Firefly Summer Page 6

  “‘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.

  “One fine morning, the three brothers decided upon a plan. They would go out in search of the three sisters and ask their hands in marriage. It was a long walk through unknown roads. They climbed down hills and walked through paths lined with great trees. They crossed field after field and finally came to a mountain.

  “‘This must be the mountain the sisters mentioned,’ said one of the brothers.

  “‘Their house must be not far,’ said another. ‘Let us not stop, but walk ahead.’

  “Down the mountain path they came to a small house surrounded by trees and a large backyard. Pits similar to the ones from the mangoes that grew in their grove were scattered everywhere.

  “‘This must be the house. Those are pits from our mangoes.’

  “‘Let’s knock,’ said one of the brothers.

  “Great was their surprise when Tita, the eldest sister, came out.

  “‘I am Bobo,’ said the eldest of the brothers. ‘It is I who owns the hill where the rare fruit grows. If you accept me, the hill and the fruit will be your own.’

  “Nona heard voices and came to see who had come to call on them.

  “‘I am Perico,’ said the second brother. ‘It is I who upon marriage will inherit my father’s business. If you accept me, you will become a rich merchant’s wife.’

  “Now, Clarita, the youngest sister, had been busy cooking in the kitchen and had not heard the brothers knock. Needing some bay leaves for seasoning, she opened the door to ask one of her sisters to pick them from the garden when she noticed the three brothers. Off came the pot from the charcoal fire and she too joined her sisters in the outer room.

  “‘I am Ramiro,’ said the youngest brother. ‘It is I who owns the frigate now on the bay. Twice a year I come back to the hill. If you accept me, you too will sail away, and twice a year will come back home with me.’

  “The sisters looked at each other and remembered the fortunes told that night long ago on the eve of the good St. John.

  “‘What shall we do?’ whispered Clarita to her sister Nona.

  “Before Nona had time to answer, Tita, who had heard the question and was now glad she did not have to marry a simpleton after all, whispered back, ‘Let us accept them, of course.’

  “So they did, and the three sisters married the three brothers.

  “Tita went to live up on the hill and became the owner of the hill and its rare fruits. Nona stayed in the house at the bottom of the hill, and together with Perico planted the pits scattered about the yard.

  “In time tiny shrubs began to grow all about the yard, and it was not long before she too had mangoes like the ones Tita had in her grove on the hill.

  “But Clarita sailed away with Ramiro to strange lands. Twice a year she returned home, and then, under the shade of the mango trees, she told her sisters about her travels, the strange scenes and the foreign people she had seen.”

  “That was a fine story, Grandmother,” said Don Rodrigo.

  “Mamá thinks the hill the sisters found with the mango trees is right here, on the finca,” said Doña Anita.

  “Do you really think so?” asked Mercedes.

  “No, I don’t really know,” Grandmother said, “but I always have wanted it to be. There is a mango grove not far from here, you know.”

  “There is? Oh, Teresa, when can we go to see it?”

  “When you do,” said Sixta, “tell us if you find anything besides mangoes there.” Saying this, she picked up her umbrella from the large earthenware jug at the corner of the room and said good night to the family.

  “Who would like to walk down with Sixta?” asked Doña Anita.

  “We will,” said Teresa. “Then Mercedes can really see how the finca looks at night. Come along, Ramón.”

  CHAPTER 6

  PIG STY

  Next morning, Mercedes awoke with a start.

  Outside, the air was full of music. She flung the shutters of her window wide open. Perched on a branch of a tree which grazed the wall was a myriad of small birds, the likes of which she had not seen before. It was as if they were saluting the new day with their songs.

  Mercedes stood wide-eyed, watching their tiny beaks and the throbbing of their chests as they sang. This no doubt was their favorite branch, for no sooner were they gone than a new group flew down, chirping and twittering and bursting into song.

  “This is awakening on a finca,” thought Mercedes, used to the common song of the morning vendor in the city and the clatter of his wheelbarrow on the cobbled street.

