Once, Mama had read about geraniums in a magazine -- versatile, pretty, easy to grow - and, she became possessed with a vision of a house flooded with flowers. The notion inspired her into motion. She spent a small fortune on elegant plant stands, imported flowerpots and armies of fully grown geraniums. She could be like that: my mother always had sudden sprints of creativity.
She also asked for my help, and we squatted in the backyard together, arranging roots in their elegant containers. Mama wore long gardening gloves over her manicured hands, and her finger pressed soil into place with fastidiousness and even passion. She had bought me gloves too, but I refused to wear them.
"You'll get so dirty, Perla. "
"I want to get dirty. "
"Ay, Perla," she said, shaking her head. She said no more but beamed with irritation. My refusal disturbed the plan for how the geranium days should go, mother and daughter tending flowers and don't they look picture perfect in their matching gloves? For half an hour she would not talk to me, but then she thawed, so absorbed in her project that she forgot my fault, or perhaps for fear that I might abandon the project altogether.
She needn't have worried. I didn't want to leave. It was a rare chance to spend time with my mother. I could scent her perfume and feel breaths without having to find anything to say. We often struggle to communicate with each other, beyond the essential good morning and good night, as though we were strangers or beginners of a language. I wanted to learn my mother's language, if only to better understand her and to increase the chances of her understanding me. There is so much I longed to tell her as I squatted beside her, but I also feared that, If I started, other matters might leap out that were not meant to be spoken. Better not to risk the opening. Better not to attempt too much speech with my mother.
When all the flowers were ready in their pots, mama spent another day distributing them through the house. There were more flowers than any other house in our Buenos Aires -- so that when you entered, you felt as though you're swimming through petals.
