Forever Young 1
Jan. 28th, 2012 11:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others,
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung.
And may you stay
Forever young.
May you stay forever young.
(Forever Young: Bob Dylan – 1974)
I think my Aunt Totis was the first woman I had a crush on. At some point in my life, after infancy and before adolescence, I thought her the most wonderful woman in the world, and I fell forever in love with her. It occurred during one of our frequent trips to Mexico, when my Dad sensed that my mother was growing homesick and he would put her and their four children on a plane to Mexico City. There we all merged into the family of my grandmother Mima Mari. We joined my great-grandmother, Mima Rosi, my aunt Totis, and my two uncles, Pepe and Lalo, in a two-story apartment house on a street called Calle del Chopo. It has since been renamed Doctor Enrique González Martinez, but the street still houses a Pemex gas station and a steel and glass edifice that was once the Museo Nacional de Historia Natural (renamed the Museo Universitario del Chopo in 1975). Totis was not her real name. It was a childhood derivation of the name Aurora (actually, Maria Aurora), which the untutored tongues of her younger siblings slowly molded into Rora, then Roris, and finally just, Totis. My aunt responded to all three, but she would icily ignore her formal name, when pronounced in a haughty or reprimanding fashion.
My Aunt Totis was a Mexican version of Auntie Mame. She was glamorous, joyful, and effervescent with charm and excitement. Many of my memories of her, and her younger brothers Pepe and Lalo, are during the early 1950’s, when they were still young and single, and living together with my grandmother. My chronology of scenes gets mixed up from the many times our family lived in Mexico City. They begin when I was 3 or 4 years old, and my mom and dad moved all of us to Mexico. There we lived for over a year in the home of my grandmother, Mima Mari and her extended family of five adults. After that long stay in Mexico, of which I have a few images, I remember our visits in flashes of summer vacations, with my mom flying down with the children to visit her family, or driving down one summer with my dad. I have clear memories of leaping hurriedly from my bed to catch the early morning breakfast group of Mima, my mother and Totis, and Pepe and Lalo before they left for school or work. I would sit quietly, listening to their early morning banter about classmates, politics, and religion in their elegant Spanish. They were all working or attending graduate school at the time. Pepe was finishing his studies in philosophy, Lalo completing his law degree, and Totis getting a credential to teach English, while working as a private secretary. I loved the snappy and humorous repartee of these siblings, as they told their mother and each other of what they were planning and whom they were seeing. There was always a lot of inside joking – making fun of, or mocking, some of the in-laws or people they encountered. Later in life I would learn to characterize this style of commentary as “snarky” – making statements about people or events that were sarcastic or impertinent. Those four siblings were the youngest of a family of eight children, and they considered themselves the more intelligent, clever, and charming of the clan. They were young, smart, and attractive, and on the cusp of successful lives and careers. My mother’s husband and three children did not disqualify her from inclusion into this elite set. I loved all my uncles and aunts, but Totis was special, I think, because she took the time to make me feel that I was the center of all her attention – even as a child.
Of all those times and people living on Chopo, I have the fondest memories of my grandmother and Totis. They beguiled me with their kindness, by always taking time to involve me in their activities, and never dismissing my questions or desires to be with them or to help. Mima would always send me with the maid, Crisanta, to buy fresh bolillos (rolls) or tortillas at the corner panadería or tortillería, before meals. She would also allow me to accompany her to the Mercado de San Cosme and let me carry her grocery bag on the way home. Totis made me feel as if I were her personal companion (dare I think date) when we went to the Lago de Xochimilco to see the floating gardens, Sanborn’s Café for lunch, or the Convento y Iglesia de San Francisco for mass. Totis would listen to all my questions and elaborate on all her answers. You see Totis was also a wondrous storyteller. She spun enlivening tales of my early years in Mexico, embellished the legends behind the prayers we learned in Spanish, and created dramas of the historical figures that populated Mexican history and art. Her information filled in many of the blank spots of my childhood in Mexico by describing incidents I had forgotten. How, for example, I promoted myself to the job of official greeter at the age of three or four. According to Totis, whenever someone knocked on the door, I would rush and open it, interrogating the visitors in lisping Spanish.
