The day started early–before 8–with a phone call. A delivery arrived unexpectedly. I was literally sitting in bed, grumpy, feeling a little sorry for myself, trying to do a word puzzle (the betweenle). I leaped out of bed, changed my clothes, brushed my teeth, put in my contact lenses, carried the dog downstairs (she does not “do” stairs), woke up my daughter, and ran outside in the space between seconds one and two after that call.
“Hi,” I chatter, slightly breathless, as I run down the outside stairs to the sidewalk. “I’m so excited, didn’t expect you so soon, haha.”
“No English,” says the lovely woman holding out the paperwork to me.
“Oh, haha. Right. You don’t speak English. Yes, you’re at the right house.” I’m still talking in English as I nod over-vigorously and point to the paper. Her spouse–it was obvious, okay?!–brings a box up the walk toward us. “Hi,” I say. “Do you speak English?”
I take the box as he says “No” with a smile.
Damn. I prepared my social anxiety patter while I brushed my teeth. What do I do now? Walk silently up and down the sidewalk? NO. Obviously not. Instead, I pull out my ancient high school and college Spanish. “Española?” I ask.
They’re delighted. “Sí, sí,” they say in unison. “Española.”
I hold up my thumb and finger, close together. “Un poquito.”
We’re walking to the truck now. The woman turns to me and smiles. “Sí, sí. Un poquito.” She climbs into the truck to get box number two, which I gesture for her to give me. My Spanish memory awakens very, very slightly.
“Me llamo Deb,” I say and point to myself before taking the box.
She smiles. “Hola, Deb” she says. “Me llamo Aurelia.” Only she rolls the r in a way I couldn’t do even when I could do it. It sounds beautiful.
I nod and attempt to repeat her name. She laughs. It seems kind rather than mocking. We smile at each other and I carry the box to the house. The husband is walking back now, ready to carry the last, incredibly heavy, item into the house. I hurry to put the box down and run back as my daughter comes down the stairs and looks at us from the front door.
They’re moving the last item out of the truck as I return. I add my hands to ease it off the truck. Aurelia gestures that she needs assistance and puts her hand on my shoulder. I put out my hand and help her down. She’s so little. If she tops 5’ it’s only by chance. She smiles. “Gracias,” she says. I smile back. We get the item off the truck and start carrying it to the house. The two dogs next door are side-by-side at the neighbor’s picture window, staring at us. I laugh and say, “Perros,” gesturing with my head for them to look.
They look and laugh. The man repeats, “Perros,” still laughing.
My daughter is waiting at the top of the stoep to help. “Mi hija,” I say and the man nods and smiles. Haley suggests that we leave it outside. We can hear our dogs barking hysterically inside the house, absolutely convinced that we’re never returning. And if we do return, we’ll definitely be treat-less.
She says, “Aqui.” The man shakes his head and gestures that he wants to help carry it in. We only purchased service to the door so he’s being very generous. We nod and Haley gestures to me. “I need to take care of the dogs,” she says. She leaves.
He’s confused and looks to me. I say, “Perros.”
“Ahhh,” he says. “Dos perros?”
“Sí,” I say. “Dos perros.” We laugh. I think the joy is in understanding. The words aren’t inspiring but the effort to communicate is surprisingly fulfilling.
Mi hija returns and adds her hands to our six. Suddenly, because my daughter has the strength of ten grinches plus two, she and the man continue up the stairs, putting the object down “aqui” in the hallway.
I stand outside with Aurelia as the man joins us. I try to hand a small roll of 20s–it’s $100–to Aurelia. She says, “No” very firmly and shakes her head with a smile.
I say, “Sí,” equally firmly. We go back and forth twice before I turn to her husband and try to give him the money. I stumble over the words I want to say. “Tienes…no.” I shake my head. “Ustedes tienen hambre.” He looks at me, clearly confused. I’ve used the wrong word?
Maybe not because Aurelia jumps in. “No,” she says. “No. No.” I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m inviting them in for breakfast. She’s horrified, perhaps embarrassed? They’re a little grimy. They’ve been sleeping in the truck with the boxes. I know this because there was a bedroll visible behind the boxes we carried in.
I shake my head, a little frustrated with my poor language skills. “No. Restaurant,” I say. I mime putting food in my mouth and rub my stomach.
The man nods. “Sí. Sí. Tenemos hambre.”
I point down the street (for some reason that makes no sense) and say “Restaurant.” and push the money at him. He speaks to his wife.
“No. No,” she says.
“Yes, yes,” I say. He intervenes, saying something to his wife. Their conversation is far too swift for my very poor efforts.
Whatever he says, she takes the money and says, “Gracias.”
I shake my head. “No.” I point to myself. “Gracias.”
She shakes her head and smiles. “Gracias,” she insists.
Oh, yeah? I can top that. “Muchos gracias,” I say. She laughs and concedes.
Immigrants are not the problem.
Much love.
