The Waves Keep Coming

My grandmother, Lucia Alderete, and great-grandfather Narciso, in 1935.

1932
"Entonces cuando yo creci mas yo no tuve escuela porque no nos daban escuela. No los almitian a los mexicanos cuando fui unos cuantos dias me dio verguenza porque yo no tenia ropa. Pos, mama me habia comprado un vestido que era de segunda.

"Lo tenia retratado."

(Later, when I grew up, I didn’t attend much school because Mexicans were not permitted to enroll in school. They wouldn’t admit us. When I went a few days, I was ashamed because I didn’t have any clothing. My mother had bought me a second-hand dress.

It had feathers.)


1982
Leslie, yes, she of an earlier story, walked into the gas station. Waves of overwhelming emotion, that I was too young to recognize as infatuation, overtook me, and because infatuation is like any sickness, much harder on the very young and very old, my knees shook.

Leslie. The name still makes me wistful.

1932
"Pues, nos ibamos no mas amaneciendo. Antes que hubiera rocio, porque cuando habia rocio, tenia que esperar uno despues. Los Americanos decian que pesaba mucho el algodon con el rocio. En ese tiempo era pizcar algodon -–no era pulliado. Era pizcado y se tenia uno que esperar. Esperabamos hasta que saliera el sol. Y nos ibamos – a pie – yo y tu mama y Juanita."

(Well, we left at dawn. Before the dew. Because when there was dew, we had to wait a while. The Americans said that the dew would make the cotton weigh more. In those days, we picked cotton, we didn’t pull it We had to pick it, so we had to wait until the dew was gone. We would wait until the sun came out. And off we would go – on foot – me, your mother and Juanita.)

1982
The first break passes. There is a momentary pause as the wave recedes into the sea. The second wave is coming. But in the calm an empty feeling fills the space on the beach. The feeling is of shame, and I’m not so young as to not recognize this demon, nor can I deal with it properly. Unlike infatuation, shame is equally hard on every age group. I am ashamed because I am in the store with my grandmother. She reminds me of my poverty and of my heritage. She is very dark and her English is poor.

My grandmother calls me to leave as Leslie sees me. She has bought me a candy. “I’m coming, Lucy,” I say. The third wave takes the wind from my sails, because it is contempt.

1932
"Nuno me deci ‘buela. Todos me me dicen Luci. Totos, Luci. Para ellos, soy Luci. Porque Brandon fue el primero porque Jose me habla Luci. Y comenzaba apenas hablar y decia Luci! Luci! Y de alli fueron todos, Luci. Todos, Luci. Mis yernos, y todos, hasta los muchachos, tambien, soy Luci."

(None of them call me Grandmother. They all call me Lucy. To everyone, Lucy. For them, I’m Lucy. Because Brandon was the first, because Jose would call me Lucy. And he was just beginning to talk and he would say, “Lucy! Lucy!” And from then on everyone said Lucy. Everyone said Lucy. And for my sons-in-law and everyone, even the kids, I’m Lucy.)

2002
The fourth wave hits 20 years later, after having receded to the other ends of the earth. I am reading a memoir of her life that some student has recorded at Baylor University. The fourth wave is very much like the second, another kind of shame. Guilt. But it is no longer she who makes me ashamed. The wave feels cold and uncomfortable, but I soon adjust, knowing that the salt in this water brings its own kind of healing.

1932
"Todo el tiempo queria yo aprender a tocar el piano pero nunca se me concedio. Y luego decia yo, bueno, cuando ya me case le dije a ojala que mis hijas vayan a aprendir a tocar el piano. No aprendieron ellas cuando estaban con nosotros, pero aprendieron despues de casarse. Bueno, y todos mis nietos, todos son musicos. Pero todos mis nietos les gusto la musica."

(I always wanted to learn to play the piano, but I never had the opportunity. And I later would say I hope that when I marry, my daughters will learn to play piano. They didn’t learn when they were living here with us, but they learned later, after they were married. Well, and all of my grandchildren, all of them are musicians. They all love music.

2004
You were wrong, Lucy. I never learned to play music. I’m sorry. But I can write, a little. And I want to write why your dress had feathers.

Those waves keep coming.

You were an angel.