“Bueno días, señor (o señora), soy Antonio Delgado a sus ordenes,” I would say, introducing myself formally to the stranger at the door. “¿Y que desea Usted? Aquí no tratamos con vendedores.” I would add in a menacing tone, warning off all salesmen and solicitors before they could make their pitch. Friends and family visitors later confessed to her of their amazement over this serious child who greeted and ferociously questioned them in such a formal manner. Totis explained that because she and her brothers never spoke down to us in Spanish, the vocabulary I heard modeled in that house was always formal, eloquent and direct.
Another time, after we finished saying our evening prayers in Spanish with my mother, it was Totis who warned us of the absolute necessity of this practice. She especially stressed the need of always including the Santa Maria, or the Hail Mary, by telling us the story of a dissolute and wealthy hacendado who lived in their hometown of Aguascalientes. Although he squandered his family’s wealth in gambling and vice, this sinful man never failed to say a nightly Hail Mary in memory of his mother, even on the night of his death. At the stroke of midnight, the funeral coach carrying the coffin with the dead hacendado was stopped on its way to the Campo Santo (cemetery) by a band of dark, hooded horseman demanding the corpse. Flames shot from their eyes and mouths, as they demanded the body from the terror stricken driver and the priest by his side. But in a flash of white light, an angel of the Lord appeared in front of the coach, holding a sword across his chest.
“Be gone, Satan,” the angel warned, menacingly. “You will not drag this soul to hell tonight, for Mary the Mother of God protects him. Despite his sinfulness, this man, out of love for his mother, prayed to the Blessed Virgin every night without fail. For that reason alone, La Virgen Morena petitioned her son to spare his soul, and God has granted this request. Return to the pits of hell, Lucifer, and trouble these honorable men no more.”
With a shriek of anger, Satan and his hooded demons turned their dire mounts and galloped back to the gates of hell, cursing their luck. For they knew that if the dead man had missed but one night of prayer, his soul would have been forfeit for all eternity. But his mother’s love, and the intercession of La Virgen de Guadalupe had saved him. Needless to say, even though we took comfort in saying a nightly Hail Mary, it took a long time for me to get over the fear of seeing a devil lurking in the shadows of our bedroom, waiting for me to slip up and forget.
On our regular excursions to historical churches and museums, it was Totis who colorfully illustrated the romantic backstories of the people who had lived and populated those places. Even though Pepe was the philosopher, and Lalo the historian, it was Totis who spun the compelling stories of Mexico. While visiting the Bosque de Chapultepec and touring the Palacio de Maximiliano on a Sunday afternoon, she told us of the tragic tale of the Austrian prince who became the puppet Emperor for Napoleon III of France in 1864, and how his wife, the Empress Carlotta, went mad with grief when she failed to prevent his execution by the Republican forces of President Benito Juarez.
While they still lived together with Mima, my bachelor uncles sometimes complained aloud that Totis was too bossy and pushy. However, from my perspective, I viewed those qualities as being more organized and assertive than they were. I assumed that her job as a private secretary had trained her in those skills and she was better prepared to be in charge. For example, I remember during one of our visits to Mexico without my father Totis discovered that my siblings and I hadn’t yet learned to ride bicycles. Without delay Totis reserved one day to go to Chapultepec and rent bikes, and, along with my mother, spent the afternoon running after us until we could balance and pedal on our own. Totis also organized outings and picnics in the country, planned excursions to archeological sites, and even drafted her boyfriends into acting as tour guides and chauffeurs. I only remember one boyfriend from those days. He was a tall, skinny, young man with a pencil thin mustache, who wore fancy white shirts and crisp blue suits. He owned a stylish roadster with a rumble seat in the trunk, and I remember sitting in it with Lalo one Saturday on a trip to the campo (countryside). My initial pangs of jealousy subsided the more I heard him speak, because his personality paled in comparison to the energy and effervescence that emanated from Totis, and he was never as clever or funny as my uncles.
