She merely nodded and asked no questions when I left to meet Luis. Often he came by for me and delayed leaving to sit in the kitchen, drink coffee, and tell us both about Mexico, or to talk to Aunt Bertha about food. There were so many different kinds of peppers, he said. His mother had used some, jalapenos and serranos mainly, but he’d had to learn how to cook others after seeing them in the market. Food in the interior was nothing like Tex-Mex. Aunt Bertha got so interested I thought she would make him recite recipes before we could go. Around most people, but particularly with the older ones, Luis listened intently as if he really wanted to learn anything they might tell him. And it seemed to make no difference if they were old fishermen or my family. Watching him with Aunt Bertha, I felt my own impatience fade a little. This time I decided I’d walk to meet him. The seawall was only five blocks away, so I went past all the little raised cottages standing on tall beams, hopefully above water level during storms.
