“Why’d she do that?” Miguel asks his mother.
“It’s good-luck water,” Mami explains. Tía Lola is something of a sautera. “It’s like a doctor who works with magic instead of medicine.”
“Can I tell the kids in school?” Juanita asks. Her face is full of excitement as if she has just learned she has a relative who came over on the Mayflower.
“Please, Mami, tell her not to,” Miguel pleads. All he needs is for his new classmates to find out he has a nut case for a relative.
Tía Lola unpacks her bright summer dresses and her black hat with a veil. She unpacks a half-dozen pairs of high heels to match all the different colors of her outfits, and a dozen bright panuelos to wrap around her head like a turban when she is working her magic. Her closet looks like a midsummer flower garden.
She unpacks her maracas and tambor to make music in case there is a fiesta. She puts on her castanets and clacks around the room, stomping her feet as if she is throwing a tantrum. Their mother and Juanita join in, acting goofy. “Isn’t she fun?” his mother keeps asking Miguel.
Tía Lola unpacks bags of café and brown sugar, which go up on the kitchen shelves-Her spices— hierbabuena, orégano, anís, hojas de guanábana, ajíes—hang from the rafters-She also brings along her guayo to grate yuca and her burén to shape it into flat, round casave loaves-The guayo looks like an oversized grater and the burén like a large, smooth stone. Tía Lola’s verdura seeds are put in a pot to germinate.
“!Ay, qué bueno!” Miguel’s mother claps her hands. “Well have real Dominican cooking in Vermont! Well have to invite Rudy over”
She is helping Tía Lola drape her mantilla across a window. It looks like a beautiful black spiderweb with a bright red rose pinned at the center. As they work, they dance to one of Tía Lola’s merengues on the stereo. Juanita follows along, moving her hips, one-two, one-two, one-two.
“Isn’t she fun?” their mother keeps asking.
“I guess,” Miguel mutters, and then, because his mother is looking straight at him, he adds, “She’s lots of fun, Mami.”
Miguel has to admit there is one totally fun thing about Tía Lola.
She tells great stories.
None of Tía Lola’s stories sound exactly true, but Miguel doesn’t care. While he listens, he feels as if he isn’t in Vermont at all, but in a magical world where anything can happen. In fact, what is most magical is how, even though in his daily conversations with Tía Lola, Miguel sometimes doesn’t understand Tía Lola’s Spanish, still, when she tells stories, Miguel seems to understand every word.
“Había una vez.…,” Tía Lola begins. Once upon a time…And Miguel feels a secret self, different from his normal everyday self, rising up like steam from a boiling kettle into the air and disappearing inside Tía Lola’s stories.
Every night, Tía Lola gathers Miguel and Juanita in her bedroom. While their mother takes some time to herself or makes phone calls or continues unpacking boxes still stacked in the attic, Tía Lola tells them all about their large and exciting Dominican family.
She tells about their uncle with six fingers who can do anything with his hands, and about their great-grandmother who could read the future from looking at the stains in a coffee cup, and about their cousin who once befriended a aguapa with pastelitoSy little fritters filled with ground meat. As for aguapas, they are beautiful, mysterious creatures who come out at night, but no one can ever catch them. They have a special secret. The aguapas’ feet are on backward, so they leave footprints in the opposite direction of where they are going!
The next weekend, since he has no friends here and nothing better to do, Miguel tries out that trick in the snow. The footprints look haywire and messy, like someone stumbling around. But they do not look like ciguapa footprints.
One afternoon, two of Miguel’s classmates show up at the front door. In the car, the mother of one of the boys waits, peering up at the old, gabled house. The boys are collecting money for the town’s Little League team. Come spring, they will need equipment and uniforms.
“Wow!” Miguel says, “I’d really like to be on that team,”
“You should try out,” one of the boys says. The taller one’s name is Dean, He has bright blue eyes that Miguel’s father would call ultramarine and a wide grin his mother would call trouble with a capital T.
As the boys stand in the mudroom talking, Tía Lola walks by in her spiked heels and white turban, holding up a plate of smoking embers. She has already cleansed the basement and is on her way upstairs. She wants to cast out any bad spirits and attract good spirits and magical aguapas from the island. The boys’ mouths drop open.
