My dad sent me a doll on my birthday. He didn’t send my sister anything on hers. Even though it was not her birthday anymore, Uncle Pedro got her a beautiful Shirley Temple doll. It has eyes that close when it sleeps, hair she can comb, and clothes that she can take off for baths. My sister calls her doll Irene.
My new doll has a pinched mouth, black hair that is painted, eyes that are fixed, and clothes that are sewn on. I saw many just like it lined up on a shelf in a Chinese store. The dolls are all the same except for the color of their clothes. My doll has no name.
My brother comes home for a visit. We play beauty salon. We shampoo Irene and give her a crew cut.
Then we go outside and cross the street to look down at the aerodrome. My brother learned a new word at school and it means shit in Portuguese. We yell MERDE! MERDE! MERDE! into the wind.
The wind must have blown it back to our Portuguese neighbors’ ears, because our mom heard about it that night.
My brother went back to the Salesian priests, and my mother made me apologize to my sister. She knew it was my idea. Uncle Pedro got my sister a new Irene.
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