Chavez’s The Last of the Menu Girls: A Queer Reading
In the first short story, the title piece of the collection, Chavez introduces Rocio at the age of seventeen years, right after she has graduated from high school and starts work at the local hospital as a menu girl. Rocio’s “previous experience with the sick and dying” (Chavez, 1986: p. 13) happened four years ago with her Great Aunt Eutilia, who Rocio helped care for in her family’s home as Eutilia slowly died from cancer over the course of seven months. This story establishes some of the most prevalent themes of the novel: decay, loneliness, and suffering.
Through Aunt Eutilia, the reader is exposed to Rocio’s first experience with the harsh realities of death and dying – and, subconsciously perhaps, we come to understand Rocio’s blind impulse to ease someone else’s pain through the use of her body. As Eutilia lay dying, Rocio “slither[ed] into her room with breasts naked and oily at thirteen. . .where [she] whirled and danced and sang. . .[she] danced around Eutilia’s bed” (p. 14-15). In retrospect, Rocio wonders: “could I have absolved your dying by my life? Could I have lessened your agony with my spirit-filled dance in the deep darkness?” (p. 15). The answer to these questions is nothing if not unclear, but one thing becomes clear through the course of the following stories: Rocio is bound to try to use her body as a poultice to cure the ailments of others.
From a distance, as a menu girl, Rocio comes to know and love the sick and suffering. Her desire to heal and help the ailing feels unquenched by her job in food service – she does not want to take orders and serve food, she “wanted to rescue souls” (p. 18). Soon, however, despite what she perceives as the insignificance of her job, Rocio claims to have fallen “in love” (p. 26) with one of the patients, a woman named Elizabeth Rainey. This is the first indication of the subtle undercurrent of Rocio’s homosexual desire that moves quietly throughout the novel; Rocio describes Elizabeth in extensive, sensual detail: “her cheeks were flushed, her red lips quivering.
She looked fragile. . .she wore a creme-colored gown on which her loose hair fell about her like a cape. She was a beautiful woman, full-bodied with a translucent beauty certain women have in the midst of sorrow – clear and unadorned” (p. 26). For Elizabeth, Rocio again expresses the desire to use her body as a healing power; she “wanted in my little girl’s way to hold her, hold her tight. . . [she] would have danced for her, Eutilia, had [she] but dared” (p. 27). Though Rocio has a boyfriend, he is mentioned in passing simply as “the very first boyfriend” (p. 16). The lack of attention paid to him stands in sharp contrast to the lingering description of Elizabeth Rainey.
Later that summer, Rocio is promoted to something akin to a nurse’s aide, and the reader’s attention is drawn to Rocio’s perplexing view of gender. Her two supervisors, sisters-in-law, she refers to as “Gonzalez and Gonzalez – Esperanza, male, and Bertha, female” (p. 28), even though they are both clearly women. A few pages later, the confusion clears up a bit when Rocio elaborates enough on this distinction that one understands that she sees Esperanza’s gender as masculine, despite the fact that she is a woman. Rocio describes her as “the Esperanza of the short-bobbed hair, the husky deferential voice. . .Esperanza the dyke, who was later killed in a car accident on the way to somewhere” (p. 32). Here I am inclined to interject that, though I believe Chavez writes with an intent to reveal Rocio’s inner desire for women, I believe she also writes to reveal Rocio’s prejudice against homosexuals – or at the very least, some of her culture’s anti-queer values. This would partially explain why the issue of Rocio’s attraction towards women is not the ultimate focus of the novel and instead becomes more of a side issue. When Rocio states that “nothing seemed enough” (p. 35), one initially assumes that she is voicing her dissatisfaction with her position at the hospital, her lack of the ability to heal. Upon further reflection, however, I suspect otherwise: perhaps what Rocio truly lacks is the love of a woman, or the understanding that this is what she wants.
Rocio’s curiosity about women is further elaborated on within the story “Shooting Stars,” where she begins contemplating the essence of womanhood: “what did it mean to be a woman? To be beautiful, complete? Was beauty a physical or a spiritual thing, was it strength of emotion, resolve, a willingness to love? What was it then, that made women lovely?” (p. 53). In an attempt to find the answer to these questions, Rocio meditates on her friendships with other females over the years.
