Georgina’s hand.
Those who lived in the village of Lomba da Maia would often assemble in its cobbled square to hear Amalia’s fados drifting out of Senhora Genevieve’s gramophone and through her open window. Although she herself was deaf, the songs of lament served as a backdrop for the town square as the men smoked, balancing hand-rolled cigarettes on their cracked lips as they slammed their cards down, knuckles red on bistro tables. Their wives and women sat like aged schoolgirls, repeating their family histories, shared events borne from a past as if newly found. It was in that square, as a boy of six visiting for the first time, that Antonio heard the story of the blessed union between his mother and father.
Antonio sat in his shorts and navy blazer at the bottom of the steps that led up to the whitewashed church. His father, Manuel, who sat playing cards at the other end of the square, had insisted his wife and children be dressed to perfection. Terezinha sported a bowl cut that reminded Antonio of Casey from Mr. Dressup. She wore a simple dress and bobby socks. They both wore patent-leather shoes in the dusty heat of summer. Antonio sat with his legs opened in a V, playing with his marbles while his sister skipped around him and along the fancy loops and bordered patterns of inlaid black cobblestone.
“I can see your birdie, I can see your birdie, I can see …” Terezinha chimed, and pointed and snickered.
Antonio’s reaction was immediate; he shut his legs and gathered the marbles that stuck to the back of his sweaty knees. He saw his father and took a few stepstoward him but then saw the agitated look on his face. Antonio ran to his mother instead, who sat on a bench between her sister, Aunt Louisa, and her best friend, Carmen, whom she hadn’t seen since she had left more than ten years ago. Aunt Candida had refused to stay after the funeral. She had departed on the first flight home.
They sat lazily licking their
gelados.
His mother dabbed beads of sweat from her face with her kerchief and raised the burden of her hair with her forearm to cool the back of her neck.
“What is it,
filho
?” she asked as Antonio crawled up and slipped into her lap. She offered him a lick of her
gelado.
Terezinha came running after Antonio but stopped behind the bench and took the weight of her mother’s hair into her hands.
“Blow,
filha.
”
His mother closed her eyelids in the refreshing pleasure of it all and raised her glistening face to the sun. She sunk further into the bench and Antonio enjoyed sliding down with her.
“Was it all worth it, Georgina?” Carmen asked.
“Carmen,” she responded, “what my mother-in-law did will always remain with me. But, yes.” She lifted Antonio’s bangs with the side of her open palm. She looked at him through slit eyes and blew on his forehead through smiling lips. “I’d say it was all worth it.”
Aunt Louisa turned to Carmen and whispered, “That woman’s with the devil now.” Georgina responded with a reproachful glance, as if to suggest the children had been through enough already, witnessed far more than they should have at their age. Antonio stopped twirling hismother’s gold crucifix. Undeterred, Aunt Louisa began to tell the story of the wedding preparation …
Antonio could almost picture his mother’s soft, plump arms and delicate fingers reaching up to the ceiling so that her mother and sister could shimmy the poof of white over her head. It was the town’s wedding dress, the same one that all young girls in the village of Lomba da Maia wore when they married men they were barely allowed to know. They would wiggle their hips to allow the communal dress to sit as well as it could before it was unstitched, pinned, and stitched and seamed once again for that week’s bride.
“Your father loved me,” Grandmother Theresa had said to her daughter.
“Manuel loves me too.”
“You are not the one he came for and—”
“And what,
Mãe
? Huh?
Those who lived in the village of Lomba da Maia would often assemble in its cobbled square to hear Amalia’s fados drifting out of Senhora Genevieve’s gramophone and through her open window. Although she herself was deaf, the songs of lament served as a backdrop for the town square as the men smoked, balancing hand-rolled cigarettes on their cracked lips as they slammed their cards down, knuckles red on bistro tables. Their wives and women sat like aged schoolgirls, repeating their family histories, shared events borne from a past as if newly found. It was in that square, as a boy of six visiting for the first time, that Antonio heard the story of the blessed union between his mother and father.
Antonio sat in his shorts and navy blazer at the bottom of the steps that led up to the whitewashed church. His father, Manuel, who sat playing cards at the other end of the square, had insisted his wife and children be dressed to perfection. Terezinha sported a bowl cut that reminded Antonio of Casey from Mr. Dressup. She wore a simple dress and bobby socks. They both wore patent-leather shoes in the dusty heat of summer. Antonio sat with his legs opened in a V, playing with his marbles while his sister skipped around him and along the fancy loops and bordered patterns of inlaid black cobblestone.
“I can see your birdie, I can see your birdie, I can see …” Terezinha chimed, and pointed and snickered.
Antonio’s reaction was immediate; he shut his legs and gathered the marbles that stuck to the back of his sweaty knees. He saw his father and took a few stepstoward him but then saw the agitated look on his face. Antonio ran to his mother instead, who sat on a bench between her sister, Aunt Louisa, and her best friend, Carmen, whom she hadn’t seen since she had left more than ten years ago. Aunt Candida had refused to stay after the funeral. She had departed on the first flight home.
They sat lazily licking their
gelados.
His mother dabbed beads of sweat from her face with her kerchief and raised the burden of her hair with her forearm to cool the back of her neck.
“What is it,
filho
?” she asked as Antonio crawled up and slipped into her lap. She offered him a lick of her
gelado.
Terezinha came running after Antonio but stopped behind the bench and took the weight of her mother’s hair into her hands.
“Blow,
filha.
”
His mother closed her eyelids in the refreshing pleasure of it all and raised her glistening face to the sun. She sunk further into the bench and Antonio enjoyed sliding down with her.
“Was it all worth it, Georgina?” Carmen asked.
“Carmen,” she responded, “what my mother-in-law did will always remain with me. But, yes.” She lifted Antonio’s bangs with the side of her open palm. She looked at him through slit eyes and blew on his forehead through smiling lips. “I’d say it was all worth it.”
Aunt Louisa turned to Carmen and whispered, “That woman’s with the devil now.” Georgina responded with a reproachful glance, as if to suggest the children had been through enough already, witnessed far more than they should have at their age. Antonio stopped twirling hismother’s gold crucifix. Undeterred, Aunt Louisa began to tell the story of the wedding preparation …
Antonio could almost picture his mother’s soft, plump arms and delicate fingers reaching up to the ceiling so that her mother and sister could shimmy the poof of white over her head. It was the town’s wedding dress, the same one that all young girls in the village of Lomba da Maia wore when they married men they were barely allowed to know. They would wiggle their hips to allow the communal dress to sit as well as it could before it was unstitched, pinned, and stitched and seamed once again for that week’s bride.
“Your father loved me,” Grandmother Theresa had said to her daughter.
“Manuel loves me too.”
“You are not the one he came for and—”
“And what,
Mãe
? Huh?
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