is warped and scratched from the heat and so much playing, and the words bend as if they’re underwater. But Ivanito and his mother sing them that way after a while. Felicia has a strong, unbroken voice that begins deep inside her throat. She encourages Ivanito to sing with her and he does, at the top of his lungs. He knows the song by heart.
Ivanito watches his mother put on her flannel nightgown then wrap herself in a frayed Chinese tunic embroidered with chrysanthemums, a onetime gift from his father. His sisters still have the silk scarves Papá brought back from China. They keep them hidden in the back of their dresser drawer. Ivanito found a photograph of his father hidden in the same drawer. He is standing on the Paseo Prado with Havana harbor in the background. Hisberet is pushed low on his forehead, and his mouth is stretched wide, with big square teeth like a horse. Ivanito knows his father is a merchant marine and sails around the world. Luz and Milagro tell him that Papa still loves them, but Ivanito cannot be sure it is true.
His mother claims that he almost died because of Papa, from a venereal disease that infected him when he was born. In the hospital, she pinned a tiny onyx badge on his diaper to guard against the evil eye. She and her friend Herminia burned votive candles in the nursery until the doctor threatened to throw them both out of the hospital. He said they were killing the oxygen.
There’s a bin full of coconuts at the bodega. Felicia trades in her remaining food coupons for every last one, and the grocer throws in a chocolate bar for Ivanito. Then they go door to door, hunting for more coconuts. Ivanito follows his mother as she wanders farther and farther from Palmas Street in her tunic and scuffed pink slippers. Felicia’s hair springs from her head like electric wires, and she swings her arms in great arcs, as if her chaos had a rhythm.
They play a game with colors as they walk. “Let’s speak in green,” his mother says, and they talk about everything that makes them feel green. They do the same with blues and reds and yellows. Ivanito asks her, “If the grass were black, would the world be different?” But Felicia doesn’t answer.
His mother collects coconuts from strangers, promising haircuts and manicures in exchange. Others are not so kind. They shout insults at her from their windows and balconies, hiding behind the boughs of acacia trees.
“They’re afraid to call me a whore to my face,” his mother says disdainfully.
A gaunt mulatta tells Ivanito he smells of death. This scares him but his mother tells him not to worry, that the lady is probablycrazy. On the way back, his bag rips and the coconuts scatter in the street like billiard balls. Cars brake and screech but his mother doesn’t notice the commotion. Instead, she scolds the coconuts one by one as if they were errant children.
At home, his mother removes her tunic and slippers. She takes a hammer and rusty chisel and shatters each coconut, scraping the blinding white, perfumed flesh from the shells. Ivanito helps her blend the coconut with egg yolks, vanilla, condensed milk, sugar, cornstarch, and salt, and holds the empty tin vegetable-oil containers while she fills them with the mixture. Together they arrange them in the freezer. With the leftover egg whites, she fashions star-shaped meringues, which she serves with the ice cream day after day, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. His mother believes the coconuts will purify them, that the sweet white milk will heal them.
Felicia’s spirits soar as the coconut ice cream diminishes. She makes pronouncements that Ivanito doesn’t understand, stays up all night hearing prophecies in her head, forgives her father and ex-husband long lists of past trespasses. She dances for days to her Beny Moré records, her hands in position for an impossibly lanky partner, to “Rebel Heart,” her slippers scraping the floor, to “Treat Me As I Am,” a buoyant
guaracha
,.
Ivanito watches his mother put on her flannel nightgown then wrap herself in a frayed Chinese tunic embroidered with chrysanthemums, a onetime gift from his father. His sisters still have the silk scarves Papá brought back from China. They keep them hidden in the back of their dresser drawer. Ivanito found a photograph of his father hidden in the same drawer. He is standing on the Paseo Prado with Havana harbor in the background. Hisberet is pushed low on his forehead, and his mouth is stretched wide, with big square teeth like a horse. Ivanito knows his father is a merchant marine and sails around the world. Luz and Milagro tell him that Papa still loves them, but Ivanito cannot be sure it is true.
His mother claims that he almost died because of Papa, from a venereal disease that infected him when he was born. In the hospital, she pinned a tiny onyx badge on his diaper to guard against the evil eye. She and her friend Herminia burned votive candles in the nursery until the doctor threatened to throw them both out of the hospital. He said they were killing the oxygen.
There’s a bin full of coconuts at the bodega. Felicia trades in her remaining food coupons for every last one, and the grocer throws in a chocolate bar for Ivanito. Then they go door to door, hunting for more coconuts. Ivanito follows his mother as she wanders farther and farther from Palmas Street in her tunic and scuffed pink slippers. Felicia’s hair springs from her head like electric wires, and she swings her arms in great arcs, as if her chaos had a rhythm.
They play a game with colors as they walk. “Let’s speak in green,” his mother says, and they talk about everything that makes them feel green. They do the same with blues and reds and yellows. Ivanito asks her, “If the grass were black, would the world be different?” But Felicia doesn’t answer.
His mother collects coconuts from strangers, promising haircuts and manicures in exchange. Others are not so kind. They shout insults at her from their windows and balconies, hiding behind the boughs of acacia trees.
“They’re afraid to call me a whore to my face,” his mother says disdainfully.
A gaunt mulatta tells Ivanito he smells of death. This scares him but his mother tells him not to worry, that the lady is probablycrazy. On the way back, his bag rips and the coconuts scatter in the street like billiard balls. Cars brake and screech but his mother doesn’t notice the commotion. Instead, she scolds the coconuts one by one as if they were errant children.
At home, his mother removes her tunic and slippers. She takes a hammer and rusty chisel and shatters each coconut, scraping the blinding white, perfumed flesh from the shells. Ivanito helps her blend the coconut with egg yolks, vanilla, condensed milk, sugar, cornstarch, and salt, and holds the empty tin vegetable-oil containers while she fills them with the mixture. Together they arrange them in the freezer. With the leftover egg whites, she fashions star-shaped meringues, which she serves with the ice cream day after day, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. His mother believes the coconuts will purify them, that the sweet white milk will heal them.
Felicia’s spirits soar as the coconut ice cream diminishes. She makes pronouncements that Ivanito doesn’t understand, stays up all night hearing prophecies in her head, forgives her father and ex-husband long lists of past trespasses. She dances for days to her Beny Moré records, her hands in position for an impossibly lanky partner, to “Rebel Heart,” her slippers scraping the floor, to “Treat Me As I Am,” a buoyant
guaracha
,.
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