Veronica's Diary II: Braving a New World

Veronica's Diary II

Braving a New World

1962-1988

Veronica Esagui, DC

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Veronica Esagui

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Editors: Chory Ferguson, Maria E. Chitsaz

Book Cover Art and Design: Danlar

Illustrations: Derrick Freeland

Graphic Designer: Derrick Villalpando

To Al and our sons, Ralph and Steve,

without whom, there would be no journey.

Author's notes

The people and the stories portrayed in this book are all true as to my recollection when I began writing my diary in Portuguese, Saturday, April 26, 1986 in Howell, New Jersey. Upon translating my diary to English I have kept it as it was written, but I have changed some individuals' names to protect their privacy.

Memories are the essence of existence,

and the gift of yesterday's choices.

─Veronica Esagui, DC

~ Chapter One ~

The American Way

1962

Jamaica, Long Island

New York, USA

Spring of 1962

Al's brother Joe and his fiancée Virginia, and his sister Ruth and her three-year-old daughter Kim were all waiting for Al and me when we landed at the New York airport.

I had some difficulty understanding Ruth because she spoke English with a heavy American accent and also very softly. I told Al that Ruth was a lot prettier than her pictures and he agreed. Al lifted Kim up in the air before hugging her, and called her his little baby doll.

While still in Portugal Al had told me about Kim and how beautiful she was with long blonde hair, a cute little button-nose, and big blue eyes like her mom. He also told me how adorable Kim looked when she would fall asleep with her head on his shoulders whenever he was babysitting her for the evening.

I tried a few times falling asleep with my head on Al's shoulders but it gave me a stiff neck so I gave up on that idea. Mama warned me several times before I left Portugal to watch out that nobody, not even a child, was to take my place in my husband's heart. But I'm not afraid of a baby stealing Al from me. Mama has such weird ways of thinking. I am now far, far away from her, and I am going to start living life the way I like it, free to be me.

Joe is not as tall as I expected him to be. He has a body builder's look and he is a little shorter than Al. Joe speaks English slowly, and I believe that was the reason I understood him when he spoke.

When Aunt Nelly came to visit the family in Portugal a few years ago, she told me that when Joe was younger he had won the title of third runner up in the Mr. America muscle competition. I have never cared for muscle-bound men like Aunt Heyde's favorite Greek hero, Hercules. After meeting Joe, I am happy that I chose Al instead to be my husband because I like Al better.

Joe's fiancée, Virginia, has very beautiful, shoulder length, reddish-blonde hair. Just like Ruth she is very pleasant and cheerful, but she is very, very skinny, and her breasts seem smaller than mine. I am surprised because I thought that all American women had big breasts. I imagine that when Virginia gets older she will look like Rosa, the upstairs neighbor that lives on the second floor of our apartment in Lisbon, Portugal. Rosa was also very skinny and had a dried up look, probably because she was always in pain until the day the doctors took out her kidney stones that were as big as boiled chickpeas. I never saw the stones, but everybody else that knew Rosa spoke of their size. She proudly showed them to everyone but me, most likely because at that time I was only a kid.

Virginia speaks with a strong nasal accent, the kind of American accent my brothers and I used to have fun imitating by speaking without moving our lips, and letting the words come out nasally.

Joe drove us home from the airport. I was disappointed when they dropped Al and me at the front door to our apartment building and drove off. They told us that they didn't want to disturb our honeymoon, and promised to come back and visit us when Nelly returned from Portugal. Just because we are newlyweds, doesn't mean that Al and I are having sex, twenty-four hours a day, without stopping.



Our address is 95-41 Stuphin Blvd., Jamaica, New York, which is also Nelly's, Al's mother's apartment. Al told me that Nelly and his father Ralph used to sleep in the room that had a door. His grandmother Mercedes and his sister Ruth slept in the living room, which was divided mid way by a thick double-layer wall-to-wall curtain giving them complete privacy from Al and his brother Joe, who slept on the other side of the thick curtain. Each brother used a couch that opened into a bed. With so many people living together, this one bedroom apartment was very smartly organized.

