At the Crossroads (2)

     In my new life, I didn't know I had left behind my childhood, but it took me awhile to adjust to the fact that my new room had its own air-conditioning unit and its own bathroom. I had my very own door to the balcony that ran along the entire side of the house. When I stepped out onto it, I could see the Corcovado, the rock mountain at the top of the hill above the house with the statue of Christ perched on top, arms outstretched protecting the city.
 
  ( This image from the blog of viajantesdaterra.wordpress.com/.../)
      My skin against the warm air did not feel like my own skin, but I didn't know that was because I had molted.
     On the very first morning of this new life, I ate breakfast alone at one end of the balcony while my mother still slept. My father had already left for his office. A servant in a white jacket and black trousers brought me a slice of papaya and a roll. His name, I learned, was Idvigus. There was a huge tree that draped its fronds over the balustrade--in my memory it is a flamboyant tree, but the word "jacaranda" also comes to mind. They are both similarly exotic names, and it seemed like an exotic tree to me. Just beyond were two royal palms and several banana trees.
     The house was four storeys high and my parent and I lived on the third floor. Double doors closed us off from the official part of the house; this was where we had our private sitting-room. It even had some familiar furiniture: a glassfront bookcase and some end tables and a couch that had all made the long journey down to South America. It didn't matter that I hadn't read the books in the bookcase--the familiar navy blue spines with the gold lettering were like old friends. The couch had once served as my horse.
     Beyond the double doors, the hallway curved along endlessly, door after door opening onto bedroom after bedroom. Each bedroom had a personality of its own. When we didn't have guests, I could inhabit any one of them that I liked.
     In my new life, I quickly learned not to make my own bed. My bed was made by Elvira. My clothes were hung up by Elvira. The clothes were all new, and designed for a tropical climate. No more sweaters--at least not bulky, woolen ones. I wore more dresses and blouses and skirts now. There made of cotton or silk. I did not feel like myself in these new clothes, but of course I was not my old self anymore. When the clothes stopped being new, Elvira sewed on missing buttons. She pressed my socks and underwear. If I removed a book from a bookshelf, it was returned to the bookshelf the next time I went to look for it.
     Back in childhood, if my father wasn't home, we ate supper in the pink kitchen at the pink formica table while my mother served up hot dogs and beans. If my father was home, we ate in the dining room around a polished, shiny table. I want to say it was mahogony, but I really don't know. We would have meals like peas, mashed potatos, and roast beef. My mother sat at one end of the table, my father at the other. My brothers would sit on one side, and my sister and I at the other. The conversations were often hard to follow and I  counted the peas for something to do.
     So, slightly formal dining arrangements weren't completely foreign to me, but now, in my new life, "formality" would have to be redefined. There were, first of all, all the place settings: The plates were a stark, bone white, with a gold American eagle at the top, gold stars marching around the rim. Instead of counting peas, I now counted stars. And there were so many things: A large dinner plate, a soup bowl, a small plate for bread, a plate for salad, a plate for dessert. Small fork, large fork, small spoon, large spoon, small knife, large knife. Linen napkins. Water glass. Finger bowls. Yes, there were crystal finger bowls with a delicate scent of lemon rising up from them.
     It was very hard to get used to being served by Idvigus while I ate.
     And who did all the washing up?