Thankfully, when the time came for me to finally meet her future husband, Adolfo, my romantic crush on Totis had evolved into idealized affection. I believed Totis embodied all the qualities that a modern woman should have: independence, intelligence, and a huge capacity to love. She was the type of woman I thought I wanted to marry. I also found her suitor, Adolfo, to be so different from any of her earlier Mexican boyfriends that I immediately fell under his spell. In many ways, Adolfo was the stereotypic Mexican macho. He was an earthy, charismatic, larger-than-life figure, who would give you the shirt off his back, if you asked him. He was a tall, robust, and hearty man who filled a room with laughter and bonhomie. He was nothing like the doctors, lawyers, and intellectuals who visited my grandmother’s home, nor was he anything like my uncles. He was simply himself, and I loved him. Adolfo had dropped out of school at an early age to pursue a life of commerce, and by the time I met him he was involved in many businesses. He owned the Pemex gasoline station on Chopo, down the street from Mima’s apartment courtyard, and he had his financial fingers in a variety of foreign and domestic investments. However it was from his Pemex location that he first noticed my shapely Mexican aunt, and started his campaign to wed her.
They were opposite in many ways, and yet very similar. They both grabbed onto life with both hands and shot off sparks of excitement and emotion with each other, and in their encounters with others. Adolfo was truthful, but coarse in his language and remarks; while Totis was discrete, but cutting with her comments. Adolfo was naturally relaxed in every social setting, and made people feel that they were his closest friends. Totis was gracious and charming to all, while maintaining her emotional distance and trusting only her family. After they married, my early friendship with Adolfo became the cause of the only fight I ever had with Totis over a strict family rule.
In my mother’s family one never asked for favors or begged for gifts. Many times the common sight of Mexican children tearfully pleading with a caretaking adult to “regálame eso” when seeing a toy or candy in a store, was pointed out to us as a sinful practice. Totis and my mother always made it very clear on shopping trips, that well-reared children, niños buen educados, never begged or whined for gifts, candies, or favors. Totis would reward us when she chose to, and no amount of entreaty or supplication would sway her. She had expanded this dictum to include her new husband Adolfo – especially because he was naturally generous, and eager to please his new in-laws. I forget the exact details of the scene, but I clearly remember Totis storming into Mima’s house on Chopo Street one afternoon with eyes flashing angrily, and her tongue spewing searing accusations. She held a ribboned box in her hand and denounced me for begging a gift from Adolfo. I think she was referring to a playera, or a tropical shirt that I openly admired while visiting him at the clothing boutique he had opened near his gas station. Lifting the box high in the air, Totis vilified its contents as further evidence of the requested favors being heaped on Adolfo by her nieces and nephews. I was so shocked and angered by these charges that my throat constricted in rage and I couldn’t protest my innocence. In utter frustration, I burst into tears and fled the room in despair. I ran upstairs and hid under my mother’s bed, huddling in the furthest corner. I cowered there, wiping my streaming eyes and nose, while silently cursing my aunt, for what seemed like hours. I refused to respond to the pleading and coaxing of my mother and grandmother to come out, and I ignored their whispered discussions. It wasn’t until I heard Totis’ high heels clipping on the wooden bedroom floor, and saw her face peering sideways under the bedcover that I turned my head and listened.
“Toñito, mi niño querido,” she began, soothingly.
“¿Que quieres, Aurora?” I replied rudely, knowing that she abhorred my using her formal name when addressing her.
“Vengo a pedir su perdon,” she continued, ignoring the slight. “I should not have come in here, in such an angry fashion, and accused you of those things. I’m sorry I hurt and offended you. I should have asked you about the shirt first.”
“You should be sorry,” I insisted angrily, while feeling that same emotion slowly deflating even as I said the words. “I never asked Adolfo for any gift or favor.”
“I know that now,” she said softly, “and I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”
Until that moment, I don’t think I’d ever heard that phrase expressed in such a caring fashion from an adult. Perhaps it is because the words come out so much better in Spanish than English. The phrase, ¿Me perdonas? rolls off the tongue and comes from the heart. Saying the words in English, Will you forgive me? seem to catch in people’s throats. I was ensnared by her sincerity and sweet remorse.
