Firefly Summer (9 page)

“You hungry wolf,” said Ramón. “Haven't you sense to let the small ones come first? Someday, I am going to let you fast. It will be good penance for your greediness. Move…away with you.”

The big sow reared and let out a squeal that frightened Mercedes.

“Look out, Ramón,” she called, running to the gate.

“Don't be afraid,” said Teresa. “She can't harm you.”

“She might bite,” Mercedes insisted, keeping her distance.

“Nonsense,” said Ramón. “Watch me.”

He shoved the sow out of the way without a problem. The rest of the pigs lined up alongside the pen and began to eat.

There was rhythm in the even movement of their heads, the twitching of their stumpy tails and the constant shifting of their hind legs. Only the sow stood still, watching Ramón's movements with her slanted eyes.

“Please give her something to eat, Ramón,” said Antonio. “She needs to eat, too.”

“I saved her share. She'll eat after the small pigs do,” Ramón said emphatically.

“Let her eat with the rest,” said Teresa. “Empty her food in this corner of the pen.”

They emptied the pail while Ramón walked to where the sow stood. “Come on,” he said, patting her back.

The sow grunted and squealed louder than ever, but would not move. He tried to pull her, but she stood her ground.

“Make a noose with that rope in the corner,” said Antonio. “That's what Manolo's father does when his sow won't move.”

Ramón fashioned a noose and threw it over her head, but the noose was too big and the sow wriggled her head out. Once free, she trotted around the pen, followed by Ramón and Antonio. In one of the turns, Ramón seized a hind leg and tried to hold her, but the sow shook herself free, sending Ramón rolling in the mud. Antonio tripped and fell over him. From the corner where they stood, Teresa and
Mercedes shook with laughter, and the small pigs squealed louder and louder.

Ramón and Antonio picked themselves up from the dirt floor.

“Try the noose again,” said Antonio.

“It didn't do much good before,” said Teresa.

“Look out,” shouted Mercedes, “here she comes.”

But the sow was apparently satisfied and walked calmly to the end of the pen. From there she turned to them with almost a triumphant look. Slowly she bent her head and tasted the sweet potatoes the girls had dumped. Her snout wriggled with the excitement of that first taste.

The rest of the pigs that had stopped eating before now reassumed. Soon all tails were again twitching and hind legs were stamping in unison.

“Pick up the pails, Antonio,” said Ramón.

At the sound of his voice, the sow stopped eating and let out another of her squeals.

“
Cielos
,” said Teresa, “let's leave the queen to her castle before she runs us all out.”

When they came out into the open air, the intensity of the heat had reached its height. They walked slowly uphill and went back to the kitchen, where Lucía had lunch ready for them.

As time went on and Mercedes became a part of the household, Teresa's responsibilities about the house lessened, so that the two girls had more time to roam about the
finca
.

Early mornings, they fed chickens, sorted beans and shelled peas. They saw that the ears of dry corn were strung on the rafters in the stockroom. On Saturday mornings they helped tend to the workers who came to do their shopping at the
finca
stockroom, which was a kind of store for them.

The stockroom opened early. Teresa managed the window, taking their orders and entering their account on a ledger book. It was her duty to keep these accounts up to date, for it was from them that her father calculated the workers' weekly salaries.

Ramón and Mercedes wrapped up the groceries, and Antonio took them to the peasants who stood outside the window.

One Saturday morning, after a trip to Cidra, Mercedes overslept. Although Teresa tapped at her
wall on the way down to the stockroom, she did not wake. When she finally showed up, they were almost through with the line of peasants who had come to get their weekly groceries. Mercedes went to the table to help Ramón finish up the last orders.

“You and Antonio deserted us,” said Ramón. “You should have seen us a few minutes ago. We even put Manolo to work. He was just as good as Antonio delivering the packages.”

