CLEANING LADIES
Part Three of Four
by Marie Delgado Travis
After Doña Ada, it understandably took me a while to get up the courage to hire another cleaning lady. But in time, the dust really began to accumulate and even my young son began to say, ¨Mami, I hate to say this, but we’re living in mugre,¨ a word which translates roughly to ¨filth and grime,¨ way beyond his first grade vocabulary level. There was a brief interlude with an emaciated cleaning lady who coughed as if she had tuberculosis and always came to work with her five emaciated children, who looked like they shared whatever disease she had and dirtied more than she cleaned. One day, she told my son that if he didn’t behave, the stuffed animals in his room would come alive at night and eat him. When he was afraid to go to bed at night, I realized that she was crazy and had to go.
One day, Olga miraculously appeared at the door. Olga was Dominican, with papers and references from two of my neighbors and everything. She was relatively young, in her early thirties, with dark skin and untamed hair. She didn’t look like much in a cleaning outfit, but sometimes she came directly from what I gathered was her night shift, still spike-heeled and attired in a tight sequined evening dress, low-cut and surprisingly revealing before breakfast. Still, you know me. A good cleaning lady is hard to find. So, as long as I could account for my current husband’s whereabouts the previous night, I had no real objections.
When Hurricane Hugo struck Puerto Rico, the wooden structure in which she lived on someone’s roof blew away. So I collected some of my old party dresses for her night job and, in the Christian spirit, even offered her our spare room. ¨You can continue to work for anyone you like, ¨I assured her.
Fortunately, Olga declined the invitation. Because little by little, I began to notice strange things. Getting ready for work, I’d rummage for earrings in my dresser drawer and find only one. I wasn’t very organized, but this was occurring more and more frequently. Eventually, both earrings would be gone and with it, a ring or a gold chain. It was really starting to get on my nerves and I decided to mention it to my next door neighbor.
My next door neighbor informed me that Olga wasn’t working for her anymore. That she only owned three pieces of jewelry, her engagement ring, wedding band and watch, all of which she wore on a daily basis. But when she had gone to the hospital recently to give birth, she was advised to leave her jewelry at home. When she returned, all three items were missing and the only person with access to the house, besides her family, had been Olga.
I confronted Olga, saying that I needed her help in locating some of my jewelry. That somehow I had the idea that she would know exactly where they might be found. I thought that this approach was much more considerate than accusing her outright. Olga’s response was telling. She proceeded to look¨ for the missing jewelry by wiping her fingerprints off the drawer they had been in with a dirty cloth. And then she said, haughtily, ¨You didn’t use that jewelry much anyway.¨ I told her that it was my business whether I wore it or not and notified her that she was fired.
I was angry with my next door neighbor for not having warned me about Olga and decided to inform my neighbor across the street, for whom she also worked. I called Cathy on the telephone and started to recount my experience with Olga. In response, Cathy whispered, ¨Wait a minute. She’s here now. I’ll call you back later.¨
I learned a few hours later that, as Olga was leaving, Cathy asked to examine the paper bag full with donated clothes she had given her. Sure enough, Cathy found her graduation ring and other jewelry in the sack. Olga said she had no idea how they had gotten there. Unlike me, however, Cathy was careful in storing her jewelry. You had to work hard to find it in the farthest and uppermost corner of her closet, Cathy said. But apparently Olga’s cleaning jobs were very thorough.
None of the neighbors called the police. We didn’t want the hassle and thought that, short of installing hidden cameras, we’d have a difficult time proving her thievery anyway. In the end, she might end up suing us. So, we decided just to let Olga go and she simply moved her operation down the block.
Watch for Part Four in June.
MARIE DELGADO TRAVIS is proud of her Nuyorican roots. She is the author of LA VENTANA / THE WINDOW (a collection of bilingual poems), as well as two poetry books in English, ORIGAMI and MIRACLES. All are available through major online booksellers, including Amazon.com. Her poem "The Window" won Second Place in the international Tom Howard Poetry Contes in 2005 (over 1,600 entries received). Marie's poetry was recently spotlighted in the literary journal, LUCIDITY. She and her husband, Edmunds, a retired attorney,live in Houston, TX. Visit her web site at: http://hometown.aol.com/marilutravis/index.html
