Delia's Crossing (Delia 1)

I sat stiffly, afraid to move or touch anything. I was so nervous that I felt faint. When would I meet my cousins? I wondered. Judging from all of this, my room must be as beautiful and as big as Abuela Anabela predicted. Just the thought of having my own room was exciting enough, but looking at all this, I couldn’t help but let my imagination run away with itself.

There was a clock placed in what looked like an oval-shaped piece of black marble on the mantel of the milk-white marble fireplace, a fireplace that appeared never to have held a spark, much less a fire. It was as clean within as any other part of the room.

After more than ten minutes, I let myself relax and sit back on the sofa. It was very quiet. I didn’t even hear anyone’s footsteps. Where was my aunt? Why hadn’t she come quickly? I took a deep breath. The traveling had been more tiring than I had thought it would be, despite the luxury in which I was transported. Tension, fear, and confusion had worn me down. I couldn’t help but close my eyes. I fought back, but my eyelids were determined, and in moments, without my realizing it, I fell asleep.

I woke up to what sounded like someone screaming at me.

“How uncouth, unwashed, and impolite! Look at her!”

I opened my eyes quickly and sat up. Glancing at the clock, I saw that I had been there nearly an hour waiting. The woman I knew had to be my aunt stood before me, her hands on her hips. An older man with thick, well-trimmed gray hair and slightly bulging dark brown eyes stood beside her, smiling at me.

Of course, I had seen stately, elegant-looking women in magazines but never one in person as regal in appearance as mi tía Isabela. She was taller than my mother, full-figured in a form-fitted, sequin-covered dress the color of alligator. The V-neck collar dipped well down into her cleavage. Her ebony hair looked too rich and bright to be natural. Everything about her was somehow emphasized. It was as if she walked about under a magnifying glass that highlighted her eyes, her lips, her body, and her complexion. Nothing was out of place. There wasn’t a crease or a blemish. She was like one of her statues come to life. I could only gape in wonder, and as I focused in on her, she appeared to grow taller.

Of course, I was desperately searching for more resemblances to my mother, but except for the curve of her chin, which was as smooth as my mother’s, the color of her eyes, and a similar diminutive nose, I saw nothing to convince anyone beyond a doubt that they were sisters.

The gentleman beside her wore a gray sports jacket and slacks with what looked like tennis shoes. All of his facial features were a bit too large, starting with his protruding nose and thick lips. His chin was sharply rounded, with a slight cleft, and when he smiled, he revealed big teeth as well. Not quite my aunt’s height, he was slight of build. I saw that he had long, thin fingers that looked more like feminine than masculine hands. Those hands never did any hard labor, I quickly thought. They never opened a tightly closed jar. It was how my father would have characterized them.

“Look at how she’s gaping at us. Tell her to sit up straight,” my aunt said. “Especially when she is in my presence.”

“Siéntese derecho, señorita joven, especialmente en la presencia de su tía,” the gentleman told me like an obedient translator.

Why did my aunt need him to translate, and why was she speaking to me now only in English? She must know I had a very limited understanding of the language, I thought. This was no time to put on airs. Besides, she didn’t have to do anything more to impress me.

I sat up as straight as I could. She beckoned for me to stand, and I did. Then she walked around me, looking me over. Suddenly, she put her hands under my breasts and lifted them.

“Why aren’t you wearing a bra?” she asked. I knew what she meant.

“No lo tengo,” I told her, and she made a face.

“See how they live, John.”

“Your daughter doesn’t wear a bra most of the time,” he told her, and she spun on him. I picked up a word or two, and from the smirk on his face, I thought he was referring to my cousin.

“She does when it’s proper to do so, John. It would have been proper for her family to have her wear a bra the first time she met me.”

“But her parents were killed,” he said.

I understood that he was defending me. Why was she so angry?

“Her grandmother should have had the…oh, what the hell am I talking about? They don’t know anything about social etiquette back there. Tell her I’m having a bra sent to her room, and I want her wearing it all the time.”

He did so, still smiling at me. I thought it was time to tell her or ask her to speak to me in Spanish.

“I don’t know little English,” I said. “Please. Talk español.”

“How idiotic she sounds. You want me to speak español?” she asked sweetly.

I nodded.

Without any warning, she brought her hand up and slapped me sharply across the face. The blow spun me around, and I had to catch myself on the arm of the sofa.

“Never! Never tell me what to do!” she shouted. “Tell her, John.”

He spoke quickly in Spanish, looking as terrified as I was. My eyes filled with tears, but I trapped them quickly. I would not cry. I held my palm against my cheek. It still stung.

“Sit down!” she shouted, pointing to the chair, and I did so. She strutted about a moment with her arms folded under her breasts and then began dictating to the gentleman, who told me the following.

“My name is Señor Baker. I’ve been Señora Dallas’s daughter’s tutor on and off for years, and now, anticipating your arrival after your family tragedy, she has hired me to tutor you in English. You are permitted to speak Spanish only with the servants and never in front of Señora Dallas and never again to Señora Dallas unless she so permits.