You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

PETRA Y CRISANTA

It is emotionally difficult for me to write this account. The situation I encountered was then, and remains, something which troubles me deeply.

I rented a room in the home of a single, middle-aged, Senora Baptiste, for the three months that I attended Mexico City College in the Winter term of 1960. The home was a two-story stone masonry building, located in a middle-class neighborhood of Mexico City, on a street of similar homes. These were townhouses built with adjoining walls. There were no side yards or back yards next to these houses. The only windows faced the street or the “courtyard”. The dining room, on the first floor, had a window onto the “courtyard”.

The “courtyard” would be better described as a light well. It was a 15-by-20-foot utility space. It was surrounded on all sides by two-story walls. Despite Mexico’s many sunny days, sunlight rarely found its way down to the concrete floor, which sloped to a central drain intended for rainwater. Against the wall on one side of the courtyard was a makeshift shed roof erected over a roughly made counter with a portable two-burner propane cooker on it. An old refrigerator stood at the end of the counter. On the opposite side of the dingy courtyard stood a crude wooden shed. Open on one side, this shack was just deep enough for two plywood shelves, each had a thin mattress. These were roughly made bunk beds on which two girls slept. Petra was prepubescent, probably ten or eleven years old. Crisanta was two or three years younger. I guessed her age to be seven or eight. The girls were of Mexican Indian descent. They were given up by their parents to work as live-in servants, maids, and cooks. They were essentially slaves, known in Mexico as “criadas”. Senora Baptiste paid their families for their service. In the three months that I lived there, the girls were gone one weekend. I was told that they had gone to visit their families. All of the rest of their days were spent cooking in that dank “court room” or cleaning in the house. They apparently had only one set of clothing. They had no toys. No time to relax or play. They had no schooling. It was heartbreaking to see the plight of these two children.

I came to know them because they prepared and served huevo revuelto y tortillas for my breakfast every morning before I left to attend class at Mexico City College. They also prepared my dinner each evening. These meals, I ate alone in the dining room from which I could see the utility “courtyard” where they lived.

My bedroom was small. It had no table on which to do my homework. So after dinner, I would frequently study at the dining room table. I took two Spanish language classes. And often had Spanish books open on the dining room table. Petra was aware of how poorly I spoke Spanish and occasionally helped me with pronunciation. One evening Petra asked if I would teach her to read. I agreed. From that day on, she would sit with me after dinner. I would sound out Spanish words, pointing to the letters as I made the sounds that I thought were appropriate. Petra would watch to learn the letters for each sound, and then, when she recognized the word, she would pronounce it correctly. We had a good time doing this. My inept pronunciations provided us with many laughs. We did this for about a week. Then, one afternoon, when I returned to the house from school, the Senora confronted me at the entry. She was angry and agitated. She told me that I was not to teach Petra to read. She had delivered the same message to Petra. She never again came near me while I was studying at the table. I could not understand Senora Baptiste’s angry response when she found out that I was teaching Petra to read. I imagine that the Senora could not read herself and could not tolerate the idea of her criada having this crucial skill when she did not.

I have remained troubled by the plight of these two girls. I assumed that this cruel tradition had been banned in modern Mexico. However, when I recently asked a Mexican neighbor about it. She told me that criadas are still found in Mexican cities today.