Joe and Ruth don't live here anymore. Joe has his own apartment and Ruth, who has been married for four years, lives with her husband Bernie and their three children in their own apartment across town. Mercedes lived here until she died from colon cancer. Her son Ralph, who was married to Nelly, tried everything he knew as a pharmacist to save his mother. He even gave Mercedes daily shots of gold trying to induce the colon to get rid of the cancer but it didn't work, she died anyway. This is all very sad because Ralph never got to see Kim, his first grandchild being born. He died from cancer, two months before Kim was born.



When Nelly returns from Portugal she will be sleeping in the room next to our bedroom. The thick curtain, which serves as a wall of separation from the living room, offers her the privacy of a real bedroom. If I have to get up during the night to go to the bathroom, I will have to remember to tiptoe carefully where she is sleeping so that I don't wake her up.

I love Nelly's kitchen. It is small but very modern. It has a small, square, green Formica-topped table, set up against the wall, and four matching green metal chairs covered with see-through plastic seat covers. After eating, it's a step away to wash the dishes. I love the idea that I don't have maids, like in Portugal, and I am my own boss doing my own housework.

Last night, Al took me into downtown Jamaica, to the famous old movie theatre where actors used to perform Vaudeville-type entertainment before they went on to become famous in Hollywood.

It was dark and smelly inside the theatre. My shoes were sticking to the floor as I walked between the seats. Trying not to step on the popcorn and sticky soda that covered the floors was a challenge. In Portugal, if anybody throws their trash on the floor, the usher will call the police and the slob will be given a fine after being expelled from the theatre, while being booed by the audience. I did admire the exquisite architecture inside the theatre; it reminded me of an old Moorish castle beat up by the hands of time.

After the movie was over, we went to an ice cream parlor and it was a good thing that Al advised me to pick only three ice cream flavors. He said seven balls of ice cream would be impossible for me to eat.

I found out that in America, they don't make one scoop out of all the flavors you like; it's one huge scoop for each flavor. Al ordered something very American for me: it's called a banana split! I didn't say anything to him, but I don't care for American ice cream; it tastes like ladybugs, but I did enjoy eating the sliced banana, the cherry and the walnuts. I really miss the naturally delicious fruity sherbet ice cream sold in the streets of Lisbon.



Jamaica is definitely a very dirty city. People throw their garbage all over the streets. Not at all like in Lisbon where everyone is proud to keep the streets clean.

I miss the bright colors of Lisbon's houses, and the flowers hanging on the windowsills along with the singing crickets in their little wooden cages. Crickets are supposed to bring good luck to their owners and their chirp makes everyone sleep better at night during the summertime. The houses here in Jamaica have a dark, heavy appearance because they are made of bricks that are not painted.

Al told me that brick houses are very expensive, and using bricks to build your house is a sign of wealth. This is the reason why people like to show off their bricks. Al said it would be dumb to cover them with paint after paying a fortune for them.



Some of the stores in America are called department stores, probably because they have lots and lots of departments. The main street in Jamaica has lots of department stores.

The grocery stores are so humongous that they are called supermarkets. They have everything one can wish for. Aunt Simy would faint if she saw the different jams and jellies they sell in America. I found a bunch of grape jam in glass jars, already made; and vegetables inside metal cans, already cooked. In America an electric can opener is a very important kitchen appliance. The one and only department store in Lisbon, which was considered super-modern by everyone in Lisbon, is literally an expensive convenience store when compared to the supermarkets in America. Al bought grape jam and grape jelly so that I could try both to taste the difference. I prefer to eat cheese instead; and when it comes to grapes, I prefer them fresh.



Al and I went to the famous Macy's department store in Jamaica. He promised that someday he would also take me to the one in New York City, which is not only bigger but also very modern. The one here in Jamaica is so modern that instead of elevators they have escalators that take people up and down to different floors. Each level is full of all kinds of house commodities and clothing, and lots and lots of things to buy. Going from one floor to another is a lot of fun.



The main street in Jamaica has a train track above our heads. When the train is running, the fumes and dirt that fly around make me sneeze, and the small particles of dirt get into my eyes; this is one of the reasons I am glad that I use eyeglasses, not only to see better but also for protection. Al likes me in eyeglasses so much that he bought me an extra pair. Mama and Aunt Heydee would be shocked to know that I wear eyeglasses all the time. Al loves me in glasses and he insists I use my eyeglasses every day.



