My Seven Angels: Never Give Up

By ESTRELLA

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456899530

ESTRELLA

Carmen Estrella Diaz Hlava was the seventh child of a middle class family. She was born in Mexico City and moved to the United States with 3 of her brothers and her mother when she was 18. She studied and worked in the Boston area where she now lives with her husband Jiri. They met in Amsterdam while she was working for her company at that time in Frankfurt Germany. They have traveled extensively in the 3 North American countries, Mexico, Canada, and the United States as well as in many countries in Europe.

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Copyright © 2011 by Estrella.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011905302

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4568-9952-3

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4568-9951-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4568-9953-0

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Contents

1943-1945

1946-1949

1950-1953

1953-1958

1958-1961

1961-1963

1964-1969

1970-1973

MID-1973-MID-1976

MAY 1976-JULY 1976

AUGUST 1976-END OF 1979

1980-1990S

Every time I go to sleep, I think of a land where I wish to be so that I can dream about it; a land of soft pastel colors, where everything is bright; a gentle breeze smelling of orange blossom caresses my face; the ground I step on feels so safe. Under the blue skies and the puffy clouds, I see two of my brothers slowly walking toward me from a distance. I can hear their cheerful contagious laughter, and as they come closer, I can see their sincere beautiful smiles; smiles so beautiful and enchanting that the Mona Lisa would feel envy.

It is hard to believe that Jose has been gone eight years and Chavo seven years. It seems like only yesterday we were at a cookout at Jose’s, and while they both cooked, which they enjoyed tremendously and were very good at, they kept all of us laughing and just feeling happy. You could feel the love and caring among all of us, and it was Chavo and Jose who made everything so wonderful. But I don’t want to think that they are gone, I want to fall asleep soon so I can be with them, so I can laugh and joke and talk with them, so I can feel their love and gentleness, so I can feel happy and safe and hear their voices just one more time, even if it’s only in my dreams.

Memories, oh so many memories. It seems that in our golden years, those who are lucky to remember cling on to the memories, no matter how painful or wonderfully sweet they are. For Chavo, the most gallant, sweet, and strong of my brothers, the one who guided us, who took care of all of us, the one who was always there no matter what, spent the last three years of his life without memories, or did he? He was stricken with the most horrible and most cruel of diseases, Alzheimer; but we will never know if in fact he did not have his memories. Just because he could not tell us doesn’t mean he did not know. Even though his behavior changed and he did not remember what he had done five minutes before, he was the sweetest, funniest, gentle, most caring, and noble man he had always been; our wonderful brother and our best friend.

Yes, memories—as you grow older, they become your constant companions, and they cling to you with a desperate force; some of them are sweet and gentle, and you find yourself smiling, and a warm and wonderful feeling fills your body and soul, others bounce in your brain from side to side so that you can still feel a piercing pain in your heart, so strong and so real that you can almost feel it bleeding.

my parents.JPG

My parents; Eduardo Diaz and Oliva G de Diaz. 1930’s

I was born on March 4, 1940, at midnight, so I was told. My mother told me that on every birthday, as I anxiously waited to be surprised or congratulated or something and it would get late, really late, almost time to go to bed, and nothing had happened, I would ask my mother, Was my birthday today? Oh no, it’s tomorrow, you were born at midnight! She would tell me the story of the day I was born. She had gone to Mexico City to visit my aunt. While she was there, it snowed. It was the first time it had snowed in Mexico City as far she could remember. It made front-page news. She said that on their way back to Puebla, she saw something moving in the snow and asked my father to go and check. He stopped the car and went to find out. She said it looked like a black cat, but it turned out to be me. She said that my father picked me up and decided to take me home with them. As the years went by, I always wondered whether she had said that my birthday was on March 5 because she would always forget my birthday until I reminded her. I eventually stopped mentioning it. (By the way, my birth certificate says March 4 at midnight.) On the other hand, my father never forgot my birthday; no matter where he was, he would always send me a nice wish, message, or a present. He did that every year until his death in 1962. I always wondered whether that fact that it snowed in Mexico the day I was born, a place that had never seen snow, or my looking like a black cat, or being born at midnight had anything to do with the way my life developed…

1943-1945

My earliest memories date back to the time we lived in Puebla. We lived in a huge Spanish colonial house, very typical of that region. It had a tall iron fence and a big gate that was difficult to open; as you enter, you couldn’t help but enjoy the well-kept garden, the tall beautiful trees, a peacock (my father made my mother get rid of the beautiful bird after it scratched her face while she was picking up leaves). On the left side of the garden was a beautiful tile fountain. The colors of the tiles had all shades of blue, yellow, and white. There were two doors to the house—one that led to my father’s office; and the other, a big wooden door that led to the patio or central courtyard. A round stone fountain stood in the middle of the patio. The bedrooms and the other rooms were all around the patio.

