Pound Cake and Mayonnaise

Introduction

This is one of many supplemental vignettes of the life and times of Danny Monteiro and his family—adjuncts to the novel,Oh, Nantucket.

Daniel is sitting alone, musing as he often did, following Anna’s departure. Now that she had gotten him thinking about the past, memories will not stop coming. His thoughts, initially focused on the summer of ’42, Lisa and the choices made, turn to earlier times. He reflects back on his family’s struggle for survival. But as a young child he had no real appreciation of their dire circumstances. He had nothing to compare it to, no concept of rich or poor, no understanding of the challenges faced by his parents and older siblings. It was just the way things were. But with the benefit of age comes understanding and a greater appreciation.

During these ruminations he often speaks to himself as if talking with Anna.

The year 1930 had been particularly bad, the country was in the midst of the Depression. Work had been slow even in the summer but as the scallop season ended and winter approached, work was virtually non-existent. Pai decided we were going to have to close up the house and move to New Bedford, for the winter, to search for work with plans to return in the spring, when he hoped jobs would again be available on the island.

At six years old it was pretty much a blur to me as family members scurried around boarding up the house, shutting off the water, draining the pipes, and packing up needed items. Pai was certain that he could get work on one of the fishing boats out of New Bedford but it was unclear what the other family members could do to bring in money, however, they had little choice but to go.

The family arrived in New Bedford in December finding a dingy second-floor apartment in the south-end. Mai and Marie were able to find part-time piece work in a local factory making costume jewelry and Pai signed on with a fishing crew.

Baby-sitters and child abuse were alien concepts to poor Cape Verdean families. Children stayed by themselves for many hours while parents worked because there were no alternatives.

I found ways to amuse myself. One of my favorite pass-times was cutting items out of the Sears catalog and using them as toys; cars, boats, furniture, and action figures. I’d lean them up against the furniture creating various two-dimensional action scenes, “driving” the cars and boats around making motor noises.

Pai was up every morning before daylight and headed out with his lunch pail Mai prepared for him the night before. He did not return until well after dark. This was his daily routine through the long, dark and chilly winter months. When he returned home each evening, he and everything he brought with him that day arrived infused with the smell of diesel fuel. Nothing was ever said. Mai simply took his clothes and put them in the hamper to be washed.

When Pai arrived, he’d plunk his lunch pail down on the counter and sit down to the dinner that Mai had saved for him.

One particular evening, while Pai was eating I was busily playing with my Sears cut-outs under the table, lining my “toys” along the rail that connected the giant claw feet of the table.

Money was obviously tight and food was limited to the necessities with few left overs. I don’t recall how I became aware that Pai’s lunch pail contained a piece of left-over pound cake. Maybe Mai mentioned that he hadn’t eaten his cake. Anyway, I asked Pai if I could have it and he handed it to me under the table. I eagerly unwrapped it, anxiously anticipating the sweet taste of cake.

What happened next, I remember as clearly as if it happened today. As I unwrapped the waxed paper my olfactory nerves were assaulted by the aroma of diesel fuel. The diesel fumes, from the vessel, had not only pierced the waxed paper they had permeated every morsel of that cake. There was, however, no thought of refusing to eat the cake I had just asked for. Somehow, I understood that Pai was sharing his dessert with me and that I should be grateful.

I sat under the table with my back propped up against one of the legs, closed my eyes and took that first bite. If you have never eaten diesel infused pound cake you can only image my sensory reaction as smell overwhelmed taste. Tears came to my eyes as I slowly ate the cake - to the last bite. It was all I could do to keep from gagging.

To be honest, I cannot speak with absolute certainly of my feeling back then, but I am confident that even at that young age there was an appreciation of my father’s level of sacrifice for our family. While I consumed one piece of diesel pound cake Pai ate an entire diesel infused lunch each and every day, without comment or complaint.

Winter passed quickly, at least for me, one day much like the next and soon to everyone’s relief we were headed back home to Nantucket. It was May, time to begin the spring-cleaning frenzy.

Things were not much better in the summer of 1931, the country still in the midst of the Great Depression with 15 million people unemployed. I don’t have a lot of salient memories of the 1930’s good or bad. But I do recall being hungry on occasion, going to the icebox or the cupboard, finding nothing to eat, and willing away my hunger until the next meal.

I want to be clear, there’s a huge difference between hunger and starvation. Though there certainly were times as a child when I was hungry, starvation was a condition experienced by Pai and others on the Cape Verde Islands when he was a child. He endeavored to ensure that his family would never have to endure such pain. And through great sacrifice he succeeded.

Aside from my indoor toys, my Sears catalog collection, I also had my outdoor toy – a stick. I found it in the back yard. It must have come down in a storm, from the big oak tree that hung over our property from the neighbor’s yard. I stripped the bark off of it and with an old piece of sandpaper I smoothed down the entire surface. It was my sword, spear, rifle, walking cane, baton, spyglass and pen for writing in the wet sand and whatever else my imagination could come up with. It was my constant companion, an inanimate pet.

One afternoon after running around and playing in the yard I was feeling hungrier than usual. Though eating between meals was rare, I was on a mission to find something to eat.

As I earlier described, searching the cupboard and icebox for a snack was often futile. But on this day, I lifted the lid of the breadbox and found two end pieces of bread. I then began searching for something to put on it to make a sandwich but there was no peanut butter or jelly or baloney or spam. Then I spotted the mayonnaise standing alone in the icebox. So, in desperation I decided to give it a try.

You only eat a mayonnaise sandwich once in your life. I was hungry enough to eat that sandwich without anything to wash it down. For many years, well into adulthood, I could not tolerate mayonnaise on anything without getting a papillary flashback. I never said a word to anyone until adulthood. Pai had taught me well – sufri kaladu.

Sufri Kaladu!