How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents (20 page)

and stamp her feet in triumph, lifting her right hand to the crowd. She always had a bad conscience afterwards, but she couldn't help herself. One day soon after they had moved in, La Bruja had stopped her mother and the girls in the lobby and spat out that ugly word the kids at school sometimes used: "Spies! Go back to where you came from!"

As soon as Papi came home from his shift at the hospital, he showered, singing a favorite Island song that made the girls giggle as they slipped on their party dresses. They were already in a giddy mood from an inspired discovery that the Farmings" name sure sounded like the word for a person's bottom they had recently learned in the playground at school. "We're going to eat with the fannies,"

one sister would say to make the others laugh. Papi emerged from the bathroom combing his dark wet curls flat. He looked at the girls and winked. "Your Papi is a dashing man, eh?" He posed in front of the hall mirror, turning this way and that. "A handsome man, your Papi."

The girls indulged him with cries of

"Ay,

Papi." This was the first time in New York that they had seen their father in a lighthearted mood. Mostly he worried about

la situacida

back home. Some uncles were in trouble. Tio Mundo had been jailed, and Tio Fidelio was maybe dead. Papi had not been able to get an American doctor's license-some hitch about his foreign education-and the money was running out. Dr.

Fanning was trying to help out by lining up jobs, but first Papi needed to pass his licensing exam. It had been Dr. Fanning who had arranged the fellowship that had allowed them all to get out of the old country.

And now, the good doctor and his wife had invited the whole family out to an expensive restaurant in the city as a treat. The Farmings knew the Garcias could not afford such a luxury these days. They were such nice people, that was the truth, Mami said, they gave you hope that maybe at the bottom Americans were kind souls.

"But you must behavest" Mami said, going back to the same old Epistle. "You must show them what a nice family you come from."

As Mami and Papi finished dressing, the girls watched, fussing at their tights, an uncomfortable new article of clothing. These things bunched at the ankles and sagged at the crotch so you always felt as if your pants might be falling down. They made you feel like those bandaged mummies in the museum. If you unwrapped them, Sandi had pondered, misting the glass case with her breath, would they still be dark Egyptians or would their skin have turned pale after such long bondage- like American skin under all these heavy clothes for the winter that was just starting?

Sandi leaned her elbows on the vanity and watched her mother comb her dark hair in the mirror. Tonight Mami was turning back into the beauty she had been back home. Her

face was pale and tragic in the lamplight; her bright eyes shone like amber held up to the light. She wore a black dress with a scoop back and wide shoulders so her long neck had the appearance of a swan gliding on a lake. Around her neck sparkled her good necklace that had real diamonds.

"If things get really bad," Mami sometimes joked grimly, 'Til sell the necklace and earrings Papito gave me." Papi always scowled and told her not to speak such nonsense.

If things ever get that bad, Sandi thought, she would sell her charm bracelet with the windmill that always got caught on her clothing. She would even cut her hair and sell it-a maid back home had told her that girls with good hair could always do that. She had no idea who would buy it. She had not seen hair for sale in the big department stores Mami sometimes took them through on outings "to see this new country."

But Sandi would make the needed sacrifices. Tonight, she thought, with the rich Fannings, she would present herself as the daughter willing to make these sacrifices.

Maybe they would adopt her, and give her an allowance like other American girls got, which Sandi would then pass on to her real family. Provided she could see them periodically, that would not be a bad life, being an only child in a fine, rich, childless American family.

Downstairs, the doorman, Ralph, who had himself come from a country called Ireland as a boy, stood by the opened door and gave each young lady a sweeping bow as she passed by. He always flirted with the girls, calling them the Misses Garcias as if they were rich people's children. Mami often quipped that Ralph probably made more money than Papi on bis fellowship. Thank God their grandfather was helping them out. "Without Papito," Mami confided in her girls, swearing them never to repeat this to their father, "without Papito, we would have to go on welfare." Welfare, they knew, was what people in this country got so they wouldn't turn into beggars like those outside La Catedral back home. It was Papito who paid the rent and bought them their winter clothes and spoiled them once with an outing to Lincoln Center to see the doll-like ballerinas dancing on their toes.