Her mind wanders to the summers she spent in Texas and she thinks of Eloisa, a local girl she was friends with, and Eloisa’s aunt who “wore men’s shirts and pants and bound her breasts with rags” (p. 55). This is another instance where Rocio draws attention to an exception to stereotypical femininity and seems to find it perplexing or distasteful – she goes on to classify Eloisa’s aunt as part of the category “half men” (p. 55). Upon learning that this person is actually her relative, she refers to her mother’s family as “a queer, unbalanced lot” (p. 55).
As the reader learns more about Rocio’s relationship with Eloisa, it seems wrought with an almost sexual tension, something more than friendship alone. Rocio seemed to worship at the alter of Eloisa; she “carried Eloisa around with [herself] – her image a holy card, revered, unmutable, an unnamed virgin” (p. 56). Suddenly, however, Rocio’s feelings change; she sees Eloisa in a movie theater but “she was not alone. She was with a man, and he had his paws across her shoulder” (p. 56). After this, Rocio “crawled back to [her] seat again, faint with disappointment” (p. 56). Her sudden disappointment with Eloisa, triggered simply because she saw her with a man for the first time, seems to be disappointment in the expression of her heterosexuality.
Rocio remembers another friend, Diana, in detail that considers the elements of her beauty; Diana was “clear, animal grace. . .fresh, bright-eyed, hopeful, and kind” (p. 58). Physical beauty and inner beauty aside, what actually made Diana beautiful was the way she made Rocio feel “a certain peacefulness. . .peace and love” (p. 58). Though Rocio also uses Diana as a model of womanhood she can compare herself to – “in observing Diana, [she] observed [herself]. [She] wanted physical beauty, and yet, [she] wanted to speak clearly, to be understood” (p. 58) – through this comparison it is clear that Diana fails, just as Eloisa has failed, to live up to Rocio’s expectations.
The next woman Rocio thinks about is not her friend, but an acquaintance that she seems to observe from a distance: Josie, “the embodiment of all [her] womanly hopes” (p. 61). Rocio describes Josie’s appearance in great detail and length, not unlike her long description of Elizabeth Rainey earlier in the novel, from her hands which were “long and slender, the nails pained red” (p. 61) to her hair which was “black. . . in trained curls around her unusually long neck” (P. 61) to her “full, pouty lips” (p. 61). These descriptions, though initially appearing innocent enough, seem to have a strong sexual element to them once the rest of the increasingly sexualized passage is read: “Josie had a generously full and high bust. . . the necklines plunged, the dresses accented her ripe cleavage, the whiteness of her skin. From the corner of blouses. . . one could discern the turning of white skin, the white meat of Josie’s pale, lovely breasts” (p. 61). However, despite the sexual attraction that Rocio seems to have for Josie, she decides that she lacked “the spirit of Eloisa, the gentleness of Diana” (p. 62).
Indeed, Rocio seems to idolize each of these woman for a period of time, but in the end no one ever quite measures up. She feels that “none of them seemed quite womanly enough” (p. 62) and that “something seemed to be lacking” (p. 62). As though Rocio’s homosexual desire and curiosity had not been made clear enough, Chavez finally spells it out for the reader and writes: “[Rocio] though about loving women. Their beauty and their sure sweet clarity. Their unfathomable depths, their flesh and souls aligns in mystery” (p. 63). Rocio’s confusion and uncertainty about her sexuality come even more strongly to the surface when she states that “[Rocio] was fearful that [she] would never be able to choose, to make up [her] mind” (p. 63) – to decide for herself what being a woman meant, to decide what her sexual preference was. When her older sister Ronelia and another married friend of hers advise her to “tow the womanly line” (p. 64), Rocio wants to respond, “leave me alone. . . go on with your babies and your fetid errands!” (p. 65), but instead she merely “bit [her] lip” (p. 65).