“Claro,” I said, scrambling out from under the bed, to be greeted by a teary aunt Totis, who gave me a fierce hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Before I married, I visited Mexico City three times by myself, without parents or siblings: as an 18 year old, high school graduate, in 1966; a 21 year old, college graduate, in 1970; and as a 23 year old, beginning, graduate student in 1973. Each time, although I always stayed with my Aunt Helen and her son Gabino, I spent as much time as possible with Totis and her family: Adolfo, their daughter, Nena, and their two sons, Adolfito and Tavo. In 1966, while attending summer school at the Universidad Autónoma de México, I could always count on seeing Totis every weekend, and on unexpected weekdays after class. She would pile her three children into her tiny Renault sedan and drive across town to rescue me from an afternoon of boring homework, or a Saturday with nothing to do. I was still pretty dependent on Totis for transportation on that trip, even though I was growing confident in using the bus system for traveling downtown and commuting to school every morning. It wasn’t until my second stay in 1970 that I really started using public transportation in Mexico. The Metro had just opened and I was soon traveling on it to all parts of the city on my own. This coincided with a new job and more time constraints on Totis. She was now teaching English at a secundaria (high school) every morning, and busy chauffeuring her own children to and from school every afternoon. During this visit I made a habit of taking la Línea Azul through downtown to the Taxqueña Metro Station, and walking to Totis’ house in Campestre Churubusco. I’d stay for dinner, chat with Adolfo and the kids, and decide whether or not to go home by Metro or spend the night. Even though I varied my activities on this trip as much as possible, spending more time with my cousins, and other aunts and uncles in different parts of the city, Totis and her family were my North Star. I always felt most happy and comfortable there – talking to Totis as she prepared dinner, or just watching television with the family.
I finally got a second opinion about my favorite aunt when my friend Greg accompanied me to Mexico in 1973. The idea was to settle him in with a Mexican family, as a college boarder, while we attended the Universidad as graduate students for the summer. Totis in her inimitable fashion stepped right in and took over when we shared our plan with her. She found housing for Greg near the university and adopted him as another member of her family. She delighted in practicing her English and charming him with her interest in his family, his life, and his future. We made it a habit to join Totis’ family for dinner on Fridays after our last classes. There Adolfo invited us for cocktails at his bar and peppered Greg with questions about his classes, his interests, and his travels throughout Mexico City. Adolfo spoke only Spanish, but every week Greg’s conversation and comprehension got better and better. At our last dinner in their house, Adolfo complimented him on his growing fluency, but took the lion’s share of credit for providing him with cocktail hours of practice.
The last time I saw Totis was in 1988, when she came to visit my mother on one of her irregular trips to Los Angeles. Kathy and I had just moved into a sprawling 4 bedroom, 2-bathroom house in West Hills, CA., and I wanted to show off my family and home. I remember driving her around the West San Fernando Valley, showing her the scenery of the nearby hills, and telling her how Greg was doing as a bilingual teacher and school administrator. It seemed as if I had finally caught up to her position in life as a happy and satisfied parent and professional. Yet while I had gotten older (I was 41 at the time), she still seemed ageless. She continued being the independent, attractive, and charming woman I had fallen in love with long, long ago. I never saw her again after that visit. Later that year my mother informed me that Totis had been diagnosed with cancer of the throat, and would be undergoing surgery and follow-up therapy. My mother went to Mexico soon after to check on her recovery. On the occasion of that visit, Totis simply turned her head away from the side of the bed where my mother was sitting, and refused to look at her or say a word. Those actions were so uncharacteristic of Totis that I was stunned when my mother described them. My mother and Totis were as close as two sisters could be without being twins, and I couldn’t imagine Totis refusing to look at, or speak to her. It seemed to me as if she was depressed and giving up, and I couldn’t believe that. Totis had led such a joyful and exuberant life. Even weathering her son, Adolfito’s death in an automobile accident. I couldn’t believe that the cancer or the operation had taken away her spirit, or animo. She died on December 7, 1989.
