Firefly Summer (7 page)

“You must be Ramón,” she said. “I would have known you anywhere, so good has Teresa described you.”

“You better hold on tight to my arm. This hill is very slippery,” Ramón said.

Lucio and Don Rodrigo followed. “We had given you up completely,” said Don Rodrigo, “except, of course, Teresa. I don't think she doubted for a minute that you would get here. She has watched the road all morning and afternoon.”

“Welcome! Welcome!” said the family when they reached the house.

Grandmother took one look at their shoes, heavy with mud, and brought wet newspapers to wipe them off.

Teresa was discouraged to hear Mercedes had not seen the road children nor visited the country store. When Filimón brought the trunk, she took Mercedes along to show her the room. They passed the dining room and entered the neck.

“There is the conch shell,” cried Mercedes. “Are we on the other part of the house already?”

“Yes,” said Teresa. “There is Grandmother's room over there. Mine is the one across, and this one is to be yours.”

She stepped aside to let Filimón set the trunk down.

“How do you like it?” she asked when Filimón had gone.

“It's the smallest room I have ever seen. It looks like a room in a large doll's house.”

Mercedes examined the closet with the blue pegs and the cabinet under the window.

“I like this closet,” she said. “All I have to do is roll off the curtain instead of having to open and close doors. Oh, Teresa, I do like the room, and you have done so much to make it look pretty.”

Teresa was pleased. “I hope you will like the
finca
just as well. Then you will come every summer to stay with us. This will always be your room.”

“Do you want to unpack your trunk now?” she asked. “I can help you put the things away?”

Mercedes took out the key to her trunk, opened the trunk and began to sort the things that were to go into the drawers and those she wanted hung in the closet.

“May I help, too?” someone said at the door.

“Why, Sixta, when did you come home?” Teresa pulled her friend in and introduced her to Mercedes.

“I came home last night.
Mamá
told me about Mercedes' visit. So today when I saw the coach pass by, I decided to come and see her. I'm glad you came to the
finca
, Mercedes. Teresa has spoken of you all summer long.”

Mercedes had not expected to find Sixta such a grown-up person. She thought she looked older than her nineteen years. Perhaps it was because, as Teresa had said, she had worked so hard in order to be able to go to school.

Sixta was laughing now, telling Teresa about some of her experiences at school, and Mercedes noticed how her face had changed. Why, she was no more the serious girl she had seemed a minute earlier. She had turned into an excited schoolgirl, with a radiant face and a warm look in her eyes. Mercedes liked her open frankness. It would be easy to be friends with a girl like her, despite her being older. No wonder Teresa liked her so much.

“Would you like to hang up my dresses, Sixta?” she asked her. “Teresa and I can start to put these things away in the cabinet.”

They talked back and forth as they worked, telling Mercedes little tales about the
finca
and assuring her that the sun did shine most of the time, regardless of the two days of rain they had had.

Leal's barking and Antonio's shouts brought Teresa to the door. Antonio was running through the neck, followed by Leal barking at his heels and Filo walking slowly at a respectable distance.

“Don't bring them here, Antonio,” cried Teresa.

But the three had come to stay. Leal nosed Mercedes while Filo purred and meowed softly on the
other side of the bed. Mercedes and Sixta took turns sharing Leal's affection as he jumped and frolicked about the room. Filo's meowing grew louder and louder.

“They are jealous of each other,” explained Teresa. “If you pet one, you must pet the other.”

“Here, here, Filo,” said the girls, rubbing Filo's gray fur. The cat arched her back and stiffened her tail until it looked like a mast.

Mercedes sat on one of the stools and took her onto her lap, where she settled contentedly.

“Now you have met everyone in the family,” said Doña Anita, coming into the room, “even Antonio, but I advise you to keep these two pets out of here if you want to save your grass mat. There won't be a piece of it left. Now follow me. Lucía has dinner ready.”

Sixta tried to get out of it by suggesting they remain to finish putting Mercedes' things away, but neither Teresa nor her mother would hear of it. So Sixta followed them to the dining room.

