By Rossie Cortés
I could hear her footsteps on the
granite floor. She approached and I trembled in fear. My arms were sore from
her last attempt to tame the wild child in me, and I was scared for what would
come next. I didn’t do anything but that didn’t seem to matter. I was the kid
that got the blame and the punishment. The outlet to her hoarded rage; the
stand-in that quenched her thirst for revenge, and she was searching for me.
I could pinpoint her progress
through the sound of slammed doors and the shrill voice calling my name.
“Clara! Clara! You better stop
playing games if you know what’s good for you,” she screamed with her thick
Chilean accent.
But, this was not a game for me,
this was survival and her voice urged me to scoot deeper into the closet in an
effort to make myself disappear into the dark. I cried in silence, too afraid
to even wipe my tears as they traveled down my cheeks and neck. I knew it was
going to be bad when she found me, but I could only hope she didn’t.
She was angry and I didn’t know
why. But then again, the whys never seem to matter, since reason seldom guided
her actions. I wished I could ask for help, but I couldn’t. Nobody would
believe me anyway. She was the perfect nana, my babysitter, the
would-be-protector turned jailer and tormentor. She was my mother’s right hand,
and in my mom’s eyes she could never do wrong. So every time I tried to reach
out to my mother, she dismissed me as an ungrateful child with nothing better
to do than complain about the nana.
Besides my mother, there was
nobody else. Not a father, or brother. No grandparents or doting aunts. It was
just me and my mother in a country that was not my own, and Magdalena, the
nana.
To the world, she was a dutiful
maid, a rarity among Chilean nanas since she spoke some English and –to some
extent- understood the expat families she worked for. Because of that, she was
regarded as precious and irreplaceable to those who barely understood any
Spanish. Like my mother, who deemed her a lifesaver and clung to her as such.
But behind closed doors, Magdalena
was nothing but a bitter woman, tortured by jealousy and envy for what could
never be. She enjoyed the life her employers provided for her but resented them
for the same thing. She raged against her role, and sought vengeance with those
who could never complain; the children.
A door banged in the next room.
She was closer. I looked around in the dark, but there was nowhere else to run.
I felt cold as the blood drained from my face, and my whole body shook in
terror. There was nothing to be done, but be brave, so I prayed for a miracle.
I prayed with all my heart and with as much devotion as a small child could.
I was engrossed in my prayers
until I noticed that I couldn’t hear her anymore. Where was she? Was she in the
same room? I didn’t dare to open the door to check, preferring to just wait it
out and hope my mom would be home soon. I cowered behind clothes and piles of
shoeboxes, expecting the worst.
I had no idea how much time passed
until I heard a noise inside the room. Someone just came in and threw something
on the bed. I strained to hear, but I could only make out the faint noise of
drawers opening and closing. Then I heard it, my mom’s voice.
It was finally safe to come out. I
sighed, relieved. My prayers were answered. I was spared at least for that day.
I opened the door just a bit to
make sure it was her, but I couldn’t see a thing. Was it really her? I opened a
bit more and I tried to peek outside, but the door abruptly opened and I was
exposed.
“Well, well. What do I have here?”
My mother said amused. “Were you playing hide and seek with Magdalena?” My
mother didn’t even notice the fear in my eyes. “I found her!” She shouted into
the hallway.
I tried to hide again.
“Don’t be silly Clara. Come out of
the closet!” She turned to sit on the bed. I shook my head without making a
sound. “Magdalena told me you have been a naughty girl today. What did you do?”
“She made a rabieta when I
said no candy before dinner,” said the nana from the door.
“A rabieta, what’s that?”
“You know, kicking and screaming.”
“A tantrum?”
“You should have seen her! She
scared me to death with all the yelling and the hitting.”
“Clara! How could you? I thought I
told you better.” My eyes started to water. I knew better than to contradict
the nana. “Oh sweetie I know you don’t mean to be naughty but you have to stop
this. Magdalena has enough things to deal with in this house for you to make
trouble.”
