My Brigadista Year

“Today,” I said, “Veronica had to teach me how to light the stove so I wouldn’t set the house on fire. Tonight, please let me show you the best way to hold a pencil so both the pencil and the workbook will survive your attack on the alphabet.”

Luis looked up, puzzled. But when he realized I was joking, he laughed and let go of his tight grip on the pencil. Then he allowed me to demonstrate a more gentle and effective method of wielding his new tool.

Lessons were erased daily from the slate, but never their names, which Luis always looked at longingly night by night until, after he knew his vowels and consonants — indeed all the alphabet — I wrote his name in his workbook and suggested he practice copying it. Then came the night I erased his name from the slate and urged him to try his hand at writing it where I had written it two weeks before.

The chalk was tight in his hand and his tongue peeked out the corner of his mouth, as painstakingly he wrote, for the first time, his own name for others to see. At the final a, he let out something between a gasp and a laugh.

“You did it,” I said. “You wrote Luis Santana.”

“I wrote my name,” he said, “and my wife and my teacher can both read it, right? My name. Luis Santana. Now everyone who can read will know that I am Luis Santana.”

“Wait, let me get my camera.” I fetched my uncle Roberto’s camera from my rucksack. “Now stand there — no, don’t hide your signature. Stand a little to your left so I can see both your smile and your name.”

I’ve taken many photos since, but none I treasure more.

In the midst of our celebration, there was a call from outside the door. We turned to see who could be visiting at this time of night. At some point during those first busy days, I had forgotten to be afraid of marauding insurgents, but I felt a chill at the call. Luis went to the door. It was the Acostas — all four of them. “We have brought the women for the lessons,” Daniel said gruffly.

“Everyone come in,” Luis said. “Everyone must see.” He made no attempt to contain his pride. “You must look here,” he said, pointing at his signature on the slate. “I can write my name.”

“How wonderful!” Nancy exclaimed. “Now you can sign your name and not just your thumbprint.”

“How do you know it means anything?” her husband said grumpily. “It’s just scribbling.”

“No,” said Luis. “It’s real writing. I know because I can read it. Look here — L-u-i-s, Luis, and S-a-n-t-a-n-a, Santana. Luis Santana. That is my name in letters, so that anyone who can read will be able to tell what it is.”

“I can read it,” said Veronica softly. “Veronica is longer and harder, so . . .”

“But you’re practicing,” I said. “Soon you’ll be able to write it on the slate for everyone to read.”

“Did we come too late for the lesson?” Nancy asked.

“No,” I said. “If Luis and Veronica don’t mind a review, I can start the first lesson with you and your mother tonight.”

“You and Joaquin should join,” Luis said to Daniel. “Lora is a good teacher.”

Daniel made a sound like humf. “We’ll wait outside for the women,” he said, and then turned to his wife. “But don’t you be long. We have work to do tomorrow.”

It went that way for several nights. The Acosta men sat on the ground outside the door while their womenfolk studied under the lantern. Nancy was very bright and quickly caught up with Luis and Veronica. Her mother-in-law, Dunia, despite her determination, was having trouble making out any words.

One afternoon, Veronica suggested that I leave the washing for her to finish and go and give Dunia a private lesson. I hesitated, but she urged me to help her neighbor, and so I went.

“Do you know why my son relented and let Nancy and me join the lessons?” Dunia asked me that afternoon.

“No, but I’m very glad he did.”

She laughed. “I live with two stubborn men, but Nancy knows how to handle them. When Daniel refused to let her go to the lessons, she packed her clothes and went home to her mother’s house. When Daniel went to bring her home, she said she would not return unless he allowed the two of us to come to your class. She was not going to give her child two ignorant parents. You see, she will be having Daniel’s first child in November, and the thought that his child would not be born in his own home was too much for my son to bear, so he agreed.” She snorted. “Macho men. If only I had been as clever as my daughter-in-law when I was a young bride.”

It was also at that private lesson that I realized that Dunia had trouble reading because, although she could often make out the words I wrote up on the slate, the small letters in the workbook were for her simply blurs on the page.

When I told Lilian the next Sunday about the problem, she said, “The eye doctor will be coming to our area soon. Señora Acosta should get an examination.”

When the doctor came, Joaquin accompanied his wife to the examination, and it tu

rned out they both needed glasses. Oh, how proud they were of their new government-issued glasses.

“I can see a bird in that tree!” Dunia cried.

“Humf,” said Joaquin. “I can see a mosquito.”