Firefly Summer (10 page)

She opened the rest of the samples. Some were as narrow as the one the girls were doing, others as wide as some of the crochet borders in Grandmother's sheets and pillow cases, and others were scalloped and filled with intricate designs.

“Do you still feel like making your own patterns, Teresa?” asked Sixta as the girls helped her roll up the samples again.

Teresa shook her head. “Not if I have to learn first how to do all of these patterns…but it was rather fun trying to yesterday. Today, I know better…”

Teresa, Ramón and Mercedes were out in the shed when Grandmother came with the long shears to work in her garden. Ramón picked up the pail of water and Teresa the watering can, and all three followed her.

The garden was on the south side of the house. It was a daily chore for Grandmother, taking hours of her time. Every summer Teresa had been her constant helper, but since Mercedes had come, Grandmother had been unable to enlist Teresa's help, for the two girls spent much of their free time walking about the
finca
. It had been Doña Anita who had solved the problem, by suggesting a definite day of the week to devote to the garden. That had saved arguments and time, and had given Grandmother three helpers instead of one.

“Look at those poor plants,” Grandmother said, “What with the caterpillars, lizards and ants, it's a wonder there are any left. Start pulling those
weeds, Teresa. Get Mercedes to help you. Ramón and I must start working on the other side.”

As Grandmother approached a patch of flowering plants, she said, “Who would have thought that these geraniums would live, eh, Ramón? There are lots of new shoots up; I believe they are safe now.” She turned over the earth about the plants.

Ramón tied the stalks of tuberoses which the wind had blown apart. The blooms were partly open, and the pungent scent filled the air. The carnation plants were full of buds. Some were beginning to open, showing their pink, white and deep red petals to the sun.

Grandmother's pride was a bed of pansies. It was a small one, but the plants yielded large saucyfaced pansies, soft and velvety to the touch. Butterflies as varied in hues as the pansies themselves hovered over the bed constantly.

“The sun has dried almost completely the border of
alhabaca
,” said Teresa. “The stalks look like straw.”

“Pick up the leaves then,” said Grandmother. “They are just right to be used in the bay rum bottle.”

Grandmother's bay rum bottle was a household possession. Into it went petals of roses and scented leaves from her garden.

The bottle had many uses. Sometimes it helped relieve Grandmother's aching back or stiff fingers or
Doña Anita's headaches. On extremely hot days, there was nothing more soothing than to mop one's forehead with a handkerchief soaked in the fragrant bay rum. Even Don Rodrigo used it on his face, like an after-shaving lotion, and said he preferred it to the lotions he bought at the drug store.

Close to some of the geranium plants, Ramón noticed a tiny sensitive plant. He touched it and watched the leaves fold up and close.

“Shall I pull it out, Grandmother? What good is a sensitive plant here?”

“No, let the
moriviví
be,” she answered. “It will only grow up again.”

The girls collected the dried leaves of the geranium and added them to the
alhabaca
. When Ramón brought the roses he had cut, they stuffed everything into the empty water can and then sat down to rest. Their backs ached from the stooping position they had been in all morning.

“I think we have done enough for one day,” said Grandmother. “The sun is too hot to do anything else.”

Gladly the girls picked up the watering can and followed her back to the house.

Doña Anita sat examining a fashion magazine and the girls joined her.

“When are we going to buy material for the dresses Sixta is going to make for us?” asked Teresa.

“With all the work lined up ahead of me, I can't tell when I can take you.”

“You really don't have to take them shopping,” said Grandmother. “Ramón is going to town tomorrow. Why not let the girls go along with him?”

Doña Anita hesitated for a minute, but finally agreed.

“Take Antonio along,” Grandmother suggested. “He will never forgive you if you leave him behind.”

The next day, Ramón was the first up and went to give Antonio the news. He shook Antonio's cot, but he did not awaken.

“Antonio,” called his mother, giving the cot a shake that almost sent him to the bare floor. “Ramón is here and waiting for you.”