My mom hugged me but I felt
desperate. There was no escape for me. Not as long as my mom was blind to my
pain. Why couldn’t she see my suffering? She was supposed to be there for me,
not her! Didn’t I deserve her love? Was I really as bad as the nana said?
“I’m so sorry Magdalena,” said my
mom. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”
“That’s not necessary,” said the
nana feigning modesty.
“Please take it. I’m so sorry
Clara has been so difficult. You deserve a few hours to yourself.”
“If you insist.” Magdalena turned
to me with her back to my mom. “See you tomorrow sweetheart. Tomorrow you’ll be
a good girl, won’t you?” I looked into her eyes and I saw the smoldering anger
behind her apparent calm. Tomorrow I was going to pay.
“The best,” I whispered, my voice
quaking while I tried to hold back my tears.
“Don’t worry sweetheart. I still
love you.” Magdalena kneeled in front of me and hugged me, wrapping her arms around
me with enough force to take my breath away. I understood her message and tried
not to grunt in pain.
“Oh, that’s so sweet,“ said Mom as
she stood to escort Magdalena out of the room. “See you tomorrow Magdalena.”
I was in the living room watching
cartoons when the doorbell rang, probably one of the neighbors, I thought. I
stood and peeked outside to see who it was. Maybe it was Tina to ask me to come
out and play.
I loved Tina. She was my best
friend, my only friend, at least the only who could understand what I was
saying, since all the other kids in our neighborhood only spoke Spanish.
Like me, she was not from this
country but from the States. I smiled because I didn’t have any idea what “the
states” meant but I liked it anyway. We used to play for hours after the nana
went home. My mom allowed me to go to her house while she made dinner and
watched the news, and I loved it. Tina made me feel normal. She made me smile,
and her family made me feel safe.
I loved her mom, and she loved me.
Unlike mine, Tina’s mom was always at home, and her father came back home every
single day. Although I was happy for Tina I admit I envied her life.
Maybe the nana was right and I was
not such a good girl after all. If I could, I would have traded places with
Tina without a thought. I wanted her mom, her family, her home. I wanted
her happiness.
I looked at the entrance but it
wasn’t Tina but her mom and she looked grim. She was talking to my mom and
neither of them looked happy with the topic. Then Tina’s mom saw me.
“Hi Clara!” She gave me a small
smile but my mom blocked her view. I frowned not understanding what happened.
“Clara go watch your cartoons,” my
mom said without even looking my way.
“But…”
“Now!”
I didn’t understand but left. Did
I do something wrong? I could still hear the murmur of their voices but
couldn’t make out what they were saying. Until I heard my mom’s angry voice.
“How dare you? Don’t you think I
would have noticed?”
Then murmurs again followed by the
closing of the door.
What had happened? Was my mom
angry at Tinas’s mom? Did that mean I couldn’t go there anymore?
My mom came into the room and
stopped to look at me. Something was wrong. I could see it in her eyes, just
like the day my dad left us. There was the pain; the desperation, and I started
to get scared. Before I could ask she kneeled in front of me and looked at me
in the eyes. My eyes water seeing myself reflected in her own.
“I can’t believe this,” she
murmured almost to herself. “I can’t,” her voice cracked and her chin started
to quiver as she tried to hold her emotions in check. She made me stand up in
front of her, then turned me so she could see my back. With trembling hands she
took my shirt off and gasped at my bruised body.
“Oh God,” I could hear her heart
wrenching sobs, my back still turned. I cried in silence and I vowed my
head remembering my earlier prayers. I flinched when her trembling cold hands
began to trace every bruise, and then gasped feeling the feather like kisses
that followed.
Did she believe me? I dare to hope
but kept silent.
Then she turned me into her arms
and fiercely hugged me to her.
“My baby. My poor, poor baby.
Never again. Never. Again.” She said, her voice raw.
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