Working with Men
The next day, Violeta donned her new dress. It fit perfectly. Doña Emilia had borrowed a pair of black patent leather shoes from her friend, Doña Anísia. They had cleaned them up with Vaseline and now they shined like a brand-new penny. Violeta wound her hair nice and tight at the nape of her neck and secured them with the bobby pins Gisela had given her. She slipped her feet into the shiny black shoes. She was ready. Her big sister Elena arrived with her baby on her hip after hearing the news of Violeta’s new job. They sipped coffee quietly while Violeta choked down a piece of toast. Her throat was dry and Sylvina was nowhere to be seen.
Finishing her breakfast, Violeta grabbed the lunch her mother had prepared for her and
jumped on her bicycle to head to her first day of work. Sra. Valdez greeted her warmly and
walked her to the phone operators’ hall where five women sat busily leaning into a wall with
strange projections coming out of them. The women were talking into them while plugging
cables into the wall. She’d never seen anything like it! She was placed between two women,
Miriam and Letty. A mouthpiece protruded from the wall and she watched, fascinated, as the
women leaned in and talked into theirs. As they spoke they plugged cables into different holes. It was mystifying but she learned quickly and soon she too was redirecting calls from all over the world to her beloved little world in Quisqueya.
The day moved along quickly. After a few hours learning her job, a whistle blew
signaling the lunch break. Two of the women continued taking calls while the rest, including
Violeta, stopped to take their break. The girls grabbed their bag lunches and walked out to a
small courtyard outside the operators’ room. “¿Como te llamas?” Miriam asked.
“¡Que lista, eh! [1] You sure picked up your job fast!”
“The young ones always do,” groused Olga, the oldest operator, “one day they’ll have
all our jobs,” she complained as she lit a cigarette. Violeta mumbled a gracias and opened her lunch. Accustomed to having the last word, this time Violeta took her cue and sat silently
listening and eating. This was a new and different world. She sat invisibly as the women
recounted their evening before with their cheating husbands, disobedient children and difficult mothers-in-law. Life was no different anywhere else she sighed to herself. There were always problems.
The days progressed seamlessly one into the other and Violeta was soon redirecting
calls without a thought except for the anticipation of lunchtime and the warm camaraderie she had developed with her coworkers. She had become closest to Letty while they all steered clear of Olga who was always in a bad mood. Her breath smelled really bad every morning and some of the girls said she stayed up late drinking with the men. Who ever heard of such a thing!
Things smoothed out at home as well. With the income Violeta brought home, they were able to hire Balina. the young, skinny Haitian girl that Violeta loved. Balina needed a home and was more than happy to help out with Sylvina and the housework. Eventually, she would become the fourth daughter that never left la doña’s side.
One day, Sra. Valdez came to the Operators’ Hall to fetch Violeta. The plantation
engineer’s secretary was home sick, and she needed someone to cover for her. Violeta had never been inside the air-conditioned sanctum where the men with the pants and the matching jackets worked. The female workers there distinguished themselves with high heels and up-dos - a very different world she wasn’t sure she cared to get to know. She loved her comadres [2] in the Operators Hall. They knew each other’s secrets and spent the day trying to solve them while they managed the river of communication that created sugar for North America.
Sra. Valdez walked Violeta into the chilled sanctuary of the corporate office and
introduced her to Arthur Garlinghouse, the head engineer. She showed Violeta her desk and told her she just needed to do whatever el Señor ‘Galinghow’ asked her to do, and with that Sra. Valdez left Violeta sitting in a cavernous room with tall ceilings at a large desk with a telephone, a pad of paper and a jar of pencils. She began to open the drawers inquisitively when the large door to the engineer’s office opened and a mature man in his 40s stepped out. Mr. Garlinghouse was a stout man of average height, he had graying hair and wore wire rimmed glasses. He was a Texan who spoke some Spanish. With his head down and a file of papers in his hand, he asked Violeta to step into his office. Could she take down a letter for him, he asked in his precarious Spanish.
“¡sí, como no!” [3] Violeta grabbed the pad of paper and a pencil and hurried into his office. In a soft voice, Mr. Garlinghouse dictated who the letter was going to. Violeta was having trouble understanding him. She asked him to repeat the name in English. Mr. Garlinghouse looked up in surprise.
