Becoming Liliana Perez
Scene 7 Draft 1 - Westchester 1969
The holiday season arrived with a flurry of shopping, cleaning, and clandestine gift wrapping. Like many in Westchester, Liiliana’s family was a melting pot of Catholicism and Judaism. For some families, that meant no Christmas tree, no Menorah, and no presents. But Liliana’s father was culturally Jewish. He had no interest in religion, so they followed her mother’s traditions.
Heading out to Dobbs Ferry in search of the perfect Christmas tree, Liliana exclaimed, “I hope there are some good ones left! We are getting there so late this year.”
“Don’t worry,” her father replied, “Not many people have ceilings as high as ours. I’m sure we’ll find the perfect tree.”
It was almost like old times, the four of them in the car together, driving along the scenic Hudson River. Liliana’s father was a history buff, and they often spent weekends visiting museums and battlefields. But this year felt different. She no longer lived at home, and soon Roberto would be heading out to college in Maryland. This might be their last holiday together, Liliana thought, so she was determined to make the best of it.
“Let’s stop for a hot chocolate at the 76 House,” she yelled from the back seat. The historic tavern, which once served as a prison for Benedict Arnold before his execution as a traitor, was one of her father’s favorite haunts. Liliana remembered it for its delicious homemade apple pie and hot chocolate with whipped cream. It also boasted some of the best Christmas decorations in the area, featuring a majestic Douglas fir tree in one corner and a massive brick fireplace adorned with garlands and red velvet bows.
After a sumptuous snack, they drove along Main Street in Tarrytown, past the historic Queen Anne style Music Hall, quaint antique shops, and restaurants all decorated with twinkling lights and holiday displays. Then it was on to the Lyndhurst, a Gothic Revival mansion set on 67 acres of beautifully landscaped grounds ablaze with holiday lights. It reminded Liliana of her Goth period at boarding school, when she spiked her dark hair, dressed all in black, and spent her weekends reading Edgar Alan Poe and Charlotte Brontë.
“Too bad we can’t take the guided tour,” Liliana’s father said. “I would have bought tickets if I knew you were so interested in history. They were rated one of the top ten Christmas décor by Town & Country magazine.”
“That sounds dreadfully boring,” Roberto piped in. “Let’s just get the Christmas tree and go home. I’m meeting some friends for happy hour.”
Roberto’s comment broke Liliana’s nostalgic streak. What was she thinking? This slice of small-town Americana was irrelevant in today’s world. By the time they got to Dobb’s Ferry, everyone was over it. Liliana’s father trudged gamely into the snow in search of a tree large enough to fill the bay window in their living room. Two college students helped him tie it on top of the car, and they headed home in silence.
Roberto and her father dragged the tree inside the house and steadied it on the old metal stand that had been with them since childhood. Then Roberto set off to meet his friends, and her father retired to his study, leaving Liliana and her mother to decorate the tree.
“Do you want me to go up in the attic and get the decorations, Mami?” Liliana asked.
“Yes, but be careful, mi nina,” she replied. “That ladder is treacherous.”
Liliana approached the opening in the hallway ceiling and reached up for the rope handle. The ladder descended in a cloud of dust, banging the hardwood floor as it landed. Climbing cautiously, Liliana reached for the light switch just inside the entrance, illuminating a cluster of plastic boxes near the entrance where they kept seasonal decorations.
But Liliana ventured further into the recesses of the space. I might as well look for something that might help me learn more about Mami’s family while I’m up here, she thought.
Her voice echoed as she shouted down into the hallway. “Mami, are there any old photo albums up here?”
“Yes,” her mother replied. “They are in the steamer trunk I brought back from Cuba, along with my mother’s cookbook. You can bring them down but leave the rest alone. No snooping around.”
Liliana carefully made her way over to an exquisite trunk, a symbol of luxury travel in days gone by. It was about the size of a coffee table, a rectangular box covered in luxurious black floral upholstery fabric with a high-domed top. Broad leather straps studded with decorative bronze hardware crisscrossed the top and front of the trunk. Mami’s initials were attached to a bronze plaque on the front panel, and a large bronze barrel key hung from the middle lock.
“I found it, Mami,” Liliana yelled down through the opening.
“Good! Now remember what I said. No snooping.”
“Okay, Mami,” she said as she cautiously made her way over to the trunk.
The key seemed to be stuck, but with a little jiggling, it turned, and Liliana flipped back the dome top. She inhaled a faint scent of jasmine and vanilla mixed with leather and tobacco. It reminded Liliana of the perfume on her mother’s vanity mixed with the Cuban cigars her father smoked.
Lying across the top of the trunk was a clear garment bag with the most elegant dress Liliana had ever seen. The top was made of white, embroidered lace, embellished with pearls, and featured a low-cut, sweetheart neckline and a fitted waist. The skirt had several layers of sheer white organza trimmed with tiny satin rosettes. It had to be her mother’s wedding dress.
“Mami, I think I found your wedding dress,” Liliana shouted.
“Oh, bring it down here,” she said. “I felt like a princess in that dress. I was hoping someday you would wear it.”
“I would love to, Mami,” Lilina said, but I am not as tiny as you were. I don’t think I could fit into it.”
“Bring it down anyway, and we will see,” she replied.
“Okay, but let me find the cookbook and photo album first.”
Liliana carefully laid the dress across the top of the couch and peered inside to see what else she could find.
It was amazing! Everything in the trunk was perfectly preserved, with not a speck of dust or mothball in sight. She reluctantly passed by an embossed leather jewelry box and several round decorative hatboxes. Setting them aside, she finally reached what she was looking for, a layer of books at the bottom of the trunk.
