Authors: Julia Alvarez
Return to Sender (15 page)
This is a quick note because I did not think anyone would be visiting you today. The
patrón's
whole family went to Boston for an aunt's birthday party this weekend.
Papá and Tío Armando were just returning from the morning milking when we heard a car on our driveway. We always get nervous when that happens, especially with the
patrón's
family gone, but it was our Spanish teacher on her way to visit you. She wanted to know if we had any news or letters or packages to send. The sheriff is now allowing you to receive books and clothes as well as letters. They have to be left at the front desk to be checked out first to make sure there is nothing illegal hidden inside a pocket or a hollow book like we saw in a movie.
So while Papá and Tío Armando quickly make up the package that accompanies this letter, I am writing to say that we heard already from the lawyer that your hearing is set for next Friday, January 20th. It might be that you are out in time for Candlemas, after all, and I will get to throw my party!
Speaking of parties: the other letter I am sending along is one the
patrón's
older son
brought over. It's from some girl you met that night you went to the party with him. She heard what happened and she wanted to write you. The
patrón's
older son said this girl also wants to visit you in jail if you will allow it.
When he heard this, Papá just scratched his head and laughed. “There's that lucky- unlucky brother of mine again!” Papá claims that you have always had the worst luck and the best luck, often side by side. “He'll come out of jail with a big fine
and
a girlfriend!”
I have to close as my Spanish teacher says she doesn't want to miss her visiting time slot at the jail. But please let us know if your gringa comes to visit you. Tío Armando says to tell you that he hopes that even if she is American, she is also a hot tamale!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo,
Mari
21 enero 2006
We were disappointed by the news the
patrón's
wife brought us last night. We thought the hearing yesterday would decide things once
and for all. But it turns out that it was just a hearing, like the word says, for the judge to hear the charges. Next Thursday, you are to return to this same judge, who will then sentence you.
The other disappointing news is that the sentence for your offense is usually no less than three and no more than six months, but you have only served a little over a month. Still, the lawyer said the judge might decide to set you free. That would be the lucky part. The unlucky part is that you would then go right into
la migra's
hands!
I know I should not worry you, Tío, but if as Mr. B. said in class, the truth will set you free, then perhaps this truth I am telling should get you out of jail and into México next week.
Abuelota and Abuelote now know that you are in jail. We didn't know how on earth they had found out. But it turns out that Tío Armando had told his wife, and Papá says telling her anything is like broadcasting it on the radio. Abuelota is so worried that you are being tortured and going without food. Papá told her that American prisons are like country clubs compared to the ones in our country. But I've never been to a country club with bars on the windows! In fact, I've never been to a country club at all. I've only seen some on TV. Papá, of course, once worked on the grounds of a fancy
one in Carolina del Norte, which he said hired a lot of Mexicans.
So please, if you can use the phone card we are putting in this envelope, please call poor worried Abuelota and Abuelote and tell them how much you are enjoying your country- club jail with its swimming pool and excellent food and wonderful service provided by Mexicans.
Lots of love and
mucho amor,
Mari
28 enero 2006
We know you have two good reasons to be happy! Your lawyer reported that the judge at your hearing on Thursday said that you had suffered enough, especially being locked up during the holidays with no family to visit you. She would not insist you serve another two months.
Now you are in the hands of Homeland Security and your deportation hearing is next week. I know that this part is not welcome news as it means more waiting without knowing your
fate. But at least the judge asked that the process be “expedited,” which means rushed, so you can get on with your life.
“Are you married, young man?” the judge asked you. “Do you have children?”
You seemed unsure why the judge wanted to know such personal information. But you shook your head and explained that you had been working since you were a boy helping your parents and six sisters and brothers. You hadn't had any time to court a girl, much less marry one and have kids.
“I hope your
tío
didn't tell them about Wilmita,” Papá said. I love it when he makes a joke. Usually, he is so sad and hardly talks at all. “Maybe now in prison, Tío Felipe will have the free time to court this
americana,”
Papá added. Last Saturday, the
patrón's
younger son said their visiting was cut short as another visitor had also signed up to share your hour.
His mother and your lawyer and our Spanish teacher were all very surprised, as they thought they were the only ones you knew in this area besides your family, who can't visit you for reasons I won't go into.
When they came downstairs, they found the second reason you must be very happy. The mystery visitor waiting to go up was an American
girl, about the older son's age, who spent last summer working in an orphanage in México, so she speaks a whole bunch of Spanish.
I asked the
patrón's
younger son what she looked like. He shrugged. “Normal.”
That was no help at all. So I had to go piece by piece: What color is her hair? Is she tall? Short? Is she thin?
But it was hard to fit all his piecemeal answers into a whole picture. Finally, I gave up and just asked, “Is she pretty?”
The son shrugged again and said he didn't know!
But then when the older son came for the weekend to pick up his car that his parents are finally going to let him take back to school, he dropped in for a visit. So Tío Armando asked him if this girl was
bonita.
“Muy, muy bonita,”
the son said. “A real knockout!”
Knockout? I know from the
lucha libre
fights my uncles watch on TV what a knockout is, but it doesn't sound like something you'd want a girlfriend to do to you.
The son was laughing.
“¡Muy, muy caliente!”