“You speak English?!”
“Yes” Violeta said shyly, my mother is from St. Kitts. We sometimes speak English at
home” Violeta admitted, revealing a family secret. Islanders from the West Indies, Cocólos as they were derisively called, were the poor Black people who came to the Dominican Republic in search of relief. Doña Emilia spoke Spanish, but she much preferred Pigeon English at home. Her girls, typical of all immigrant families, preferred to blend in and spoke the language of the land, Spanish. But, in this moment, Violeta’s English was suddenly a huge advantage. Mr. Garlinghouse’s face lit up. This young girl could speak English which was going to make his days run a lot easier. Violeta smiled with satisfaction as she took down the letter Arthur Garlinghouse dictated, moving between English and Spanish, to get his thoughts across.
It did not take long for Violeta to become an important asset to the plantation engineer. Her bilingual abilities eased many of the challenges Garlinghouse was facing with the workers. Once Mr. Garlinghouse’s secretary returned, Violeta was promoted to a job created for her - liaison between the engineer and the contractors. Violeta’s headstrong, bossy tendencies came in handy in her new position; she was ideal for it. She loved getting out of the office and into the big black car with the driver and Mr. Garlinghouse to visit the fields and work with the men.
Violeta would often be spotted out in the middle of the sugarcane fields, a hand on her
hip, communicating with the men effortlessly between Garlinghouse and the field managers. The workers loved her. Of course, many of them knew her, after all, she was one of them. Violeta knew many of the sweating, machete-slinging men in the fields as fathers and brothers in her community. Her presence unwittingly quelled tensions between the layers of management. While she ensured she communicated Garlinghouse’ needs, she also made sure that the engineer understood the workers’ needs. With Violeta’s help, the American engineer was drawn up and exposed to the challenging conditions of the field workers. The expanded level of awareness prompted Garlinghouse to establish improvements and efficiencies for the plantation as well as for the men.
The engineer was impressed with Violeta’s maturity, spunk and incisive mind as she
handled herself among the workers. He also noticed that things were running smoother with the clever young lady on his team. She was now seventeen but seemed older than her years. Violeta stood with her shoulders back and head held high, a bearing that conveyed strength and understanding. She was indeed older than her years. The experience of the birth and
disappearance of Pipíche lay achingly dormant inside her. It grieved her, it aged her and it woke her.
Arthur Garlinghouse was from Arlington, Texas. He was married to kind-hearted
Margaret who became despondent after accompanying her husband to the Dominican Republic with their son, Arthur, Jr. A few short months after setting up a household, she abruptly left, taking their son with her. Quisqueya was no place for her. She missed her extended family, the food, Texan people and the English language. The Dominican culture was foreign, almost savage to her. She had never seen such poverty. It was no place for an unprepared southern belle.
Unlike Mrs. Garlinghouse, Quisqueya brimmed with vibrant life for Arthur. He didn’t
mind the tropical heat, relished the savory comida criolla [4] and the cold Presidente beers but most of all, he loved the Caribbean spirit. Dominicans are indomitably happy people. Greetings are for real, laughter bubbles up in every conversation, doors are left open and there is always enough food for one more. Invariably, there is music playing and children learn to dance in the kitchen with their mother as meals are prepared. Dominicans are a fun, joyful bunch and Arthur reveled in their easy-going nature. The island suited him, so did his work. When his wife left he was lonely for someone to talk to.
Violeta’s ability to converse in English began to fill the void. Their rides out to the fields
were peppered with personal information and preguntas, [5] mostly from Garlinghouse. There was anervous eagerness he felt each time he entered the warm intimacy of the big black car with Violeta. Arthur wanted to learn as much as he could about island life from the vivacious and scintillating young lady. Long forgotten sensations tacitly thrummed throughout the aging man’s body as he sat next to her trying to discuss the business of sugar cane production.
Violeta was overcome by the unfamiliar and invigorating experience of the affection
growing between her and this older white man. She had no experience with people from outside her village of Quisqueya and this man was as different from her people as he could be. For one thing he was soft spoken and kind. The tough and unbreakable Violeta felt fragile in Mr. Garlinghouse’ presence. He was twenty-three years older than her, but she was the only one he could communicate with freely. A familiarity developed seamlessly, creating a bond between them before Violeta realized it. Arthur, being a mature man, saw it coming. He was besotted by Violeta’s beauty, her ability to make him laugh and her moxy. He looked forward to each of his trips to the fields with his associate and friend, Violeta.