My nanny, Tani, would always sing to me and tell me stories just before I went to bed. She had been with my mother since my sister was born, and stayed on to help her with my five brothers and now, me. I was the seventh child. She would tell me that a beautiful angel would always take care of me, no matter what, and she taught me some prayers that I still remember. She was right; there were many times in my life that I thought that the angel Tani had talked to me about was indeed with me and not only guided me and helped me, but also got me out of very difficult situations.

After the lights were off and all was quiet and when no one was looking, I would suck my thumb. (My mother got angry when I did that, so I would wait.) She had said to me that she would fix my pajamas if I kept doing that, but I did not understand what she meant by that until one night I discovered that the ends of my pajamas’ sleeves had been sewn together. It was very difficult to make a little hole at the end of the sleeve so I could stick my thumb out, but I did it.

I could do no wrong when my father was home, and I knew it. He would always bring me presents: chocolates, candy, or toys, and I loved it. I remember my mother telling him, If you bring presents for her, you must also bring some for the boys, it is only fair. I waited to hear his answer, but he only said, Mmm. I was wondering what would happen, but he did not change. The following day when he came home, he brought me a big cat made out of chocolate, which I did share with my brothers, mostly with Jose and Jorge, who were closest in age to me. Many years later, I remember my mother telling him something similar related to my birthday, If you are going to give her a present for her birthday, you have to do the same with the boys. I always counted on hearing from him on my birthday and at Christmas, every year until he died in 1962. I had always been his little princess; he always made me feel so special. He would point to a star and tell me that that particular star had been put there that night specially for me, and that it would shine nice and bright just for me, only me, and at four years old, you believe everything, especially if it is so beautiful and so sweet, and comes from your father.

My mother had gotten upset about the holes in my pajamas and let me know it. One day I must have been uncomfortable because I kept calling her or my nanny. My cousin came and asked my mother whether she could get me ready for bed; my mother said that if she thought that she could do it, to go ahead. As she approached me, I hit her and tried to scratch her, and I pushed her away. Then she said to my mother "Tia, she won’t let me! Oh, leave her like that, she must like being dirty, my mother replied. As my cousin started to leave, I said, I thought you said that you could," which was not very nice of me, and I was told so. When my mother came to change my clothes, she pulled my knee socks off and found that whoever had put them on had used elastics and put them on so tight that they had cut the skin around my legs, which were bleeding. I still have a small mark around my legs just below my knees.

I don’t remember my sister very much. All I remember is that she always looked angry, that she yelled a lot, and that she was not a fun person to be with. As for my brothers, it was altogether different. They were funny, and even though it was sometimes hard and difficult to play with them and many times I could not do what they were doing (like climbing trees or climbing onto the roof of the house), I loved playing with them and participating in all their games.

1946-1949

One day my father came home with the news that we had to move to the state of Veracruz due to his job. For my mother this was no surprise, as his job required him to go wherever his expertise was needed. My father was a civil engineer and a specialist in topography; he worked for the Mexican government on the construction of highways. The next project he would be in charge of was to be the construction of the Pan-American Highway.

My parents had moved from north to south every time my father’s job required it. My sister and my five brothers had all been born in different states or different cities, depending where my father was working at the time. My sister was born in Guanajuato; my brother Eduardo was born in Mexico City; Chavo in Tehuacan, Puebla; Guille in Monterrey; Jose in Guadalajara; Jorge in the city of Puebla. I was born in Mexico City, quite by accident, as we lived in Puebla at the time; I made my appearance during a visit by my mother to Mexico City to see her sister. As my mother later told me, it had been quite a surprise that after five boys she had had a girl, and a bit inconvenient since all the things she had prepared for my arrival were at home in Puebla.

Before moving to Jalapa, the capital of the state of Veracruz, we temporarily lived in two different houses in Puebla, none of them as beautiful and spacious as the one I will always remember with love and nostalgia as my castle, where I was my father’s little princess and where I spent the best years of my childhood. Little did I know how drastically things were going to change.

Jalapa was a small beautiful town. It not only was surrounded by velvet green mountains, but also it was built on them. All you needed was an ocean and a cable car, and you would swear that you were in San Francisco. Most of the houses were painted white, but there were many painted different pastel colors, just like most towns in the tropics. Depending on where you were in the town, you could see the beautiful red roofs and the abundance of tropical plants and trees and an unbelievable variety of flowers. Orchids and gardenias were almost everywhere you looked. The mayor of the town had dictated that for the celebration of Independence Day, all the houses should be painted, so the town always looked like a picture-perfect little town cut out of a marvelous children’s storybook.