A few years later, I accompanied my mother on her last trip to Mexico. On that visit we went to Totis’ home to see how Adolfo was doing. Nena and Tavo were married by then and living in other parts of the city, so there was no one else there. It was strange finding Adolfo alone in a house that had once teemed with so much energy and noise. Adolfo had grown thinner and grayer since Totis’ death, and he confessed that his eyesight was failing. But that did not stop him from speaking as exuberantly as he always did, punctuating his statements with Mexican profanity and bawdy jokes. He asked about my wife Kathy and the children, and then he fell back into reminiscing about Totis and how much my mom looked like her. Periodically he would burst out with loud exclamations of affection. “¡Te quiero, Toñito!” He would exclaim, and then announce, “¡Güera, como te quiero!” It was as if he wanted us to remember how much he loved us, because of our connection to his dead wife. A chauffer drove us to a nearby restaurant for dinner, and there he continued asking us for details of our lives in Los Angeles. Eventually his energy seeped out like a deflating balloon and he admitted how much he missed Totis and longed for her company. We left the restaurant on that sad note, and he had his driver take us home to Helen’s house. On the way back, my mother predicted that this would be her last visit to Mexico. Her connection to Totis had been the strongest bonds to the country of her birth. Now that she was gone, this land and its memories had somehow lost their luster and appeal.
I wrote this personal essay about my aunt Totis in a fevered determination to finish. I wasn’t even sure why I was writing it, but I knew the answer could only be found at the end. I suppose these reminiscences gave me a chance to finally express my grief and sorrow over Totis’ death. I never had a chance to see her after the surgery, or before she died. News of her death came to me as a verbal announcement over the phone. It only struck me later that she was gone forever, and the world seemed a dimmer place.
Yet my thoughts always go back to my mother’s story about her visit with Totis. I wanted to believe that if I had gone with my mother to see Totis after her surgery, I would somehow have coaxed her into turning. Why would I think that, when my mother failed? Why would my request move her more than her sister’s? Maybe because I presumed that Totis loved me like a son, and would never have denied my request to see and talk with her. Totis never let me down. She always set the example of how to act, how to live, and what to say. She never stopped helping me, teaching me, or loving me. I would have assured her that her appearance or speech were never the qualities that made her special. Rather it was the energy, care, and love she showered on people that determined her character and appeal. I would have said that I was sorry about the death of her oldest son, Adolfito, her illness, and her operation. I would have asked her forgiveness for not having visited her sooner or more often, or come when her cancer was discovered. I would have told her how much she was a part of my growing up and becoming a man. How the qualities she demonstrated so casually in her every day actions and encounters were the same qualities I found in the woman I married. That Kathy was a strong and independent woman of faith, who was also vibrant, charming, and funny. I would have asked to let me see her one more time before I left, so I could tell her how much I loved her.
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Thanks for the memories
Date: 2012-01-29 12:20 am (UTC)Nice essay. I haven't thought about Rora in a long time and, although, I did not have the amount of time spent with her as you did, she was a wonderful aunt! You really outdid yourself on the photos this time around! Nice "Mr. Kotter" due you had in the '70s!
Re: Thanks for the memories
Date: 2012-01-31 12:42 am (UTC)Lili Villalpando Fuse
Date: 2012-01-30 04:03 pm (UTC)Como "los niños de Lalo" fuimos los mas chicos del clan, no pudimos interactuar mas de lo que interactúan los bebés con los adolescentes, pero para mí, Totis y todo lo que ella tocaba fueron también parte muy importante de mi niñez. A mí también me encantaba ir a su casa.
Recuerdo su bella fuente a la entrada, que decoró con sirenas y hadas y la litografía de la pitura que mas me ha impresionado (tenía 4 o 5 años la primera vez que la ví): el Cristo de San Juan de la Cruz de Dalí; pero lo que mas recuerdo era su vocesita, suave y melodiosa para hablarnos y decirnos lo buenos, listos y maravillosos que éramos... yo creo que gran parte de mi autoestima personal fue construida por mis tías... y Totis y Mima siempre me hicieron sentir que me amaban simplemente por ser yo.
Casi no tengo tiempo de checar mi correo ni nada, pero yo creo que Totis, desde el cielo, me llevó a hacerlo hoy para ponernos en contacto y que recordemos cómo debemos conducirnos, en amor, modales y todo lo demás.
Un abrazo y besos para tí, Katy, la Guëra y toda la familia.
Lili
Re: Lili Villalpando Fuse
Date: 2012-01-31 12:38 am (UTC)Tony
no subject
Date: 2012-01-30 04:40 pm (UTC)Las Vegas?
Date: 2012-01-31 12:41 am (UTC)Tony