Liliana peeked inside the Bible to see if it had names or an inscription, but didn’t see anything useful. Next were some children’s books in Spanish that must have been hers when she was young. Next, she uncovered a book of poetry by Dulce Maria Loynaz and El Monte: Notes on the Religions, Magic, and Folklore of the Black and Creole People of Cuba by Lydia Cabrera. They were all in Spanish, but Liliana thought they might help her understand more about what Cuba was like before the revolution.
“Mami, can I read some of the books you have here?” Liliana called down through the opening.
“Okay, but don’t touch anything else,” she said.
What in the world could be hidden in here? Liliana wondered as she put the books on the couch with the wedding dress. Finally, she found what she was looking for, two cookbooks by Nitza Villapol, Cocina Criollo and Cocina al minuto. Looking inside, she saw an inscription:
“A mi hija el día de su boda. Que vivan felices por siempre. “ (To my daughter on your wedding day. May you live happily ever after.)
“Mami,” she yelled down. “It looks like this cookbook was a wedding present to you. Why don’t you ever use it?”
“I used it before we left Cuba,” she said, “but your father never really cared for Cuban food, so I ditched it for The Joy of Cooking when we came to New York.”
“Well, I can’t wait to try some of these recipes,” Liliana said. “Now, if only I can find that photo album.”
Pushing aside a few more books, she discovered a large, leather-bound album that resembled the steamer trunk, with an embossed floral design and an ornate brass clasp.
“Got it,” she said. “I’m going to hand things down to you, okay?”
“I’m here,” she said. “Now make sure you close it up tightly so no moisture gets in.”
It took several trips, handing things to her mother one at a time, until finally the couch was empty, and the Christmas ornaments reached the bottom of the stairs. Liliana slowly descended the ladder, swung it up on its hinges, and closed the trap door.
“Let’s look through the photos together,” she said. “You can tell me who everybody is and I can look for family resemblances.”
“Not today, nena,” she said. “We still have to decorate the tree, and I am exhausted.”
“Oh, that’s okay, Mami,” Liliana said. “Let me make you a cup of tea, and you can supervise me from your armchair. I’ll have the tree decorated in a jiffy.”
How was it that the men always disappeared when there was work to be done? Liliana wondered as she put on the kettle and fixed her mother a strong cup of oregano tea in her favorite porcelain cup.
Not that she minded trimming the tree by herself. She loved reminiscing about each ornament, where it came from, and what it meant to her. There were homemade Santas made from red construction paper, little crocheted angels she made in Home Economics to surprise her mother, gingerbread men paper dolls, and school photos of her and Roberto framed in popsicle sticks. This holiday was turning into a trip down memory lane.
Once all the ornaments were hung to her satisfaction, Liliana finished the tree with so much silver tinsel that you could barely see the branches. Dropping down onto the couch to admire her work, she picked up one of the photo albums and started leafing through the pages to see if she recognized anyone.
“Mami, is it okay if I look through your album while you watch TV? Liliana asked.
“Yes, but don’t remove any of the photos. I have them organized by date.”
The first few photos were old, sepia-toned formal portraits of a man and a woman, whom Liliana figured must be her grandparents. Turning the page, there were several photos of the couple holding an infant dressed in a white baptismal gown. That must be Mami, Liliana thought. The following few pages contained childhood photos of her mother at different ages, dressed in colorful cotton dresses.
What captured Liliana’s attention was the setting. In some photos, Mami was playing in front of a large, two-story pink stucco house with art deco embellishments. The trim around the arched doorway and bow windows was white with darker rose detailing. A small balcony topped the front door, enclosed by a white railing. Palm trees adorned the front yard, and a back wrought iron fence surrounded the entire property. It looked like a fairy tale house.
In other photos, she was standing with her parents in front of a large industrial building with several smokestacks, surrounded by fields of tall plants that resembled bamboo. This must be the sugar cane farm and production facility my grandparents once owned, Liliana surmised.
Liliana gasped when she turned the next page and saw her parents’ wedding photo. Mami was stunning in her wedding dress, her long dark curls gathered into a soft topknot with a white jasmine crown and veil. Liliana’s father towered above her, his six-foot frame erect, sporting a black tuxedo, white shirt, and black bow tie, with a sprig of jasmine in the jacket pocket. They looked stiff and uncomfortable in the formal photo, but their happiness shone through on the next page, where they were stuffing wedding cake into one another’s mouths.
There were several pages of wedding guests eating, dancing, and enjoying the festivities, but Liliana couldn’t identify any of them. The last photo in the album showed them dressed in their after-wedding outfits, with broad smiles on their faces as they stepped into a classic red and white Chevy Bel Air, adorned with a “Just Married” sign and a few tin cans hanging off the rear bumper.
“Mami, you looked so happy on your wedding day,” Liliana said during the next commercial. “I think you look more like your mother, but there aren’t many photos of your parents, so I’m not sure. Can I take this album to my room so I can look at it some more tonight?”
“Of course,” she said. “Tomorrow I will look at the photos with you and see if I can help identify some of the people. But remember, don’t remove any of the photos from the album,” she repeated. “I don’t want them to get out of order. Now it’s time to get to bed. I have a bridge club tomorrow, and I still have some last-minute shopping to do.”
“Okay, Mami,” I said. “Buenas noches.”
Liliana lingered behind, thinking about Mami’s family in Cuba and how much she wished she could meet them. The photos were lovely, but they didn’t reveal much more to her than she already knew about her extended family. She wondered if more clues were hiding up in Mami’s trunk.