The house we moved into was a nice new modern one. The ground floor had my father’s office and the offices for the rest of the employees. It also had garages for the cars and trucks, as well as a warehouse for tools and equipment, and also a big area for construction materials. We lived on the second floor. It contained the area over my father’s office and the rest of the plant. It had, of course, a separate entrance. As you entered through a wide iron gate, you would see the car parking space and the stairs, where my mother had placed a beautiful plant on every other step. On the right side was a big garden, which my mother made even more beautiful than it already was when she planted all kinds of flowers. The house was painted a light salmon color, and the tiles of the stairs matched that color. There were five bedrooms, three full bathrooms, the kitchen, and the dining room and living room were combined, making a huge and spacious room. At the end of the living room were the stairs going down to my father’s office. To the right side of the living/dining room, there were wall-to-wall french windows that, when opened, would admit a soft, gentle, tropical breeze with the smell of fresh flowers. Or you could go to the terrace, which was just as big as the house since it was built over the side of the plant where the trucks and construction materials were stored.

One day shortly after we had moved in, I heard shouts and screams and also some struggling going on. This was very unusual for my family, so I went to see what was happening. I saw my parents and my sister in the kitchen. My father looked sad and frustrated, and I could see my mother struggling with my sister and yelling, You must take this vitamin! You haven’t eaten anything, and you are going to get sick, please listen! As I found out later, my sister had a boyfriend in Puebla and was angry because we had moved to Jalapa and had refused to eat. I am not sure to what purpose since we had no relatives in Puebla where she could have stayed, and there were no plans for marriage. My three older brothers had stayed in Puebla in a boarding school run by the Jesuits and one of the best boys’ schools in the country.

It didn’t take too long before my sister got over the move to Jalapa and not only had a new boyfriend (and several admirers too) but was also the envy of the town. Other women hated her, and my mother too. My sister and my mother were newcomers and the only women to drive a car in the entire town. Even some men did not approve of that and had given some trouble to my sister by sending a policeman to give her a ticket for no reason at all. My sister slapped his face and kept going. My mother did not like the confrontation, so my father hired a chauffeur for her.

My sister became very popular at the tennis club and the casino, and she was chosen to be the Mardi Gras queen for that year. She was also chosen the most beautiful girl in the town. I am not sure why my sister did not act as Mardi Gras queen (my father had never liked the idea), and in a few months she was sent to college to the United States. Since that time until 1958, I only saw my sister on a few occasions when she came to visit us on her vacations.

It was now time for me to go to school. I had not liked it when we were in Puebla, and I knew I was not going to like it now. In Puebla, I had managed to escape when we were playing in the yard, and I have no idea how I got home, but I did. My mother was very angry, and it was not a nice feeling when she got angry. For days she wouldn’t speak to me, and it was a pretty lonely and sad situation. Now I was six years old, and I still did not like to go to school. My mother said, I give you two choices, you go to school or I will spank you with my shoe. She would always use her shoe when she spanked me and my brothers. My father used his fingers and would hit my brothers on their arms that you could see his fingers indented on their arms. (My father never hit me). So I told my mother that I would choose to be spanked rather than go to school. She proceeded to spank me and then took me to school. I thought that I had been given a choice… I suppose that at six years old it is hard to understand what is best for you, so your parents do the guiding.

My mother traveled often to Mexico City to visit my aunt Chabela, and she always took me along. Every time she would say, I wish you had been a boy, it is so much easier to travel by myself, but I can’t leave you alone with the servants and the boys and all the workers around the house. I didn’t understand why, not until I was much older and learned about the malice of some men. I would have liked to stay at home. I loved to play with Jose and Jorge, and Tani was always there. She would tell me wonderful stories at bedtime. It was nice going with my mother too. I enjoyed seeing my cousins and my aunt. But every time we took the bus, my mother would tell me to get on quickly into the bus and take the first two seats in the front because she would get sick if she had to sit further back. As I pushed myself into the bus, there were always some ladies that hit me on the head or shoulders and called me names because I pushed myself between them to rush to get the seats, and they did not like it, but I preferred their anger to my mother’s. If I could not get the first seats in the front, my mother would call me stupid and dumb and tell me that she would probably get sick and to hope that no one smoked or she would definitely get a headache and that the next time I should be more astute and agile.

I would go with her when she went shopping or to the open market. She always complained that I was too slow and the next time she was going to leave me at home. I wished she had. Many times, most of all in the market, I would lose her, and I panicked and started to run and cry until I finally saw her. My heart was going so fast I thought everybody could see it. I was terribly frightened, but I wouldn’t let her see me crying because she did not like it when I cried. If she saw me crying, she would raise her hand as though she was going to slap my face and tell me, I’ll give you a reason to cry if you don’t stop immediately! which I always did.

One day she decided that the best thing to do was to leave me in the car with the chauffeur and wait for her while she did the shopping. After she left, the chauffeur started to talk with me, and then he started to touch me in places, which I knew was not right, places on my body that we never talked about at home and that I didn’t know the names of until I was in my thirties. He told me that if I said anything to my mother, she would be very angry and that she was not going to love me anymore. He knew how terrified I was of my mother’s anger. I was so scared I did not know what to do, and I had nobody to tell.

