Authors: Esmeralda Santiago
“I meant no offense.”
“Not at all, it’s just … well, it’s true, I suppose. Most of the people
around here … that’s all they own, you see … slaves and land … and, well, land is the only thing that
doesn’t
grow on this island.” She laughed at her wit, a jolly sound that made Ana smile because she understood that Faustina laughed often, although not always because she was happy.
“I understand.”
“But I’ve done all the talking!” Faustina waited for Ana to speak. “Our husbands have already become friends,” she continued, uncomfortable with Ana’s silence. “Severo brought your husband and brother-in-law to meet us at San Bernabé just a few days after you arrived.”
“Did you know him, too, before we came?”
“Yes. Don Rodrigo sent him out here to check on the hacienda. He came to introduce himself a couple of years ago. He knows everyone around here.”
“He does?”
“Well, yes. He’s … quite entrepreneurial.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, goodness, you must think I’m such a gossip!” Faustina laughed again.
“Not at all,” she assured her. “I appreciate what you’ve told me about don Rodrigo. We had no idea that he imagined Ramón and Inocente living here. Certainly their parents hadn’t heard about that. It’ll make Ramón and Inocente happy to know that their uncle had plans for this place for them.”
“He told Luis several times,” Faustina said.
“And Severo Fuentes?” Ana prompted, her eyes on the frayed cuff she was repairing.
“Well, he
is
your employee,” Faustina said, and waited for Ana, who focused her eyes on her uneven stitches, to say something. “He’s very good at securing workers,” Faustina continued. “And he has an excellent rapport with the sea captains.…”
“Yes, we know,” Ana said. Severo had already saved Los Gemelos hundreds of pesos in customs fees and charges for the purchase of slaves and other items from ships on the cove south of the plantation.
“If not for his good contacts”—Faustina laughed merrily—“I couldn’t get such fine thread for my crochet.” She raised the intricate lace she was working.
Ana was only mildly surprised to hear that Severo was providing
goods for San Bernabé as well, and was sure that silk thread wasn’t the only item he sold to Faustina and Luis. In addition to finding slaves when no one else could, Severo often delivered goods that were scarce even in San Juan. José couldn’t achieve half as much of his carpentry and carving if Severo didn’t provide North American tools for the shop. He delivered a cask of the finest Spanish olive oil, another of
jerez
, several cast-iron pans for the kitchen, and a new plow, all sold to Los Gemelos at competitive prices.
In addition to the necessities for hacienda operations, Ana’s shopping lists included personal items, like bottles of Agua Florida for her bath and for the men’s aftershave, as well as linen, muslin, and stationery. The first time she gave Severo her list, she told him that she didn’t expect he’d be able to get everything.
“Don’t worry,
señora
,” he said, “I’ll do my best to get it all.” He did, and from then on she added articles she’d thought she would never use again, like rose-scented talcum and tooth powder. She enjoyed challenging his ability. To the list of the easily available rice, dry beans, tinned sardines, and salted cod, she always added luxuries: hairpins, flat abalone buttons, books and newspapers from Spain. Severo always delivered.
A week after Luis and Faustina’s visit—and probably alerted by them—a Franciscan priest rode into the
batey
on a donkey. He was young, with strong Galician features and a regal bearing. Ramón invited him to spend the night.
“You’re certainly aware of the slave code of 1842,” Padre Xavier said after dinner. “And your obligation to provide religious instruction in the Roman Catholic faith.”
“They’re all baptized,” Inocente said.
“But the nearest church is in Guares,” Ana pointed out. “It’s impossible to get them there for Mass.”
“The code allows for a layperson such as yourself”—Padre Xavier bowed to Ramón and then Inocente—“to teach them their prayers and the rosary.”
“Our understanding is, however,” Inocente added, “that devotions are to take place after they fulfill their duties.”
“That goes without saying. The code also requires that you separate the sick from the healthy.”
“One of the cottages is an infirmary,” Ana said. “I depend on the elders experienced with herbs and remedies.”
“Yes, I understand. You can only do so much,” Padre Xavier said.
