By Camincha
The corner grocery store of Alba’s childhood -- she recalls
being nine -- was very special. It took the role of today’s Community Service Centers: if you were not at home when a package was delivered, they would accept it, and hold
it for you. They would take messages. They would let you know when that special
brand you were waiting for came in. If you didn’t have a phone they would let
you use theirs. Some charged una peseta, twenty
cents, or if you were a regular they would just let you borrow it. Saying, “No.
No charge for you,” they would slide back the peseta that you had placed
on the counter, perhaps adding with a smile, “you are a preferred customer.”
Alba’s grocery store at the corner of Porta and San Martin in
Miraflores, in the same block as her house, was owned, like most small grocery stores
in the area, by Chinese. Two Chinese men. Both tall, good-looking. One was
called Lin Lin. Alba never knew if that was his real name or not. She just
accepted it, the way children often take some things for granted. Lin Lin was
friendly and helpful to his clients. He smiled whenever he saw Alba. Often he saw
her from his post, sitting behind the counter, before she saw him. As she approached, all of a sudden, his eyes would be visible, then his smile as he rose from his
chair.
Lin Lin’s store was spacious, clean, with a large counter
and a high ceiling. Its walls were lined with drawers. Little drawers. Large
drawers. They went all the way up and down the walls. The drawers contained all
kinds of merchandise. On one side, they held a well-organized rainbow of
threads, ribbons, small pieces of yardage. Next needles, thimbles, measuring
tapes. Another group held writing paper, pencils, erasers of all shapes, sizes
and colors. An entire side had make-up, tiny perfume bottles and First Aid
items. Other drawers held rice, all kinds of beans, noodles, wheat, coffee,
tea. But the drawers Alba always zeroed in on were the ones that held the cookies.
In fact that was why this grocery store was so very special
to her because of the cookies that were sold there: butter cookies. Flat. They were
plain on one side and on the other, they had a clown’s face outlined in brown.
They came in two sizes, one the size of una peseta, twenty
cents, the others the size of a silver sol, un sol
de plata. These cookies were so thin that she wondered how they held their
shape. When she put them in her mouth they felt sturdy. Ah! but soon they
cracked into tiny little pieces and their delicious flavor spread through out
Alba’s slim, little body.
And she did get a lot of cookies for one or two cents, since
Lin Lin was most generous. He measured the sale with his hand. And to Alba’s
delight he had a large hand with
long fingers.
