My Beloved World Read Online Free PDF Page B

Eddie, Junior, and I—would be corralled in the bedroom and ordered to sleep. We knew that nothing would happen until the adults believed we were snoozing, and they were dead serious about this. Somehow they failed to reckon with the powerof my curiosity, or how easily I could impose my will on the other kids. We all lay on the bed in watchful silence, perfectly still, waiting.
    There was just enough light coming from the street and through the curtains on the glazed doors separating the bedroom from the living room to make the atmosphere cozy or spooky, depending on your mood. I could hear the fading rumble of the El train going by. I could hear by their breathing when Junior and Eddie both conked out.
    As we lay there, my mind would rehearse what Charlie had told us: how Abuelita and Gallego call the spirits to ask them questions; how they were not evil but they were powerful, and you had to develop your own powers if you wanted their help; how Abuelita’s spirit guide was called Madamita Sandorí and spoke with a Jamaican accent. His eyes got wide just talking about it. Charlie and Tony were Alfred’s age, an in-between generation much older than the rest of the cousins. Charlie was adult enough that they let him sit at the table for the
velada
. Gallego, who was as skilled an
espiritista
as Abuelita, wanted to teach Charlie, but Charlie did not want that responsibility. It was one thing to have the gift, quite another to dedicate yourself and study it.
    As strange as they were, Charlie’s reports of the supernatural made sense. They weren’t like Alfred’s unbelievable stories, about the ghosts of dead
jíbaros
riding horses around San Germán, intended only to scare us. I knew that Abuelita used her magic on the side of good. She used it for healing and for protecting the people she loved. Of course I understood that a person with a talent for engaging the spirit world could equally put it to work for darker ends
—brujería
, or witchcraft. In Abuelita’s own building one of the neighbors was known to put curses on people. I was forbidden to go near her door on penalty of getting smacked, which was something Abuelita had never done, so I knew she meant it.
    Finally, the little bell would ring very softly. That was the cue. Nelson, Miriam, and I would climb off the bed and sneak up to the glazed doors. We’d stick our noses to the panes, peering through the tiny gaps at the edge of the curtain stretched and pinned over the glass. All I could see was the backs of chairs, the backs of heads, shoulders hunched by candlelight in a tight circle around the table. The bell would tinkleagain, but except for that one clear note it was impossible to make out any sounds through the door.
    I would carefully open the door a tiny crack, and we would huddle to listen. It was good to be close together, just in case. Gallego would always be the first to talk, and not in his usual voice. It didn’t sound like Spanish, but it wasn’t English either. It sounded like someone chewing words and swallowing them. Choking on them. Then the voice coming out of Gallego would moan louder until the table moved, seeming to rise off the floor, signaling the spirits’ arrival. Miriam, trembling, would scoot back into bed fast. I wouldn’t give up so easily. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t decipher the garbled words. After Nelson and I got tired of trying, we’d join Miriam in bed. Nelson would pull the blanket over his head and whisper in mock exasperation, “How do they expect us to sleep with a house full of spirits?” We’d all lie still for a minute. Then Nelson would pretend to snore very softly, and Miriam and I would start giggling.
    EXCEPT FOR my very earliest memories, when we still lived on Kelly Street in the same tenement as Abuelita, my father hardly ever came along to the parties. It was easier that way. On the rare occasions when he did come—on Mother’s Day or Thanksgiving—I was nervous, watching and