The job with el ingenio provided immediate relief to Doña Emilia’s little family. There
was more food on the table, more chickens in the yard, and Balina was now a member of the
family, helping Doña Emilia with the house and Sylvina. As the liaison to the field workers,
Violeta was able to get Elena’s husband, ese inútil [6] de Antigua, Carlton Edward Smith, employed as a plumber. And, after a few months of employment, Doña Emilia got a new Singer sewing machine.
Mr. Garlinghouse and Violeta spent a lot of time together during their workdays. There
were hours out in the field talking with the workers and time spent traveling to and from the
sugar cane fields. The growing fondness seemed to narrow the twenty-three years that separated them. Violeta enjoyed Mr. Garlinghouse’ company. No, she was fascinated by it. She had never spent much time with a man, really, let alone a white man. An older white man. An older, educated, married white man. Arthur Garlinghouse was a gentleman, gently raised by an English mother and an American Father. He was not very tall, and he was stout in body type. He spoke softly and carefully. He was forty-one years old and, after 3 months of working together, he was in love with seventeen-year-old Violeta Estél Garcia. Arthur, married and her employer, was consumed with passion. Violeta, old beyond her years, could feel Arthur Garlinghouse’ growing heat when they were together. She understood these things and she was flattered. She enjoyed his company and was taken by his stature, his title, his suits, the cigar he lit at the end of the day. The special attention he bestowed on her made her feel delicate and protected. In his presence and with his attention shining on her, she felt light and powerful. These were feelings she never felt before. She didn’t think this was love but it felt good, and it felt safe.
Violeta’s head was swimming. This was not something she felt she could discuss with
anyone, not even her best friend Gisela. When she was with Arthur, she felt worthy and
deserving – of what she did not know - and she felt elevated. He respected her thoughts and
asked for her advice. He asked about her family, showed interest in them and even delighted in stories about Sylvina and her pet rooster, the annoying foot-pecking Coquito. Arthur shared bits about his life in the states; of how his native blood came over on the Mayflower. He spoke of Texas and of his wife and son. Her stomach tightened when he would speak of them. She had nothing to be ashamed of but somehow, she was. Shame. There it was again, always lurking.
She remembers seeing Mrs. Garlinghouse and their son, Arthur, Jr., come by the office
every now and then. Mrs. Garlinghouse seemed very nice but so shy. Violeta wished she could make her feel more comfortable, but she did seem like a fish out of water. She wasn’t surprised when she heard she had left. Violeta was used to women making their own choices. An independent woman raised her, and Doña Emilia didn’t put much stock in romance. Relationships were transactional as far as she was concerned. They needed to be good for something.
Doña Emilia noticed shifts in her daughter since she started working at el ingenio. Violeta was more self-assured, and she seemed happier. She had been concerned about her unflappable daughter. The changes in her after the delivery of Pipíche were profound. She never neglected her duties at home, but Violeta’s effervescence had disappeared. She no longer sang as she helped her mother around the house and the laughter that was always burbling in her throat was gone. Something had died deep inside Violeta, but she worked hard to hide it. She felt shamed by her mother and Príamo’s family. That the baby was never discussed created a schism of uncertainty and distrust. And, she had lost her special friendship with Prìamo. This was a loss that would never be replaced and an ache that would eventually cleave her heart.
But now, Doña Emilia allowed herself to feel hopeful for her daughter. This job seemed
to be reviving her. She actually heard Violeta sing as she was hanging sheets and towels on the line out in the yard the other day. Yes, Doña Emilia thought, she is going to be okay. She had been worried that she would not recover, and la Doña was stricken with guilt. She had done the unspeakable with the unfortunate creatura [7] . Pipíche had been born healthy and black as an asabache. [8] Doña Emilia had a much different plan for her lighter skinned daughter than allowing her to follow in her mother’s footsteps. She felt strongly that Violeta could do better, better than her other two girls. Doña Emilia had endured thirteen pregnancies and three live, healthy births and she had to work very hard to support them. She harbored no regrets, but she knew that her middle daughter was destined for much more. Doña Emilia didn’t have anyone to read her coffee cup, but she was sure of it and she had the stealth not to let anything get in the way of it.
