proud to accept charity. I lowered my head and nodded.
“Good. Get her miserable things together,” my aunt told Señora Rosario. “Mr. Baker has wasted enough time. Bring her back in two weeks speaking English well enough to get by, or I’ll see to it that you’re deported along with her,” my aunt threatened him.
Señor Baker laughed, but whatever she had told him brought a little fear to his face, especially into his eyes.
“Don’t worry. I know I’ll be successful,” he said. “We’ll be successful,” he told me in Spanish.
“Go on. Get her started!” my aunt ordered.
Señora Rosario returned to my room with me to make sure I hurriedly gathered my things. I put everything back into my little suitcase while she stood there looking very sorry. My tears flowed even more freely.
“I don’t want to go with Señor Baker,” I told her. “I don’t like him.”
She bit down on her lower lip as if she was stopping herself from saying something she would regret and then shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” she told me. “Do the best you can. It’s what we all do. Come along.”
I followed her to the front of the house, where Señor Baker waited in his car. He was all smiles, eager to help me with my suitcase. Then he opened the car door for me.
“ Adentro. Get in,” he said.
I got into his car, and he closed the door and got in behind the wheel.
“I’ll start your lessons by identifying every part of the inside of the car,” he told me, and then, as he touched something, he pronounced the English word for it. He asked me to repeat what he said and then touched the part again without speaking and asked me to identify it in English.
Despite my nervousness and fear, I was able to do it easily.
“See how easy it can be when we work like this?” he said loudly enough for Señora Rosario to hear. He nodded and smiled at her, but she just stared at us. “That was so simple. You liked that, didn’t you?” he asked me.
“ Sí. ”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he said, starting the engine. “We’ll have a little tour of the desert. We’ll stop and get groceries, and I’ll teach you words all along the way. It will be good. You’ll see. I’ve gotten you out of slave labor here, too,” he said loudly, and nodded at the house and Señora Rosario, who continued to stand there on the steps watching us. She grimaced and shook her head slightly.
“The housework you will have with me will be nothing in comparison with what they made you do here,” he said, leaning over to whisper, “and you won’t have to put up with that spoiled brat, Sophia. I’m the only spoiled brat in your life now.” He laughed.
“Now, here’s another good idea,” he said. “I’ll teach you a song that will teach you numbers in English. Ready? It starts like this: One hundred bottles of beer on the wall, one hundred bottles of beer. If one of the bottles should happen to fall, ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall. See? Sing along. Come on,” he said as he drove away from the house.
I looked back at Señora Rosario and saw her shake her head again and turn to go back inside. Despite what Señor Baker said and how I had been treated, I was not happy about leaving with him. We continued down the long driveway, past the beautiful flowers and hedges, the statues and fountains.
“Sing what I sing,” he ordered.
I did.
“Louder. Be happy, energetic. You’re off to begin a new life. Ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall… ”
The gate opened for us, and I looked back one more time as Señor Baker continued to sing and forced me to sing along with him.
Now I don’t even have a phantom family, I thought.
Why should I care what awaited me when we reached zero bottles of beer on the wall?
7
Newlyweds
A s he had promised, along the way, we stopped at a supermarket at the center of a big shopping mall. Señor Baker explained that we had to get basic necessities and enough food to keep us for at
“Good. Get her miserable things together,” my aunt told Señora Rosario. “Mr. Baker has wasted enough time. Bring her back in two weeks speaking English well enough to get by, or I’ll see to it that you’re deported along with her,” my aunt threatened him.
Señor Baker laughed, but whatever she had told him brought a little fear to his face, especially into his eyes.
“Don’t worry. I know I’ll be successful,” he said. “We’ll be successful,” he told me in Spanish.
“Go on. Get her started!” my aunt ordered.
Señora Rosario returned to my room with me to make sure I hurriedly gathered my things. I put everything back into my little suitcase while she stood there looking very sorry. My tears flowed even more freely.
“I don’t want to go with Señor Baker,” I told her. “I don’t like him.”
She bit down on her lower lip as if she was stopping herself from saying something she would regret and then shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” she told me. “Do the best you can. It’s what we all do. Come along.”
I followed her to the front of the house, where Señor Baker waited in his car. He was all smiles, eager to help me with my suitcase. Then he opened the car door for me.
“ Adentro. Get in,” he said.
I got into his car, and he closed the door and got in behind the wheel.
“I’ll start your lessons by identifying every part of the inside of the car,” he told me, and then, as he touched something, he pronounced the English word for it. He asked me to repeat what he said and then touched the part again without speaking and asked me to identify it in English.
Despite my nervousness and fear, I was able to do it easily.
“See how easy it can be when we work like this?” he said loudly enough for Señora Rosario to hear. He nodded and smiled at her, but she just stared at us. “That was so simple. You liked that, didn’t you?” he asked me.
“ Sí. ”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he said, starting the engine. “We’ll have a little tour of the desert. We’ll stop and get groceries, and I’ll teach you words all along the way. It will be good. You’ll see. I’ve gotten you out of slave labor here, too,” he said loudly, and nodded at the house and Señora Rosario, who continued to stand there on the steps watching us. She grimaced and shook her head slightly.
“The housework you will have with me will be nothing in comparison with what they made you do here,” he said, leaning over to whisper, “and you won’t have to put up with that spoiled brat, Sophia. I’m the only spoiled brat in your life now.” He laughed.
“Now, here’s another good idea,” he said. “I’ll teach you a song that will teach you numbers in English. Ready? It starts like this: One hundred bottles of beer on the wall, one hundred bottles of beer. If one of the bottles should happen to fall, ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall. See? Sing along. Come on,” he said as he drove away from the house.
I looked back at Señora Rosario and saw her shake her head again and turn to go back inside. Despite what Señor Baker said and how I had been treated, I was not happy about leaving with him. We continued down the long driveway, past the beautiful flowers and hedges, the statues and fountains.
“Sing what I sing,” he ordered.
I did.
“Louder. Be happy, energetic. You’re off to begin a new life. Ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall… ”
The gate opened for us, and I looked back one more time as Señor Baker continued to sing and forced me to sing along with him.
Now I don’t even have a phantom family, I thought.
Why should I care what awaited me when we reached zero bottles of beer on the wall?
7
Newlyweds
A s he had promised, along the way, we stopped at a supermarket at the center of a big shopping mall. Señor Baker explained that we had to get basic necessities and enough food to keep us for at
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