You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

PETRA Y CRISANTA

It is emotionally difficult for me to write this account. The situation I encountered was then, and remains, something which troubles me deeply.

I rented a room in the home of a single, middle aged, Senora Baptiste, for the three months that I attended Mexico City College in the Winter term of 1960. The home was a two-story stone masonry building, located in a middle-class neighborhood in Mexico City, on a street of similar homes. These were townhouses built with adjoining walls so there were no side or backyards. The only rooms with windows to open space were on the street side of the building. The two rooms on the interior of the second floor had windows onto the courtyard. The dining room, on the first floor also had a window onto the courtyard.

The courtyard would be better described as a light well. It was 13 by 18 foot utility space. It was surrounded on all sides by two story walls so the sun rarely penetrated to the concrete floor which sloped to a central drain intended for rainwater. Against the wall on one side of the courtyard was a makeshift shed roof erected over a roughly made counter with a portable two-burner propane cooker on it. An old refrigerator stood at the end of the counter. On the opposite side of the dingy courtyard stood a plain wood shed. Open on one side, this shack was just deep enough for two shelves, made of plywood and lumber. Each had a thin mattress. These were roughly made bunk beds on which two girls slept. Petra was prepubescent, probably ten or eleven years old. Crisanta was two or three years younger. I guessed her age to be seven or eight. The girls were of Mexican Indian descent. They were given up by their parents. They were indentured servants, live-in maids, or what is known in Mexico as “criadas”. Senora Baptiste paid their families for their service. In the three months that I lived there, the girls were gone one weekend. I was told that they had gone to visit their families. All of the rest of their days were spent cooking and cleaning. They apparently had one set of plain clothing. They had no toys. No time to relax or play. They had no schooling. It was heartbreaking to see the plight of these two children.

I came to know them because they prepared and served huevo revuelto y tortillas for my breakfast every morning before I left to attend class at Mexico City College. They also prepared my dinner each evening. These meals, I ate alone in the dining room from which I could see the utility courtyard where they lived.

My bedroom was small. It had no table on which to do my homework. So after dinner, I would frequently study at the dining room table. I took two Spanish language classes. And often had Spanish books open on the dining room table. Petra was aware of how poorly I spoke Spanish and occasionally helped me with pronunciation. One evening she asked if I would teach her to read. I agreed. From that day on, she would sit with me after dinner. I would sound out Spanish words, pointing to the letters as I made the sounds that I thought were appropriate. Petra would watch, to learn the symbols for each sound, and then, when she recognized the word she would pronounce it correctly. We had a good time doing this as my inept pronunciations provided us with many laughs. We did this for about a week. Then, one afternoon, when I returned to the house from the school, the Senora confronted me at the entry. She was angry and agitated. She told me that I was not to teach Petra to read. She had delivered the same message to Petra who never again came near me while I was studying at the table. I could not understand Senora Baptiste’s angry response when she found out that I was teaching Petra to read. I imagine that the Senora could not read herself and could not tolerate the idea of her criada having this crucial skill when she did not.

I have remained troubled by the plight of these two girls. I assume that it was common for upper-middle-class households to have criadas at that time. A Mexican friend told me that these cruel practices continue to exist in Mexican cities today.