“Mamá, there is a big black car coming up the road!” exclaimed Sylvina. Violeta wasn’t
home from work yet and it was about the time she usually arrived. There weren’t many cars in
Quisqueya in those days. Donkeys, horses and bicycles were the common modes of
transportation. In the late afternoons los panaderos [9] walked their donkeys door-to-door delivering piping hot pan de agua [10] , fresh out of the oven. Children eagerly waited for their warm pan that came in the thin brown paper bags. They would slather aguacate [11] like butter on them to go with their cup of hot cocoa - it made the perfect evening supper.
Doña Emilia heard the crunch of the tires as it approached their house. She went to the
door with apprehension. A car had never made its way up their narrow lane. Sure enough, it was a big black car. Sylvina pushed herself between her mother and the door to watch the spectacle. The car slowed to a stop in front of the house. They could see a driver and two people in the back. The driver got out to open the back door and out stepped Violeta. Doña Emilia gasped.
“Viola” (Violeta’s nickname) whispered Sylvina.
Then, a stout white man with graying hair and glasses stepped out of the car.
“Ay Dios mío” said Doña Emilia, although a non- believer, she made the sign of the
cross.
“Hola Mamita, Sylvina. This is Señor Arturo Garlinghow, el ingeniero del ingenio.” [12]
“Arturo, this is my mother, Doña Emilia, and my sister, Sylvina”
“Hola, Doña Emilia, es mi placer de conocerte [13] ” Garlinghouse said in his stilted Spanish.
Doña Emilia stared at Violeta in confusion. Why is this man here and why did he bring
her daughter home in his big fancy car? Violeta and Arthur walked into the house with everyone following in a disorientated state. Doña Emilia didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Violeta suggested that un cafecíto [14] would be nice. She walked Arthur into their modest living room and sat down with him. Sylvina, sucking on a piece of her hair, went to get Coquito for support. Doña Emilia wondered if there was trouble at the plantation, but it didn’t feel like that’s what was going on. Her mind raced to make sense of the uncomfortable situation. She’d never been in the presence of a white man.
Doña Emilia coló el café 15 and poured the hot, black bitter liquid into small demitasse
cups. She sweetened each cup with a heaping spoonful of sugar and in a bit of a trance, stirred and placed each cup and saucer on a small serving bandeja, 16 as was the custom. She entered the living room with the tray of coffee. There sat Violeta with the doughy, squat man who was old enough to be her father. Emilia noted the easy intimacy between them as they chatted amiably. Violeta touched Mr. Garlinghouse teasingly and she made him giggle like a young boy. “Well, what do you know?” Doña Emilia placed the tray down carefully, handed them each a demitasse of coffee. She took one for herself. Sylvina, still sucking loudly on a handful of hair, crouched in the corner clutching Coquito. They sipped the hot sweet liquid quietly.
“El Senor Galinghow wanted to meet my family, mamíta.”
“Oh?” asked Doña Emilia, staring at her daughter with interest.
“Yes, I’ve been telling him about you and your sewing business and Sylvina and how she loves chickens and butterflies…”
“Mija” Doña Emilia said gently in Spanish, “Why is this caballero here? Is there
something wrong, has something happened? Did Carlton take off again? ¿que ha pasado?” [17]
“No, Mamá. Nothing bad has happened. El Senor Galinghow and I spend all day together in the car and in the fields talking to the men. We have become friends. He asks me about you and my sisters all the time. He is here because he wants to know if he can help us in any way. Arturo, I mean, el Senor Galinghow runs el ingenio. He is a very good man, Mamita.”
“I see” she answered, not quite sure what she was seeing.
Arthur Garlinghouse sensed the discomfort and spoke carefully in his stilted Spanish.
“Señora Emilia,” he began. “Your daughter has become a very important worker at the plant. She is very good at helping me with the workers. She is very kind and a hard worker. I value her tremendously”
I bet you do, Doña Emilia thought to herself. She understood now what was happening.