“Ramón? Ramón?” he murmured half-asleep.

“Hurry up, Antonio,” said Ramón. “We are going to Cayey and you are going with us.”

Antonio sat up.

A trip to Cayey with Ramón, Teresa and Mercedes did not happen every day.

Teresa and Mercedes were waiting when the boys arrived.

Ramón saddled two horses: one for Mercedes and Teresa; the other for Antonio and himself. He put saddlebags on his own, for he had two pairs of heavy boots to bring back from town, besides the things Teresa was to buy.

“Ride along ahead, Ramón,” said Don Rodrigo, “and let Teresa follow you. Stay close to the side of the road and look out for coaches.”

Though it was early, the road was alive with farmers going to market. Some carried their vegetables on their backs, while others rode horses or pushed along large wheelbarrows.

“I can already see town,” said Mercedes when the roofs of the first houses came into view.

“That is not the town,” called back Antonio. “It's only the military headquarters.”

“Wait, Ramón, let Mercedes see them,” said Teresa, riding close to the gate. The American flag was being hoisted and soldiers stood at attention.

“No one ever goes in there,” whispered Antonio, “unless they have a special pass. This is where the soldiers live.”

“We also have soldiers in San Juan,” said Mercedes. “They live in the Morro Castle and in the San Cristóbal Fort. No one goes there either, unless they have a pass.”

“Come now,” said Ramón, “you can look again when we come back.”

As they drew away, tall American mules were brought from the stables. They had warm blankets over their backs. The children rode past the base and then their horses picked up speed. Soon they were crossing the small bridge into town. Ramón
stopped at Martín's blacksmith shop at the entrance of town.

“Martín!” he called.

“
Buenos, buenos
,” said Martín, coming out to greet him. “I see you brought company today.”

Martín was the town blacksmith, loved by all the children of Cayey. His smithy shop was large and busy, yet never too busy to cater to the children who daily came to pick up the flat square slabs used in hopscotch games, but more often to see horses shod or watch the flaming piece of iron turn into shape under Martín's hard beating. During the course of the day, as Martín stood at the door of his shop, he saw many a pair of legs fly after one of the many rusty hoops he had given away.

Martín helped Ramón lead the horses to the stable. Teresa and Mercedes went into the smithy. The walls were lined with old harnesses and bridles; old broken coach wheels were piled in corners. There was a large anvil in the center of the room, and on one side, taking up a large portion of the wall, was the firebed.

“Aren't any horses coming to get shoes?” asked Antonio. “I would like to see it done.”

“You do, eh?” said Martín. “Well, we will have to arrange for that.”

Ramón started them on their way again, but not before Antonio had filled his pockets with flat
slabs. They went up Comercio Street. The stores weren't open yet, so they walked to the public plaza.

“This is the town where father came to the meeting when he left me at the
finca
,” said Mercedes. “I wonder where he stayed?”

“At the Hotel Comercio,” said Ramón. “We are coming to it now. All meetings are always held there.”

When they passed the hotel, the doors were closed. Evidently the guests were still in bed. Even the public square was deserted, except for one or two men sitting on benches.

“I am going to the church,” said Antonio, running across the street. They followed him. Aside from a couple of old women saying their beads, the church, too, was deserted.

The sexton came out and began to refill the candle stands at each side of the railing. They watched him scrape out the old wax. He looked sleepy himself, yet managed to keep an eye on them. He had never seen children in church that early.

“How can he put the candles in the right place when his head is always turned watching us?” asked Mercedes.

The children sat down near the main altar. When the sexton finished placing the last candle, he opened the side door wide. Antonio, who stood near the door, caught sight of a large sign hanging from a
door across the street. He spelled out the letters. “DU-L-C-E-S”…“Candies!” he shouted.

“Hush,” said Teresa.