I thought I was going to see a lot of white, blond men and women when I arrived to North America, but it looks like the people here are mostly black with black hair. Before I left Portugal, Mama told me that in North America everybody was blond, and I would be a minority being a white girl with dark hair. Mama said that Al would have to watch out, since every man would fall in love with me because I would be so different from all the other women. I wrote to Mama and told her that this is nothing like she had told me. In Jamaica, Long Island, the American citizens are mostly black. As a matter of a fact, I feel like I am in Africa. It's very exciting.

Jokingly, I wrote to Mama about the old Portuguese superstitious belief that seeing a black person in the street brings good luck. If that's true, I will have good luck for thousands of years to come. Mama has not answered me yet. It takes a about a week and a half for the mail to get overseas and back.



Al goes to work at five in the morning. He is a nuclear engineer for the Bendix Cooperation, in the state of New Jersey, where he inspects rockets before they go into space. When he gets home at five in the afternoon, I always have dinner ready. I have been trying to impress him with my culinary abilities. Today, I used the largest stew-pot I found under the kitchen sink and filled it with stuffed tomatoes, stuffed green peppers, and stuffed potatoes with ground beef. I can't believe that the meat is sold already ground. It's incredible!

Al told me that each time I make dinner, I make enough food to feed an army. I don't have much experience with measuring food just for two people. Al told me not to worry. When Nelly comes back from Portugal, she will teach me to cook for three people, and also to cook the food he likes; such things as liver, kidneys, heart, tripe, and all kinds of stews that he grew up eating. Yuck!

According to Al, Nelly makes the best spaghetti in the world, and she serves it with meatballs in tomato sauce. Just the recollection of Mama cooking boiled spaghetti with meat makes me queasy. I don't want to hurt Al's feelings, but I refuse to eat spaghetti even if it is the best in the world. The idea of tomato sauce and meatballs on top of spaghetti makes it even more repugnant.

Every day I try making something new for dinner. I made empadão yesterday, and Al said that in America it's called Shepherd's Pie. He liked it.



I spend a lot of time watching television when not ironing or cleaning the apartment. I like watching cartoons and I do that while Al is at work because he doesn't like cartoons. He'd rather watch police stories on television. My favorite cartoons are Roadrunner and Bugs Bunny. I like Bugs Bunny when he comes out of the hole in the ground chewing on a carrot and says, What's up, Doc? I immediately know that he is up to mischief.

I love American food, especially steaks, hot dogs, and hamburgers; I don't miss fish at all. Al doesn't like fish, which is a relief for me. I don't like it either. All I ate while growing up in Portugal was bacalhau, which is dried, salty codfish. It has to soak in water for twenty-four hours and the water has to be changed at least three to four times before the codfish can be used for cooking. They say there are at least 100 Portuguese recipes on how to cook bacalhau. But I believe that there are at least 1000 recipes on how to cook bacalhau and I have had them all. Al told me he is a meat- and-potatoes man. Thank God!



I am afraid that my cooking is not to Al's liking. He says it's wonderful but he barely eats anything. He only likes ice cream, cake, candy, and five or six layers of white bread with chunks of butter in between each layer. I tried the American white bread, but it sticks to the roof of my mouth; and besides, this is not bread, it has no taste! I can't believe that I miss Portuguese bread. Now that I no longer have real bread, I know what I am missing.

Al made peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. I would not try it. Butter made from peanuts, glued down on American white bread! I'd never heard of anything so gross! I only like peanuts when they are eaten fresh from their shells; and besides, I have to be at the zoo so that I can share them with the monkeys, like I used to do at the Lisbon zoo. In the Lisbon zoo, you can throw the shells on the ground and step on them. That is what I call having fun eating peanuts. Al says, here in America the monkeys are not allowed to run around like in the Lisbon zoo. What kind of a zoo is that? It must be horrible for the monkeys to be locked up all day and night, and definitely boring for the visitors too. He promised to take me to the famous Bronx Zoo one of these days.



Al gives me a lot of money and presents every day. He surprised me with a mink stole this morning. I was very polite and smiled as I said thank you. I didn't tell him that I don't like fur stuff. It reminds me too much of my Aunt Simy who lives inside a mink coat, hibernating like a bear during the winter months. I have been saving the money Al gives me, which is easy to do because I already have everything I could possibly wish for. I don't know yet what I am going to do with so much money. I'll probably wait until I fill the bottom dresser drawer full, and then give him the money back as a surprise present. Mama would never approve of this.



