce had been staring at Amalia throughout the whole song. Now that the music was over, though, her eyes seemed to lock into that space where she had been. She could still hear the merengue inside her ears and inside her heart she could still see Amalia dancing like she had that day in the back room of the store by the light of a small lantern. Her hips moving through the air, weaving together the responses to the call of the music, dancing, teaching her to dance:

  “Come on Dulce; it’s easy and you don’t have to be shy. No one is here.”

  “Amalia, I don’t want to do this.”

  “We both know that’s not true.”

  Silence. Laughter explosions. The music and Amalia’s hands pulled at Dulce and they began to shake and turn all over the small square of floor in between the old sacks of rice and the piles of cans and bottles of soda.

  The flimsy table almost fell over as Yuni slammed down a domino. Dulce had missed the final moments of the game. Around the table, men laughed and cheered. Danny shook Chepo’s hand, and Alberto clapped Yuni’s back. The crowd around him launched into debates about the past game, about the obvious mistake and the moment in which the others had all lost to Yuni’s luck. Yuni leaned back in his chair, not saying anything for a while, and then began to barajear the dominoes in front of him.

  Chepo, who had been the second-highest scorer, moved away from the group and sat down opposite Yuni. He settled into the serious mood of the game again. They needed two new competitors to continue with their tournament. William got up from the circle of laughter where the stories were gathering spit in people’s mouths and tears in their eyes. He came over to the table. The only bachelor out of the Linares boys, William lived alone in Santiago and drove a big camión across the country for one of the few market chains. He played tough but was really quiet, unlike the other men in his family. He had been the last to move away from the house, because his mother would not let him go without a wife. She had been afraid that he wouldn’t be able to take care of himself. And he did look skinny and worn these last few years. He turned the chair around and sat down with the heaviness of a bigger man. He smiled at Yuni and shook Chepo’s hand. One of the neighbors joined them. A new game began.

  Dulce looked over at the trio. Ramonita and the two musicians were back in place and the music started again. Amalia danced. Dulce watched Amalia’s skirt flouncing from one side to the other. She saw Amalia’s shoulders dip and her hair run after her laughing face. Her feet began to tap on the floor at first to the sound of the tambor and then in a beat of their own, trying to send Amalia a message to look over her way.

  Some of the people sitting around the circle thought of getting up to dance. The music had been bright and flashy but not tempting at all as they sat there laughing and letting the food course slowly through their bodies. Pero ya se habían bajado los tostones, el arroz, el pollo asado. Legs stretched, knees cracked, and the palms of hands found laps, the backs of chairs, or each other to echo the compas of this fast merengue.

  Beatriz, sitting with her brothers and sisters, felt the restlessness of the gathered circle. She had listened to the stories that they told without allowing the words to hook into her mind and take her away from what she always thought about. She looked at the lanterns glow and began to speak in her low voice. Everyone around the circle moved closer and stilled themselves. Beatriz didn’t speak often. This story was not going to be one of the verde tales that her brothers loved to laugh about. Beatriz was going to tell them about the family. Doña Tomasa moved her chair into the circle. Even the domino players quieted down. The only ones who did not join the hushed group were Ramonita, her musicians, and Amalia, who were in the middle of a fast groove.

  “Iris desde pequeña había trabajado con sus manos. She would build cities made of mud, or as she grew older sew enormous quilts. Hers was a gift that the people recognized around these parts for miles. They would come to ask for shawls and baby clothes for baptisms and communions. Nonin and Paul were congratulated on Iris’s gift by their neighbors. Nonin imagined though that everyone was laughing at her fortune, not really envying it.”

  “Era muda.”

  “Shh! Muchacha, let Beatriz tell it.”

  Amalia and Ramonita were in conversation. Ramonita ripped through scales with her accordion and Amalia shook her waist in answer. Amalia opened her eyes and looked into the singer’s muddy brown eyes.

  Immediately Ramonita flourished a caress. She was excited by this beautiful young woman in front of her who moved, directed by her fingers. She let out a small growl in the middle of the song’s phrase, sure that the family was not listening to the music at that moment. Amalia continued to dance but slowly backed away from the intensity of Ramonita’s voice. She danced but slowly turned to look in the direction of the domino game. She moved her shoulders but let her eyes stop briefly at Yuni’s face, which was concentrating on the patterns made by the black dots on the white frames. She moved her feet from side to side, but sus ojos saltaron to Dulce’s face. Dulce’s eyes, caught inside of hers, pooled with tenderness.

  Dulce took a half step in Amalia’s direction but stopped herself. She took off her hat and fanned her face. She sipped a little bit of beer and tried not to run over to where the music was blaring, fighting for the attention of Amalia, the lone dancer. She saw that most of the family was gathered around Beatriz now and that the music held only those strongly enchanted in its circle.

  It stopped. Ramonita took another break. Amalia came over to sit by her abuela and listen to her tía.

  Dulce went over to see which dominos William held in his hands. She tried to catch Amalia’s face again, now almost directly opposite her.

  Amalia concentrated on the light, letting her heartbeat become soft and low like the light. She decided that she would not move from her abuela’s side for the rest of the night.

