What's your name? They would ask her, but she wouldn't say María Dolores, as was expected of an eight-year-old who could pronounce things well, or something shorter like Marí Loli. She would answer Mayiyoyi, because her tongue would stick a little to the roof of her mouth. Mayiyoyi, she would answer, and with a wide smile.
-Where the heck is the sofa throw?!
Doña Martina was a meticulous woman, the absolute owner of her house and everything in it. She knew by heart the location of every object, every piece of furniture, or knick-knack she had in her home. From the moment she opened her eyes at five in the morning, she began to perceive her surroundings, as if the air around her were informing her little by little that everything in her house, every single thing, had woken up precisely the way it had been left the night before.
She spent almost the entire day at home; between running errands and chores, there was no way to keep her still. And worse when she walked into the kitchen, because that's for sure, doña Tina was a tremendous cook. Few things did she enjoy as much as preparing a black mole in her enormous clay pot.
The pork crackling salsa she made, the green tomato one, was a true gastronomic prodigy that could well be offered in the most celebrated restaurants in the world under some more sophisticated name, something like "pork rind in emerald salsa", followed by an obscene price that any wealthy person would have paid without the slightest hesitation.
Master and commander in her kitchen, she extended her domains across the entire empire that bounded her house, because, at least when don Ermelindo wasn't around, she was the one who commanded, and she commanded well and with an iron fist. Doña Tina was never a paragon of affection; shouting, killer looks, wooden spoon swats, and, of course, sound spankings came much easier to her.
Heaven forbid any of her kids try to sneak away from her! It was impossible to notice the exact moment her slipper ended up in her hand, and with the accuracy she possessed, she would leave the frustrated fugitive with a tremendous sole mark on their back.
It wasn't that she didn't love her children; she loved them in her own way, they were her world. Anyway, her eight kids—two boys and six girls—knew, and without a single doubt, that if it were necessary to protect them, doña Tina would bare her claws and spread her wings. The reality was that Don Meye, as they affectionately called don Ermelindo, gave his children a double portion of the patience, kisses, and hugs they needed.
-Where did these devilish kids leave the throw?…
Doña Tina murmured under her breath, right around eight at night, during the rigorous inspection she carried out before going to bed.
-Just let me find out who moved it from its place, I'm going to give them a beating they'll remember... You bet they'll remember!
Don Ermelindo was more of an enabler, patient as few others, walking slowly and securely; although despite his sixty years, with his hard hands and sad gaze, he lacked no poise. He married doña Tina in his late forties, when doña Tina was a sixteen-year-old girl. But as don Ermelindo used to tell his children, "those were other times", and that is how little by little time and its currents wore down that man's stone skin, leaving him looking less like an old man and more like an erect, cracked tree. He dispensed his advice half as a father, half as an accomplice. He, unlike doña Tina, was not at all a master of scolding.
Like when Mayiyoyi was taken to the principal's office for the fourth time for being a brawler. That Mayiyoyi had inherited doña Tina's exact temperament, and at eight years old, she wouldn't take shit from anyone. But she had also inherited don Meye's enormous and simple heart. With her three younger siblings, whom she had to watch over from time to time, she was quite a protector. In reality, Mayiyoyi was a little bundle of tenderness and affection, even though sometimes, as rough as she was and heavy-handed like her mother, she would sort of rough up her siblings amidst scrapes and laughter. She would hug them—squeeze them, rather—and without further ado, smother them in kisses.
But life is life, and through the force of everyday reality, at her scant eight years old, she had learned to bare her claws. She already knew the principal's office by heart. Every time she visited it, she would tangle her fingers together while restlessly moving her thumbs. She would look and look with attention at every object, every filing cabinet, every book in that brief library while waiting for don Meye to arrive.
Looking and looking, she would start taking note of her surroundings, in case something had changed since her last visit, but no... well, not much: that office still smelled of old filing cabinets, its walls were still poorly painted mustard yellow with the same boring pictures of some fake national hero, a bunch of folders on the metal desk, a vase with less water, and some withered roses.
With her small eyes, barely squinted by her abundant chubby cheeks, it looked as though she were taking photographs of her surroundings; she didn't mind photographing the same thing a hundred times.
