Burying Eula - A Day of the Dead Story, Pt. I
(Reposted from mexconnect.com, author Karen Hursh Graber)
“Eula died during the rainy season, when the earth is soft and moist and a grave is easy to dig. Esperanza said that the damp weather was hard on the
ancianos, and indeed, in those months, many a house in town bore over its gate the black ribbon which in central Mexico signifies a death in the
household. Esperanza said that some people just went around looking for new black ribbons so that they could come in and have sweet rolls and rich,
dark café de olla and maybe, if it was the last night of the rosary, a shot of something to keep the chill off. After all, the occasion itself was
only proof, wasn´t it, that one was never safe from the mal aire.
Protecting the helpless gringo family in her charge from "bad air" was one of Esperanza´s resolutely pursued missions in life. Some of her other
callings included planning enormous fiestas for the baptisms, first communions, quinceañeras, and weddings of her numerous children and grandchildren,
as well as active participation in various social and religious functions in the barrio. Esperanza lived San Pedrito´s version of a mad social whirl.
She was particularly devoted to my own well-being and, although I was nearly twelve when Eula died, still referred to me as la niña. She bundled me
into sweaters and scarves on even the mildest of evenings, despite my protests that I would suffocate before I would catch a cold.
My mother, who had never worn anything heavier than a New York Yankees warm-up jacket in her life, never said a word. During all of Esperanza´s
ministrations against la gripa, which included foul-tasting teas and leafy poultices, my mother stood by like a first-year medical student watching
the chief of surgery in action. My observations that she herself would never undergo these arcane treatments were dismissed with a vague wave of a
slender hand. "After all, Melissa,"she would say, "Esperanza has lived her whole life in this climate and she´s using natural remedies which have
probably been passed down for generations." And Esperanza, who did not understand a word of English, would nonetheless assume the smug expression that
says I-told-you-so in any language. (Years later, realizing their benefits, I would use some of those same teas when my own children got sick and
every time I did, Esperanza would appear in my mind´s eye with a sly, merry wink.)
But on the night that Eula died, torturing me with herbs was not uppermost in her mind. Now we were the ones passing around trays laden with sweet
rolls and coffee, and it seemed that half of San Pedrito was in the living room before Eula´s coffin had even been delivered.
Eula was my grandfather´s third wife and at the age of ninety-two, her death could hardly be considered unexpected. My grandfather was only
seventy-eight and had met Eula in a nursing home in the States, where the venerable lovebirds had married and possibly even consummated their
May-December union. Shortly thereafter, Eula had begun to develop what I now realize must have been Altzheimer´s, wandering at odd intervals day and
night and needing special care. This had lowered both my grandfather's spirits and his finances."
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow mindedness.”
—Mark Twain
\"La vida es dura, el corazon es puro, y cantamos hasta la madrugada.” (Life is hard, the heart is pure and we sing until dawn.)
—Kirsty MacColl, Mambo de la Luna
\"Alea iacta est.\"
—Julius Caesar
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