The next time we were going shopping, I asked my mother whether I could stay home, but she said no. When we got to the market, I asked whether I could go with her—that I would walk faster and wouldn’t be any problem, but she said no again, at which the chauffeur was delighted and it happened again. Every time I asked my mother to take me with her, she would always say, Just wait here. My cute little smile and my big sad brown eyes did not have the effect they had on my father, and I knew it.

One day we had gone to the market. As soon as we got home, my mother dragged me from the kitchen to the terrace and very sternly asked me whether the chauffeur had done something to me. I don’t know how she figured it out; maybe she saw something coming back to the car, or perhaps she had finally seen my anguish. I was so frightened that I started to cry even though I knew she did not like it when I cried, but I could not help it. Answer me, she said, and I nodded. Her face turned gray, and her beautiful green eyes did not look beautiful at all. At that time the chauffeur was coming into the kitchen carrying the groceries, unaware of what was going on. My mother grabbed me by the wrist very hard and practically dragged me into the kitchen while saying in a very angry and loud voice, I’ll show you what you should do the next time this happens to you! and at the same time slapped the chauffeur’s face twice. I was more scared than ever. I had never seen adults being hit before. The chauffeur was shouting and so was my mother while I cried, feeling scared and responsible for what was happening; but then the worst imaginable thing was about to happen. My mother was dragging me toward the living/dining room while pushing the chauffeur toward the stairs that led to my father’s office. My mother kept saying, We’ll see what my husband has to say about this. At that moment I wanted to die; the thought of my father knowing about this was painful and unbearable. I prayed to all the beautiful angels and saints Tani talked about and hoped they would make me disappear. I could not bear the thought that my father would stop loving me. I don’t know whether Tani’s saints and angels took me away or whether my subconscious made me forget, but being at the top of the stairs is the last thing I remember. A few days later, we got a new chauffeur and found out that the other one had been fired. The best part was that my father still loved me, and I was still his little princess. He and I went often out to eat, just the two of us, and one time I even traveled with him to Veracruz and had a marvelous time.

Almost two years after we had moved to Jalapa, the most devastating thing that could happen to a family was happening to us. A man who worked for my father and whom my father considered his best friend not only stole money from him, through abusing the payroll, but also failed to pay the bills for the maintenance of the Caterpillar equipment and materials, causing a lot of trouble for my father. The project was delayed, the quality of the materials was mediocre, and new machinery had to be brought from other locations. Because my father had worked for the company for such a long time and had been an impeccable and excellent worker, he did not get fired but was transferred to a very small town on the northwest Pacific coast. There were no good schools, and we were told that the area was infested with poisonous scorpions, definitely not the ideal place to bring up a family. My father said it would only be a temporary situation, and as soon as all was cleared, he would return. My father’s friend made sure that my father looked responsible for all the losses, and how this so-called friend got the money to buy a new bigger house, another house in Veracruz, and a new car was never questioned. When, in 1970, I returned to Jalapa and visited him in his mansion, I found him in a wheel chair. He had had a stroke, his left side was paralyzed, and his speech had also been affected. When he saw me, he got very agitated, while staring at me and desperately trying to tell me something, but I could not understand him. His wife, who had been taking care of him since his stroke, could understand him and told me, He thinks you are your father, you do look so much like him. He is glad to see you, but he is calling you your father’s name, and then he started to cry. I knew what he had done to my father, and our family was never the same again, but he had definitely paid for it and I could not hate him anymore, not the way he looked. My heart felt light, and my mind was clear of thoughts of anger or revenge or bitter discussions. I said my good-byes, and I never saw him again. He died the following year.

From that time, 1948, I only saw my father once or twice a year and not every year; there was a time when I was fourteen years old that I saw him every weekend for almost four months while visiting my aunt Chabela in Mexico City.

My father left for Colima, and we moved to a small house. Our new house was small but pretty and newly painted; it had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, a dining/living room, and an attic where Jose and Jorge slept, but the best part at least for Jose, Jorge, and me was the amount of land around the house. There were three hundred mandarin trees, some orange trees, and also some guava trees. We could have all the fruit we wanted and had lots of fun trying to sell it. The stone fence around the property was marvelous with all kinds of neat places to hide treasures, like balls or other toys, and sometimes we never found them again. We loved it.

My mother got some chickens, turkeys, and rabbits, so we had fresh eggs and meat and never noticed that we were now at a different social level in the town, and we had to make new friends. We never visited our old friends, nor did they visit us. I never understood the change in some people’s attitude until many years later, but it did not matter.