As soon as they sat down to dinner, Lucio began to talk about his trip. “If I can get enough land,” he said, “and enough tobacco planters interested in my plan, you will see the first association of tobacco planters and manufacturers on the island. You ought to consider it seriously, Rodrigo. It's men like you that I am after.”

“It sounds interesting,” he said. “I would like to give it some thought.”

The family was carried away with Lucio's project, and Sixta thought it would benefit the island as a whole.

Teresa thought she had heard enough, so she motioned to Mercedes to follow her. They returned to their work. Teresa knew that Lucio's topic of conversation would be the subject for hours and hours.

Once back at the room, they set to work once more. Mercedes took out a box from the bottom of the trunk.

“Here's cousin Flora's gift. Where shall I put it, Teresa?”

“What is it?” asked Teresa.

Mercedes took the lid off to show the contents of the box. Inside was a pin and needle cushion, plus a series of cardboard sections with pins, spools of threads, buttons, safety pins, rolls of narrow ribbon and two tiny sachets.

“Where did cousin Flora think you were going, to a desert?” said Teresa, impressed with the fitted box.

Mercedes laughed. “You don't know my cousin. She has even given me a pair of white shoes. Imagine! White shoes for a
finca
!”

“Better put this box on top of the cabinet. I hate to think of the work we'll have to do if we drop it and upset its contents.”

“What did my teacher say when you brought her my letter, Mercedes?”

“Oh,” she said, “you must have known about the Feast of the Cross all the time. That was why you had worked as you did to make the list of exemptions and get home on time.”

“She said that? Well, that was as good a reason as any, but that really was not true. It just happened that Grandmother's letter arrived at the same time the list went up.”

“I wish you had been here for the feast. I made the
capias
this summer. Every night the altar was prettier and prettier, and on the last night, do you know what happened?”

“What?” Mercedes asked, putting her comb and brush on the cabinet and then settling on a stool.

“Mother gave three
capias
: one to Ramón, one to Antonio and one to me!”

“
Capias
for children? I never heard of that before,” said Mercedes.

“Neither did the workers, nor we, for that matter. Anyhow, we did have fun fixing the altar and composing the carols. The surprise of the evening was Father. He brought three musicians and suggested that the peasants dance.”

“And did they?”

“Of course, and sang all kinds of songs, besides.”

“How I wish you could come and see the feast sometime. Perhaps next year. You're going into the
seventh grade and can try for the exemption list. I have to try for the eighth grade one, too, if I want to get here in time again. Next time my teacher will be right.”

“
Ay
,” said Mercedes, “that will mean working twice as hard for one.”

They had not realized that the sound of the rain on the roof had stopped and that the room had become dim, so absorbed had they been in their talk. When they rejoined the family, the gas lamps were already lit. Ramón, Don Rodrigo and Lucio were busy with a catalog while Sixta, Doña Anita and Grandmother were examining a new crochet pattern. The night had turned cool after the rain, and Grandmother had wrapped her warm shawl around her shoulders. A ray of light shot through the darkness outside, and thousands of lights began to dance outside the door.

“Fireflies! Fireflies!” cried Mercedes. “I have never seen so many all at once. Let's count them.”

“You can't count fireflies,” said Teresa. “Look, there seems to be twice as many already. Father calls them the magic light of the
finca
.”

Don Rodrigo pushed his chair back and closed the catalog. “Come, Grandmother,” he said, “how about a story? The fireflies have come to welcome Mercedes, and we can't do much less.”

“Yes, yes, Grandmother,” they all begged. “A story, a story.”

Grandmother thought for a while, trying to find a tale suitable for all.

“Do you like mangoes, Mercedes?” she asked.

“I do, especially if they are from Mayagüez,” she answered.

“Then a story about mangoes it shall be. Listen.”

“It was the eve of the Feast of the good St. John. And in a small house in the interior of the island three sisters sat pondering what to do on such a night—a night endowed with all kinds of magic possibilities.”

