“Yes, I was to share that news with you. The government has temporarily closed schools and the teachers will join us. Midyear reports discovered that the campaign is behind schedule, so we need more trained teachers in the field if we are to meet our goal.”
There was no need for me to worry about my brothers missing a bit of school. Papi would take care of that. He was so determined that his children have more learning than he had. Over the years, he had bought books whenever he had a few extra pesos. He wouldn’t allow those boys to get behind in their studies. He’d have them reading everything in our little home library and quizzing them on it. He’d make them long for ordinary school days. And if there were many more teachers as slow as I was, the campaign needed teachers more than my little brothers did.
Maria had received a letter, but she didn’t share it. If I had paid closer attention to my friend, I would have realized that something was wrong, but I was too involved in my own thoughts of family and the pleasure of being with the squad again.
It felt like a good meeting to me. Most of us thought that our students were doing well, but the goal-driven Esteban reminded us that it was already August. Four more months and the year would be over. If we did not reach our goal, “We shall prevail” would turn into “We gave it a try.”
I was sure he was talking to me. He knew quite well that only two of my now seven students had passed their second exams. Veronica, Daniel, and Rafael were nearly there, but none of the Acostas had even passed their first. I was determined that Daniel pass his second exam immediately. If I hinted that Rafael was nearly ready to take his exam, Daniel was bound to try harder.
Astride Bonita’s back, with Maria sitting behind me on the broad saddle, I thought I heard a sniff. “Are you all right, Maria?”
Her answer was blurred by her sobs. “My parents . . .” she began.
“Did you get bad news from home?”
“Yes,” she said.
All I could think of was someone dying. How awful it would be if Abuela or one of my parents would die when I was so far away. “Did someone die?”
“Worse.”
It was hard for me to imagine anything worse. “What is it?” I tried to turn backward in the saddle enough to see her face, but she had covered it with her hands.
“They forbid me.” She began to cry in earnest. “I should never have sent that picture to them.”
I waited for more.
“They are angry with me. They say Enrico must be Haitian, he is so black.”
“Oh.” It was all I could think to say.
“I can’t give him up! I love him with all my heart!” She was blubbering now.
I wanted to ask how she could give him up when there was no evidence that he had ever been hers. That might have been true, but it seemed terribly unkind.
“I’m sorry.” It was all I could think to say.
On Monday night, I sounded like Esteban, reminding my students that our motto was “We shall prevail.” “And that means,” I said, “everyone! Everyone has to finish the primer before I leave in December or I will be counted a failure as your teacher.”
“No, no,” Dunia protested. “No one tries as hard as you. You are a wonderful teacher. It is not your fault if you do not have clever students.”
“You are a very clever student, Dunia. I know you can finish the primer. And Joaquin, you have to finish, so you can write your complaint to Fidel.”
Daniel passed his second exam on Tuesday night and Rafael and Veronica the following night. By Saturday, the elderly Acostas had passed their first exams, not with perfect scores, but decent ones. Greatly relieved, I gave my report to Esteban and Lilian. “Good work, but you need to work harder,” Esteban said. “It’s practically September.”
On the way home that afternoon, Maria said, “I told Enrico that my parents didn’t approve of our relationship. I didn’t want to, but I thought he should know. I always think it is best to be honest, don’t you?”
“Really? You told him? And what did he say?” I was trying hard to imagine how surprised poor Enrico might have been to find out a love affair was over before he knew it had begun.
“He said”— she interjected a sob between the words —“he said he thought it would be wise for us to just be friends.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Just friends!” she said, and burst into fresh tears.
I had what I thought at the moment was a brilliant idea. “You should write a poem about it,” I said.
“A poem?”