Mercedes shot a glance at Teresa, who was entering the account of the last worker in the ledger book. This was the first time she had missed helping her, and she promised herself that it would be the last. She brought the last package she had wrapped and gave it to the waiting worker herself.

“I am sorry, Teresa,” she said.

Teresa closed the ledger book and shut the window.

“Let us know in advance when you intend to sleep all morning,” she said, laughing. “I didn't know the air in Cidra would make a door mouse out of you. Grandmother wants to see us. Come along.”

Grandmother was in the shed getting ready to start making bobbin-pin lace.

“You are just in time to help wind the thread around the bobbin pins,” she said, giving each girl her share.

It was easy work and they soon had it done.

They watched Grandmother pin the pattern on the
mundillo
, a stuffed pillow held erect by a flatboard inside. The design on the cardboard pattern was carefully perforated. It had a fine scalloped border of marigolds on the edge. When she had it firmly pinned, she inserted a line of straight pins at the head of the pattern. On these she began to suspend the sixty-four bobbin pins the pattern called for. When she had them all adjusted evenly, she placed the
mundillo
on her lap, propped it against the beam holding the shed and began to work. She passed the bobbin pins over and under, weaving the thread along as she went, into the design represented on the pattern. Whenever she reached one of the perforations, she inserted a straight pin and wove in and out again, drawing the thread firmly about it. Little by little her fingers began to go faster until by the time she reached across the pattern, the sound of the bobbin pins resembled the clicking of castanets.

“Oh, Grandmother,” said Mercedes, fascinated by the apparent ease with which she worked, “do you think I can learn how to make lace like that?”

“Anyone with patience and perseverance can learn. There are enough bobbin pins and patterns in the house which you can have. Teresa might as well learn, too.”

Grandmother had begun to do the first petal of a marigold. Her weaving resembled a fine spider's
web, she was so methodical and accurate, about the petal. When she finished it, she tied a wide band around the
mundillo
to keep the bobbin pins from tangling.

“If you really want to learn, have Ramón help you stuff two
mundillos
. You can start after dinner.”

“Let's try to make our own patterns,” said Teresa, after Grandmother had left. “It will be more fun.”

They found Ramón whittling behind the woodshed and asked him to help them stuff the
mundillos
. When they finished, he brought the
mundillos
to the shed for them.

“Let me have the patterns and I'll pin them up for you,” he said.

“We don't have them yet. We're going to make our own,” Mercedes explained.

“Make your own patterns?” Ramón did not think they could really do them.

“You make designs for the things you carve, so why can't we make patterns for our lace?”

“Because it isn't the same thing. I don't have to figure out how many bobbin pins to a pattern, like you would have to.”

“You are making it sound more difficult than it really is. We will show you when we have them ready,” said Teresa.

First they made a design on a piece of paper. Teresa made one with a rose, and Mercedes one
with a palm leaf. They looked at the pattern on Grandmother's
mundillo
. Besides the marigold, the pattern showed lots of perforations, which meant nothing to the girls, but they counted them to be sure to make the same on their pattern.

When they began to transfer their design to the cardboard, they realized the difficulty they were in. True, the rose and the palm leaf looked all right, but the rest of the perforations around them, which they had tried to copy from Grandmother's pattern, did not seem right. They went over them counting carefully, but with little success.

“Grandmother used sixty-four bobbin pins for her pattern,” said Mercedes. “Evidently each perforation represents a bobbin pin, yet her pattern has lots more than sixty-four perforations. I can't figure it out. Can you, Teresa?”

Teresa's mouth was full of pins. She had been trying to solve the puzzle of her own pattern. Mercedes came to watch her work.

“Why, Teresa, your pattern is crooked. Look at it from this side and you'll see.”

It was indeed crooked, so much so that the rose did not seem to belong to the rest of the intricate set of perforations with which she had surrounded it.

Teresa took the pins out of her mouth. “I give up,” she said. “I have counted perforations and imaginary bobbin pins until I can't tell which is which.”