  A gleam of yellow light touched the mountain in the far distance and soon spread over hill and valley, outlining the houses scattered far below.

  A woman and a boy were making their way slowly up the hill. For them, too, the day had begun.

  Two knocks sounded on the partition separating her room from Teresa’s. She quickly answered back. Before she had finished dressing, Teresa was in her room.

  “Buenos días, Mercedes,” she said cheerfully. “The sun is out. Now we can go walking about the place.”

  Teresa looked out the window. The woman and the boy had reached the top of the hill and were approaching the shed.

  “Why, there is Lucía and Antonio. It must be later than I thought. Come along, let’s get our breakfast before the rest of the family gets up.”

  They tiptoed out of the room and went through the neck past the dining room and into the kitchen.

  “Buenos días,” said Lucía, surprised to see them up so early. “Teresa is making sure you get the best air of the finca, Mercedes. That’s what I always tell my Antonio: the fresh morning air is the best air of the finca.”

  “Give us something to eat, Lucía,” said Teresa. “We are going out walking.”

  “May I come along?” said Antonio.

  Lucía busied herself around the kitchen, trying to get something for the children that would not take too much time. When she had it ready, the children sat around the kitchen table more interested in discussing places to see than in eating the crackers, bananas and cheese, and drinking the cocoa she had served them.

  Antonio wanted to go one way and Teresa wanted to go another.
At last, they compromised. Teresa would lead the way and Antonio would bring them back whichever way he wanted. In that case, Mercedes would not be seeing the same things twice.

  Teresa walked downhill to the main road and went past the large old trees whose tangled roots on the surface of the ground were large enough to sit on.

  “These are the oldest trees in the finca,” said Teresa, pulling down one of the many vines that crept up the trunk.

  When they were passing a barbed-wire fence covered with wild strawberries, Mercedes stopped to pick some of the fruit.

  “They are sour,” said Antonio. “No one eats them but the birds.”

  “These are not all sour. This one is sweet, and so is this one,” said Mercedes, eating one after the other. But the rest she picked were not only sour but bitter, and she had to throw them away. Antonio knew what he was talking about.

  “There’s Sixta’s home,” said Teresa.

  “Ho, Esteban!” called Antonio, running to the field.

  “Looking for Sixta?” asked Esteban.

  The door to the house opened and Sixta and her mother came out to greet them.

  “I heard Antonio call Esteban, but I did not know he had company,” said Sixta. “Mother tells me he does his rounds daily.”

  “I am going to be a farmer like Esteban and Ramón,” said Antonio.

  “Those were fine potatoes you dug,” said Esteban. “Next time you come, you must pick the beans and the peppers and tomatoes.”

  “I cut potato eyes for Felipe last week,” Antonio interrupted. “He says I can cut them faster than Manolo.”

  “He can read fast now, too,” said Teresa. “Grandmother has helped him.”

  “Why don’t you come along, Sixta?” asked Mercedes.

  Sixta shook her head. She had work to do making lace on order for stores, and needed every minute of her time. Later on during the summer, perhaps they could even have a picnic together, but now she had to organize her work for the patrons in Cayey.

  They said goodbye and continued their way, running ahead to the tamarind tree down the road. The ground was covered with pods, and they soon began to select the best ones they could find.

  Antonio stuffed his pockets full.

  “This is the only sweet tamarind tree in the finca,” said Teresa.

  “Taste one of the pods and you’ll see,” said Antonio.

  Mercedes remembered the strawberries and hoped Antonio was right. They actually were sweet, and she hurried to gather more.

  They left the main road and walked over dry leaves and branches towards a little clearing beyond. A large number of butterflies took off from the ferns that bordered the place.

  “I want some,” cried Mercedes, running after them. But no matter how high she jumped to catch them, the butterflies were always ahead of her.

  “Get her one, Antonio,” said Teresa.

  “How can you catch them so easy?” said Mercedes when he brought her a large specimen that he called a rainbow butterfly. He spread its wings so that she could see the colors.

  “Let it go,” said Teresa. “We must go on.”