The old man was interested in her daughter! ¡que bendición! [18]
“Bueno, gracias, Sr. Galinghow. We are very grateful for the work you have given my
daughter and it makes me happy to know that you value her. She is very precious to me. The
money she makes at your factory is enough. It has helped us tremendously. Look at the new
sewing machine she bought me with her pay!” Doña Emilia proudly indicated the Singer sewing machine in the corner of the room. A neat pile of clothing waiting for her hands next to it. Arthur Garlinghouse surveyed the modest simplicity of their home, neat as a pin and bare of much furniture. He had never been in any of his workers’ homes. It was eye opening. The house was tiny, sat right on the ground and was capped with a corrugated tin roof. He could see that the kitchen was separated from the house and closer to the well water yet the delicious food cooking on Doña Emilia’s cook top wafted all the way in, full of loving security. He felt a tug in his heart, but Doña Emilia was tired and had had enough for the day. It was time for dinner, and she needed to digest the new circumstance she had just been presented with. Emilia began to collect the cups and saucers. He stood up graciously and reluctantly and took his leave.
“Well, what did you think of mi patron [19] ?” blushed Violeta, her eyes bright.
“He is a very nice man, querida. You seem to be in good hands.”
Sylvina went outside to feed Coquito. Violeta set the table while Doña Emilia ladled out a fragrant pumpkin stew over bowls of steaming rice.
“What is it like sitting in that big black car, Viola? Asked Sylvina.
“Oh, Sylvina! You would like it. There is a lot of room in the back and when you roll the
windows all the way down, the breeze blows your hair back and dries the sweat on your face and neck. The car can go really fast too.”
Arthur Garlinghouse so enjoyed the delight Violeta took during those rides out to the
fields that on days when they got their work done early, he would have the driver take them out onto the newly paved highway that connected Quisqueya to San Pedro de Macorís and race the car to the larger municipality just to hear her squeal with laughter. Then they would stop at El Capri for a bowl of ice cream with the special galleta [20] pushed into the sweet delicacy.
“Would you like to go for a ride in the car someday, Sylvina?
“Oh, do you think I could? I would love that! Yes!”
Violeta resolved to take Sylvina with them on one of their special trips to San Pedro for
ice cream. She considered just how much fun that was going to be and she couldn’t wait to see her little sister’s face when the car took off and the wind blew her hair back. She thought about Sylvina’s first taste of the creamy sweet concoction called helado [21] . It came in four flavors: vanilla, chocolate, strawberry and something called Neopolitano which had all three flavors together in fat stripes of pink, brown and white. Each time Arthur brought her to El Capri, she tried a different flavor. Neopolitano was Violeta’s favorite and she always looked forward to the wafer cookie that came sticking out of the top of the scoop. She had never tasted anything so delicious. Arthur’s joy was the pleasure he took in indulging Violeta. She was keenly aware of it and knew he would enjoy taking Sylvina along.
“Como no, hermanita! The next time we go to San Pedro, we will come by to pick you up and we will take you for a wonderful bowl of helado,” answered Violeta.
“Helado? What’s that?”
“Oh, hermanita, it is so sweet and delicious. You will see,” smiled her big sister. Ice
cream was an unheard-of delicacy. The closest Quisqueya had come to ice cream were
surprisingly delicious frozen cubes of water, sugar, cream and vanilla, offered on rough sheets of brown paper. Doña Emilia ate quietly while she listened to her two daughters. She was considering how things were changing once again. Change, the only guarantee.
Arthur Garlinghouse, 41 years old and a descendant from the Mayflower, had always
done the right thing. He followed his fathers’ footsteps in becoming an engineer and married his mothers’ choice for a life partner. He never questioned his circumstances and was content with his lot in life. The flat line quality of his life felt normal and contained. He used to be able to see clear through the beginning, middle and end. But now he felt like a different person. He was alive, happy and, for the first time, spontaneous and in the moment. Where there was once a consistent order to each of his days, now there was delight in anticipation of what the day would bring. Arthur Garlinghouse was verging on giddiness.
Most of the engineers that flocked to the small island to work in the sugar factories felt
violated by the in-your-face intimacy that epitomizes the Dominican culture. The discriminating posture of white American superiority prevented most of them from associating with the incurably warm and cheerful Dominicanos. Instead, most American engineers would retire in privileged isolation to their apartments, away from the incessant music, laughter and jokes that infused the island spirit. They shied away from the neighborly invitations to their employees’ homes and decided they didn’t like the food before even trying it. They missed out on arroz con habichuela, platano frito y aguacate con ensalada [22] , insisting instead that their assigned domestic boil potatoes and fry a piece of steak for their dinner. Most of the temporarily transplanted Americans maintained their separateness. While they did allow the crispness of a cold Presidente beer to quench their parched throats, they, more often than not, maintained their misplaced distinction.