Christmas was coming soon, and I wondered what was going to happen now that my father was gone. I was eight years old, and I had known for a long time that parents get the presents for the children, but it had always been fun to write a letter and hope for your wishes. I had seen a beautiful doll in the store, and I wanted to add her to my collection. I had eight at that time, most of which my father had gotten for me. One of them had been quite expensive, and I had heard my mother telling him that it was too much money to spend on a doll. I decided to face the situation. I asked my mother if I wrote a very nice letter asking just for one thing and only one, maybe I could get that doll we had seen at the store. My mother turned to me, looking rather upset, and she said, Are you dumb or something? You are seven years old, and you have not yet developed a brain? You must know that only children of rich parents get things at Christmas! Please! I thought that you were more intelligent! I did know, but I wanted some of that magic back, and I wanted it to stay within me forever. Not having my father around was devastating, very sad, and terribly lonely. It must have been awful for my mother too, my three older brothers still in a boarding school in Puebla, my sister in college in the United States, my father gone. She had to take care of the three of us, all of the animals, and the orange grove, with only Tani to help her. Some men would come from time to time to trim the trees or pick the oranges to be sold in the market, but she also had to supervise that. A friend of one of the workers brought a dog that he had had since it was a puppy, but it was turning a bit vicious and was scaring the children and had also bitten him, not too badly, but he thought that a dog like that would be great for my mother to have since we were three children and two women, and if anybody tried to break in, that dog would definitely take care of it. If my mother would not take the dog, it was going to be put to sleep. My mother felt bad for the dog and accepted it. Tani, Jose, Jorge, and I were scared of the dog, so my mother was the only person that could get near him. The dog was a boxer, had no ears or tail, and would break his collar quite often. He scared us to death; when I walked near him and he barked at me, I could almost feel his teeth penetrating my legs or arms, and I hated it.

My sister had finished school in the States and was coming back. She had been offered a job with an American company located near Jalapa. It was a cooperation between both countries dealing with the care of cattle, and they desperately needed a bilingual person. My sister fitted the bill perfectly. My mother and I went to the airport in Mexico City to meet her, and we drove home the following day. We arrived in Jalapa quite late. We were tired and immediately went to bed.

Early in the morning, some noises of struggle and barking and shouts from my mother and Tani woke us up; my mother was screaming, Don’t move, don’t move! My sister and I stayed in bed with our heads covered under the blankets, wondering what was going on, when all of a sudden I felt the dog jumping on my bed. I could feel him walking all over me and I could hear him sniffing and I could also smell his awful breath. I didn’t even want to breathe, fearing that he would notice and would bite me. I remained as still as a rock. My mother kept saying, Don’t move, don’t move! I could feel the dog being dragged off my bed and could hear a struggle until my mother shouted to Tani to close the door. There was silence for a while; then my mother come back to the bedroom and said in a very weak and faint voice, Please, I need some help. My sister and I jumped out of bed and were shocked to see my mother with blood pouring from both hands. I ran to the bathroom to bring some towels and water. When I came back, she had fainted, and my sister was calling the hospital. As the dog had no ears, no tail, and no collar, my mother had grabbed him by the jaws; the dog kept on biting both of her hands until my mother could get him outside. She nearly lost both of her thumbs.

It was pretty bad. Her right hand took a long time to heal, but in fact neither hand ever healed completely, and she had pain quite often. There were times when she could not grab or hold things. It was very painful to see that, and it was my fault; she had given her hands to protect me, and now she would be in pain forever, and so would I. I tried to help with things when she showed difficulty or pain, but it would never be enough. So many times I wished that the dog had bitten me instead of her, so she would not have to suffer. When she would tell the story to someone—of how painful it had been and still was, how she had almost died once when the nurse was not careful enough with one of the anti-rabies shots and they had to stop the treatment—I wanted to disappear or go some place and die. I always thought that everybody was looking at me and thinking, It’s your fault. When my brothers came home on vacation and saw her hand one time when she was changing the bandages, Guille fainted, while Guero and Chavo tried to help both of them. I wanted to disappear like a drop of water in the ocean or a speck of dust in the desert, but I always had to face and endure the responsibility of what had happened and be helpful and be there.

When I was fifty-two years old, I had come to my mother’s one evening to bring her dinner as usual, and while I was helping her out, I saw her hand, now more deformed from age and arthritis, but between the liver spots you could still see the scar caused on that awful day. I gently touched her hand, feeling that pain that was constantly within my heart and soul; all of a sudden she started laughing, so loud that I was worried that after all the pain and trouble she had gone through in her life and now in her eighties, something was terribly wrong, I looked at her and asked what was the matter. She said, If I had only known that it was you instead of your sister, I would not have let the dog bite my hands. You see your sister was very fragile, but you could have wrestled with the dog. I could not believe what I was hearing. As my eyes filled up with tears and as I could feel them running down my cheeks, I felt that my heart was breaking in thousands of pieces, and the pain in my chest became unbearable. I did not know what to do or say. It had been forty-four years of carrying the pain and guilt of what had happened, and now she was telling me that she did it because she thought that she was protecting my sister, not me… I did not want to let her see me crying, since she always got angry and upset when I cried, but there was no time for reproaches or to ask her why. She had gone through a lot and had survived many great losses, and now she was too old and frail… there was no point.

