Delia's Crossing (Delia 1)

He took my hand.

“Hand,” he said. “Arm.”

He touched my face, and I repeated every English word: eyes, nose, cheeks, forehead, mouth, chin.

Then he stepped back and tested me by pointing to everything he had translated. I was very nervous and trembling so much inside I had trouble speaking, but he was impressed with my memory.

“Very good,” he said. “You have an ability for language, and you are motivated to learn. We will be very successful very quickly. I feel confident I can help you. It’s good you know some English already. Were there many American tourists coming to your village?”

“No, only a few and not to the village. They stayed at the hotel where my aunt used to work, but they came to the square or to the farmers’ market sometimes.”

“Your aunt worked in a hotel? I didn’t know,” he said. “She never told me much about her youth or her life in Mexico. Most people think she came from somewhere else in America.”

I said nothing, afraid that I wasn’t supposed to tell, and now she would have another reason to be angry.

“Oh, well. It’s not important. What’s important is your learning English well enough to get along. I want you to start with this primer,” he said, picking up one of the books. “I’ll be working with you right after you serve breakfast every day and attend to Señorita Sophia’s room. Don’t waste time, because you’ll be wasting my time as well as you own,” he warned. “And besides, the faster I get you into some basic English, the faster things will improve for you. Understand?”

I nodded.

“I don’t know,” he muttered in English, and then looked at me and shook his head. “She wants you to learn English practically overnight so you can attend school. I

don’t see how catching you between your chores is going to work for either of us, but don’t worry. I have an idea.”

He smiled again and stepped closer to put his hand on my cheek.

“You’re a very pretty young woman,” he told me. “You will do very well once you learn English. Before you know it, you’ll have todos los muchachos eating out of your hand. Did you have a boyfriend back in Mexico?”

“No,” I said.

“A real virgin, then?” he asked.

I did not reply. My father would whip him to an inch of his life for talking to me like this, I thought. With an aunt who wasn’t sympathetic, servants who seemed to resent me, and a cousin who mocked me, I was totally unprotected.

Suddenly, he brought my hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Welcome to America, Miss Yebarra,” he said.

He held my hand and smiled.

“You say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“You could also say, ‘I’m pleased to be here.’ Go on,” he urged, and I said it. Then he nodded and released my hand.

“It’s a nice way to say hello to people or even good-bye,” he emphasized. “You have to learn the social graces,” he told me, pretended as if we had just met, and did it again.

“Oh, I can see it won’t take us long to get you up and running in English if I can have enough time with you,” he said, his face so close to mine I could see the pores in his cheeks, some filled with what looked like soot. His breath was a mixture of onions and cigarettes and made my stomach churn, but I was afraid to move or insult him.

“Your aunt wants you to do more than learn English, Delia. She wants you to learn how to be in society, how to be a lady. I’ll show you how to walk, sit at a table, even how to eat, so that when people meet you, they will think you came from a quality home.”

“I did come from a quality home.”

“Yes,” he said, laughing, “but not quite the level of quality your aunt appreciates. Believe me,” he said, “you’ve crossed more than a border. You’ve crossed into a new life. That is why she wants you to forget the old.”

I started to shake my head.

“At least, pretend you have,” he warned.