Walnut (Chapter Three)
Portugal, here we come!
Ready or not.
By the spring of 1968, there was a buzz about my mother, energy, and buoyancy. Her slurpy giggle happened more often and that was always a good sign. My father may have not made much money in his business ventures or day job but he or both of them were savvy enough to buy life insurance. By now my mother is receiving Social Security benefits too, as a widow and for the children who are still attending school, which we all were. This life insurance afforded my mother to bury him in top-notch fashion, deluxe coffin and funeral fanfare and with room at the inn at the burial site for her and the four kids to be with the both of them when we all died. Not the kind of gift you really appreciate when you’re a kid but actually shriek at the thought of. But another thing this insurance afforded us to do was to all go to Portugal and visit my father’s family, his mother Laura, and his sister, Matilde.
My mother did not live high on the hog in her daily life but as a gift-giver, trip planner, and dreamer, she went above and beyond. Up until this point I had never been anywhere other than the Jersey Shore. We were going on a plane to a far off land where people spoke another language! This was like the storyline from a movie, not my sad little humdrum existence. I was going to explore a new world like Pippi Longstocking! Maybe I could leave my invisible shame backpack behind and start a whole new life? A scarlet letter-less, me. Will this extended family like me, maybe even love me? I certainly hoped so. I was excited to go, we would be gone for the whole summer vacation, 3 months! I sang the song, “See You In September” with my friends and I meant it. Three whole months!…..what an adventure this was going to be! My brother and sisters weren’t as excited. They had lives, friends, and routines they weren’t happy leaving. They were teenagers and that bunch is not big on change or being stuck with family for long periods.
I found Newark Airport, which was only minutes by car from our apartment, to be exciting, magical, romantic, and exotic. In parts of Newark depending on where you lived, you could see the planes so closely on the descent towards the airport that you thought you could touch them. Planes weren’t seen as clearly on our street as it was on some of my friends. At the airport, there are so many people from different parts of the country and the world all buzzing around in one place. The idea of the plane ride itself was daunting though since I had some real trouble with motion sickness as did my brother and sisters.
My brother and sisters sat together in one row each immersed in books or banter and I sat with my mother. She let me have the window seat. A wise move, because I was probably going to be vomiting at some point, and this way I was in a corner where only she had to deal with it. I was especially excited to get the window seat because I was going to see my father up in the clouds! At catholic school, you were told people who died were in heaven, right above the clouds. I couldn’t wait! Takeoff is noisy and scary but still exciting and finally, we are up in the air and I can see Newark from above and almost spot where we live. Once we are way up and in the clouds, you can imagine my disappointment when all I see are clouds and more clouds and only clouds. I very honestly and disappointedly said to my mother, rather loudly “where are all the dead people?” She laughed and immediately shushed me and distracted me with a box of pretzels. I’ll be honest, for me food trumps any question or curiosity.
Portugal! you beautiful magical land! Right upon landing the air changed and the black cloud lifted. Awaiting on the other side of the sliding door after clearing customs was family. The family was excited to see us and embrace us. We were pieces of my father to fill their void too. If I was hungry for kisses and hugs I was about to get my fill and then some these next three months. A Portuguese kiss is a kiss on both cheeks, when saying hello and goodbye, so kisses aplenty!
We stayed at my Grandmother Laura’s house and my Uncle Arturo lived with her. Arturo was the youngest of my father’s siblings and sweet as pie and could muster up some English to make conversation. He was a grown man, never married and living with his mother. In Portugal that was not uncommon. They were both diminutive in stature, nothing like my father. Although my father was only 5’ 9” or 10” he was bigger in all ways compared to them. He commanded attention when he walked into a room, they did not. My grandmother, my namesake, and Arturo were practically the same height I was and I’m only eight years old!
My grandmother dressed in black from head to toe. She had been dressing in mourning clothes since she herself became a widow years before and since that time had lost two children. My father now but previously a daughter, Ricardinha. It was customary for a widow to wear black for the rest of her life back then. Like waving a flag and yelling, hey widow over here, don’t look, or proceed with caution!
My mother was now sporting the same look but with some variations of grey or black and white. Even though I am in a foreign land with people who are strangers, they didn’t feel like strangers. I felt at home, apart from the obvious language barriers, these were my people. There went my theory that my real family would show up one day to claim me because I had found them here and I was a part of their tribe.
I soon got to meet the rest of the clan and boy was there a lot of them. My Aunt Matilde, my father’s sister, was married and had seven children. Six boys and one girl. What a beautiful and lively bunch! Full of life and each kid bursting with more energy than the next. Three of my cousins were close to my age and we instantly hit it off. My brother and sisters had the other four cousins closer to their age, so there was someone for everyone.
My deceased aunt, Ricardinha, had five children, two girls, and three boys. Since she had passed one of her daughters, Maria, was living with my grandmother and I got to spend a lot of time with her too while we were there. She felt like what having a sister is supposed to feel like or what I had imagined sisters felt and did. The entire summer was a whirlwind of loading all of us between a Volkswagon van and another car to travel all over the country. The destinations were not a kid’s dream. Every time the van stopped somehow we were always in front of a church. Although even then I appreciated it’s art and architecture, churches were no Disney.
We had the best times at the beach in their hometown, Leca da Palmeira and the saltwater pool that was next to the beach. It was all so aristocratic or seemed so to me. We’re just some ragtag motley crew from Newark, now traipsing around some of the most beautiful places in the world, eating fantastic foods. This side of the family was by no means rich but they carried themselves with such class and aristocracy. They invigorated us, resuscitating us back to life, especially my mother. She and my Aunt Matilde were kindred spirits. They chatted away the day with such glee like two schoolgirls with secrets only they could share with each other.
My aunt, even with a brood of seven, looked like a movie star. She and my father were cut from the same cloth. They didn’t ask for attention, they just got it. They had that special something without flaunting it. Matilde had dark brown bob length hair with the most perfect subtle wave framing her face, ala Veronica Lake. She also had a walk befitting a movie star strutting the red carpet. My mother may have been less glamorous but she carried herself with elegance and was witty and charming. Her smile when it was real, could be infectious. My mother spoke Portuguese and was not at a loss like the rest of us. I was determined to fit in though. Between hand gestures and smiles, my cousins and I were speaking the same language by the end of summer with my modicum of Portuguese and their attempts at English. They were all taught English in school and when they spoke they spoke lovely British English that made my American English seem uneducated. I was a sponge and eager to absorb this new culture I’ve had the great fortune of being a part of. Unfortunately, this magical vacation had to come to an end, an end I wept over. I didn’t want to return home or say goodbye to this family I now loved and needed. But September came and we left with heavy hearts. Each of us wondering and fearing what we were going back to at home.