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Fertile GABRIELA YBARRA LEMMONS “Sometimes I just like to run around encuerada.” Naked, is what I once overheard Tía Rosario say to our neighbor Virginia. They didn’t know that I was listening. I had come over to look for Tío Patricio. “Mañana, come back tomorrow,” he had said. “You can hold the ladder while I climb to pick the ripe ones.” He was referring to the papayas that we’d been watching closely all summer long. “¿Hola Tía, se encuentra Tío?” I asked from the open screen door. I asked as I interrupted their giggling. And giggling they were both, like two young girls sharing their most intimate secrets. But, young is not what they were. Tía Rosario was wrinkled, her skin like lumps of uncooked sweet tamal, and her hair the color of dirty algodón. Virginia, she was at least ten years younger, but the life of la pisca had aged her. All those years of baking in the sun had turned her skin into leather, and the expression of hard use was branded into her face. Virginia was our neighbor and also Mamá’s friend. “Up North” is where they had met while on pisca, harvesting the seasonal vegetables that broke their backs and suffocated their spirits. During the cold season, both women returned to the Rio Grande Valley and continued working together at Valley Star Fruit & Vegetable . At Valley Star, they packed everything that the Rio Grande Valley produced : tomatoes, cantaloupes, cucumbers, and ruby reds. But unlike Mamá and Virginia, who had worked the fields and packed the crops, Tía Rosario had not. And unlike the Valley, Tía Rosario was not very fertile. She was Tío Patricio’s wife, and their union had produced a single child, Julian. JulianlivedacrosstheborderinMexico.Eventhoughhe’dbeenborninMcAllen , Texas, he had married a mexicana who had refused to move to the United States. Julian and his wife would often come to visit his parents, Tía Rosario and Tío Patricio, who lived next door. Julian and his wife had three children, Marisol, Alfonso, and Maribel, who were often my weekend playmates. Eagerly, I awaited their Saturday morning arrival. Mis primas, Marisol and Maribel, would sometimes spend an entire weekend at the tío’s house. And it was during their departures that I became fully aware of the only child’s solitary nature. “Nos vemos, el otro sábado” is what the girls would yell out of their moving car. The primas never had to wait for another Saturday. They had companionship every day. Unlike me, they probably never read Pequeña Lulu comic books alone in the dark by flashlight; they probably never made up songs and sang ♦ ♦ ♦ Fertile ♦ 109 them to themselves, sat in on adult conversations, or cried themselves to sleep because their mother wouldn’t be their friend. But, they did have to share, and as Mamá often told me, I wasn’t very good at it. Except for my swing set, which I shared with mis primos on every visit. My swing sat on the lush lawn next door. Tío Patricio had not hesitated when my parents had asked for his permission to move my swing set into his backyard. Next door, I could run barefoot when my parents weren’t looking. I was never allowed to go barefoot at my own house. “What are you, pata rajada?” my mother would ask. “Cracked feet are for Indians.” She’d reprimand me with, “You will wear shoes!” Besides, Mamá loved animals and we always had too many dogs and too many cats. Our sparse lawn was always full of dog and cat mierda, and the grass wouldn’t grow well because of all the animal urine. Next door on Tío’s lush lawn, and on my swing set, the girls and I would sing rondas infantiles like “Los Elefantes” and “La Víbora de la Mar.” My favorite rhyme was “Naranja Dulce.” We would also play pretend. The swing set was a ship that sailed through shark-infested waters as we ran from one swing to another. We screamed, “¡Auxilio !” and “¡Socorro!” “The tiburón is nipping at my toes!” We would climb to the top of the swing set for safety and hang from our folded legs until we got dizzy. On the swings, we would swing so hard that the swing set legs, not anchored, would tilt back and forth. “Woohoo!” we’d yell...

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