Chapter II

Sometimes death reaches beyond
the grave to touch all future generations

"Narciso, is that Yanni in the yard? Did you let go of him? What were you thinking?," Pepe's voice, not quite harsh  but strained and commanding, came from the dark shadows of the gallery behind the dining room. 

The gallery is what he and his mother called the inside back porch. It could only be reached through a door in the dining room. It was a little room, no more than a large cupboard. The china, the silverware and the linens were kept in there. It was his and his mother's secret room. They used to hide there and read books under the dim light of the single light bulb that hung from the high ceiling. Sometimes they would fall asleep there and Miguelina had to knock hard on the door to wake them up for dinner. 

Photo: Puerto Rico Building Drawings Society

The gallery’s one advantage today, for the men who were whispering inside, was that it gave protection from the prying eyes and ears of the growing crowd that had spilled from Magdalena Street into El Pilar Street. Some were neighbors, but many had come from other parts of Santurce, Río Piedras and San Juan, as the news spread of America's death and of the arrival of Liberal Party cars that could be bringing some of the party’s leadership into the otherwise middle class neighborhood.

It seemed as if the crowd awaited with baited breath, hoping but not really believing that Don Antonio Barceló or Don Luis Muñoz Marín would be the ones descending from the cars. A loud thick communal sigh, some cries of surprise and admiration, greeted Don Antonio as he descended his car and walked into America’s house. Some people shouted “Don Luis, Don Luis,” when to their disbelief, Muñoz Marín descended from a second car and also walked into the house.

Luis Muñoz Marín

 Flashes went off and newspapermen wrote quick notes. It was well known that Don Antonio and Don Luis were embroiled in a political tug-of-war that could change the course of the island’s history. The two men had chosen to maintain physical distance from each other, each unexpectedly showing up at friends' country homes and hotels around the island, surrounded by their most trusted followers. The newspapers had been closely following the feud that seemed to be ripping apart the grand old Liberal Party. Don Antonio and Don Luis had not spoken for weeks. All communications between them had been through telegrams or messengers, according to news stories.

Antonio R. Barceló

The growing crowd of onlookers squinted into the darkness of the gallery, all unexpectedly silent, as they tried to catch a glimpse and some of what was being discussed by the two men who had walked directly to the gallery -- where Don Pepe and Don Ramon silently waited for them to arrive -- guarded by the bougainvillea-covered trellises. Every single person in the growing crowd that surrunded the house knew these men. They had seen them in the newspapers; some had seen them in person, in political rallies. But the bougainvillea filtered the sunlight and muted the voices, so that the crowd could not quite catch the words that they were hurriedly whispering among themselves. 

It was always cool in the gallery, Yanni thought. The last refuge from the unbearable heat that settled over the island as July surrendered to the boiling days of August. He and his mother usually spent the last days of summer vacation sitting in the darkened, cool gallery, fanning each other, drinking lemonade, and dreaming of the breezy days that would arrive at the end of September, precursors to their favorite month of October. Then they would return to the familiar routines of lazy afternoons under the big hammock tree. He and Aurora would be back there again, playing together as the smells from Miguelina's kitchen wafted out with promises of stewed meat sauces, delicious rice and beans, sweet fried ripe bananas.

"I didn't let go Don Pepe, he just ran away from us when he saw the people in front of the house," Narciso answered.

"Go get him. Where is Miguelina? Tell her to get him away from Mery, he shouldn't have seen her that way," Pepe replied.

"Miguelina can't come Don Pepe, not now," Narciso said. Pepe walked out into the dining room. Confusion in his face.

"She's with the policeman in the front room," Narciso said. "Answering questions."

Clip from Pommarrosas.com

Pepe returned to the gallery and walked back out a few seconds later with Don Antonio and Don Luis. They were headed to the front room, to rescue Miguelina.

"Did you hear the gunshot?," a policeman was asking Miguelina. 

"No, how could I?," she answered. "I was at the store."

"Why were you at the store?," the policeman insisted.

"I always go to the store after I drop Yanni at school," Miguelina said.

"Who is Yanni?," the policeman asked.

"Yanni is her son, the boy that ran in screaming," Miguelina said.

"How do you spell his name," the policeman asked. "Is that his name? I'd never heard it before."

"No, Yanni is his nickname, it's what we call him," Miguelina said. "His name is Jua... José Antonio Gelpí."

"Gelpí?," the policeman asked. "Where's his father?"

Miguelina was barely keeping it together. Tears ran down her cheeks, her handkerchief was soaked through. She adored America. There was nothing she wouldn't have done for her. America had taken her away from an abusive father and the poverty of her home. She had nursed Miguelina back to health after she slit her wrists in an attempt to escape the relentless violence and hopelessness of her home life. Her mother lived on scraps. Her father spent all his earnings in rum and cockfights. Her mother fed the children from the few coins she could make doing other people's laundry and ironing. When America entered her life, Miguelina had been lying in bed, half dead, wishing she was dead, her wrists wrapped in cotton gauze. 

