Las Christmas by Esmeralda Santiago Page A

sisters.”
    But I didn’t want Delsa to have a doll like mine, so in Delsa’s letter, I wrote: “Dear Three Magi: I have been a good girl this year. I would like a doll, but not like the one you’re giving Negi, so that we won’t get confused. Sincerely, Delsa Santiago.” I didn’t ask Papi to check the spelling, and I wrote her letter on a piece of notebook paper. When Delsa complained, I told her the Three Magi would know she hadn’t written it if the letter looked too fancy, since they knew she was only six years old and couldn’t write very well.
    The days between Nochebuena and El Día de los Reyes were the longest two weeks of the year. Right in the middle, we celebrated New Year’s with noisemakers and songs that no longer despaired of lonely holidays but hoped for better days ahead. Mami and Papi gave us cloth pouches filled with nuts and raisins, and we were allowed a sip from the
coquito
Mami made, which tasted sweet and coconutty and made our heads spin if we sneaked more when our parents weren’t looking.
    The night before the Three Magi were to come, my sisters and brother and I searched for the freshest, most tender blades of grass to leave in our shoes for the Magi’s camels. We placed the shoes under our beds, the toes sticking out so that the Magi would see them. We cleaned out empty tomato-sauce cans and filled them with water from the drums at the corners of the house. Then we lined them up by the door, my letter in front of my can, and Delsa’s in front of hers. The other kids complained that we had an advantage because we could write, but Mami convinced them the Three Magi knew what each of us liked, even without a letter.
    I woke up while it was still dark. Two shadows moved around the room carrying bundles in their hands. I closed my eyes quickly. It must be two of the Magi, I thought, while the third stays outside with the camels. Next time I woke it was daylight, and Delsa was squealing in my ear. “Look Negi, look! I got a baby doll just like Jenny’s!”
    I scrambled out of bed, looked under it, found a flat rectangular package under my shoes. It didn’t look wide enough to hold a baby doll. It was a box with a colorful painting of a racetrack divided into squares and stiff horses in various positions around it. Papi saw my disappointment, and asked, “Don’t you like it?” His face looked worried, and Mami came and stood next to him and looked at me sadly.
    â€œI wanted a doll,” I cried, “like that one.” I grabbed the doll from Delsa’s arms, and she grabbed it back and ran to a corner of the room.
    Mami and Papi looked at each other. Mami knelt and hugged me. “You’re a big girl. This game is for a big girl. Dolls are for little kids.”
    â€œBut I want a doll,” I sobbed. She looked at Papi, who took my hand and walked me to the yard. Across the room, Delsa undid the baby doll’s dress, its pale pink skin glowing under her brown fingers.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t afford two dolls, and she’s younger . . .”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’ll get you a doll for your birthday.”
    â€œWhat happened to the Three Magi?”
    Papi looked at me, his eyes startled, his lips pursed into a tight O. “I’m sorry,” he said and hugged me.
    Forty years later, as I prepare for my American Christmas, I remember that embrace, the soft, moist feel of a just-shaved cheek, Papi’s slumped shoulders. I search aisles of toy stores, looking for the perfect baby doll for my daughter, who doesn’t like dolls, telling myself all little girls want one. Knowing this little girl still does.

Arroz
con
Coco

    PUERTO RICAN RICE PUDDING
    When Esmeralda’s mother, Ramona Santiago, makes this dessert, also known as
arroz con dulce,
she mixes the cinnamon sticks and some of the cloves from the spice infusion with the rest of the