“Wlvwh-who’s that?” the smaller boy, Sam, asks. His fine blond hair stands on end naturally from electricity. But now he looks as if he has just had a terrible fright.
Miguel turns his head and looks, then shrugs as if no one is there. As the boys hurry down the front steps, Miguel hears Dean say, “I bet it was a ghost. My mom says this old house is haunted.”
Miguel shuts the door and leans against it, his face pale as if he has seen a ghost. When he looks up, Tía Lola is looking back at him.
That night, a snowstorm blows in. When Miguel glances out the window the next morning, flakes are still falling in the light by the front porch. Downstairs, Tía Lola is not at breakfast.
“Good news,” Juanita says as Miguel sits down. “No school today!”
“I do have to go to work,” their mother reminds them. “I’m so glad Tía Lola is here so I don’t have to worry about you-Where is she anyhow?” Their mother glances up at the clock, “She’s usually up at this hour. She seemed a little sad last night,”
“She wouldn’t tell us a story,” Miguel admits.
“Did you hurt her feelings?” Since she is a psychologist, their mother always guesses everything that happens has to do with people’s feelings.
“How could I hurt her feelings?” Miguel says, trying not to sound annoyed at his mother. Her feelings are awfully sensitive these days, “I don’t know enough Spanish to hurt Tía Lola’s feelings,”
“Tía Lola is a special person,” Miguel’s mother observes, “She can tell the secret feelings in a person’s heart,” Miguel’s mother gives him a look as if she can tell what is in his heart.
The truth is Miguel has mixed feelings about having Tía Lola around. She is fun, but he sure doesn’t think having her here will improve his chances of making new friends. Why can’t Tía Lola act more like his teacher, Mrs, Prouty, who speaks without moving her jaw and is so proper that she says, “Pardon me” before she sneezes-Or like farmer Becky, their shy next-door neighbor, who dresses in a white pullover sweater as if she wants to blend in with the sheep she shears and tends. Or even like their mother’s new friend, Stargazer, who, although she wears fanciful, long skirts and dangly earrings, speaks in a soft voice in order not to stir up negative energies.
“You have to love people for who they are,” his mother is saying, “then they will become all they can be,”
That sounds like a riddle, but it makes sense. When Miguel first started playing baseball, Papi would always say, “Great swing, Miguel,” or “Nice try,” even when Miguel missed the ball. Over time, his playing actually got better because of Papi’s encouragement.
“Remember,” his mother continues, “Tía Lola might be a little homesick. She needs to feel really welcomed,”
Miguel looks down at his cereal. Today he has gotten the blue bowl. He is sorry that he has made Tía Lola feel unwelcomed. He knows what that feels like. At school, an older kid in his class named Mort has nicknamed him Gooseman, because that’s what Miguel’s last name, Guzman, sounds like in English. Now other kids are calling out, “Quack, quack!” whenever they pass him in the hall. Maybe they are trying to be funny, but it makes him feel embarrassed and unwelcomed.
“What’s the word for welcome in Spanish?” Miguel asks his mother
“Bienvenido for a man, bienvenida for a woman.” His m
other spells out the words. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve got a great idea. Nita, I’ll need your help.”
Juanita nods. She loves to be included in her brother’s Great Ideas. She doesn’t even have to know what they are ahead of time.
The snow is deep, almost to his knees. Miguel trudges down to the back field, keeping close to the fence line. The sun has broken through the clouds. All around him, the field is fresh and unspoiled by footprints and sparkling with diamonds of light.
He starts by walking in a straight line, kicking the snow to either side. Then he walks in a half circle, out and back to the straight line, and then out and back again. Every step of the way, he has to imagine what each mark will look like from the house.
He thinks of his father in New York. Although he works setting up department store windows at night, Papi’s real love is painting. Today, Miguel feels the closest he has felt to his father since his mother and Juanita and he moved to Vermont. He is an artist like his father, but working on a larger canvas. He is trying to create something that will have the same result: making somebody happy.