America heard of Miguelina's misfortune through the maid grapevine. She had shown up at Miguelina's door, stepped down from her car, dressed in the most beautiful gauze gown anyone in that street had ever seen up close. She had been helped down by the driver, who extended his hand so she could place hers on top as she stepped on the street in her shiny black high-heeled leather shoes with dainty beaded bands across the ankles. Yanni had stayed in the backseat waiting for his mother. He must have been four or five years old then. That same day, Miguelina moved into America's house on the corner of Magdalena and El Pilar streets and never looked back. But she did send her mother part of her weekly salary, to help feed her little brothers and sisters.

Now, she was trying to answer the policeman's questions, but Yanni's crying in the backyard was pulling her, and the baby's hungry mewlings were breaking what was left of her heart. She wanted to be with them. She wanted to take care of America. 

"She's hungry, the baby is hungry. I have to feed her," Miguelina begged the officer.

Little Nancy was the beautiful baby girl America brought back from Arecibo after an extended stay with Yanni and Miguelina. "Now you have a sister, darling," she had said to Yanni. But he wasn't very excited. There wasn't much you could do with a baby, except hold her and feed her. She didn't play with him like Aurora did.

"I adopted a baby girl, her name is Nancy, Nancy Gelpí y Seijo," America had announced to the world when she returned to Santurce. Don Ramón's expression wasn't very happy when he heard that baby Nancy was being introduced with Pepe's last name. But America told him it was for Yanni's sake, so he wouldn't be confused, and Pepe didn't mind.

People wondered about America's adoptive daughter. Other maids asked Miguelina at the store if she was really adopted or if Miss Mery had gone to Arecibo to have her. But Miguelina met all questions with silence. "Nancy was adopted, I was there, I know," was all Miguelina would say.

"Why does the baby have Don Pepe's last name?," they questioned. "Isn't Miss Mery with Don Ramón Marín now?" But Miguelina always had the same answer. "I don't know. Why don't you ask Miss Mery yourself?"

***

"Officer González, Miguelina can't answer your questions because she wasn't here this morning, she already told you," Pepe said in a tone that defied questioning as he slowly walked toward the policeman. "When she left with my son and my daughter in the morning, America was alone. Miguelina went straight to the store after she dropped Yanni at school. That's what she did every day."

"But where is the gun?," officer González asked, turning around to face Pepe, Don Antonio and Don Luis.

"We're trying to find it, we already told you," Don Luis said. "It was Mr. Gelpí's gun. He gave it to America about a week ago, for her protection. You know as well we do that politics is a dangerous business these days. Yanni is his son. The baby is his daughter. America was the mother of his children."

"Wouldn't it be better if this investigation is postponed until later," Don Antonio interjected in the authoritative tone that characterized him. "Let's wait for the coroner. Miguelina has to pack clothes for the children and Mr. Gelpí has to take them to their grandmother's home in San Juan. The boy can't stay here while his mother lies dead in the yard."

Pepe looked around again. He could still hear Yanni crying in the yard and the baby's yelps demanding food from the crib in her bedroom down the hallway.

"Narciso, could I impose on you to take Yanni away from his mother. Take him with you to your house?," Pepe said. "I'll be by later to pick him up. Or the driver will pick him up. I don't want him in the middle of this... There's too much that must be done today."

"Of course, Don Pepe," Narciso said as he crossed the dining room to the back door that led to the yard.

***

Later, after Yanni and the baby had gone with Don Narciso and Miguelina, Don Pepe walked into the dining room from the gallery. He stood with the other three men around the dining table, looking at each other and at their feet. The question hung in the air. Why was America dead in the yard? Where did she get the gun? What did Miguelina know?

A difficult situation, a scandalous situation that could have disastrous consequences for the four men who stood there waiting for the coroner.

-- To be Continued --

© 2013 A.T. Gelpí

Chapter I

Sometimes death reaches beyond the grave to touch all future generations

---

The day was just like any other after Three Kings Day that fell on a Sunday. Back to school after the Christmas holiday, but so soon that it did not give you a chance to get bored with the toys that were meant for baby Jesus but the three kings left at the foot of your bed after their camels ate the grass you had pulled and placed in a shoe box the day before, next to the bowl of water the camels would need after their long journey through the desert of that holy night.

It first became unusual when he didn’t find his mom waiting behind the wall, where the window with the far apart bars allowed her to hand him his baby bottle filled with that sweet, sweet, perfect mix of coffee, milk and sugar.

Colegio Padre Rufo

He had run to the wall, as he usually did when the bell announced the 15-minute mid-morning recess. But she wasn’t there. Although puzzled by her absence, he did not have time to think it unusual because in a few minutes he found himself making his way back to the school door, joining the growing group of boys who would swarm in when the bell told them fun time was over.

There was nothing unusual for the next hour and a half. Later, he would wonder why he didn’t see the signs. Three kings day on a Sunday? His mother not showing up with his sugared milk and coffee? And he hadn’t felt any apprehension, no sense of dread? His life with his mother had been so different from that of other boys.

