Why Women Remain Jamona

Part I

(Papi and I were in our way to abuela's house were I would stay for a week. We stopped at the Plaza del Mercado to eat something. An old woman approached to me.)

"Jesus don't love children who don't behave," the grey woman said. Her voice crackled like a worn record. "And he will punish them."
"Just ignore her," the counterman said. "She's crazy." He set a hot alcapurria and a frosty Coca-Cola in front of me. "Leave my costumers alone," he shout at her.....That's what happens to women when they stay jamonas," he said with a snort, and Papi laughed with him. The gray woman retreated to her bleeding heads.
"Papi, what's a jamona?" I asked as we left the market, our bellies full.
"It's a woman who have never married."
"I thought that was a señorita."
"It's the same thing. But when someone says a woman is jamona it means she's too old to get married. It's an insult."
"How come?"
"Because it means no one wants her. Maybe she's too ugly to get married....Or she has waited too long...She ends up alone for the rest of her life. Like the woman in the mercado."
"She was ugly, that's for sure."
"That's probably why she stayed jamona."
"I hope that never happend to me."
"No, that won't happen to you...."

Part II

(After Papi arrived to abuela's home and ate some sancocho.....)

"I'd better get going, Mamá. It´s a long way to Macún."
"But we just came, Papi. It doesn´t take so long to get home...."
"I have to see some people on the way," he snapped, his back to me.....I was certain that he was not going home to Mami and my sisters and brothers and that somehow I had been used. I didn't return his embrace. I stood stiff and solid, swallowing the bitter lump that had formed in my throat, and swore to myself I wouldn't cry, wouldn't beg him not to go, wouldn't even miss him when he left. I pulled out his arms."

(After a couple of days me staying in abuela's house....)

"Don't take your dress off," she said. "When he comes to pick you up, Pablito might be in a hurry to get back."
But Papi didn't come. Sunday streched long and hot...
"He will probably come for dinner," she said. But the blue haze of evening shrouded the street, stifled sounds, and sent everyone indoors to their secrets, and Papi didn't come.....
I thougt about how many nights Mami had left food warming on the ashes of the fogón, how often she'd sat on her rocking chair, nursing a baby, telling us to be still, that Papi would be coming in a minute, but in the morning he wasn´t there and hadn´t been. I thought about how she washed and pressed his clothes until they were new-looking and fresh, how he didn´t have to ask where anything was because nothing he ever wore stayed longer than it took Mami to scrub it against the metal ripples of the washboard, to let it dry in the sun so that it smell like air. I wondered if Mami felt the way I was feeling at this moment on those nights when she slept in her bed alone...."

Part III

(Papi never came and Mami came from Macún to pick me up.)

"!Hola, Negrita! How are you Doña Margara?"
"Oh, I'm fine, m'hija, just fine. How about some limonade?"
"Wonderfull!"
"I hope you don't mind that I came to bring Negi home. I've missed her."
"I missed you too Mami."
Abuela brought in a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses. "I thought Pablito was coming on Sunday. We waited all afternoon...."
Mami's face flashed into the hard expression I'd come to expect when she talked about Papi. "You know how he is," she said to his mother.........
"Negi," Abuela said, "go to take a shower and get ready so that your mother doesn't have to wait for you." I didn't want to leave Mami, but Abuela's eyes were stern, and with her head, she signaled in the direction of the bathroom....Alhought I leaned against the bathroom door, trying to hear what they said, I only caught snatches: "always been that way...," "upset the kids...," "think of yourself..," "alone with children...," "make it work...," "don't know how...." And in a louder voice, "Negi, why don't we hear the water running?"......

And still they talked, and I couldn't understand a word they said. But their pain bounced off the walls and crawled under my skin, where it settled like prickly bristles.

It seemed to me that remaining jamona could not possibly hurt this much. That a woman alone, even if ugly, could not suffer as much as my beautiful mother did. I hated Papi. I sat on the bed in his mother's house and wished he'd die, but as soon as the thought flashed, I slapped my face for thinking such a thing. I packed my bag and stepped into the room where Mami and Abuela sat. When they looked up at me, it seemed as if we were all thinking the same thing. I would just as soon remain jamona than shed that many tears over a man.

By Esmeralda Santiago, When I Was Puertorrican.