“‘I am going to cut out an alphabet,' said Tita, who was the eldest, ‘and fold each letter firmly before dropping it into a basin of water. At midnight, I'll find open the letters which spell out the name of my future husband.'

“‘I will prepare the three garlics,' said Nona, the second sister. ‘One whole head for a rich husband, one half for a merchant's son and one fourth for a beggar. At midnight, I shall draw out one and we shall see what we shall see.'

‘I will break an egg in a glass of water,' said Clarita, the youngest sister. ‘At midnight it will have turned into my future.'

“So each sister set to her task, and though they retired early to bed, not a wink did they sleep all night. When the clock struck twelve, up they rose and ran to see what the future held for them.

“Of Tita's alphabet, four letters had opened. She put them quickly together. They spelled out ‘
Bobo
.' Now, she knew that a
bobo
was nothing but a simpleton. Thinking that her future foretold her marriage to a simpleton, she began to cry.

“‘I won't marry a simpleton. I won't, I won't,' she said and went back to bed to cry herself to sleep.

“Nona searched for her garlics in the small box where she had carefully set them aside. Closing her eyes she drew one out.

“‘A half garlic,' she proclaimed joyously. ‘That suits me well.'

“Clarita brought out her glass to the light. Lo and behold! The yolk of the egg had turned burnt orange in color and had adhered to one side of the glass while the white part had taken the shape of a miniature boat with tiny masts as fine as threads.

“‘I am going away from home,' she said softly. ‘This boat is sailing away at the setting of the sun.' She replaced the glass carefully on the table and sat looking at the tiny boat.

“‘Where shall you take me, little boat, and who shall the captain be?' she asked almost in a whisper. Finally, she went back to bed and soon fell asleep.

“Time passed, but the sisters did not forget the fortunes foretold that night. One day they heard that on a faraway hill on the other side of the mountain was a grove where a strange fruit grew. Eager to see for themselves, they started one morning in
search of it. On and on they walked past valleys and mountains, and though the rays of the hot sun beat upon them and their feet grew tired, they did not stop until they had come to the most beautiful hill they had ever seen. There were rare flowers everywhere, and in the center of the hill was a circle of trees whose branches were laden heavy with a large fruit. Some of them were still green, others rich golden yellow, while others were partly green and partly red as a rose. Some of the ripe fruit had dropped from the tree and had scattered on the grass.

“‘If we could only have trees like these on our hill,' said the sisters. They picked some of the fruit off the grass and began to eat it. They had never tasted fruit like that before, nor was its taste similar to any other fruit they knew. Even the seed they found inside was rare: large, with fibers long and fine as hair.

“‘Let us carry some of this fruit home,' said Clarita. ‘We can plant these seeds on our hill and care for them so that they might take root.'

“She took off her apron and began to fill it with fruit. Suddenly, they heard voices. Coming towards them were three young men.

“‘Oh!' cried Clarita, dropping the apron and spilling the fruit about her feet.

“‘Who are you?' asked the young men, surprised to see strangers in their grove.

“‘We are sisters,' said Tita, ‘we live by the side of the mountain. News of the rare fruit that grows here reached us, and we came to see for ourselves.'

“‘Hour after hour we have walked to reach this hill,' said Nona. ‘Our trip was well rewarded. This is the most beautiful hill we have ever seen. But who are you?'

“‘We, too, are brothers,' said the young men, ‘and we live on this hill. These are mangoes, the most precious fruit that grows in our land.'

“They noticed the apron on the ground and the fruit scattered about it. ‘If it's fruit you want,' said one of the brothers, ‘pick all you can carry. The crop is abundant and often goes to waste.' Then without another word, the three brothers continued on their way.

“Each of the sisters took off their aprons, filled them with fruit and they, too, went away.

“As time went on, the three brothers spoke of nothing else but the three sisters from across the mountain. The three sisters in turn paused often in their housework to discuss the three brothers from up the hill.