“When we first came here they were dressed in rags,” Ramón said. “Ana has made sure that each received his or her annual allotment of clothes.…”
“They look presentable. Your women, especially, are decently clothed. I hope you’ve taken care to segregate the single women from the men and discourage improper relations.…”
Ana felt Severo’s gaze and she was glad that the candle flame didn’t reach her reddening face. In her previous life, women retired after dinner to let the men smoke, drink, and discuss important matters. But she made no effort to leave, was active in the conversation, and didn’t make a fuss when an indelicate subject came up. She thought he was embarrassed for her, and his presumption irked her.
“We have separate quarters for men and women,” Ana said, to emphasize her right to be part of the discussion. “The married couples with children have their own
bohíos
.”
“Forgive me if I repeat what you already know, but part of my visit is to make sure that owners and
mayordomos
”—he turned to Severo—“understand what’s expected.”
“We do the utmost to fulfill our obligations to our people,” Ana said.
“You’re also aware, then, that the code provides their right to purchase their freedom. They may rent themselves to others during off-hours. Or they can apply a particular skill—to grow vegetables for sale, for example, or to make things they can sell toward the cost of their own manumission.”
“At least one,” Severo said, “is working toward that goal by making items for sale.”
Ana turned to Severo with a questioning look.
“José,” Severo said to the priest. “During his free time he carves little animals and
santos
. I bring them to town for him.”
“God bless you, son,” Padre Xavier said, “bless all of you.” He made the cross in front of them. “They’re God’s children, too.”
“Amen,” they all said. “Amen.”
Ana was gratified by Padre Xavier’s approval of the way the hacienda’s workers were treated. He celebrated Mass under the breadfruit
tree near the house and afterward gave Ana a flask of holy water and instructed her on how to baptize children born to the slaves.
“It is their salvation,” he added.
To further impress him, Ana began weekly, compulsory attendance at prayers every Sunday morning after chores but before the workers’ afternoon off. An open-walled shed roofed with palm fronds was designated for services. Ramón and Inocente took turns reading passages Ana chose for them from prayer books and telling stories of the saints that illustrated the value of sacrifice and faith in a better world after the hardships in this one. Severo Fuentes never attended.
Ana’s one luxury, indulged every evening, was for Flora to bathe her. After supper, Ramón and Inocente had a smoke and a drink, sometimes accompanied by Severo. She retired to the bedroom and undressed with Flora’s help. In the candlelit room, Flora poured fresh water and a few drops of lemon verbena–scented Agua Florida into a cloth inside a gourd bowl. Ana held on to the bedpost as Flora gently rubbed the damp rag around her face and ears, under her arms, around her breasts, down her belly and back, along the inside of her thighs. After she finished each section with the damp cloth, Flora gently massaged it with a dry one. She knew how to touch the most intimate parts of her naked mistress without making her feel exposed.
Flora hummed a melody in rhythms unlike any Ana had ever heard.
“What’s that song?” Ana asked one night.
Flora cowered. Every time she made a mistake or was criticized she expected a slap, or a punch, or something to be thrown at her. “I so sorry,
señora
.”
“You did nothing wrong, Flora. But you were singing.”
“I forget,” Flora said, still nervous.
“Disculpe, señora.”
“I like your singing,” Ana said. “You have my permission.”
“Yes,
señora
?”
“The song is in your language. What does it say?”
“It is a full moon tonight and I sing about it.”
“Sing it again, Flora.”
Her voice was high but raspy and rose and fell in mesmerizing
waves of sound. Ana sensed that Flora was embarrassed to be performing for her, and that perhaps the act of singing was more meaningful than the words.
“Were you a singer among your people?”
“Everybody sing,
señora
. Men, women, children. We sing all the time. Even when sad.”
“You can sing anytime, Flora, even when you’re sad.”
“You mean this?”
She finished bathing her, resuming her song. Ana was almost certain that whatever the words, if Ana asked for a translation, Flora would tell her the song was about the moon or flowers or something pleasant, and not divulge her true feelings. The rising and falling of the voice carried the meaning: right now, under the mournful melody, Ana thought she heard relief.
Flora powdered Ana under her arms, around her breasts, down her back, with a puff dipped in rose talcum.
“¿Señora?”