  “She was a blessed child, but Nonin did not see the blessing. Her daughter could not answer her questions, could not hear her orders. She did things well enough once taught, but you had to stand in front of her to get her attention. And there were times that teje que teje she would not notice anyone standing in front of her for hours. Iris made beautiful shapes, intricate and colorful, but she refused to say a word all throughout her childhood.”

  Ramonita stopped to listen to Beatriz while she ate some queso frito and mangu. She decided she could take a longer break this time. Amalia did not look like she would get up anytime soon, and the rest of the dancers were tired out. She eyed one of the faded hammocks hanging between two trees at the edge of the circle of lights that the lanterns gave. She nodded over at her boys as they headed toward the game. Piling on a second plate of mangu, she headed over to the trees.

  Amalia watched the large shadow of la Flaca disappear into the darkness. She couldn’t concentrate on the story. Her blood had slowed but her mind was entranced by the shadows that leapt around her. Everywhere she looked, people’s faces grew deep recesses or were hollowed out by the night that was coming for its visit. She looked over at the game. Tío William’s bent head made her think of prayer and funerals. His eyes had deep, shadowy rivers under them. She crossed herself. Her eyes attempted the climb upward from his head toward the serious face under the bowler hat; she knew that Dulce was trying to ignore her eyes, that the music had excited her too, that it had made her remember, but she couldn’t see Dulce’s eyes under the hat’s brim.

  Dulce flicked her hands, tryi
ng not to hear the laughter of that afternoon in the supply room. She pulled her hat lower and thought about what she had just seen. Ramonita and Amalia had turned that public, roaring merengue into something intimate and private. But Amalia had left the area in front of the singer quickly. There was no reason for her to be upset; she looked down at William’s hand hesitating over a two/five and looked over at the four ends of the worldly cross that lay on the dented table. Fives and twos on all sides. She thought about what she would do with the domino, where she would place it.

  The ropes that held the hammock were frayed and Ramonita groaned as she bent to arrange herself on it while balancing the two plates. Next week she would be in the capital, signing the final contracts with the hotels there to play for the tourists for the New Year’s celebration. She settled fully on the low hammock and went over her calculations. It had been a long time since she could think out her future like this. The past few years had been nonstop family celebrations: weddings, confirmations, birthday parties. Once she had found two men who were reliable and understood that she wasn’t looking for advances, that she just wanted to play the music, it had been hard for her to have time to herself. All the local families in the province wanted her to come and play for them. It was true that she would have to stop doing this; in fact she only played this one because it was for Doña Linares.

  When Virginia had kicked her out of the house in Higuey, she had wandered all over the roads in La Romana, eating hierba and beginning to talk to herself. Because she had come from Virginia’s house, no one opened their doors to her. She couldn’t even explain to them that she hadn’t been a puta. That she lived in the house but did not take part in the trade. Because she couldn’t explain Virginia. Not even to herself. Doña Tomasa was tending to the store that day, years back. She was already too old to be working at that kind of job, but she was stubborn. People said that the Linares’ mom did not want any of her boys stepping into that store and dying like her husband Saturnino had. When Ramonita asked for una limosna, Doña Tomasa spit by her feet and Ramonita began to turn away. But the old woman had said to wait and then handed her a broom. That was a beginning, and the only reason she had moved away was because Virginia had started coming around again.

  Tomasa leaned into her chair, enjoying the sound of Beatriz’s voice. She thought of her mother, not able to call her Iris in her mind even now, when she felt that she was so close to seeing her. Ay, Mamá. I worry so much. How can I leave them now when so many of them need me? Divorces, Mamá, and other things that I know you never knew of. And William, he’s going to go before I get there, Mamá, I can see it. Eso no es justo. She rubbed her eyes and immediately Bernabe’s wife asked if there was something wrong. Teresa handed her a pañuelo with agua florida, and Ermelinda, José and Ana’s daughter, asked if she could get her some water. Tomasa took a deep breath and accepted the tin cup. She leaned back and forced herself to look calm. This is all she could do for them.

  “Nonin felt that Iris obstinately refused to talk. El Padre Mikael y los vecinos argued that the child could not have such an intention. But Nonin was convinced that Iris could talk if she wanted. She would mutter to her all day while she cleaned the house, trying to shame her into speaking, into giving up this game. When Iris was in her twenties, her mother decided to marry her to Cangrejo. No one had ever taken that man seriously. He had more money than the district judge, it’s true, but he was always gruff, ever ready to curse, or spit, rather than talk or smile. He was also sixty and had never been married. Nonin told Iris that if she wasn’t going to open her mouth then she would have to satisfy herself with Cangrejo for a husband, because no one else would take her, no matter how beautifully she crocheted.”

  Amalia sighed heavily and looked back over at Yuni. This time she kept her eyes on his frame. Watched him hunched over the game, that awful vein of his popping at his neck. How many fights they had had since the wedding—quiet, whispered arguments, but pretty soon she felt he would not hold himself back, not even for abuela. He bragged about the store. He gritted his teeth and hissed that “was the only good thing” he had gotten out of the wedding. She listened to the story of her bisabuela, her eyes no longer looking at the shadows or searching for Dulce’s smile.