At one point, he glances up, and he thinks he sees his little sister waving. It is her job to keep Tía Lola from looking out the windows.
The sun is right above his head when Miguel is done.
Inside, the house smells of something delicious baking in the oven. Tía Lola has prepared a special pizza with lots of cheese and black beans and salchichón, a tasty sausage that she has brought from the island.
“Pizza dominicana,” Tía Lola calls it. “Buen provecho “ she adds. It is what she always says before they eat. Their mom has told them it is sort of like wishing somebody a happy meal.
“Tía Lola’s got to teach Rudy how to make this,” Miguel says to his sister as Tía Lola serves him a third slice-“Pizza Tía Lola,” he renames it in honor of his aunt.
When they have finished eating, Miguel announces there is a surprise for his aunt in the back field.
“¿Para mí?” Tía Lola says, pointing to herself
Miguel can see the color coming back into her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. The beauty mark that was above her upper lip on the right side is now on the left side. Tía Lola tends to forget little things like that. It winks like a star.
Miguel leads the way up the stairs to the landing. They line up at the big picture window and look out at the snowy fields where large letters spell out !Bienvenida, Tía Lola!
Tía Lola claps her hands and hugs Miguel.
“Who says I did it?” Miguel asks.
Juanita and Tía Lola look at him, surprised.
Miguel points to the tail on the a of LOLA, Tracks head toward the letters instead of away from them. Maybe the ciguapas have followed Tía Lola to Vermont.
“!Ay, Miguelito!” Tía Lola kisses and hugs him all over again. “Tu eres tan divertido.”
“You’re fun, too,” Miguel says. This time he means it-
Chapter Three
Top-Secret
At school, Miguel starts hanging out with Dean and Sam at recess-Almost every day, they practice pitching and catching in the gym, Miguel wants to be ready for spring tryouts for the town’s Little League baseball team.
Dean and Sam have never brought up the incident with the ghost in the white turban. But Miguel has noticed they are none too eager to come over to his house after school or during weekends, which is just as well. How can he explain Tía Lola to them?
Once, as they are dressing for gym, Dean asks Miguel if living in the old Charlebois house is, like, well, maybe a little spooky? “At night,” he adds, as if he doesn’t want to be thought a scaredy-cat for asking.
“What do you mean?” Miguel stalls for time.
“He means, like, are there ghosts there?” Sam asks.
“Funny things happen,” Miguel admits, trying to keep his fingers crossed as he puts on his sweat socks. “But IVe learned not to pay attention to them.”
Dean and Sam nod solemnly. Miguel can see a new respect in their eyes. They think he is brave for living in a haunted house with a real ghost. They don’t know how real she is, Miguel thinks to himself.
This is how Tía Lola becomes top-secret.
It is hard to believe Tía Lola can be kept a secret. She is full of life. She is full of laughter. She is full of stories. And she is full of noise.
Some nights after supper, Tía Lola gives Juanita and Mami dance lessons. They move across the living room, stomping their feet and snapping their fingers, or shaking maracas and swaying their hips to the music of Fernandito Villalona and Juan Luís Guerra and Rafael Solano.
“If only Tía Lola could stay…,” Mami says wistfully as she sits on Miguel’s bed one night.
Under his blankets, Miguel crosses his fingers. “You said it was just a visit,” he reminds his mother-How can Tía Lola stay? She is not willing to learn English.
“Just learn a little bit,” Juanita tries to convince her, “Un poquito, Tía Lola.”
“¿Por qué?” Tía Lola asks. There is no reason for it. She is just here for a visit. She can get along just fine without English.
“But nobody around here speaks Spanish,” Juanita reminds her.
“!Qué pena!” Tía Lola is shaking her head. What a pity! If the Americans are so smart, how come they haven’t figured out that Spanish is easier than English? she wonders.
Miguel rolls his eyes, “Easier for whom?” he mutters.
“¿Qué dice?” Tía Lola wants to know what Miguel has said.
“Nada, nada,” Miguel replies. After all, he doesn’t really want to hurt his aunt’s feelings again. Besides, as long as Tía Lola doesn’t know English, she won’t venture out on her own. She can be kept a secret.
