Sweeping the Yard

I’m journaling in the shade of the Hernandez side patio. My first interview is scheduled for 10 a.m., so this slow morning is a wonderful reprieve. 

Just across the cement balustrade that edges the patio, a young man sweeps the dirt. Yes, sweeps.

I survey the  bare dirt, the size of the seeds and trash particles, and conclude that yes, sweeping is more appropriate than raking. I’m getting better at cross-cultural tolerance.

Well, somewhat better. Some deeper place, I still hunger to see that dirt carpeted with grass.

I test my Spanish,  learn his name is Adriel, and continue.

“Esta usted un pariento de Hernandezes?” (Are you a relative of the Hernandezes?”) I ask.

“Se. Leyda es mi tia,” (Yes, Leyda is my aunt.) he answers.

I’ve met two of Leyda’s sisters: Lina and Lourdes.

“Que esta su madre?” (Who is your mother?) I ask.

He replies something rapid and unintelligible. I try again.

“Esta Lourdes su madre?” (Is Lourdes your mother?)

“Si,” he says.

I journal a few more sentences, and then a lingual light dawns. In Spanish I actually asked him, “What, temporarily, is your mother?”

I was, I realize, also unintelligible.


And (sigh) I also asked him if Lourdes was temporarily his mother.