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culture — a distance we all felt we could easily   wanted to return me in the same condition in
                  retrace with just a little practice. It wasn’t until I   which I had arrived. Out there in the boonies,
                  failed at first love, in Spanish, that I realized how   the old-world traditions had been preserved full   central text
                  unbridgeable that gap had become.          strength. But I can’t help thinking that in part,
                     That summer, I went down to the Island   Utcho and Betty treated me like a ten-year-old   /
                  by myself. My sisters had chosen to stay in the   because I talked like a ten-year-old in my halt-
                  States at a summer camp where the oldest was a   ing, childhood Spanish. I couldn’t explain about   Julia Alvarez
                  counselor. But I was talked into going “home” by   women’s liberation and the quality of mercy
                  my father, whose nephew — an older (by twenty   not being strained, in Spanish. I grew bored and
                  years) cousin of mine — had been elected the   lonely, and was ready to go back to New York
                  president of El Centro de Recreo, the social club   and call it quits on being “presented,” when I
                  of his native town of Santiago. Every year at El   met Dilita.
                  Centro, young girls of fifteen were “presented”   Like me, Dilita was a hybrid. Her parents had
                  in public, a little like a debutante ball. I was two   moved to Puerto Rico when she was three, and
                  years past the deadline, but I had a baby face   she had lived for some time with a relative in New
                  and could easily pass for five years younger than   York. But her revolutionary zeal had taken the
                  I was — something I did not like to hear. And my   turn of glamour girl rather than my New-England-
                  father very much wanted for one of his daugh-  hippy variety. In fact, Dilita looked just like the
                  ters to represent la familia among the creme de   other Dominican girls. She had a teased hairdo;
                  la creme of his hometown society.          I let my long hair hang loose in a style I can only
                     I arrived with my DO-YOUR-OWN-THING!!!   describe as “blowing in the wind.” Dilita wore
                  T-shirt and bell-bottom pants and several novels   makeup; I did a little lipstick and maybe eyeliner if
                                 5
                  by Herman Hesse,  ready to spread the seeds of   she would put it on for me. She wore outfits; I had
                  the sixties revolution raging in the States. Unlike   peasant blouses, T-shirts, and blue jeans.
                  other visits with my bilingual cousins in the    But in one key way, Dilita was more of   15
                  capital, this time I was staying in a sleepy,   a rebel than I was: she did exactly what she
                  old-fashioned town in the interior with Papi’s   wanted without guilt or apology. She was in
                  side of the family, none of whom spoke English.  charge of her own destino, as she liked to say,
                     Actually I wasn’t even staying in town.   and no one was going to talk her into giving
                                           6
                  Cousin Utcho, whom I called tio  because he   that up. I was in awe of Dilita. She was the first
                  was so much older than I was, and his wife,   “hyphenated” person I had ever met whom I
                  Betty — who, despite her name, didn’t speak   considered successful, not tortured as a hybrid
                  a word of English either — lived far out in the   the way my sisters and I were.
                  countryside on a large chicken farm where he   Dilita managed to talk Utcho into letting me
                  was the foreman. They treated me like a ten-  move into town with her and her young, mar-
                  year-old, or so I thought, monitoring phone   ried aunt, Carmen. Mamacán, as we called her,
                  calls, not allowing male visitors, explaining their   was liberal and light-hearted and gave us free
                  carefulness by reminding me that my parents   rein to do what we wanted. “Just as long as you
                  had entrusted them with my person and they   girls don’t get in trouble!” Trouble came in one
                                                             denomination, we knew, and neither of us were
                                                             fools. When the matrons in town complained
                  5  Hermann Hesse: a Nobel Prize–winning German poet and novelist
                  in the early to mid-1900s. —Eds.           about our miniskirts or about our driving
                  6  Tio: “uncle” in Spanish. —Eds.          around with boys and no chaperons, Mamacán

                                           Uncorrected proofs have been used in this sample.             179
                                           Copyright © Bedford, Freeman & Worth Publishers.
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