"Will you be needing a taxi tonight, Doc?" Ralph asked their father as he did every time the family came out all dressed up. Usually, Papi said, "No, thank you, Ralph," and the family turned the comer and took a bus. Tonight, though, to Sandi's surprise, her father splurged. "Yes, please, Ralph, a Checker for all my girls." Sandi could not get over how happy her father seemed. She slipped her hand into his, and he gave it a squeeze before he released it. He was not a man to show public affection on foreign soil.

As the taxi sped along, Mami had to repeat the address for the driver because the man could not understand Papi's accent. Sandi realized with a pang one of the things that had been missing in the last few months. It was precisely this kind of special attention paid to them. At home there had always been a chauffeur opening a car door or a gardener tipping his hat and a half dozen maids and nursemaids acting as if the health and well-being of the de la Torre-Garcia children were of wide public concern.

Of course, it was usually the de la Torre boys, not the girls, who came in for special consideration.

Still, as bearers of the de la Torre name, the girls were made to feel important.

The restaurant had a white awning with its name el flamenco in brilliant red letters. A doorman, dressed up as a dignitary with a flaming red band across his white ruffled shirt, opened the car door for them. A carpet on the sidewalk led into the reception foyer, from which they could see into a large room of tables dressed up with white tablecloths and napkins folded to look like bishops" hats.

Silverware and glasses gleamed like ornaments.

Around the occupied tables handsome waiters gathered, their black hair slicked back into bullfighters' little ponytails. They wore cummerbunds and white shirts with ruffles on the chest-beautiful men like the one Sandi would someday marry. Best of all were the rich, familiar smells of garlic and onion and the lilting cadence of Spanish spoken by the dark-eyed waiters, who reminded Sandi of her uncles.

At the entrance to the dining room, the maitre do'

explained that Mrs. Fanning had called to say she and her husband were on their way, to go ahead and sit down and order some drinks. He led them, a procession of six, to a table right next to a platform. He pulled out all their chairs, handed them each an opened menu, then bowed and backed away.

Three waiters descended on the table, filling water glasses, adjusting silverware and plates.

Sandi sat very still and watched their beautiful long fingers fast at work.

"Something to drink, senor?" one of them said, addressing Papi.

"Can I have a Coke?" Fifi piped up, but then backed down when her mother and her sisters eyed her.

"I'll have chocolate milk."

Their father laughed good-naturedly, aware of the waiting waiter. "I don't think they have chocolate milk.

Cokes is fine for tonight. Right, Mami?"

Mami rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. She was too beautiful tonight to be their mother and to impose the old rules. "Have you noticedst" she whispered to Papi when the waiter had left with the drink orders. The girls drew in to hear. Mami was the leader now that they lived in the States.

She

had gone to school in the States.

She

spoke English without a heavy accent. "Look at the menu. Notice how there aren't any prices? I bet a Coke here is a couple of dollars."

Sandi's mouth dropped open. "A couple of dollars!"

Her mother hushed her with an angry look. "Don't embarrass us, please, Sandi!" she said, and then laughed when Papi reminded her that Spanish was not a secret language in this place.

"Ay,

Mami." He covered her hand briefly with his.

"This is a special night. I want us to have a good time. We need a celebration."

"I suppose," Mami said, sighing. "And the Fannings are paying."

Papi's face tightened.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Mami reminded him. "When they were our guests back home, we treated them like royalty."

That was true. Sandi remembered when the famous Doctor Fanning and his wife had come down to instruct the country's leading doctors on new procedures for heart surgery. The tall, slender man and his goofy wife had been guests in the family

compound. There had been many barbecues with the driveway lined with cars and a troop of chauffeurs under the palm trees exchanging news and gossip.

When the drinks arrived, Papi made a funny toast, in Spanish and loud enough for the waiters"

benefit, but they were all too professional, and if they did overhear, no one chuckled. Just as they all lifted their glasses, Mami leaned into the table.