My father told us that he probably was not coming back to Jalapa and that it would be better for us to move back to Puebla, so Jose and Jorge could go to the same school that Guero, Chavo, and Guille were attending. It was one of the best in the country, and my mother liked the fact that it was run by Jesuits; also, it had connections with the Institute of Technology in Monterrey, and both of my parents had planned that all my brothers would go there and become engineers, just like my father. Since we were little, my father had said in many occasions how much he would like if all his children became engineers in different specializations. He dreamed of having a company of consultants and working together with his children. Since all the boys had chosen five different branches of engineering, I had no idea what was I going to do. Luckily Guero told me that I could be a chemical engineer, and I thought, Yes! Of course I had no idea what chemistry was all about, and when I found out many years later, I changed my mind. A few months later, we moved back to Puebla.

1950-1953

my 5 older brothers.JPG

My 5 brothers; the first one on the left and down, Eduardo (Guero),

Salvador (Chavo), Jose, Guillermo (Guille), and Jorge. 1950’s

The following three years were extremely hectic, full of emotions and events that would last a lifetime. My mother had found a house for us. Tani and all the boys had already moved there. They were glad to be out of boarding school, and all the family except for my father and my sister were finally together again. It had been almost five years since we had left for Jalapa. My mother and I went back to Jalapa to make sure that all the oranges had been picked and sold, and all the animals had been either sold or given away. One day my sister appeared in the house, screaming and shouting, and I think she was crying too. I wasn’t too surprised because that is how I remembered her. She was saying pretty nasty things, and my mother sent me out to get the dogs and bring them in. When I came back, my sister was still screaming and swearing; as soon as my mother saw me, she sent me away again to take the dogs out… I did that several times; the dogs and I did not mind.

We finally left Jalapa. The house in Puebla was beautiful. It was located in a new suburb of Puebla quite far from the center and also my brother’s school, but it was big and new, and all the houses around were just as beautiful or better. All the surroundings were clean and safe; I guess that since there were no grown men in the house, a safe neighborhood was the best for all of us.

I had seen my father only three times since he moved to Colima. He was supervising the construction of a highway and did not know how long he was going to be there.

The house across from ours was absolutely the most beautiful house I had ever seen. It was white with, of course, red clay roof, very typical for Puebla. It had a huge garden in the front with several types of rose bushes, pink ones and red ones and the most beautiful yellow ones. There were other kinds of flowers, just as beautiful. It was three stories high, and you would see where the spiral stairs were because of the long stained glass windows built like a tower; in the back of the house there was a tennis court and a swimming pool. Ours was beautiful too, but had no garden. I guess after living on so much land in Jalapa, no garden was just fine. The house had two living rooms: a big dining room and a small breakfast room conveniently placed next to the kitchen. We used this room most of the time, as it was quite comfortable and big enough for all of us. Tani had her own room with private bathroom. On the second floor, there were four bedrooms and two bathrooms, just perfect for a family our size.

It was great being together with my five brothers. It was definitely not the same as just seeing them a week or two on holidays. This was every day. There was a field near the house where the boys played soccer, and I immediately became member number six. There were plenty of positions to choose from. I am not sure what position I was assigned to, but I tried to do what I saw my brothers do. One time it seemed the perfect time to hit the ball with my head… I saw yellow and pink stars, and I could have sworn that each brother had a twin. I had a headache for days, and I decided that the next time I would chose a different position. I chose to play goalie. It did not seem too complicated; all you had to do was wait for the ball and catch it—easy! The best part of all was that I did not have to use my head (literally, I mean). I saw the boys coming and going with the ball, and suddenly they were coming toward me. No problem! I thought. I got ready to stop the ball. I stopped it, all right—the ball had hit me so hard that it seemed to be part of my body. It had hit me in the stomach; I grabbed it with my hands and arms, and I could not let go. I could not move nor breathe. I had become a statue of a soccer player hugging the ball and staring at infinity. Two of my brothers stopped shouting and jumping up and down of the thrill that I had stopped the ball, and when they saw that I was not moving, they immediately rushed toward me, pulled the ball from my hands and arms, and made me walk, pulling my arms up and down until I could eventually breathe again. That marked the end of my soccer career. My collection of dolls had become more appealing than before, and I was content to play with them. Sometimes I would watch the boys play soccer.

One of the times my father was visiting us, I overheard him and my mother talking about my brothers’ school. My father said that it was too far and that they spent too much time traveling back and forth and that the best thing was for them to go to the public school near the house. My mother emphatically refused. The boys would stay in the school run by Jesuits because it was the best; they would have a better chance to be accepted at the Institute of Technology in Monterrey when the time came; she would rather move to a house closer to the school, no matter how ugly, small, or old it was, and would not mind giving up this gorgeous house. She said that the best gift a parent could give to children was an education. The boys were going to have one.