Not so for Mr. Garlinghouse, who upon his arrival to la Republica, woke up to what was
a dormant thirst for the lively and affectionate hospitality of los Caribeños. The unpretentious Dominican way of life and the casual familiarity of its people almost immediately transformed the engineer’s black and white world to Technicolor. The rustling of the palm trees in the ocean breezes, the glorious taste of coconut water sipped from a just picked coconut, the sweet perfection of a bite into a stick of a freshly peeled cane of sugar, oh! and the comforting sounds of the incessant scratching of the crickets at night, all these things and more enchanted him. It saddened Arthur Sr. when Margaret didn’t take to the breezy personality of the tropics. He had hoped that the sultry island air might bring a spark to his wife’s otherwise unhappy demeanor. However, it was not meant to be so when Mrs. Garlinghouse left with Arthur Jr., Mr. Garlinghouse was relieved.
He wanted to be free to explore this unfamiliar light heartedness. He was feeling younger and more energetic than he had in years and his yearnings for his wife of 10 years were soon consumed by thoughts and feelings for this all too young and spirited Dominican woman. For her part, Violeta reveled in her boss’ affections and attention and found herself looking forward to their special adventures together. His pleasure was indulging his new special friend. Her pleasure was in receiving it. Their feelings for each other came from distinctly different needs, and their needs began to be fulfilled in each other’s company.
Violeta was still riding her bicycle to work every morning, but now she was returning
home in the big black car every evening with Arthur in tow, as the driver. He would dutifully
remove her rusty blue bicycle from the cavernous trunk in the back of the car, lean it against the tree by the door, remove his hat and enter the house, as if already a member of the family. Violeta would breeze into the house without a care of the powerful wind at her back. Doña Emilia, shaking her head, wordlessly began placing a fourth plate on the table. This house of secrets was alive and well. The burgeoning relationship was never discussed but fully accepted.
Doña Emilia developed a fondness for Arthur. Every afternoon she found herself sending Balina to the bodega for two cold Presidéntes, timing it so that they would still be sweating in their frostiness when Garlinghouse and Violeta arrived from work. Both Emilia and Arthur looked forward to that cold cervecita [23] and their end- of-the day chat. They enjoyed the adult company, and, with their mutual love and admiration for Violeta, this unusual pair bonded in the comfort and privacy of Emilia’s humble home. Arthur would arrive respectfully each evening with his hat in his hand, entering their home like the benefactor he would soon become. Notwithstanding his grand stature in the unpretentious little town of Quisqueya, Arthur Garlinghouse was a man of simple roots who was hungry for the warmth of family. Emilia always enjoyed the company of men, and this easy friendship was a balm to an aging woman’s lackluster life. Their conversations traveled all over the trials of her island life - from the challenges of keeping track of Sylvina and collecting service fees from her impoverished clients to the leak in their red corrugated roof. Arthur would sit back, listen intently, laugh with her companionably and sort out solutions. Arthur relaxed deeply in the arms of Violeta’s family.
[1] ¡Que lista! – How quick (you are)!
[2] comadres – close girlfriends
[3] ¡sí, como no!” – Yes, why not or of course
[4] comida criolla – Caribbean cuisine
[5] preguntas - questions
[6] Ese inútil – that useless one
[7] creatura - creature
[8] asabache – black onyx
[9] Los panaderos – the bakers
[10] Pan de agua - baguette
[11] Aguacate - avocado
[12] el engeniero del engenio – the engineer of the factory
[13] es mi placer de conocerte – it is my pleasure to meet you
[14] Un cafecito – a little coffee
[15] Coló el café – strained the coffee
[16] bandeja - tray
[17] ¿que ha pasado? – what happened?
[18] ¡que bendición! – What a blessing!
[19] mi patron – my boss
[20] galleta - cookie
[21] helado – ice cream
[22] arroz con habichuela, platano frito y aguacate con ensalada – rice and beans, fried plaintains and avocado with salad
[23] Cervecita – a little beer
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