Very, very hot?! Knockout?! Why doesn't this older son speak regular English or Spanish? Isn't he supposed to be in college? But my uncle and
Papá seemed to understand because they couldn't stop laughing.
So even if you are deported to México, Tío, this girl already knows her way to México and can visit you in Las Margaritas. It should be a lot more fun than visiting you in jail.
Buena suerte
and good luck,
Mari
4 febrero 2006
Candlemas came and went and I didn't throw my party as you still are not free. Your deportation hearing was yesterday, but it won't be until next week that you will be on your way to México.
Papá says that once we get the call from Las Margaritas that you have arrived, we should invite the
patrón's
family and your lawyer and our Spanish teacher and her gringo and the grandma for a special meal to thank them for all the ways they have helped us during this difficult period.
I know I should be happy that you are finally going home, but it is not very welcome news for my sisters and me.
Without you, who will make us laugh, Tío? And we could sure use your help right now as Papá has made a new rule: only Spanish TV in this house.
It started when Ofie announced that she was not moving to México. This came up when you were caught and Papá was preparing us for the eventuality that we might all be deported.
Papá seemed to be waking up from a long dream that started eight years ago when he and Mamá and I came to this country. His shoulders slumped as if he were carrying a heavy load.
The very next morning, Ofie asked, “Papá,
necesito dinero
for my lunch
porque hoy sirven
grilled cheese sandwiches.”
Papá was on his way out the door to start milking. He stopped in his tracks.
“En español,”
he reminded her. He already knew that Ofie wanted money to buy her lunch instead of taking leftover tortillas and beans. But he wanted her to ask him in Spanish.
Ofie folded her arms and stood her ground. “I'm American. I speak English.”
Papá gave her several slow nods.
“Bueno, americanita, tendràs que comprar tu almuerzo con tu propio dinero.”
“That's not fair,” Ofie cried. “Why should I buy lunch with my own money that I already
spent!” The little American girl had understood every word of Papá's Spanish!
Papá put on his
no comprendo
face that he wears when an American approaches him speaking a mile a minute. He finished zipping up his jacket and walked out the door. That night, when he and Tío Armando returned from the evening milking, he turned the TV to a Spanish channel.
“Se terminó la televisión en inglés,”
he announced. No more English or Spanglish in the house. We had to practice our Spanish.
What an outcry from Ofie! Luby, who always starts crying when someone else does, joined in. Off they both went in a huff to our bedroom. I followed to counsel and comfort them. I guess by now with Papá always telling me I'm the little mother, I have become one.
“I have an idea,” I proposed. “Why don't we all try speaking just Spanish for a few days.”
“But we're American,” Ofie countered.
“Nobody can tell us what to do.” Luby added her two cents she'd borrowed from Ofie.
Not a good start. “You
are
Americans,” I agreed, trying a different tack. “But remember, America is the whole hemisphere, north and south. We are
all-
American!
Raíces méxicanas y flores norteamericanas.”
I made believe I had a bouquet of flowers, with Mexican roots and North American flowers. I took a whiff and
offered them each a little invisible bunch. They giggled.
Finally, they were listening. As you used to say to me, Tío, I would make an excellent lawyer because I know how to move the heart with words—if only I were bolder.
“¿Bueno?”
I asked. “How about it?”
Luby looked over at Ofie, who nodded reluctantly. “Okay,” she agreed.
“You have to say
de acuerdo,”
Luby reminded her.
“I'm not starting till tonight,” Ofie snapped. She always has to have the last word. Maybe
she
should be the lawyer!
So that night we had our first all- Spanish supper in a long time. Only once did Ofie mess up. “Please pass the milk,” she asked Papá.
Papá had picked up the jug, but now held it in the air, waiting for Ofie to correct herself.
“I mean,
por favor, pásame la leche.
“
Papá laughed and passed her the milk. I guess he decided to allow Ofie two words in English!
And, Tío, I think my plan is working. Already, Papá says that this weekend, Ofie and Luby can watch their cartoons in English, provided they switch the channel to Spanish during commercials.
By the way, while we were eating our supper
en español,
the telephone rang. It was the visitor Papá and Tío Armando are already calling your girlfriend. She was calling to tell us that she is going to Chiapas during her spring vacation. If we want to send anything to our family, she will carry it down for us. Right away we asked if she would take your Wilmita. She hesitated until we explained Wilmita was your guitar.
“In that case, sure!” She laughed. “I thought one of you sisters wanted me to sneak you across.”
On Candlemas Day, I asked the grandma about the groundhog, if he had seen his shadow or not. “I'm afraid he did, dear. As they say, if Candlemas is bright and clear, there'll be two winters in the year. So we've got some more winter left.”
I didn't need the groundhog to tell me that. Just the fact that you won't be coming home means that winter will be with us for a long time.
That same night, we lit candles, and Papá and Tío Armando told us how back in Las Margaritas on Candlemas the priest blessed all the seeds for planting in the spring. “It was always a time of looking forward to the promise of the future,” Papá reminded us. “Not anymore,” he muttered bitterly.
But I am looking forward to something in the future: seeing you again, Tío. Until then, I will be
like that groundhog and crawl back into the hole in my heart to sleep out the long and lonesome winter of your absence.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo,
from Luby
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo,
from Ofie
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo,
from me!
