After lunch I went to the living room to practice piano while the rest of the family watched television in the recreation room. Tía Nona had asked me to play Bach’s Prelude in C Major for her entrance into the church, and the music was already on the piano. I warmed up with scales and finger exercises. Then I decided to play something fun. Something Claudia would sing when we hung out together, except there wouldn’t be any singing this time. But that was okay. I could imagine her voice in my head, singing John Lennon’s “Imagine.” It started softly. And it seemed so real, like she was standing right next to me.
I stopped playing and turned around. “Clarisa! I didn’t know you spoke English.”
Clarisa shook her head and clutched the feather duster in her hand. “I don’t speak English.”
“But you know that song.”
Clarisa shrugged. “I’ve heard it on the radio, but I don’t know what it means.”
“Should I keep playing while you sing?”
Clarisa nodded fast, a big smile on her face. I started again. Her voice was beautiful, even better than Claudia’s. And I couldn’t believe she didn’t know what she was saying. “Do you want me to tell you what the words mean?” I asked after we were done.
Clarisa nodded and sat next to me on the piano bench. I went through the song line by line and translated it for her. “That’s beautiful,” she said.
“You have a great voice,” I said. “Do you sing in a choir?”
She shook her head and jumped up. “I have to finish cleaning in here.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Did I upset you?”
Clarisa smiled. “I’m not upset. I just have to clean or your aunt will be mad. But you keep playing. Listening to you makes the work go faster.”
I was happy to hear that. At least I was helping a little. “Do you know this one?” I started to play Adele’s “Someone Like You,” and Clarisa immediately joined in. She moved around the room dusting and singing. A couple times she stood still, held her arms in front of her, closed her eyes, and sang her heart out. She seemed to be having so much fun that I played the song a second time.
In the middle of a note, Clarisa suddenly stopped singing. I figured she was just taking a breath, but she remained silent. Then I looked up and saw Tía Nona standing in the doorway.
“That’s very nice, Anamay,” she said as she walked in and stood by me. “How is my wedding song coming along?”
I looked at Clarisa. She was dusting away, not looking at us. “I was just about to work on that,” I said. “I was warming up first.”
Tía Nona smiled. “Of course.” She moved away. “I don’t want to interrupt the artist at work! Come, Cosita, this room is fine. Go clean up the kitchen now.”
I wanted to tell my aunt about Clarisa’s wonderful voice. After all, that was the kind of thing we would normally share. And Tía Nona always appreciated true talent. But somehow, it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. So I just watched her leave the room, with Clarisa trotting behind her. Then I practiced Prelude in C Major, one hand at a time, again and again.
After about an hour, I went outside to join my family on the porch, where we rocked in the rocking chairs like old ladies. Tía Nona handed me a wicker basket covered with a cloth napkin. “Here you go, Anamay,” she said. “We saved some turrón for you.”
“What’s turrón?” I said as I took the basket and peeled back the napkin.
“Oh, you’re going to love it,” Tía Nona said. “It’s made from coconut. And, of course, lots of sugar.”
I lifted a thick tan square out of the basket and took a bite. I opened my eyes wide as I crunched on the most delicious thing I had ever eaten in my life. “This is sooo good!” I said. There were two more pieces in the basket, and I ate them both.
Tía Nona laughed. “I knew you’d love it, because I do too!”
After I finished every last crumb, I was truly stuffed. I sat back and rocked some more. I was about to doze off when a dusty pickup truck crunched into the pebbled driveway. Tío Rogelio honked and waved at us from the cab. Papi and my little sisters got out of the truck, and Tío Rogelio pulled away. Rosie and Connie ran over and grabbed my hands. They pulled me down the steps and onto the front yard. “Anamay, listen to this game our cousins taught us.”
“Which cousins?” I said.
“Rogelio’s boys,” Papi said. He sat in my chair.
Muñeca and Gracie came down to join Rosie, Connie, and me. “What game?” Muñeca said.
“I don’t know the name of it,” Rosie said. “Just watch.” She and Connie faced each other and clapped their hands while they sang about a skeleton guarding a cemetery. Each hour of the day, the skeleton ate or drank something.
De la una a las dos, el esqueleto come arroz
They put their hands to their mouths and pretended to eat rice just like the skeleton. While they “ate,” they sang some more.
Chumba que chumba que chumba ba
Then they clapped again.
De las dos a las tres el esqueleto bebe café
They held pretend cups and sipped their coffee like the skeleton.
Chumba que chumba que chumba ba
This went on until they got to the eight to nine o’clock hour.
De las ocho a las nueve el esqueleto no se mueve.
Now the skeleton stood still for an hour, and Rosie and Connie competed to see who would move first.
Muñeca laughed and clapped her hands. “I love this game,” she said. “I used to play it all the time when I was little.”
We watched Rosie and Connie and waited for someone to budge. But they were too good. Finally, Gracie got tired of looking at them.
“Let’s play, Muñeca,” she said. Gracie kept messing up the words. She was supposed to say, De las siete a las ocho el esqueleto come sancocho, but instead of having the skeleton eat stew, she gave him cake. Rosie doubled over in laughter.
“Not bizcocho!” she said. “Sancocho!”
“Ha ha. I win! I win! I win!” Connie ran around with her arms up like a victorious boxer.
The sun was beginning to set when we got into Tía Chea’s van. I looked back at Tía Nona’s house as we pulled away. Clarisa came out of the front door with a large paper bag in each hand. She turned in the opposite direction from us and walked into the blinding dusk with her head down and her shoulders slumped. She looked so tiny, like a little sister who needed someone to take care of her. I had had fun hanging out with her that afternoon. It seemed unfair that she had to work while I just loafed around for hours. What would her life be like if she lived in New York and we sat next to each other in school? We would probably be friends. Could we be friends now?