Every Friday afternoon I would go to Señora
Muñoz's house and transcribe a letter for her.
La Señora Muñoz lives in my old building on
the second floor, just high enough so she can
sit like some old Trujillo spy perched at the
window, la mariposa fantasma marking the coming
of new visitors.
I yelled into the busted buzzer, Hola, es
Sonya.
The door kind of hums open. Señora Muñoz greets
me at the door with her normal song of locks.
Fake and real. Those for protection and those
for deterrence.
¡Mira que guapa esta'!
Yes, since I was five she has greeted me the
same way. How am I to respond?
Gracias, gracias.
Pue' no te quede' en el pasillo. Pasa hija,
pasa. Siéntate. ¿Quieres algo? ¿Café? ¿Soda?
¿Té?
No, gracias.
Pero, ¿no va' a tomal nada? Etamos metida'
aquí por un rato, ¿Okey? Toma algo.
I give in.
OK. Un vaso de agua.
¿Agua?
I looked around her living room. Nothing had
been moved. Not since…well since…it's always
been. The saints had been fruitful and had multiplied.
Eight more Santas de Guadalupe. La Virgen had
nine more Niños Jesus. It was practically an
Old Testament genealogy.
¡Qué linda la camisa esa!
Gracias. Usted es muy amable.
A ti. Gracias por venil ayudar a una vieja.
De nada. De nada.
But I lied. It took a lot to walk back here,
I almost say in English. She wouldn't understand
anyway. I grab a pad and a pen from my backpack.
Pue' empezamo'.
Cuando Usted quiera.
Bueno, pue' primero: Ola mijo…
Hola mi hijo…
Pue' aquí etoy…
Aquí estoy…
En nuestro ogal el mimo dede tu niñe…
En nuestro hogar el mismo desde tu niñez…
She looked at me deeply from her gaze. She
looked upset. Her smile sort of flew off her
face leaving only the hair of her chin as a
reminder.
No sé qué decil. Ya llevo años sin hablal
con él. Sonya lo conoces a él mejol que yo.
What? Álvaro? It's your son.
Pero, ¿qué quiere que le diga? Puede hacer
preguntas también.
Okey, Alvaro, ¿la comía es mala? ¿Está comodo?
¿Tiene champu y éso? Porque te puedo mandal
cualquiel cosa que te falta. ¿Hace frío pal
nolte? ¿Tienes frío donde duelmes? Espero que
no niño. Espero que… niño.
And then she looked down again from her celestial
gaze.
Yo sufro pol él. Yo sufro pol él. ¡Ay mi niño!
¡Ay Dió'!
The tears collected like puddles in her round
eyes. I didn't know what to do. Her chest rumbled,
her breathing became syncopated. Finally, I
just started describing how she looked in English.
"The tears collect like puddles in her round
eyes. Her chest rumbles, her breathing is becoming
syncopated. She cries, "I'm suffering for him.
I'm suffering for him. Oh, my child! Oh, God!
Your mother loves you deeply. I can feel it
from where I am sitting. I too suffer for you."
I started crying. I don't really know why.
My chest began heaving. I hadn't cried in over
a week. Every time I cry I feel as though I'm
sneezing, cultivating my breath, trying not
to let everyone see the water, the salt and
the emotion. It's so awkward. I just kept writing,
trying to act as though we weren't crying on
a cold winter afternoon.
"I too cry for you. We want you to come home…your
mother and I"
Shit, I had work at 6. I reminded myself that
things were normal.
¡Ay niño! ¡Qué mira que guapo es!
She held up a picture of a thug trying to
look sweet, educado, formal y elegante. His
shirt didn't fit right. His massive shoulders
bulged, they didn't stand. One could be sure
he had squeezed into the shirt because it was
an Armani or a Polo, but the only one on sale,
so he bought it. In that face, on that shirt,
was a yearning for a better self, an honesty
so awkward, so foolish.
"You look handsome in your picture your mother
showed me. Bien guapo."
I always do that. I get carried away with
compliments. I mean, for me he is handsome.
The world (99.9%) doesn't need a critic, especially
not with a face like that. He had her eyes that
were still leaking and dripping like the unfixed
shower faucet in my house.
Ete, no te demoro ma', niña. Te dije rápido
y ya hemo' pasao un rato.
No se preocupe Señora Muñoz.
Tranquila, niña. Eres joven y tienes cosas
que hacer. ¿Puede' mandal la calta hoy? Pa'
que me responda ma' rápido.
Claro.
Gracias, niña. Dió' te bendiga.
I had no ending. I finished up the letter
under the stale lights of the building. In the
end I just signed my name.