Al asked me not to bother cooking anymore. He must really hate my cooking. He takes me out for dinner every night now. I think it's a waste of money; he never finishes the food on his plate.

My lunch, when Al is at work, is Campbell's chicken noodle soup. With the help of an electric can opener, zip zap and there it is; tasty yummy soup. It even beats Papa's favorite; German asparagus instant soup.

Yesterday morning I ventured out of our apartment all by myself. I was worried that I would get lost so I paid careful attention to the street names, and made myself a little map with the names of each street and where I had crossed. Not too far from home I found a men's clothing store. They had a few mannequins in the window display and I noticed a beautiful, light, and cream-colored cotton shirt with an embroidered front pocket and embroidered design around the buttons. I thought it was really striking. Al didn't like it. He said only Puerto Ricans wear that kind of shirt and he took it back and exchanged it for a blue shirt. I was surprised that the store did the exchange. In Portugal there's no such thing as returning merchandise. Once you buy it, it's yours.



Al wanted to know what I would like to do this Saturday morning. I told him I would love to have a bubble bath just like Doris Day in the movie Pillow Talk.

Now that was a true American experience! I asked Al to put the radio on, and for a split second I waited, hoping to see a stream of dancers enter the bathroom dancing and singing around my tub, but of course that only happens in the movies in Hollywood. Al brought me a glass of cherry soda to sip on. I told him that I don't like soda, and he was very nice about it and brought me a glass of water with ice. I sipped it very slowly since I don't like ice in my water.

Al always uses ice in everything he drinks and he already told me that I am strange since I don't like ice in my water. So I felt it was better not to say anything about the ice and I forced myself to drink almost half a glass.

Al doesn't like bubble baths, he prefers to take showers, so he waited until I'd had enough bathing and then we took a shower together. Afterwards we sat on the floor in front of the television and played like children tickling each other and laughing about nothing. I love this life of mine. I am very happy in America!



I am sad to say that my English is not as good as I thought it was when I lived in Portugal. But Al doesn't mind the way I speak; he thinks it's cute. He is very loving and is constantly kissing and hugging me, and we have sex every day, except these last two days because I am menstruating. I asked Al for a metal pail to put my bloody napkins into to soak in cold water; he told me that in America women use special feminine napkins called Kotex pads. They are worn on the inside of the underwear and get thrown into the trash can after use. I am totally amazed. I wrote to Mama about it. I can't believe it! No more walking around with heavy bulky towels held with safety pins like a diaper inside my underwear, and best of all no more washing them. Kotex pads! Wow! Now that is the most incredible invention since chewing gum.



Nelly will be back from Portugal this Monday. I can't wait to see her. I have learned a lot about America and how to be an American, but the days are long and lonely while Al is at work and I am afraid to go out by myself. Al has me scared on account of being unable to defend myself, if I got attacked by criminals on the street.

Summer of 1962

Nelly has been teaching me how to cook her way, which is the way Al has been used to eating since he was a child. She also showed me how to properly clean the kitchen floor. I was mixing wax with soap to clean the floor and using the wrong cleaning fluid in the bathroom. Nelly is very patient with me. She is fun and very affectionate. She is also a very beautiful lady for her age, I have never seen her without make-up and her hair is always perfectly combed. She takes very good care of herself.

Nelly is my aunt and my best friend. We go out every day, shopping for groceries and clothes. She gave me some of her silky underwear to use, because they were too small for her. That is what I call a true friend, but when I told Al about it, he said I should not be wearing his mother's old underwear and he is going to buy me my own.



I can't believe that I am this lucky! I now own my own silky, movie-star type of underwear. Al bought me seven pairs in different colors; one for each day of the week! He also bought me perfumed body powder to use after I take a bath. I feel very pampered with so much luxury. I feel like a real American.



I am no longer called Verónica. Al explained that in America, Ronnie is the nickname for Verónica, and it's shorter and therefore easier to say.