But Antonio was already out of the church. They followed him to the candy shop. The door was closed and Ramón tried the knob. A bell sounded as the door opened and the children filed into the small shop. The place smelled of molasses, anise and peppermint. On the counter that stretched from side to side were platters filled with coconut, anise and raspberry drops. On a wooden rack were lollipops shaped and colored like farmyard animals.

“What are you doing here so early?” asked a man coming out of the kitchen.

“We are from the
finca
,” said Antonio. “We came early to avoid the sun.”

“A very good reason,” remarked the man, now laughing. “What can I sell you?”

“I want three coconut drops and two peppermint sticks,” said Teresa.

“I want anise drops,” said Mercedes.

“Give me four raspberry ones,” said Ramón.

Antonio moved from one side of the counter to the other, unable to decide what to have.

“Make up your mind, Antonio. You can't buy the entire shop. What would you have?” asked Ramón.

“Lollipops—all kinds,” he said.

Teresa and Ramón let him pick the ones he wanted from the rack and paid the man.

“Wait a second, children,” said the owner, going back to the kitchen. “I have just finished my birds,” he said, putting on the counter a platter filled with the most colorful tiny birds imaginable.

“Oh!” cried the children, eager now to exchange their purchases for the colorful birds.

“I want that green parrot,” said Antonio.

“And, I, that pigeon,” said Mercedes.

The candymaker stood each bird on the counter as the children selected their favorites.

“Why don't you call for yours, too,” he asked Ramón and Teresa. “They are my gifts to you.”

They each took a robin and, thanking the man, left the shop.

When they came back to Comercio Street, the shops were open and the streets were full of people and stray dogs. The street vendors were everywhere calling their wares. “¡
Carbón
! ¡
Carbón
!” called the charcoal vendor. “Tomatoes—red tomatoes,” called the vegetable men. “Buy my peppers and lettuce, señora,” he called. He went from door to door peddling his wares.

The door of the small fruit store on the corner was filled with bunches of bananas hanging from its rafters. Inside, oranges, limes and grapefruits stood alongside mangoes and rich, red bananas. Piled on a large box were plantains, breadfruits, and a variety of tropical roots. Large platters of
achiote
seeds
filled the counter and bags of all kinds of beans rested on the floor.

Soon they reached the department store. It was the biggest store in town and carried better merchandise than any of the others. Antonio and Ramón stood on the sidewalk while the girls did their shopping.

Teresa handed the clerk the list her mother had given her, and the clerk began to look for the things included on it.

“Anything else?” he asked when he had wrapped up buttons, pins, threads, tape and netting.

“Yes,” said Teresa, “we want some material for dresses.”

“Who are the dresses for?” asked the clerk.

“For us, of course,” she answered. The clerk looked at the rolls of cloth on the shelves, selected four and put them on the counter. The girls looked them over.

“I like this one,” said Mercedes, selecting a yellow organdy with embroidered rosebuds.

“I have always wanted to have a blue linen dress,” said Teresa, deciding on a roll of cloth next to her. “We want two yards of each if it is forty-five inches wide or two-and-a-quarter, if it isn't. That's what Grandmother said.”

The clerk nodded and began to measure the material.

“Please make out two separate packages.” said Mercedes. “I would like to carry my own.”

“Here you are,” said the clerk. “Now that will be…”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Teresa, handing him an envelope her father had given her.

“So you are Don Rodrigo's daughter,” he said, looking for his ledger book, where he carefully entered the cost of the purchases.

When they came out Ramón and Antonio were glad to see them. They had waited a long time for them.

“Now for the shoemaker,” said Ramón. They walked to the other side of town where the shoemaker's place was and picked the two pairs of heavy boots he had mended for Don Rodrigo. When they came back to the smithy, Martín was busy shoeing a horse.

“A horse!” cried Antonio, who refused to help Ramón bring the horses from the stable. He stood alongside Martín, watching as the shoemaker cleaned the horse's hoof, drew out the nails and lifted the old shoe. Not until he had seen how the new one was set did he move from the place. When they were ready to go, he pulled out one of his precious lollipops and gave it to Martín.