A few days later, I was still thinking about the conversation I had overheard. I hadn’t been in school for quite a while. By now I should have been in the fourth grade, but as much I liked not going to school, I knew that I should. One day I asked my mother whether maybe I could go to school like the boys. She laughed and said, Don’t be silly, you will get married and don’t need to go to school, just like me. I only went a few years, learned to read and write, and that’s enough. I thought about Chata—not only had she gone to a very expensive school in Puebla before we moved to Jalapa, but she also had been sent to the U.S. to continue her education. I mentioned to my mother, Maybe I could go to the school Chata went to. Without stopping what she was doing, she said, Oh, your sister is very smart. You had as much school as I did. I liked that she compared me to herself; I wanted to hug her and kiss her, but just like so many other times before, she said, Oh, save them for me for later, I am very busy now. It was always the same—she was too busy, too tired, or it was too hot. I just wanted her to hold me and kiss me, and I wanted to hug her and kiss her, but I eventually stopped trying. One day she told me that her father had punished her when she had kissed her sister in front of everybody. She said that her sister Chabela had said something so funny that she just wanted to hug her and kiss her, but her father had gotten so angry that she never tried it again. I had seen her hug my aunts, my sister, and her friends—maybe I had to wait until I became an adult.

One of my mother’s best friends from childhood had moved to Puebla. She was a bit older than my mother, and some of her children were already married, but she had a son just about my age, and we loved playing together every time we visited them. Angelita was a beautiful lady with a friendly smile, beautiful pink cheeks, and completely white hair, but the best gift was her cooking. We had been to her house on several occasions, and the food had been spectacular. She enjoyed it tremendously when you told her how good everything had been, while she prepared a plate of leftovers for you to take home.

One day my mother told me that she had to go somewhere and that she could not take me with her as she always did, but that I would be staying with Angelita until she came back. I did not mind. I knew I would miss her, but I also knew that she would get upset because I was too slow, and if I could not get the first seat on the bus, it would be another bad situation, so staying with Angelita sounded like a good idea. Angelita would ask me what I wanted to eat, and she would prepare it, or she would tell me that she was going to have a great surprise for that evening, and it was never disappointing. Chuchito (her son) and I had a lot of fun, and Angelita said that her son ate better when I was there. He was a bit skinny, but I wasn’t. I was starting to make food my best friend and my consolation.

The days passed, and my mother had not returned. I started to think that she had gotten tired of me and that she had given me to Angelita. On several occasions she had said that she wished that I had been a boy, so it made sense; I was sure that she was never coming back. Angelita found me crying and asked me what was the matter. I told her what I thought—about my mother not coming back for me and maybe she did not want me anymore. Angelita said that it would be impossible not to want me and that if my mother had not picked me up yet was because she was not back from her trip, and after a delicious dinner and a good sleep the following day, we would go to my house, so I could see with my own eyes that it was the truth. The dinner was delicious.

The following morning right after breakfast, we went to my house. As we approached my neighborhood, I could not help the mixed feelings of happiness and apprehension; what if my mother was there and did not want me—what would I do or say? I tried not to think about it by concentrating on looking at the beautiful houses around us. Angelita lived in the old part of town in a big, charming colonial house so typical of Puebla. We lived in an area where all the houses were new; all painted either in white or pastel colors (ours was light orange). When we finally arrived, Angelita rang the doorbell, and almost immediately Tani and one of the maids came to the door. Tani gave me a big hug and told me how much she had missed me and asked me whether I remembered to say my prayers before going to bed. My mother was not home; Tani said that she had called to check on the boys and said that she would try to come back as soon as possible, and had asked Tani to take care of the house and of the boys. She probably did not call me because she knew that Angelita would take good care of me, I thought. We went back to Angelita’s.

One day Angelita told me that my mother had called and asked her to bring me home. As much as I enjoyed Angelita’s food, I was glad to be going home and couldn’t wait to be with my mother, my brothers, and Tani. When we got home, my mother was in her bedroom. I ran upstairs, calling her, and when I entered the room, she gently asked me to be quiet and said, I brought you a present. "A present! I repeated. I could not believe it, unless she had met my father on her trip. She was always very careful about spending money on trivial things. I was waiting to see what the present was, when she said, You know how much you always wanted a doll that eats and wets? Well, you’ve got it. She pointed to a crib that was in the corner, which I had not noticed at all. As I walked to the crib, she said, I will teach you how to take care of him and how to change him and feed him." It was a bit confusing; she had not played with me before, and yet, she was going to teach me… As I looked inside the crib, I was not sure what I was seeing. It was a baby. I was the youngest, and at the age of ten, I had no idea how babies were made or where they came from. None of my parents’ friends had babies, and I had only seen the babies that the women at the market carried on their backs, while they sold their fruits or vegetables, but I had never been so close to a real baby, and it was mine. He was so beautiful, so perfect; his face had a very light complexion and pink cheeks. It seemed that he was looking at me as he smiled, and he was holding my finger with his little hand. At that moment, I knew that our hearts and souls were bonded forever and that we would love each other no matter what, and we did.

