SoMa Literary Review

Mi Madre

By Camincha

NO QUESTION ABOUT it. It's my Celestial Court presided by the loving spirit of mi madre. Alba is sure of it as she reminisces: It was she who taught me to honor the dead. Growing up Catholic in Miraflores that was just how things were. It was how everyone behaved, like never eating meat on Fridays. You ate fish, of course. Like going to confession on Saturday and Holy Communion on Sunday. Because certainly you never missed Sunday Mass. So it was that she would take me to visit dead friends and relative’s tombs, grandmother's, especially, on the anniversary of birthdays, deaths, for sure in El Día de Todos los Santos , All Saints Day. You love them when they are alive, you honor them when they are dead, mi madre taught me. Pray for their souls. Then they'll always watch over you. Will keep close to you. Guide you. And friends. Friends also, she would add, living and dead, honor your friends.

THE HALL OF Justice at 6th and Bryant is teeming with people as Alba——faithful to the early nineties rule of fashion—— looking smart in her black on black outfit of top, skirt, and high heels complemented with a green mint jacket, navigates the corridors followed by the scent of coffee from the vendor's cart in the lobby, and finally the elevator to the third floor.

In her mind reviews the mental flash from her Celestial Court received soon as she woke up: WRITE THE LETTER YOU BEEN THINKING ABOUT. WRITE IT. MAIL IT. With our help you never lose. You never lose, it repeated and added, Remember, let the Supervisors, the Judicial Council know what's going on. What is happening right now: 1) Assignments cancelled without cause. 2) Payment for services rendered arbitrarily computed or withheld for months. 3) When asked, the coordinator answers: Your check is in the mail. Or, will get them out soon as possible. They are eroding your livelihood. 4) And her sly remarks!? They keep all of you always looking over your shoulder, asking yourselves, wondering, what’s wrong, Why? What’s going on?

And, be sure to specify——the message went on——Alba, this is happening to all interpreters that work through this coordinator at the Hall of Justice in San Francisco.

Alba enters the crowded office exchanging smiles and mouthing hellos, careful not to disturb those on the phone or computer. As she signs in, she says softly: Mary, good morning, to coordinator who is bent over papers, reading at her desk

Good morning. Coordinator clears her throat and in low voice adds, Alba, later this morning I want you to do an out of court interview.

I will have to fill out another form, Alba answers. And seeing the venomous look hastens, It's a separate assignment. From cabinet behind her picks up a form, shows it to the coordinator pointing to: INTERPRETERS OUT OF COURT APPEARANCE.

No need to do that. Is all the same. You do as I say, coor-dinator retorts.

I will not. Court appearances are separate from out of court. Alba answers, while musing: You’ll think she is paying us out of her pocket!

Just do as I say. That's the rule. Coordinator angrily.

Rule? What rule? I want to see that rule. Any rules and regulations I need them in writing.

No. You do as I say or you can go complain to whom ever you want to. Coordinator, sounding more angry.

I need to see those rules in writing. Alba repeats softly.

Coordinator picks up a binder from a shelf behind her and starts to look through it. Gives up. Tells Alba, it's 9:07 better just go to department 22. They are waiting for you.

The morning was busy, the calendar at Department 22 was long, it seemed to go on and on as in forever. Fortunately Judge Garcia had been at his best. In excellent mood. Had celebrated his jokes. Not unusual. Except today he sounded very much at ease, not contrived, not forced. His sonorous laughter kept the Court proceedings flowing easily, everyone laughing or at least openly smiling, inclined to signs of courtesy, even kindness. The usually surly bailiff taking the time to lend a sympathetic ear to answer a question or two from distressed inmates as he directed them back to the holding cell.

Finished, Alba goes back to the office to sign out on the morning calendar. She is thinking as she walks the long corridors: This is the nineteen hundreds, for goodness sake! Darned woman, who does she think she is? What does she mean? You do as I say!! And she prides herself on being a spiritual person! Talks about Karma and doing the right thing. About her Filipino ancestors, their legacy of kindness. Of being one with nature. And I don’t know what.

However, people where wising up. Early on two colleagues had let Alba know they heard of the morning exchange between her and coordinator and were willing to speak up also against the unfair treatment they were getting and to stage a walkout if necessary. Alba felt encouraged. As she entered the office she noticed, the coordinator's aura shows very dark under the noon sun coming through the window.

It's been a couple of weeks without incidents. Alba feels new positive, energy whirling through her. Driving home one evening on 280 just before taking 1, she is thinking: It's because I gave the problem to my Celestial Court presided by mi madre. This has to do with trusting. Releasing anxieties, concerns to the good spirits. Freeing my mind. My heart. Allowing messages with positive answers, and solutions to come to me.

