It took courage to contact her grandparents out of the blue, having never met them or corresponded with them before. Juanita didn't even know if they were aware of her existence. But she wrote to them and hoped they could read english. Fortunately, a cousin close in age to Juanita - her name was Gloria - lived with her grandparents and answered Juanita's letter. Juanita learned that her grandfather, Martin, had been ill, but her grandmother, Joaquina, seemed keen to meet her and invited Juanita to visit them.
The train trip from California to El Paso, Texas was brutally long and hot. Even though Juanita traveled in September , the heat bore down like a hot iron on her body. The further south the train rode, the greater the humidity grew, and so did Juanita's trepidation. How would she be received?
After two days and two nights, the train reached El Paso. From the station Juanita took a taxi cab to the address of her grandparents' home. "Are you sure this is the right place?" she asked the cab driver.
"Yup", the driver replied, pulling Juanita's suitcase from the cab.
It wasn't what she expected. She had envisioned some sort of Spanish-style hacienda with multiple stories and balconies dripping with flowering vines. Instead, she was confronted with a single story dwelling, plain, with a barren front yard surrounded by a low iron rail fence. A gate opened onto a walkway that led to a wide porch. All of the house windows were covered with closed curtains. The place seemed very quiet, as if uninhabited. Juanita paid the cab driver and he promptly departed.
A curtain over the window in the front door parted slightly and a face peered out at her. The door opened, creaking, and a heavy set woman with silver hair pinned up in a chignon called out, "Quien eres?" (Who are you?")
"I'm Juanita...from California". For a moment Juanita thought they'd forgotten she was coming. She hastily added, "I'm Mercedes' daughter". She stood still as a post, gripping her purse with both hands. A bead of sweat ran from her temple to her chin. The woman looked Juanita up and down, then settled her piercing eyes on Juanita's face. She turned and uttered to someone inside. Juanita could just make out the words, "La hija de Mercedes." The woman turned her face back to Juanita, nodded her head, and waved Juanita toward the door.
The interior of the house was like a small museum, cool, dark, immaculate, and full of stiff, formal furniture. People emerged from all parts of the house to greet her: two uncles, one aunt, her cousin, Gloria, who was just seventeen years old and pregnant, and her grandfather, Martin, a sweet-faced, soft-spoken man of short stature who was the complete opposite of his imposing wife, Joaquina. In her ankle-length, floral print dress and pearl earrings, Joaquina had a regal air about her. Everyone there spoke english except for Joaquina, who immediately criticized Juanita's "American" spanish. But Joaquina was eager to learn about Juanita and all her siblings. Juanita communicated in her halting spanish, telling the story of her mother's life and death, and how all her siblings now lived their lives. In hearing the details of their daughter's death, Martin buried his face in his hands and wiped tears from his eyes. Joaquina's response was to shake her head and sigh, "Que lastima. Que tragedio."
During her two-week visit, Juanita shared a bedroom with her cousin, Gloria. The two became fast friends, gossiping and laughing together. One night, sitting up in bed chatting, Gloria confided that she'd been sent to live with their grandparents while her husband completed his stint in the army. "I got pregnant before we were married. My parents said I should live with abuelo and abuela . That way no one where I come from will know". Gloria lowered her eyes and pulled the fringed shawl she wore tightly around herself.
Juanita patted her cousin's hand and told her, "It's no shame. You're married now." Juanita touched the soft fringes of Gloria's shawl. "This is so pretty. I love the bright colors in it".
"Oh, this." Gloria shrugged. "It's one of those old rebozos that abuelo Martin's mother used to make. I wear it just to cover up my big belly." Gloria giggled.
"You mean our great grandmother made this? " Juanita drew in her breath and tugged on the shawl to examine it closely. Its intricate pattern was woven in brilliant hues of blue, pink, green, and cream. Juanita tried to imagine the clever hands that produced such a glorious cotton garment. She recalled the woven blanket her mother used to wrap herself in against the cold Oregon winters. "Are there any more of these around?"
"Sure. Up in the attic. Abuela Joaquina calls them peasant cloths. She put them away in a trunk."
"I want to see them!" Juanita couldn't contain her curiosity.
Coming next, the conclusion of this Ethnic Textile Love Story
#storythreads #ethnictextilelovestory
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