* * *
There is only one problem with a top-secret aunt.
A big-mouthed little sister in the second grade.
“I need to talk to you, Nita,” Miguel tells his little sister one day after school He always uses her nickname when he wants a favor from her. He has come into her bedroom and closed the door. He puts on his serious older-brother face, and speaks in a quiet, concerned voice. “Tía Lola might be sent back unless we’re very careful.”
Juanita’s mouth drops open. “But who’ll take care of me during the day till Mami comes homer
Miguel grins. “I will.”
Juanita looks worried. “Why would Tía Lola have to go back? She’s part of our family.” Juanita’s bottom lip quivers. For a moment, Miguel is not sure he can go through with it.
“She’s been here one whole month. People are only allowed to visit for twenty-one days.”
“Let’s tell Mami,” Juanita says, jumping up out of her bed.
“Are you crazy?” Miguel says, yanking her back by the arm. “You know how worried and sad Mami was before Tía Lola came? You want her to start worrying again?”
Juanita shakes her head no.
“We’ve just got to keep Tía Lola top-secret. You can’t mention her in school, okay?”
Juanita nods slowly.
“If our friends come to the door, tell her to hide,”
Juanita starts to nod, but suddenly her mouth drops open. She claps a hand over it.
“What?” Miguel wants to know. “You better tell me,” he pleads with his sister. “Or else!”
“I can’t,” his sister says. “It’s a secret.” And before Miguel can catch her to sit on her and make her tell, Juanita runs out of her room and down the stairs.
Soon there is a second problem with a top-secret aunt.
Rudy begins his Spanish lessons.
Mondays, when his restaurant is closed, Rudy drives over in his old red pickup. “Almost as old as me,” he likes to joke, patting it, as if the pickup were a barn animal. Rudy is tall and big-shouldered, with rumpled gray hair and thick eyebrows and red cheeks-He looks like someone who has lived in the Old West, but has retired to modern times in Vermont-When his wife died five years ago, he opened up a restaurant-“I l
ove eating, but I hate eating alone,” he tells his diners-He is always giving discounts and coming out of the kitchen in a white apron, holding a big pot of something he has just “invented” for everyone to try out-
The first night he steps into the Guzman house, he smells the mouth-watering odors wafting from the kitchen-“Wow!” he says-“Smells like heaven in here-”
Tía Lola comes into the room bearing a tray of pastelitos. She is wearing her palm-tree dress and a pink flower in her hair-“Looks like heaven!” Rudy adds, reaching for one of the fried, spiced treats she is offering him-Rudy is not shy-He eats seven of them-
From that moment on, the Spanish lessons turn into cooking lessons followed by a cup of espresso and a merengue dance lesson to top off the evening-Sometimes, Tía Lola throws in a little Spanish vocabulary between servings of whatever she has made that night-
“Arroz con habichuelas,” Tía Lola pronounces. That is the name of the rice and beans she is piling on Rudy’s plate. “Con un poquito de bacalao.” With a little codfish.
“Sweetheart, honey,” Rudy says, between mouthfuls, “I don’t care what it’s called. This is magnificatl” Rudy was an altar boy when he was Miguel’s age, and Mami says that sometimes Rudy’s Spanish sounds a lot like Latin. “Lola, I just love your cooking! Adoremus! Adoremus!”
“He’s not learning much Spanish,” Mami complains one night after Rudy has left.
“¿Qué importa?” Tía Lola says. What does it matter? Monday nights prove her point. You don’t have to speak the same language to have fun with other people.
Some nights, when the dance lesson begins, Rudy pulls Miguel to his feet from the table. “Venzte, venite” he urges in his mangled Spanish. Miguel doesn’t dare refuse. He has found out from Dean and Sam that, in addition to running a restaurant, Rudy is the coach for the Little League team. By the time practice begins, when Rudy might say something to Miguel’s friends about his top-secret aunt, Tía Lola will hopefully be gone.
How Tia Lola Came to (Visit) Stay How Tia Lola Came to (Visit) Stay Page 2