THREE WEEKS TO the day after she mailed The letter coordinator called Alba aside: I don't like to have bad feelings with anyone. You see? Just want to say. Yes, OUT OF COURT assignments are paid separate. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.

Alba is feeling mellow...She agrees in all the right places, like: Don't like bad feelings with anybody.

The following Wednesday Alba finds coordinator doing her spiritual spiel on Dora, her alternate, who listens with a half smile on her face. My spirituality, my Filipino side satisfies my desire to always be fair. I believe in God. Don't you, Vera, don't you? Alba just smiles. Says her good mornings softly to both women, signs in, picks the Assignments Sheet and leaves still smiling in amazement that such contradictions may be found all in one person.

ALBA REVIEWS, AS she often does what she considers the blessings in her life: My friends are never too busy for me. Like Tom. Never. I can count on him for a ride, advice. Kathleen, her listening skills, her generous gifts of baked pastries, scrumptious pecan pies, butter cookies. Marita who was always at my side when preparing for my Master's exam. Gary, friend of friends, my boyfriend, who coached me through my fight with Laiker. Who doesn’t really understand me but loves me anyway and makes passionate love to me, whenever and wherever I want it. And the strangers, that cross my life occasionally. They are my Guardian Angels. Yes. They come into my life, sometimes, just for a moment. I'm not concerned when they cross my path giving me directions in a deserted street. Suddenly appearing in the freeway, to change my flat tire. When I turn ‘round to thank them, often, they are gone. Never see them again. So I pass it on. I do for others in their name.

Mi madre can't bring me pecan pies——she died when I was fourteen——but makes herself present, usually early in the morning, with the answers to whatever is giving me a sleepless night. Wears her black coat. Not sad as in the last months before she died. Actually I see her next to my father, both smiling which don't remember happening when they were alive.

She gave me my health back when at Gary ’s suggestion and her mother’s insistence, I had a second pap smear done by Laiker, and it concurred with the second opinion I had obtained from the independent Women's Clinic: Atypical cell. No cancer. Nothing that is growing out of control. Mi madre had worked another miracle. My fight with Laiker ended right there.

Alba remembered how the Laiker people had wanted to plant the seed of doubt in her: It could be cancer, you know. And on and on. And their arrogance. The way they talked down to her! Kept talking about cancer. The Nurse Practitioner over and over: the doctor isn't saying it is but you know, could be, cancer. We aren't saying it is cancer, but, you know.... And, you must come in and start taking this, and this, and this. Because, it could be, you know? Cancer.

Alba had stopped her in her tracks. I don't know what these are, spell them. I'm going to check them out. It was a lot of work. Alba borrowed books from the library. Studied them. Tried to get an appointment with another doctor. Alba had had to go from clinic to clinic.

Laiker? No, we can't see you here. We are federally funded. Or, have it done at Laiker, they have better machines.

Alba gave her dead mother all the information: Results of the Pap smear from Laiker, her letter to Laiker, literature she had gathered from the public library to learn what an atypical cell is, what is a colposcopy. The results of the test by independent Women's Clinic in San Francisco . Left it all behind the 8"x 11" framed print of the Guardian Angel in her room. A gift from her mother on her sixth birthday. Alba believes her mother’s Spirit resides there.

AFTERWARDS, THE MEETING she requested with the Head of the Gynecological Clinic of Laiker at South San Francisco , a waste of time. The Doctor was totally indifferent, it doesn't mean anything, he said, about the second opinion she put in his hands. And the Patient Relations Rep Alba asked to be present might as well have been a piece of furniture. Never gave any sign that she was present. Next she searched within Laiker for another doctor. Decided to switch to Laiker in San Francisco , also Gary 's suggestion: They have better doctors. He said. Alba knew it was not convenient. It meant double traveling time. Fighting traffic. Paying for parking. But it was necessary.

The fight ended with the message on her answering machine from the woman doctor head of gynecological department at San Francisco Laiker, after the colposcopy: There is nothing malignus. Nothing that is going to expand, grow suddenly. No cancer.

Alba wrote on her note to her mother, GRACIAS GRACIAS GRACIAS. Done. This has to do with trusting. Releasing anxieties, concerns to the good spirits. Freeing my mind, heart, to allow messages, answers, solutions to come to me.

There aren't many papers left behind the Guardian Angel's framed print. Alba rereads them just to remind herself what was pending. She throws away a few, like the one about wanting some people dead. She decides instead to trust in the law of retribution. What goes 'round comes 'round. But she does keep the one she wrote about one guy, that she wants him in jail. And the footnote says: And let me know about it. For you see, he mistreated my car. After he left couldn't even get it to start. He wouldn't answer my desperate calls. And had taken all my money. All of it.

