Niyati Keni - Esperanza Street

I arrived at my father’s apartment block the next morning to find the House-on-Wheels emptied of itself, its contents displayed around it in small, neat piles. Lorna perched on the foot-rail, leaning over the side into the cart. She smiled at me as I walked in and pulled her skirt down to cover the back of her legs, though it hadn’t risen particularly high. I felt a stab of scorn; did she think I’d be looking? Her other hand moved up and down rhythmically and I saw that she was fanning Marisol, who was asleep on a mat in the cart. The baby fidgeted as I looked over the side but didn’t wake. ‘It’ll be cooler inside,’ I said. ‘Anyway, Dante had an electric fan.’ In the last couple of days I’d caught myself on a few occasions referring to my father by his first name, as if his death had left us on equal terms. Lorna shrugged and smiled again, glancing up at the apartment window.

On the other side of the House, Lottie was boiling a pan of water over their small stove. ‘The Queen of England made them sleep outside last night,’ she said. She sounded offhand, as if this was only to be expected. I wasn’t sure how to respond, whether to defend Luisa, and I was irritated by Lottie’s tone. Yet I could picture my sister closing the door on them, her face pinched and icy. I said nothing. I looked over to where Lando was washing his feet and rinsing his mouth at the water tap. He raised an arm in greeting. The other children were nowhere to be seen. I peered over the side of the cart at Marisol again. Lando turned off the tap and came over. ‘Thinking maybe we’ll leave today,’ he said, looking at Lorna. She ignored him and me, fanned the baby a little faster. I excused myself and ran up the stairs to the apartment.

I was surprised when Elisa answered the door, for just the day before she’d said in a low voice, close to my ear, that she’d only come if she knew I was already there. She was holding a broom and looked in bad spirits. ‘She’s lucky she’s your sister,’ she said.

Luisa came out of the kitchen. ‘Need to give it an extra clean,’ she said. ‘How long was she staying here?’

‘Not long. Why’d you make her sleep outside?’

Luisa looked at me, her lips a thin line. ‘What, you’re Mother Teresa now?’

‘She’s all right. And the baby’s not used to sleeping out.’

Luisa was twelve years older than me and, though I hardly saw her, she acted like she’d stepped into our mother’s role in her dealings with me, even standing the same way with her hands on her hips, the same taut expressions and sudden flashes of displeasure. I hadn’t minded it before but now I did. ‘You’re not my mother, Luisa,’ I said. ‘You haven’t even been home for years.’

She looked away to hide her surprise. ‘We should sell the furniture, unless you want to keep it for your wedding ,’ she said.

‘You can’t tell me what to do!’ I was incensed.

Elisa stopped sweeping. Luisa stared at me. ‘What are you talking about?’ she said.

‘Why should I marry her? Why can’t Miguel or Fidel marry her?’

‘Marry who?’ She looked bewildered and I remembered that it had been my mother’s line, whenever I wouldn’t finish my food: you want to keep it for your wedding?

‘Missy thinks I should marry Lorna,’ I said, ‘but I don’t want to. I don’t love her. She’s not even pretty.’ Luisa stared at me for a moment and then, unexpectedly, she smiled. I didn’t know what she found so amusing and I bristled. Then, behind me, I heard soft sounds. At the open door stood Lorna, the baby held to her chest. She was flushed and looked away as I turned round. She looked almost as if she might break into a run. She’s not even pretty. I glared at her, unrepentant.

‘You can tell her yourself now,’ Luisa said, and turned away.

Lorna, without saying why she’d come, walked away again quietly, her back straight, head high, and it was Elisa who went after her, throwing a look in my direction as she left. I closed the door after them impatiently.

Inside, the furniture had been pushed to the edges of the room and the remaining space was ringed with boxes that Luisa had filled with our father’s possessions in no particular order, a strip of paper taped to each: books, cassette player, kerosene lamp, PASTOR L? It surprised me how little there was, finally. No vestige of him remained, or rather, now that his things were no longer where he had placed them, it felt at last that he was gone. I was struck by how many of his belongings were functional: kitchen implements or tools. Even the books were volumes in an old encyclopaedia. The few ornaments had been my mother’s. Most of it was to be given away to the church, Luisa said, with an exaggerated tone of generosity that made me despise her for a moment.

She’d found a small tin containing photographs of us as children and of my mother. We sat on the floor to divide them between us but, except for one picture of her with our mother, Luisa let me have them all. There was one of Miguel squatting on the sea wall, both hands giving a thumbs-up to the camera, his mouth hesitant, tender; in the background, our mother pregnant with me. After the funeral, he’d said that he wanted no mementoes but had left an address for money to be wired if there was any.

In the bedroom my nephews, told to sit still by their mother, were fretful. They were bored, the novelty of the trip having long since dissipated. ‘When are you leaving?’ I said.

‘Soon. Fetch Pastor Levi to help you move this stuff. Or take Elisa.’ I looked at the boxes. Luisa hadn’t thought to pack them lightly; one contained the entire encyclopaedia.

‘The neighbours might use some of this. Or Lottie and Lando,’ I said.

‘I don’t want anyone taking the best stuff and Pastor Levi thinking Pop was cheap.’

‘What about the furniture?’

‘The landlord’s coming to check the place. I told him if he wants to keep the furniture he can buy it. Otherwise we’ll have to sell it. We can send the money to Miguel.’

‘The rent was paid till the end of the month.’

‘I can’t stay that long.’ She glanced out the door, towards the stairs that led down to the courtyard, where the children of the House-on-Wheels could be heard returning. ‘I’ve just cleaned the place, Joseph,’ she said crossly.

She’d left a pile of things on top of her own case: a china figurine of two European children kissing coyly, a photograph, an empty silver-coloured picture frame that had been my parents’ wedding gift, a cutwork tablecloth, a set of glass bowls. Her luggage would be heavy on the way back and I thought of her struggling with it, the boys whining at her side. ‘What are you so happy about?’ she said.

‘Nothing.’

Elisa came back in. She pulled a sour face at me, ignored Luisa. ‘Let’s go see the Pastor,’ she said.

‘Take a box each,’ Luisa said, but Elisa stayed by the open door, staring at me. I followed her out.

In the courtyard, Lorna kept her back to us as we passed. ‘You’re not responsible for her and her baby,’ Elisa said sulkily when we were out of earshot. ‘She said that too.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘She wants me to ask Pastor Levi about adoption.’ There was nothing accusatory in her tone. It was a practical solution that I hadn’t considered but, even so, hearing her say it jarred on me.

Pastor Levi and his brother, Cesar, with eleven kids between them, lived together on the same plot: Cesar in the house that had belonged to their parents and Levi in a house that he’d built in the garden. Pastor Levi’s house was much smaller and, when he built it, Cesar’s wife, Loring, complained about him building all over her rose garden. There was nothing for it though: Pastor Levi’s wife was expecting their first child and there was no money to buy another plot. Besides, Levi had turned down the chance to go to medical college and make some real money to follow his dream of entering the seminary, so arguably had God on his side; the rose garden had to go. It worked out fine anyway. The children, close enough in age, played happily together and after a while everyone else learned to get on.