"Ya, Señora, I am quite full, truly!" I pushed away the plate, laughing.
Yes, for once in my life those words were true! I could not have eaten another piece of yucca frita or another helping of arroz con frijoles as appetizing they were; my stomach felt rounded with many helpings and I was warmed and slightly drowse from so much food.
"I, however, could never say no to more!" Señor Núñez, a portly, good-natured gentleman chuckled, taking the plate from his wife and piling plantains onto his plate.
I could feel myself glowing from happiness, full and content, and my lips ached from too much laughter. Bernardo's family was perfect, and I had never seen Papá more pleased. I suppose he was just as rejuvenated from a full meal as I was!
"I have to say, Señorita Torres, Nardo has told us a great deal about you but you have exceeded all expectations," Señora Núñez remarked good-naturedly as she stood and began to gather the empty, dirty plates.
"Well, if I know my Anita, and I do," Papá interjected, "she usually does the unexpected."
I stood, smiling, and helped Señora gather the plates. What had I done to impress her, to 'exceed all expectations'? I am glad, at least, that I do not have to try to impress them—they see me as I truly am and are pleased. María, Nardo's little sister with large, soft brown eyes, appears at my side.
"Nardo says you like music," she blurted bashfully. I am told that she is fourteen—still of an age where one has to work up the courage to speak to those they admire. Gathering the plates in an arm, I turned to the girl, admiring the simple beauty of her white dress.
"I do love music, querida, especially to dance to! Does your papi let you go to dances?" I smiled knowingly.
She shook her head quickly.
"Would you like me to play some records?" she asked, finally reaching the goal of her conversation.
"Por favor."
She ran off and I continued to gather the silverware and cups. Nardo hands me his and we exchange a smile—secretly savoring the sweetness of success of our families meeting joyfully. Truly, we were like a family that had known each other through blood and years at the peace we shared.
I followed Señora Núñez into the kitchen where she began to wash the dishes in her small sink, while at the same time making café over the amazing blue-flame of her new stove and chatting with me, weaving her own questions in with personal conversation. Studying her frail, thin form, I could clearly see Bernardo—his quick wit, his easy smile. A thick warmth filled the kitchen as I dried the plates and the rich smell of café signaled its readiness. Pouring the mahogany liquid into small shots, we two women took them into the dining room, passing them around.
Distantly, María's record player began to play an easy mambo—the beat of the clave and drums mingling with the scent of café as Señor Núñez held up his tiny cup.
"A brindis, a toast!" he smiled, looking around the table from his son, wife, and daughter, to my father and me. "To freedom!"
"To América!" Bernardo added before we clinked our cups together and drank the strong liquid swiftly. I attempted to savor its potent taste as the others bolted it quickly—I noticed Papá also took his time with his café—we both knew it would be some time before we would have it in our house again.
América—that word again! The land far away and distant, yet unbelievably close. What would it be like to live there? And what was this nieve, snow, Papá had mentioned before? Truly, it was a land of mystery.
"You have heard of what they're saying on the streets then?" Señor Núñez asked. Already, from the short time I had known him I could tell that the businessman with a chain of shops was thrilled by politics.
"I am not sure what you mean, señor," I responded politely, though I had good reason to believe it had to do with the país misterioso, the mysterious country. I recalled Bernardo's strange comment from our first date:
One day, I'm going to get us out of here.
What did he mean?
"As you know, our own Borinquen is a commonwealth of América," Señor Núñez interrupted my thoughts, his eyes shining with fervor. "But, before now, that gave us very little advantages."
"Hundreds of our people are immigrating to that land," Bernardo continued, voice light with the same excitement. "They speak of an opportunity like no other! Here, times are difficult…we work hard and earn nothing…but in América? Equal opportunity for all."
What did he know of nothing? I thought angrily suddenly. His family ate with plenty, slept in different rooms, and had running water. It was we, my father and I, that truly had nothing at all. Still, my resentment was replaced with awe and hunger for this land. If hundreds of people also left for opportunity and have never returned, they must have found it!
"The political and economic situation here does not please me," Señor Núñez said sorrowfully, extending his hand to his wife. Their fingers interwove and my heart began to pound in my chest, sensing a great announcement. "That is why we have decided to leave to América in a year—a city called Nueva York, New York."
"Congratulations," I managed, still not quite sure how this concerned me.
Bernardo mimicked his father by taking my hand as well.
"Papá has chosen to send me first while he sells our shops here in San Juan. I will find lodging for us—our family and friends that will all make this move together. Anita, I would very much like for you to come with me." His dark eyes were pools of hope, his words almost pleading, refusing me to deny him.
"I am sorry mijo," my father whispered. "But there is no humanly way for me to send my daughter—I simply lack the means."
My face flushed with shame. Papá knew that I wanted to go with Bernardo, that I couldn't be parted with him and this great opportunity for freedom. Did Papá also know that I could not leave him behind in Puerto Rico? Once again, I was torn between two worlds.
Señor Núñez held up his hands in peace.
"We understand and respect your situation, Señor Torres," he spoke courteously. "But if you would be so kind, we would like to pay for the passage of you and your daughter."
Papá looked away, never one to accept charity or pity.
Please, Papá, I pleaded with my eyes. Just this once…just this once…
Finally, he looked up again.
"I would be most honored to accept your generosity, Señor Núñez," he spoke, breaking into a smile, the wrinkles in his face creasing easily. "But please allow us to return the favor to you some way…"
"Actually," Bernardo interrupted, looking over at me mischievously, "Anita has mentioned before that she would like to help out at our shop, Papá. She could help us manage the stores until I leave."
"Yes, yes, of course! I will need all the help in the world!" Señor Núñez laughed deeply and richly. "We'll be in América in no time at all!"
I looked around the table, taking in everyone's reactions at the news. Little María looked uncertain, unknowing where this place was. Thankfully, the way it sounded, she would not have to leave Puerto Rico for a few years, giving her time to grow. Señora Núñez had a bittersweet air to her—she seemed a fine and noble lady, perhaps one of a long great ancestry that loved this island. It would be hard to leave for her, it seems.
Bernardo and his father were alike, beaming with no other thoughts but the future. My own father had a strange look about him, almost like sorrow. Why, I wonder, when it has already been agreed that we will go together? Is it…Could it be Mamá? Will he miss this place they shared together? He met my eyes and offered a sorry smile before looking into the bottom of his empty cup.
And what about me, what did I feel about going to América with Bernardo, finding a home and starting a new life? Strangely enough, I felt nothing but hope, a warmth which spread through my entire body calming and exciting me at the same time.
Puerto Rico is my home, my life. But, tal vez, América can be my chance to rise from these ashes of nothing and start anew with my family and my love.
Still, nothing was certain, and a year can be a very long time where many changes are made. However, from that moment the plans of our departure slowly began to form, a force set into motion that could not be reversed—no matter how much anyone wanted it to.
Spanish Translations:
ya: enough
yucca frita: traditional Hispanic dish, a fried yucca root
arroz con frijoles: rice and beans
Borinquen: the name Puerto Ricans use to identify their island, from the ancient language of the Taino Indians
Tal vez: perhaps
To all my readers: Sorry for the extreme delay! As I say on my profile, I lost my muse over the summer, but it is now back to stay, hopefully. Thanks for your patience.