That last time in the principal's office, Mayiyoyi quietly and patiently awaited her future sentence with a tremendous scratch on her face. That time don Meye arrived and, half-sighing, took off his hat before entering the principal's office. He looked at her—at Mayiyoyi—with infinite patience, incapable of a trace of harshness, and Mayiyoyi looked back at him the same way, just sad, really sad.
Thus, don Meye, without saying a word, walked into the office and stayed in there with an annoyed principal full of ultimatums. The story was the same as the previous four times.
-Mr. Ermelindo, I don't know what we are going to do with María Dolores. But this is her fourth fight of the year...
And so his litany continued... And don Meye kept quiet, simply quiet. That fellow behind the desk ranted and raved about his points of view, suggestions, and advice, bragging about his years and knowledge. Finally, the principal gave space to silence while cleaning his glasses, like a self-complacent politician of his abundant yet ultimately mediocre speech.
-Yes, Mr. Principal, you are right. I will talk to my girl, don't you worry...
Said don Meye, serene, more than embarrassed. He was not impressed by the skinny man in front of him who could well have been a common childhood playmate. Then he stood up and, right before opening the door, dropped one of his spot-on, straight-to-the-point comments:
-Mr. Principal, you forgot to mention that this is the fourth time they've surely bothered my girl by calling her fat... (Then he turned to look at the principal with his orchard-owner gaze and continued) I also hope this is the last time this happens...
After lowering his left eyebrow back to his gesture of peace, he left, leaving behind wide-open eyes and a trail of silence. The words rotted in the principal's big mouth. When don Meye walked out of that ugly office, he held out his hand to Mayiyoyi and carried her backpack. They walked hand in hand for a good stretch; Mayiyoyi had a pout on her face and her eyebrows furrowed.
-And what did they tell you now...
Don Meye asked her between a sigh... And Mayiyoyi said nothing, keeping her head lowered. With her father she could be vulnerable, she could show herself defenseless, she could be the sensitive and tender girl she really was. So she stayed quiet and a tear slipped down... With her schoolmates it was completely the opposite; when they called her fat, she was a woman of very few words.
A resounding "Fat your grandma!" and swinging punches were enough. Pity the closest person near her, because Mayiyoyi didn't care who had shouted it, but who was going to pay for it... She would leave two or three disheveled kids in tears, shake her chubby hands, and head straight to the office; she already well knew what awaited her.
-Did they call you fat again, right?
Don Meye asked her, and Mayiyoyi remained quiet...
-If you aren't fat, my pretty girl, you're just chubby... (And he squeezed her hand) ...And what did you do to them?
Mayiyoyi stayed quiet, just quiet...
-You beat them up, didn't you?
Mayiyoyi nodded, almost, almost proud of her actions.
-Well done!
Don Meye told her.
-Good for you for defending yourself! Defend yourself, kiddo!
He told her enthusiastically.
-But don't hit them...
He continued, as if returning to sanity. And they looked at each other.
It was a brief exchange of glances loaded with understanding; they barely smiled, but Mayiyoyi was sad, really sad, and her smile quickly hid away... There was no more dialogue after that.
When they arrived home, Mayiyoyi ran inside, passed first through the living room, and then hid in some nook in the patio. When doña Tina found her among some empty wooden crates, it was already around eight at night.
Don Meye had told her what happened at school and doña Tina had filled with rage; don Meye had to calm her down as always and appease her desire to go back to the principal the next morning and give him a piece of her mind.
But doña Tina, when she saw her there among the crates, wrapped like a sweet tamale in the living room throw, her chin puckered and a pout escaped her.
Mayiyoyi still had her eyelashes damp and her cheeks flushed... She pulled her out as best she could and with a lot of effort from that corner of the patio and took her to her bed; she put her sleeping clothes on and the girl as if nothing happened, because that's for sure, when Mayiyoyi slept nobody could wake her up.
Doña Tina stayed sitting next to Mayiyoyi for a little while; then she caressed her cheek. I wish Mayiyoyi had been awake to feel that... maybe she barely was. When doña Tina turned off the light, she wiped something on her cheek and pretended nothing happened. She took the throw back to the living room and put it in its place. She put on her sleeping robe and got into bed without a single comment, but with an endless number of grievances in her soul. Don Meye told her:
-What's wrong with you, woman, what's wrong with you... —What do you want to be wrong with me, Ermelindo! I have nothing...
Don Ermelindo turned