I wrote to Mama about my new name. I got a letter from Papa saying that he is very sad and hurt that I have discarded the name his mother chose for me at birth. He wants to know what possessed me to change my beautiful name to a horrible name like Ronnie, which has the same sound as ranhosa, which means snotty nose, in Portuguese. Papa asked me if I was ashamed of my name, and he also wanted to know why.

I wrote back explaining that in America nobody is called by the name they are born with, principally if it is too long, like mine is. Nicknames are used a lot because everybody is in a hurry, and using extra long words seems to be a waste of everybody's time. Al and Nelly also told me that I have to make my name shorter because it is a pain in the neck to wait until I am finished signing my whole name. When I become an American citizen I will have the opportunity to change from Verónica Leah Toledano Ezaguy Wartenberg Esagui to a more sensible name like Veronica Esagui. I am not telling this to my parents. Without Wartenberg in my name, they will freak out; principally Papa.



I can't get used to waking up in the middle of the night hearing Sasha, the neighbor's daughter, crying out, as she is getting beat up by her date in the hallway downstairs. Her mother, Mrs. Romanoff, is either sleeping or she is deaf because we can hear Sasha's body being thrown into the walls as she cries out, But I love you, but I love you. Stop hitting me. I love you.

The first time it happened, I told Al we should go downstairs and rescue her or call the police. But Al told me, Don't pay attention. It's her choice to date men that beat her. She must like it.

I don't agree with Al. If Sasha liked it, she would be saying, More! Hit me more.

I think Sasha is looking for love and is a victim of making bad choices. Of course, I don't tell that to Al. He is my husband and it would be disrespectful to contradict his opinion; besides, he is older than me and he knows more about life than I do. When we go out in the morning I always look at the downstairs walls to see if there are any bloodstains left from Sasha's head.

I've seen Sasha a few times in the hallway as she waved goodbye to her mother. Mrs. Romanoff is a bit heavy which makes it hard for her to stand for too long; she uses a cane for support. Sasha is almost as heavy as her mom and I understand why it's so noisy when she gets punched against the walls downstairs. Both of them are very polite and they always say hello when we see each other in the hallway.

Nelly told me they are low-class Russians and we are not to socialize with them. I feel sorry for Sasha. She can't be much older than me.



I am very fortunate to have Nelly as a mother-in-law. Nelly was not as lucky as me when she came to America. It didn't matter how nice she was to her mother-in-law, Mercedes, who liked to argue and who was a very demanding woman. Nothing was ever good enough. Nelly never complained to her husband about the sacrifices she had to make daily, while putting up with his mother who lived with them for thirty long years. When Mercedes got sick with cancer, Nelly took care of her as if Mercedes was her own mother. Many times she had to carry Mercedes on her back to the bathroom, and at the end of Mercedes' life, Nelly would lovingly wash Mercedes body in bed since she was too weak to get out of bed. Nelly took care of Mercedes day and night for five years until she passed away peacefully in their apartment.



I had a lot of fun at Joe and Ginny's wedding. Virginia prefers to be called by her nickname, Ginny. Nelly told me that she was not completely happy with Joe's choice in a wife because Ginny is not only older than him, but she also has a daughter from a previous marriage. But at the wedding, Nelly admitted that Ginny would be a good influence on Joe. Ginny's parents are German, so consequently Ginny is very clean and an exceptionally good cook.

Ginny will keep a good home and keep Joe straight. And then she added, He used to be a wild young man. He ran around a lot but he was also very smart. He fooled around only with married women so he would not catch a venereal disease. He even had an affair with an Indian Chief's wife. Her husband came home one day just as Joe was leaving the back-way. He was lucky that he didn't get caught. He could have wound up with a tomahawk in his head.

Ralph, her husband had been a very good father and never hit his children except once when he caught Joe playing dice on the street with some street boys. That was the only time he actually slapped Joe when he was a kid. Only derelicts play with dice in the streets. Joe was always in trouble and he was a troublemaker. Al and Ruth were perfect children.



I found out from Nelly that before Al asked me to marry him, he was seeing another girl, but she was trying to seduce him and Al got tired of her being all over him. If she did that with him, she most likely did it with all the other men she dated. Apparently Nelly didn't like her. Nelly was able to influence Al to stop seeing his girlfriend.