Antonio R. Barceló

It had always been just the two of them. His father was that quiet man who sent around the car when they needed it, and sometimes even if they didn’t need it. But his mother despised him. As far as he could tell, his mother hated that he was so involved in politics. That she always came second to the needs of Don Antonio or the party. She hated that he thought himself a poet and spent all the time that was not devoted to politics, drinking and talking literature with that group, Los Seis. She also hated the one they called Luis or Muñoz because he exerted such power over everyone. He had overheard his mother muttering about him. Why does Don Antonio treat him with such affection and listen to him as he would listen to a son? Why does Pepe love him as a brother, go out and get drunk with him every night?

Luis Muñoz Marín

But that day after Three Kings Day, the first unusual thing he noticed was not even a signal, it was a shrill,clanging alarm so loud that that no one could miss it. Except that it went off in his head. It came about a half hour before lunch time, when Miss Rodriguez, the school principal’s secretary, came into his classroom with a note in her trembling hand. Her eyes had darted around the room as though trying to see but avoid seeing something. When the teacher called his name, that’s when he first felt fear fluttering in his stomach. But he walked up to the front of the classroom, defying the fluttering of fear. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time a teacher asked him to demonstrate to the other boys the simple formula he had used to solve a math problem. But the teacher didn’t ask him to solve anything on the blackboard; she asked him to go with Miss Rodriguez to the principal’s office.

At the office, the flutter in his stomach grew into a wave. He struggled to keep his mouth closed. He didn’t want to ask any questions for fear they would open a door to something he didn’t want to see. Or maybe something that could not be unseen. Don Narciso was standing next to Miss Garcia, waiting for him by the principal office’s door. He heard himself whimper when he saw Aurora standing there, a few steps inside the office, one or two behind Don Narciso. Aurora looked very unhappy, but there were no tears on her face. As he approached, Miss Garcia asked him to follow them into the office. She told him that Don Narciso had come to pick him up at his mother’s request. But she didn’t say why his mother was asking for him. And he didn’t dare ask.

He walked out though the school gates with Don Narciso on on his left and Aurora on his right. Aurora reached for his hand and he let her have it. That was unusual. The two of them never held hands.

They played together in the yard, they took turns on the hammock under the shade tree, pushing each other to swing for a breeze. They played tag, they hunted for lizards, caculos, ants. They dared each other to step on red ant hills. They had gallito matches in the shallow holes they dug in the yard. They collected guavas from the big tree, climbing up like monkeys. He always climbed higher than Aurora. She was afraid to go all the way up,where the more fragile branches could break and she could fall. They were in charge of pulling the lemons from the lemon tree for the lemonade Miguelina prepared for his mother and Aurora would take an extra pitcher home to Don Narciso and her stepmother. Grosellas, acerolas, bananas, parchas, they had everything in their backyard. And Miguelina was an expert in making refreshing, sweet drinks, marmalades, flans, and dulces with everything he and Aurora brought in.

But that day, he could tell Aurora also felt the fluttering because she reached for his hand.

And they were holding hands when they turned the corner to Magdalena Street, his street. His house was on the lot at the other end of the block. His mother had chosen the lot. It was bigger than the other lots in that street where all the houses had tiny strips of  yards with walls that almost touched each other. His house also looked different, larger, fancier than the others. It was big, with a wide veranda that wrapped all around and trellises covered with treacherous bougainvillea. It would scratch whoever got too close. His mother had fallen in love with the house when she first saw it. But she told Ramon that it was too far away from the city. Her friends would never come to visit if she lived that far away, almost by Loiza. So Ramon bought the lot on Magdalena Street and the house by Loiza, and he had the house moved to the lot. He loved that it had so many windows with dark wood blinds that could be half closed to keep away the hot sunlight in the summer, but left enough room for any loose breeze to come in. The tiled floors were always cool. He loved running in all sweaty from the yard and lying down on those cool floors.

Why were all the neighbors in front of his house? Why was his father’s driver standing next to his car, parked in front of the house? Why were so many people he didn’t recognize milling around the front of his house, some asking questions and taking notes? That’s when the waves in his stomach rose up to his mouth. He had to stop and throw up. Don Narciso and Aurora stopped, too. They stood close together in front of him, hiding him from the eyes of the crowd that had turned to look at them. When the wave subsided, he raised his head and started walking. then running toward his house. He thought he heard someone screaming.

But it was him. He was screaming “No mamá, no mamá, no mamá” all the way to the gate on the sidewalk in front of his house. As he opened the gate, his eyes squinted into the darkness inside the house. Looking for his mother. But he only saw policemen, and his father, and Don Antonio, and Muñoz and Ramon. They were talking quietly. He ran in before they could stop him, ran to the backyard, to his mother’s hammock. And she was lying there, her clothes covered in blood. Her eyes closed.  The year was 1936.

-- To be continued --

2013 (c) A.T.Gelpí