As Alba propped the bundle of notes back against the wall one falls on the floor: Bring me back my children. That one has been there a long time. Alba gets the feeling that it is a sign. An omen. She can now expects to hear from them.

HI!! THIS IS Laura, she said with those little gurgles between words that only she can do. Hi, gurgle...!

Hi Laura, Alba says. And mentally, talks to her mother and thanks her for her help: So you were really working at it. Laura hadn't called in a year. Yes, another one of your miracles. That's why my faith in you never waivers. I never doubt. Just write you a note and placed it behind the white enamel wood-frame-full-color-picture of the Guardian Angel. You gave it to me on my sixth birthday. I remember the day. You had bought it at the market on your daily early-morning-trip. Back at home, woke me up and smiling bent over your little girl, a rosy flush on your brown cheeks, eyes shining. So what better place to put it in but close to that long ago gift from the heart?

Laura was saying. Mom, will you call Candy? It's important, OK? I won't say anymore. Just call her. I'll call you back and we'll talk.

I'll call her right now. Alba said. Just like that. No reproaches. Has learned. They are a waste of time. Best to pick up where they left off. What could it be? Her and Bob? The house-to-be-built, gone wrong? Alba dialed the number checking it on her little book. Doesn’t know it by heart as she gave up calling her when each time she had tried four, five months ago before YEAR-END-HOLIDAYS when she got that uneasy, heaviness-hanging-on-mind kind of feeling, gloomy, darkness-on-soul. You know how that goes. She had been calling her. Big mistake. It was never a good time.

Oh! we are having dinner...

Oh! we have company...

Oh! I'm going out...

Oh! I'm doing my yoga...

Yeah, haven't talked with her for a while. Well, mi madre, you were kind of slow on this one. But I understand, Alba goes on. I've given you some tough ones. On the other hand you done some big ones for me: Given me back my health.

LAURA CALLED BACK she has news, came across Roberto, her brother, in the Marina. They talked. They hadn't talked in six years! As they were saying good-bye Laura said, what are you doing Saturday?

Saturday Alba drove to Laura's on 44th Avenue. Lovely day. Sunny, no wind. In San Francisco, these are the days when tourists decide to move here from Minnesota, Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana. As soon as Laura opened the door she blurted out, Hope you brought your tennis shoes ‘cause we are walking to the Cliff House.

Alba laughed, she thought, must be a joke. Yes, yes, I have them in the car. As they entered the kitchen Laura celebrated Alba's dress, what a beautiful dress. Alba not wanting to do, say anything to upset this most unusual warm reception, smiled and smiled. And kept smiling.

Inside Laura's flat, light, airy, Candy very pregnant and healthy was all smiles and hugs. Roberto looked handsome dressed in elegant casual blue shirt, beautiful tie with colorful Gaugin scene, light beige pants, dressy shoes, silk stockings to match, got up to greet her. They hugged.

Laura asked, would you like some tea?

Just water please.

Laura brought Alba a small Mason jar with water. She looked at it and was about to say in jest something like, I like your crystal but when she looked at the others serious, sober faces drinking out of marmalade jars, decided better not. Instead, concentrated on the shining stainless steel on the Wedgwood stove, reflecting distorted images of objects and people around it.

Laura has done a great job with this place. What a difference from the dusty, cluttered flat it was when she moved in. Alba said admiringly.

IT WASN'T A joke, they did walk to the Cliff House, fifteen blocks each way. Weather was perfect. And so were they. The breeze blowing from the Pacific over the Great Highway felt heavenly and they talked and laughed walking down the malecon. At the Cliff House. Oh! the aroma of the food. The elegant turn-of-the-century decor. The enormous windows that look out to the ocean splashing on the rocks below. And all of that reflecting a cloudless sky of the purest blue. A perfect day indeed. A perfect day for the perfect people they were at that moment. On that perfect day.

Alba reflects driving home: It has to do with trusting. Releasing anxieties, concerns, to the good spirits. Freeing my mind, my heart to allow messages, answers, solutions to come to me. And they do come.

You see? Alba is convinced it's her mother doing her good work, and her Celestial Court, and her friends. Yes!

Also by Camincha on SoMa Literary Review:

From the Mouths of Babes, At Night, Warmbodies: Yolanda, Man in the Shadows, Paradise Is Where You Find It, Daydreams, I Don't Write Anymore, What You Don’t Know Can Hurt You, Blue Eyes, I Love This Dress, Blank Pages, Warmbodies, Suburbia, Hope and Justice, The Sorcerer & Pussy cat, pussy cat

Camincha is originally from Miraflores, Lima, Perú. Today she lives in Pacifica and is the author of the novella As Time Goes By.