“Let's show them to Grandmother,” suggested Mercedes. “She can tell us what is wrong. If we cannot use them, there are still the patterns she has. Ramón was right after all.”

Teresa did not like the idea at all, especially when she had boasted to Ramón, but what else could she do? She gathered up her work and followed Mercedes back to the house.

Ramón saw them leave the shed, dragging the
mundillo
along with them, and guessed the reason why.

“Make their own patterns,” he said, giving the wood an extra cut. “I guess they found out.”

When Grandmother saw them come in, she wondered what besides the
mundillos
the girls were bringing.

“They are patterns,” Mercedes explained. “We tried to make our own.”

One look at their work was sufficient to show Grandmother how hard both girls had struggled to put down their ideas. It took her time to convince them that no one could really attempt to do a pattern unless they knew how to make lace first. She brought out two of the simplest patterns and pinned them on their
mundillos
. When the girls wound the thread around the bobbin pins, she sat them near her and began to teach them the fundamental weaving, which was the base to all lace-making. Little by little their fingers began to feel less strained and
more at ease, until they really began to enjoy the work. There were no frills to the pattern they worked from. Grandmother said that when they had made enough lace, they could use it on handkerchieves or petticoats.

Mercedes soon forgot the ruined pattern, but not Teresa. “Someday,” she said, “I am going to make that pattern. Someday I shall know just how.”

The girls worked till dinner time, and afterwards took their
mundillos
to their bedrooms where they continued to work long after the family had gone to bed.

Next morning, soon after breakfast, Grandmother saw them go downhill, carrying their
mundillos
along.

“Going to Sixta's,” Teresa called back.

Grandmother was correct. With an inch of lace already reproduced on each pattern, the girls were as pleased as if they had a yard. Sixta would be surprised to see what they had done. Now they too could sit with her while she worked on her lace orders without feeling that they were in the way.

Sixta and her mother were pulling threads on an order of special-sized handkerchiefs for a house in Cayey. The girls stood their
mundillos
on chairs and untied the bands around the bobbin pins to show Sixta their work.

“It's the
entre dos
pattern, the one I like so much,” Sixta said. “The one I made for your mother.
It's a beautiful pattern. You'll see the design much better when you have done a little bit more than what you have now.”

“Did Grandmother lend you this pattern?” asked Mercedes.

“Yes, and many others.” She left her work and returned with a pack of cardboard patterns. “They are all copies from Grandmother's patterns. I made them by placing a plain piece of cardboard under the original pattern and punching the perforations with this large pin. So now I don't have to be running up to ask for the loan of a pattern. I have my own.”

“Have you ever made an original pattern?” asked Teresa.

“Heavens, no. I would not know how.”

“But someone must have made the very first pattern,” she insisted.

“That is true, but I do not have the least idea who it was, and what's more, I don't even care, not when you can always borrow patterns and copy the ones you like best.”

“Grandmother said that when one knew how to make lace, one could make patterns.”

“We tried to make some yesterday,” said Mercedes, “even before we knew how to make lace. Wasn't that foolish?”

“I bet it was Teresa's idea,” said Sixta.

“And not a very good one,” said Teresa. “Yet, there must be some way to figure those patterns out. Someday I may even surprise you.”

“In the meantime, be sure you make more than just that design. By the time you learn to do the others, you'll be glad to have ready-made patterns to work from.”

“Here is the sample for the lace you are making,” said Sixta's mother, unrolling a piece of lace out of a large roll.

“Oh, it is actually beautiful,” Teresa said. “Sixta, have you made all the rest of the lace on that roll, too?”

“Those are my samples. I always leave a piece of everything I make. Sometimes I get special orders when I show them to the stores where I go applying for work.”

She turned over one of the cardboard patterns. “I even keep the number of bobbin pins needed for each design marked on the back, so that I won't have to guess or run up to ask Grandmother.”