"They're here." Sandi turned to see the maitre do'

heading in their direction with a tall, dressed-up woman, and behind her, a towering, preoccupied-looking man. It took a moment to register that these were the same human beings who had loitered around the pool back on the Island, looking silly in sunglasses and sunhats, noses smeared with suntan cream, and speaking a grossly inadequate Spanish to the maids.

A flutter of hellos and apologies ensued. Papi stood up, and Sandi, not knowing what manners were called for, stood up too, and was eyed by her mother to sit back down. The doctor and his wife lingered over each girl, "trying to get them straight," and remembering how each one had been only this tall when last they had seen them. "What little beauties!" Dr. Fanning teased. "Carlos, you've got quite a harem here!" The four girls watched their father's naughty smile tilt on his face.

For the first few minutes the adults exchanged news. Dr. Fanning told how he had spoken with a friend who was the manager of an important hotel that needed a house doctor. The job was a piece of cake, Dr. Fanning explained, mostly keeping rich widows in Valium, but heck, the pay was good.

Sandi's father looked down at his plate, grateful, but also embarrassed to be in such straits and to be so beholden.

The Farmings' drinks arrived. Mrs. Fanning drank hers down in several greedy swallows, then ordered another. She had been quiet during the flurry of arrival, but now she gushed questions, raising her eyebrows and pulling long faces when Mrs.

Garcia explained that they had not been able to get any news from the family ever since the news blackout two weeks back.

Sandi studied the woman carefully. Why had Dr. Fanning, who was tall and somewhat handsome, married this plain, bucktoothed woman? Maybe she came from a good family, which back home was the reason men married plain, buck-toothed women.

Maybe Mrs. Fanning came with all the jewelry she had on, and Dr. Fanning had been attracted by its glittering the way little fishes are if you wrap tinfoil on a string and dangle it in the shallows.

Dr. Fanning opened his menu. "What would everyone like? Girls?" This was the moment they had been so carefully prepared for. Mami would order for them-they were not to be so rude or forward as to volunteer a special like or dislike. Besides, as Sandi tried reading the menu, with the help of her index finger, sounding out syllables, she did not recognize the names of dishes listed.

Her mother explained to Dr. Fanning that she would order two

pastelones

for the girls to share.

"Oh, but the seafood here is so good," the doctor pleaded, looking at her from above his glasses, which had slipped down on his nose like a schoolteacher's. "How about some paella, girls, or

camaiones a la vinagietal"

"They don't eat shrimpst" their mother said, and Sandi was grateful to her for defending them from this dreaded, wormy

food. On the other hand, Sandi would have been glad to order something different and all to herself. But she remembered her mother's warnings.

"Mami," Fifl whispered, "what's pastolonel"

"Pasteldn,

Cuca." Mami explained it was a casserole like Chucha used to make back home with rice and ground beef. "It's very good. I know you girls will like it."

Then she gave them a pointed look they understood to mean, they must like it.

"Yes," they said nicely when Dr. Fanning asked if

pasteldn

was indeed what they wanted.

"Yes, what?" Mami coached.

"Yes, thank you," they chorused. The doctor laughed, then winked knowingly at them.

Their orders in and fresh drinks on the table, the grown-ups fell into the steady drone of adult conversation. Now and again the changed cadence of a story coming through made Sandi lean forward and listen.

Otherwise, she sat quietly, playing with sugar packets until her mother made her stop. She watched the different tables around theirs. All the other guests were white and spoke in low, unexcited voices. Americans, for sure. They could have eaten anywhere, Sandi thought, and yet they had come to a Spanish

place for dinner. La Bruja was wrong. Spanish was something other people paid to be around.

Her eye fell on a young waiter whose job seemed to be to pour water into the goblets at each table when they ran low. Every time she caught his eye, she would glance away embarrassed, but with boredom she grew bolder. She commenced a little flirtation; he smiled, and each time she smiled back, he approached with his silver pitcher to refill her water glass. Her mother noticed and said in coded scolding,