  Why do you have to say yes, Amalia?”

  “Dulce, por favor, just help me stitch these shirts and don’t ask me anything about it.”

  “You have to explain it to me, or I won’t sew a thing.”

  “Ay, muchacha. Why do you always have to strong-arm to get your way? Sit down. First, I don’t have any money.”

  “That’s not an excuse for anything.”

  “Listen. And you know where my mother is. I can’t count on anybody but myself and I don’t want them to say that I am taking advantage of abuela. I’ve lived there for nine years and I don’t bring in any income.”

  “Neither does Teresa.”

  “Dulce, please. You know it is not the same thing. I can’t go to the capital; what would I do there?”

  “You don’t have to leave; you just don’t have to marry him.”

  “Dulce. Look. It had to come some time or another. And besides, abuela approves; she promised him the store. He is going to make more money from it than she ever could. He’s already turned it around since she let him start managing it.”

  “Tan feo, Amalia.”

  Amalia stuffed more white lace material into the trunk at the foot of the bed. She tried not to cry. She kept her back to Dulce.

  “At least I’m not moving away, Dulce. Can you at least be glad about that?”

  The sobs came like wild horses and Dulce was quiet, admonished as she held Amalia in her arms.

  The wedding took place without a word of protest from Iris. She nodded when the priest asked her the question, and with that nod, the marriage was done. During the first month the neighbors came by to visit. They saw Iris sweeping the only concrete floor for miles around; they saw her washing clothes in an aluminum tub; they saw her feeding the chickens and pigs in the mornings. She still did not talk.

  Cangrejo was never there. The older women tried to talk to her con confianza about the problems that a new wife may have, but Iris showed no signs that she knew what they were hinting at. Nonin came after a few months to quiet the talk of the other women. She had done her duty as a mother, more than that, because she had been able to get her a husband, but the metidos wouldn’t be satisfied until she visited her newlywed daughter. The day she came by, her daughter spoke for the first time.

  Ramonita coughed to dislodge the lump of platano she felt in her throat. She thought about what it had been like to work and be accepted here with Doña Tomasa after those awful days on the road and after those awful years with Virginia. She hadn’t told la señora anything about her past. For a while she had been able to push it far enough away from her consciousness that when Virginia actually showed up at the store, she had a moment of disconnection.

  “You’re not going to act like you don’t know me.” But Virginia easily, harshly brought her back to her senses. The broom in her hands had felt like a tree. The small, square room with its shelves of cartons and cans expanded. Her tongue a dead animal, she pointed to the door, but Virginia laughed. “You’re not going to get rid of me. Remember, you always invite me in. You need me. You cannot make it on your own.”

  She heard Doña Tomasa moving around in the room behind the store. She was not supposed to wait on customers—that was still the responsibility of la señora—and Ramonita was afraid that she would hear Virginia’s laughter and think she was a customer.

  Virginia knocked some of the cartons off the nearest shelf. “You’re clumsy, remember. You need some training in grace and manners. I want you to succeed, don’t get me wrong. I’m only looking out for your best. No one will want you around if you don’t learn these things.”

  Ramonita rushed to pick up the cartons and put them back on the shelf. She forgot the broom and jumped when she heard the crash.

&n
bsp; “You misunderstood what I told you. I didn’t want you to leave. I wouldn’t allow a defenseless woman like you to fend for herself out there. Let me help you; come with me.”

  “Ramonita, ¿qué pasa? ¿Me necesitas?”

  Ramonita could hear Doña Tomasa washing her hands with the watering can she kept at the door to the supply room. Soon she would tie on the delantar and wipe her hands. Then she would head out to the store front in case customers came by.

  “No, señora.”

  “You won’t last here with that old lady. She’ll see how you are. You’ll do something wrong and offend her.”

  Ramonita had to tell Virginia that she would come back. Doña Tomasa made it to the storeroom before Virginia left, though. Virginia made a show of buying some items, keeping her eyes on Doña Tomasa and smiling. There had been a couple of visits like that one throughout the months she spent with the Linares.

  Ramonita leaned back into the hammock, letting the empty plastic plates slip to the ground. She knew, now, that she didn’t need Virginia to teach her how to act. She had been invited to many homes to sing and play. Behind her accordion, no one questioned her past, or the way she behaved. She was allowed many liberties as a merenguera. Sometimes she had to earn her respect the hard way, but she was dependent on no one but herself. Soon her life would be different; she would reach a higher scale and be farther from Virginia and the people who had turned their backs on her. Solita. Así iba a llegar. She knew how to be careful. She could twist her emotions into the purest notes of fast, hard music and share with other people without them even noticing how much they too had given.

  Ramonita’s snore interrupted the quiet anticipation around Beatriz. Everyone laughed, their bodies loose and open to the delight of release. Tato blurted out the opening lines of his story about the loudest snores he had ever heard, and heads turned toward him, happy to continue this mood. Doña Tomasa intervened, though. Coughing, she asked Beatriz what Iris had said to her mother: “What were that child’s first words?”