How Tía Lola Learned to Teach by Julia Álvarez Page B

that perhaps the judge is also paying a compliment to Tía Lola’s colorful flowered dress, now in full display as she removes her coat.
    “Una golondrina no hace el verano,” Tía Lola reminds him. “We’ll have to wait and see if spring is here!”
    Víctor translates the saying.
    “Very wisely put,” the judge says, making a note on his pad. “One swallow does not make a summer,” he murmurs, chuckling to himself.
    “It doesn’t make a summer, but it’s a start,” Tía Lola adds, winking at the judge when he looks up from his notepad.

    Mami is the first witness. The judge wants to know the whole story of why Tía Lola came up from the Dominican Republic. As Mami talks, he listens, head bowed, so he looks like he’s praying. Every once in a while, he glances up, as if verifying with a probing glance the truth of some remark.
    Mami begins by explaining how Tía Lola took care of her as a little girl after her mami and papi died. (The judge looks up. Maybe he’s thinking about the deaths of his own parents?) How Mami got the opportunity to come to the States to study; how she met her husband, also animmigrant; how they married, had two kids, separated, divorced. (Mami hurries through this part.) How she took a job in Vermont. How she needed another family member in the household to help with her kids when they came home from school. How Tía Lola came to visit and then decided to stay. How her visa was for sixteen months and is now about to expire. How they went to a lawyer and paid him a lot of money to help get Tía Lola a residency card so she could stay with the family, but he must not have done anything because Tía Lola just got a notice that she has to leave.
    “I know she’s not technically my mother or the kids’ grandmother, but she really is to us.” Mami’s voice starts to quiver. “Please, Judge, sir, don’t tear my family apart.”
    Miguel hopes with all his might that his mami won’t cry. For one thing, that’ll get Juanita started; then Carmen, who cries at the drop of a hat; and soon, Tía Lola will be bawling. This tough judge might decide this country doesn’t need more crybabies.
    “Your aunt, or I should say your mother, certainly sounds like a very important member of your family,” the judge concedes to Mami. “And from the size of the crowd out there”—he nods toward the window—“she must also be a beloved member of your community.”
    “I can attest to that,” Colonel Charlebois says, coming forward, leaning on his cane. “This individual is one of the best things that has ever happened to our town. And I’ve been around for a long time. Even served with your father!”
    The judge glances up at the old man in a worn army uniform. For a moment he looks as if he is seeing a ghost from the past.
    “Your father was a true hero,” Colonel Charlebois adds, drawing himself up as straight as he’s ever going to get and giving the gray-haired man a firm salute.
    Slowly, the judge lifts one hand and salutes back.

    After a brief recess, Tía Lola is next. The judge begins by asking her what she thinks of all this praise.
    “They make me sound like a big hero, but I’m not,” Tía Lola explains in Spanish. Miguel shakes his head, contradicting his aunt. Tía Lola is supposed to be convincing the judge that she is extraordinary, not telling him she’s not! “But better than being an important person is being important to the people you love. Mejor ser cabeza de ratón que rabo de león .”
    The judge laughs when Víctor translates Tía Lola’s saying. “Better to be the head of a rat than the tail of a lion,” he murmurs to himself as he writes down the saying in his pad.
    One by one, the witnesses get up and attest to the worth of Tía Lola. Finally, when all the adults have had their say, the judge turns to Juanita and Miguel. “I guess the only two people I haven’t heard from in this room are you two. Will you come forward and introduce