Tia Delia’s Bags

This is an essay I wrote for my English Comp class. Funny how Peruvian creativity seems to follow me months after I have left Peru.

Here’s a bit of inspiration that came from my stint in Lima…

“Tía Delia’s Bags”

by Rachel Gamarra

 

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. A Morse code like rasping gently emits from the front door, telegraphing to the occupants of the home a visitor’s presence.

My two young daughters jet down the hallway excitedly, practically ricocheting off of every concrete wall in sight. “ Tía, Tía, Tíííííaaaaa!” They cheer in unison.

Pulling the deadbolt latch with one hand and turning the doorknob in synchronization with the other, I slowly open the door to reveal the mystery tapper.

“Tíííííaaaaa!” my girls shout again. They rush toward the woman in the doorway, innocently shoving me out of the way to embrace her. It’s their aunt or “Tía” Delia making her weekly rounds.

Tía Delia is a plain, unassuming woman yet she possesses a beauty in her subtlety. Her dark, midnight hair is long, thick and curly…and seemingly in a perpetual state of dishevelment.

Her rich, mahogany brown doe eyes frame her elongated nose. Her complexion is olive and her frame is slender. She moves and speaks with a saintly quality.

Delia lived in the same seaside district of Lima as we did, but our small, eighth floor flat preceded her stop. She would usually visit us late at night on her way back from work; several districts and two bus routes over.

The girls were already tucked in bed before they acutely heard the rasping on the door. Greeting their Tía Delia was a justifiable excuse to stay up late a few extra minutes.

“What’s in your bag?” Asked my youngest, tugging at her Tia’s hand. She was curious to find out what Tía Delia had brought for us this week.

Delia always toted along plastic bags filled with unknowns when visiting.

Normally the plastic bags would contain another plastic bag inside, tucked in like a little Russian matryoshka doll.

Oddly enough, the bags would transform in appearance and mood almost in parallel to Tía Delia’s own.

You knew when life was good for Delia; during such times the bags would be robust, crisp, and merry in color.

A round and bulging bag during the holiday season almost certainly meant it contained Panetón inside; a traditional Christmas staple of Peruvian-Italian fruitcake.

If she drew out a smaller transparent bag, then conceivably it contained little edible treats such as freshly baked bread rolls or juicy, mouth watering mandarin oranges.

However, when Delia was sad or going through a difficult time in her life then the bags she would bring would be full of worry, they were furrowed and tristful.

It wasn’t always food and cheer that Tía Delia toted along with her in the plastic bags. A small, black garbage like bag indicated something more direful or morose. It almost always signified someone in the family was ill and the bag contained a prescription or two for the ailment.

She came over one night with one of these little black bags. Inside it contained an ointment for lupus. A young doctor had diagnosed her with the disease after she began losing hair and developing dark, blotchy patches of skin where the hair had fallen out.

Fortunately, It resulted that the young doctor was inexperienced and in reality her diagnosis was a less severe case of stress from a broken heart.

Then there were other times when the bags were just as surprising as Tía Delia. She came to visit us one weekend with a large, oddly shaped bag. It was solid and cumbersome, requiring the use of both hands.

She lugged the lumpy bag into the kitchen and set it upon the table next to the refrigerator. It sounded on the wood with a light thud.

“I need to store this in your freezer,” she told me with a mild urgency in her voice.

I figured it was yet another turkey she had received from work, but didn’t have the room in her own freezer to conserve it.

Slowly Delia began to peel the white plastic bag down towards the table’s surface revealing to my gastronomic horror a lechón.

“A lechón?!” I exclaimed as she carefully tried to set it in the middle of my freezer.

The eccentrically shaped, white plastic bag turned out to be the head of a young pig! Tía Delia certainly had an innocent sense of humor to her.

My youngest daughter tugged at Delia’s hand again and asked, “What did you bring us, Tía?”

“I’ve brought you a surprise.” She responded taking the bag towards the kitchen.

Tonight the bag was not lumpy, it was not bulgy nor was it sullen. Tía Delia carefully grabbed the top of a clear, crispy bag from inside with her fingers. It crackled as she pulled it out.

“Alfajoreeeeees!” The girls cheered in celebration, jumping up and down for the sweet confection that their Tía Delia had brought for them this visit.

An alfajor is a special Peruvian cookie filled with blancmange and coated with a white, sugary powder.

“Yes, I brought alfajores for you” affirmed Tía Delia. “But if you two don’t go to bed and get some sleep then you won’t be able to eat your alfajores tomorrow.”

Tía Delia walked the girls back to their beds and tucked them in goodnight, promising them that they’d be able to indulge in the treats when they woke up the next morning.

She kissed them both goodnight before hugging me farewell. The front door closed behind her, the lock latched back into its place and her journey home continued, eight flights down and one more late night bus ride to go.

The girls and I could only speculate what wonderments Tía Delia would be carrying with her in next week’s plastic bags.