My mother taught me how to hold him, change him, and feed him. I loved it, and I learned very fast. My mother told me that he would be my responsibility and to be very careful and loving, which I was. I used to spend hours with him, and I became a very good little mother, as Tani used to call me. One day I was just staring at him, wondering, How did the doctor know how to make him? (my mother had told me that she had gotten the baby at a hospital) and how did he know which relative he should look like? He was so beautiful. I thought about something my aunt Chabela had said to me one day: You are so ugly—you look just like your father. Both my mother and my aunt laughed, but I did not think that it was so funny. She added, still laughing, Your nose is as flat as his; yes, ugly. But your sister, she is really pretty and smart too. You should try to be like her. I had tried many times. At night I would tape my nose from the end to my forehead to see if it could look like my sister’s, but in the morning, not only was it still flat, but it also had marks made by the tape. After a while of staring at the baby, I looked in the mirror of my mother’s bureau and saw the unbelievable difference in our looks. A jar of Ponds cream was on my mother’s bureau, and I remembered the advertisement. Be beautiful—use Ponds cream. I turned to where my mother was and asked her, Mami, do you think that if I use Ponds cream I could be beautiful? but she just laughed, she laughed so hard that the sound of her laughter penetrating through my ears was piercing my heart, and I was sorry I had asked such a stupid question. She said, Nothing you put on your face will change it, you are how you are, and that’s the way you will always be.

A few days later, I decided that no doll of mine could be as precious as the baby, and I gave all my dolls to the maid for her daughters. I dedicated all my time to the baby. One day my mother said that the baby had to be baptized, and that my brother Guero and I would be the godparents.

When we went to the church, the priest had a little problem with me being a godmother at the age of ten, but my mother said that the baby was sick and that she was worried because he had not been baptized yet, so I become the baby’s godmother; he was named Sergio.

I had become very efficient at taking care of Sergio to the point that even my aunt Chabela said so.

My cousin Aurora, Chabela’s daughter and the same age as my sister, would re-tell again and again the story about one time, when she was feeding Sergio while I watched, when he started to choke. She had no idea what to do, but told how I had picked him up, turned him over on his stomach, and gently patted his back. By the time she came back with my aunt, Sergio was fine.

One day my mother told me that Sergio needed something for his stomach and that I should fix him a bottle with milk, milk of magnesium, and honey. She told me the number of ounces I should put in the bottle and also how much honey. When I came back, knowing how stupid I was, she asked me to tell her how many ounces of each milk I had put in the bottle. Almost mechanically I started to tell her, when all of a sudden, she grabbed the bottle from my hands and screamed, Are you stupid? Do you want to kill him? Her tone of voice and the idea of killing my most precious baby and constant companion made my whole body shake, and I burst into tears. As so many times before when I cried, she lifted her hand as if to hit my face and told me to stop crying or she would give me a reason to cry. I tried very hard to stop crying, but I could not; the lump in my throat was suffocating me, and the tears just ran like an old broken faucet. My mother unscrewed the bottle and, pushing it to my mouth, said, Drink it, you wanted to give this to your brother and make him sick, you drink it! She was pushing the bottle so hard that my lips ached, and I could hear the glass grinding against my teeth. Millions of thoughts came into my head. If, as she had said, this would kill you or make you sick, why did she want me to drink it? Did she love me at all, or was she trying to get rid of me? I know that at ten you make a lot of mistakes, but I thought for sure that I had followed her instructions correctly. She kept pushing the bottle to my mouth, saying, Drink it! Drink it! and I knew that I had no choice but to drink it. You never say no to your parents and always obey them. I took the bottle, and when I was going to take the first sip, she grabbed it away from me and said, Just this time I won’t make you drink it, but be sure that I will the next time. I will go and fix the bottle myself, you good-for-nothing dumb girl. Stay with the baby and see that he doesn’t fall off the bed.

I walked into the room; still unable to stop my body from the trembling caused by trying so hard not to cry. I was still sobbing, and the tears just flowed despite my effort to control them. I looked at Sergio, embarrassed and scared of what had just happened and of what he would have thought had he known, but he was only a few months old and was unaware of the whole event. He looked at me and smiled, kicking his little legs and stretching his arms. I let him hold my finger as always, and he immediately tried to put it into his mouth, gurgling happily all the while. He looked at me and smiled again; my heart just melted—he loved me, and I loved him, nothing else mattered. My mother did not speak to me for a few days, but I had Sergio. We would always have each other; we would be loving and caring with each other forever. I knew it.

We traveled very often to Mexico City, where my aunts and cousins lived: Aurora (my aunt Chabela’s daughter) and Lucha (Aunt Mica’s daughter). Lucha was a little older than Aurora, and Chata and she had a son named Paquito. Paquito and I got along very well. and we always had a great time together when we visited each other. Lucha would take us to the movies and to eat out or to the zoo or other fun places. My responsibility, as my mother told me, was to make sure I packed everything Sergio would need. I was also responsible for making sure that all of his clothes were neatly folded and in perfect order on the top drawer of the chest of drawers on his bedroom. She would say, "I want to be able to find what I