  He opened his hand and the butterfly fluttered away, soon lost among the ferns.

  “Ramón taught me how to get them,” said Antonio. “Maybe he can teach you, too.”

  “Have you tried, Teresa?” asked Mercedes.

  “Of course, but I can’t get them as easy as Ramón or Antonio.”

  Beyond the clearing was a small banana grove. It was apparently a bird’s paradise, for the bananas on the ground and many on the trees showed the imprint of bird beaks. There were a variety of bananas, including long and thin ones that ripen quickly. There were also guineos niños, the finger-length ones that taste so good with cheese or fried eggs. And the fat, red ones the peasants say are for medicinal purposes only. Antonio enjoyed them until he ate so many that he was sick for months. Since then he never touched them again.

  Teresa lead Mercedes through the grove, jumping over fallen branches and over fallen bananas clear across to the other side.

  “Close your eyes,” she said, “and don’t open them until I say so.”

  It was from here that you got the best view of the finca.

  “Now,” said Teresa.

  “The finca seems to stretch away to the very sky,” said Mercedes when she opened her eyes.

  Teresa pointed to the tobacco plots in the far distance, and the brown spots about the place, which were the tobacco sheds. She also pointed to the peasant houses across the hill, and even beyond to the shrubs that concealed the spring.

  “I hope someone will take us riding through there someday,” said Teresa. “Then you can see the river and the flat stones where the peasants do their laundry.”

  They sat under a tree to rest. The sun was rising and with it the heat of the day.

  “I can see now why you want to come back to the finca as soon as school closes,” said Mercedes. “If I had a finca like this, I would also want to be here all the time.”

  “Don’t you like the city?” asked Antonio.

  “Of course,” said Mercedes, “but a city is not like a finca.”

  “I wish I could see San Juan,” said Antonio, “with its fortresses and the sea all around it. Teresa tells me things about it sometimes.”

  When they stood up to go, Antonio led the way back home. He cut through the banana grove and ran up a narrow path, which they discovered was wired on both sides. It looked like an abandoned trail.

  “If you are going to run all the way, better get on the road,” called Teresa, running after him. They caught up with him at the end of the path. There were three rows of barbed wire running across it, and they had to part the wire carefully in order to go under it. Teresa’s dress caught on it and tore.

  “See here, Antonio,” she cried, “are you sure you know the way?”

  Antonio did not answer. He was on the run again.

  “Antonio!” called Mercedes, “we can’t follow you unless we see which way you are going.”

  They saw him circle some of the bushes, whistling merrily as if he were leading a game of hide and seek.

  “Hurry! Hurry!” he called back at them.

  “He thinks we are rabbits,” said Teresa, “and expects us to squeeze under wire fences and scamper after him.”

  “I am not going to follow him anymore.”

  “There must be some other way out of this path,” said Mercedes.

  “Of course, there is,” said Antonio, suddenly appearing along the side of the path.

  He parted some of the branches and pointed to a house on a hill.

  “Why, it’s home,” Teresa explained. “How did you ever find such a shortcut, wire fences and all?”

  But Antonio was gone again. This time to meet Ramón, who was coming with two pails in his hands.

  Teresa and Mercedes followed him.

  “I am on my way to feed the pigs. It’s fun to watch.” He looked at Mercedes and smiled. “Would you like to come?”

  “Ugh,” said Teresa pulling at her nose. “Who wants to go to the pig sty?”

  “I do,” said Antonio, taking one of the pails from Ramón.

  “Me, too,” said Mercedes.

  Teresa watched them go and then reluctantly followed them also.

  As they approached the sty, they could hear the grunting of the pigs.

  “They must know it’s time to eat,” said Mercedes.

  “They do,” said Antonio. “Pigs can always tell.”

  As soon as they went in, the pigs scurried towards the pen where they knew Ramón always left their noonday meal. At the head of the line came the fat sow. Every time one of the small pigs tried to get ahead, she would stop and block the way.

  “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 Merce
des.

  “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.