Nelly told me that she used to have one of my baby pictures on her bedroom wall and every morning when she got up, my smile made her day go better. I am so lucky to have smiled in that picture. I love being here with her and Al in America. I have not seen any cowboys or Indians or movie stars yet, but I don't mind; I am very, very happy.



Al scares me when he drives. I don't know anything about driving a car, but I can tell he drives dangerously because he sways all over the road. He gets stopped often by the police and gets a lot of traffic tickets, mostly for driving at night without the headlights on or for not driving straight on the road. Yesterday, he was making a turn too quickly and Kim, Ruth's little girl, who was sitting on my lap in the passenger seat, went flying into the windshield and bruised her forehead. But I don't care how bad Al drives, because I am very happy. I even cried from happiness the other evening when we went out for a drive. He asked me if I was crying because I miss my family in Portugal. I lied by saying yes, but I rapidly added the truth by telling him that I was also crying with happiness from being in America with him and Nelly. And then I thought to myself, and because I am no longer treated like a child.



Over the weekend we had a family get together in our apartment. Al was sitting next to me on the couch and, as always, very lovingly holding my hands, when suddenly he whispered in my ear to follow him. He took me to our bedroom and locked the door. He wanted sex!

We have company; this is not the right time. They will know what we are doing. I said, trying to reason with him.

But he would not listen to me. He is my husband and as so I have no rights to say no. I did not enjoy it, that's for sure. When we came out of the bedroom, they were all gone.

My goodness, that was so impolite! They were here visiting you and Ronnie. They were your guests, and you both got up and went into your bedroom like rabbits! Nelly said. She was right to be upset.

Al said with a shrug, If they don't like it, it's their problem.

I am so embarrassed I could die of shame.



We went on our honeymoon to the Pocono Mountains Resort as Al had promised. He asked me if I minded Nelly coming with us. He was concerned with her heart and with leaving her home alone for the weekend. I agreed to take her with us whole-heartedly; besides, she would have her own room. I knew it would be fun; the three of us together like the three Musketeers.

I found out on the first night at the Pocono Mountains Resort, that all those times I went to dancehalls with Aunt Heydee had been a waste of time. I still can't dance the Cha-cha. I stepped all over Al's feet and felt spastic. I'd rather dance free-style to rock and roll music, and do the newest dance, the Twist. I am very good at that, probably because I used to do the Hula-hoop when I was living in Portugal.

The morning after we got to the Pocono Mountains Resort, I had pancakes for the first time. Al showed me how to eat them; one pancake, lots of butter and syrup, another pancake on top, and another layer of butter and syrup. I didn't like the American breakfast. All that butter and syrup made me sick to my stomach. Since I was a kid I haven't done well with grease, oil, fats, and, in this case, pancakes covered with butter and syrup.

On the second night Al didn't want to do square dancing and told me to dance on my own and have fun. It was a lot of fun following the directions where to go, changing partners, and soon I found myself dancing with a boy about my age. He talked to me as if I was single. He asked my name and if I wanted to go outside to talk.

I told him, Sorry, but I can't. I am with my husband on our honeymoon.

He laughed and didn't believe me. So I pointed to Al sitting next to Nelly as he waved back at us and the boy got all red in the face and went back to his seat. Al thought that was very funny when I came back to sit next to him, but I was sad. I don't know how to explain how I felt, except that for a few moments I was thinking that I had missed something. I had gone from my parent's nest to being a married woman. But I was happy after I thought about it again, because I love Al, I love Nelly, and I love everything about America.

It was a wonderful weekend of honeymooning, kissing, hugging, sex, swimming, horseback riding, eating, laughing, and having a good time; like cowboys at the big ranch in the Pocono Mountains of New York.



Al made me cry this morning. I didn't know that he could be so mean and impatient. When he told me that he was going to teach me to drive I was very excited and happy. But my happiness was soon gone when we got into his car and he said, Go ahead, drive.

I was surprised that he expected me to know what to do and I told him, I never drove a car before, what do I do?

He said, It's easy, just turn the key and keep your right foot on the brakes then put your left foot on the other pedal when you want to change gears, and use the right hand to move the stick shift.

I had no idea what he was talking about.

Don't forget to use the foot pedal on the right to stop. He said, yelling at me.

To make a