“
Sí
, Flora.” Ana lifted her arms for Flora to arrange her nightgown. When Flora didn’t answer, or dress her, Ana opened her eyes. “What is it?”
Flora shook her head and drew the nightgown over Ana’s head. “
Nada, señora
, is not my place.”
“What is not your place?”
Flora stared at Ana’s feet. “Please no hit Flora.”
“I will be angry if you don’t tell me.”
“Are you pregnant,
señora
?”
Ana undid the ribbons around her neckline and looked down at her body. Her breasts did look just a little bigger, and where her belly had been flat, almost concave, it was now round enough that she couldn’t see her pubic hair. “Pregnant?”
She was glad Ramón and Inocente weren’t there to see her expression, for she knew, from Flora’s reaction, that it betrayed distress.
“You not happy,
señora
?” Flora asked.
“Of course I’m happy,” Ana snapped. “What woman wouldn’t be?” She sounded unconvincing even to herself.
Flora’s eyes betrayed nothing.
When she told Ramón and Inocente, their reaction was as Ana expected: joy followed by caution.
“You must return to San Juan,” said Ramón, “until the baby is born.”
No. The mere thought of another sea voyage made her ill, Ana said. “Besides, it’s not safe for me to travel in my condition.”
Once her belly began to show, a woman was expected to disappear into her chambers until six weeks after the child was born. It was indecent to parade an expanding girth in public, but the thought of months inside the Argoso home in a city enclosed by stone walls on a small island was asphyxiating to Ana.
In Spain, she endured conventions that chafed against her instincts for freedom and movement for the sake of her parents’ standing in society. Ana was thin as a girl, with negligible breasts and boyish hips, so Jesusa imposed corsets and numerous petticoats to enhance her bosom and add width to her frame. Ana felt trapped inside the garments, and within weeks of arriving in Los Gemelos, the corset and all but one petticoat were put away. The idea of wrapping herself in yards of fabric again was suffocating. She also dreaded Leonor’s intrusive attentions, her worries and premonitions, her constant harping about what Ramón and Inocente should or shouldn’t do.
Beyond these concerns, there was also a deeper unease, one that she barely understood but was the true reason she wouldn’t leave. Over the past four months, as she discarded the outer layers to reveal her true self to herself, she had also repudiated the world beyond the hacienda’s borders. Los Gemelos, nestled in a sea of sugarcane, held her.
“I’m sorry,
señores y señora
,” Severo said the next night after supper. “I’ll look into it, of course, but it’s unlikely that a doctor with his own practice—forgive me if I can be honest—”
“Yes, of course,” Ramón said. “We respect your opinion.”
“I don’t believe such a doctor would leave his practice for months to take care of,
disculpe, señora
, one woman in an out-of-the-way plantation.”
“Isn’t there a doctor in the closest town?” Ana asked.
“Dr. Vieira,” Severo said. “He was a ship’s doctor and recently established in Guares.”
“Hours away on horseback,” Inocente muttered.
“And he’s more experienced with fractures, that sort of thing.…”
“There must be a midwife to attend women around here ready to give birth,” Ana said.
“There is Siña Damita, Lucho’s wife,” Severo said. “She’s a
partera
and
curandera
. She hasn’t lost a baby yet,” he said with an air of pride and a long drag on his cigar, as if he’d trained the midwife himself.
Obviously, Ana thought, she was one of his. He bought only skilled slaves. “I wish to meet her.”
Ramón protested, “She delivers the slaves and
campesinas
. That’s hardly appropriate for—”
“I have no other choice,” Ana declared, and the men fell silent. Once she went inside the house, however, she heard Ramón and Inocente questioning Severo about the midwife’s capabilities.
Flora, too, was shocked that Ana would allow Damita to be her midwife. “Siña Damita delivers the
jíbaras
and black babies,
señora
,” she said as she powdered Ana’s back and underarms.
“My experience has been that we all look and function pretty much the same down there.”
“Ay,
señora
, how you speak such things!” Flora reddened and dropped Ana’s nightgown over her head.
“You’ll be with me, won’t you?” Ana pressed Flora’s shoulder.
“Of course,
señora. Sí
, if you want me, I will be there.”