Rocio’s inability to go against what other people think she ought to look and behave like, despite the fact that she clearly feels that marriage and babies are not what she wants, prepares the reader for the unhappy relationship that Rocio finds herself in when she gets involved with a man. In “Space is a Solid,” Rocio has gone away from her family to attend college on a work-study program that leaves her exhausted and without enough money to afford to eat or rent someplace decent to live. From the depths of her despair spawned from her struggle to survive and, presumably, her struggle to understand her own sexuality, Rocio dates a man named Loudon, even though he seems to care little for her and does absolutely nothing to ease her troubles. Gone are the lingering, tender, often sexual descriptions of women; instead we read that “Loudon lay a puffy hand on [Rocio’s] shoulder, his thick fingers caressing [her] neck thoughtlessly” (p. 103). Loudon’s lack of consideration for her and the state of her troubled mind are made clear by the short sentences that comprise her train of thought: “Loudon doesn’t understand. I have no home. I am homeless. Where can I move? Why won’t Loudon let me stay with him?. . . I’ll just wait here. Sit down. On this love seat. Alone. . . my hands are blue. Why? I don’t know, it’s all too much” (p. 107).
Rocio’s mental decay is the prevailing theme of this story; one must take note that many of her emotional problems stem from her relationship with a man. Though Rocio’s friendships with the women described in “Shooting Stars” disappointed her, they did not cause her any severe emotional distress or damage, rather unlike the pain she suffers at the hands of Loudon – pain that makes her cry “Loudon Loudon Loudon why won’t you help me?” (p. 119). Later, when Rocio comments of her pregnant cat that “they all come back hungry after screeching fuck me fuck me in the glowing darkness” (p. 120), one can’t help but notice the strong implication that after sex, females are left unsatiated, still empty, with a hunger for something more.
Perhaps the emptiness felt by women stems from a failure to communicate and a failure to be understood, as demonstrated by the miscommunication and insensitivity present in an exchange between Rocio and Loudon, her lover. When Rocio tells Loudon that she feels “so empty, so helpless” (p. 127), he responds by telling her to “listen to some music” (p. 127), as though he does not take what she is saying seriously. When she does not instantly respond to his suggestion and start feeling better, he demands what her problem is and when she begins to cry, he swears at her, “Damn it, stop crying” (p. 127). Rocio still attempts to explain how she feels “tired and empty and alone” (p. 128), but he just tells her to “go to bed” (p. 128). Rocio nearly has a nervous breakdown while she is with Loudon, and when she refers to it as such, Loudon responds by saying, “Hell, Rocio, you’re okay, what are you talking about?” (p. 134), again demonstrating how callous and clueless he is. It is no wonder that Rocio feels so badly, is so lonely and suffering and afraid, when she has chosen to be with a man who cares little for her instead of yielding to her true feelings and pursuing a relationship with a woman.
The next story, “Compadre,” takes place the summer after Rocio’s stormy year at college, when she is back at her mother’s house and living entirely among women. The only male present in the story is her Compadre Regino, something akin to a godfather – but more so than the story focuses on Regino, it focuses on his family: his wife and five daughters. Here, Chavez employs another of the long and lingering descriptions of women that the reader has grown accustom to. Rocio watches Regino’s daughter Zianna as she waters grass, and compares her beauty to that of a flower, thinking that “Zianna’s face, lovely as a dark brown, dusky rose, was lit with natural highlights. Her neck was long, her small, proud head balanced by a full, fleshed mouth. Her luminescent eyes shielded themselves against the elements and luxuriated in the absence of explanations. . . full, lush, and firm, her breasts were carefully rounded swells of female flesh, flowerets full of awakening fragrance” (p. 154). Rocio further elaborates that Zianna is “the dark, refined joyous consummation of ecstasy and the clear-sighted flesh” (p. 155).
Again, one must notice the stark contrast of how females are described in such complimentary terms, while males are described, not always insultingly, but certainly not as sexual beings; Regino, for instance, Rocio remembers as a “small, tight man” (p. 148) with “dark armpits in his loose, white sleeves” (p. 148). However, even after Rocio is no longer in Zianna’s presence, she thinks back to her as “a small, silent blackbird” (p. 159) and “[imagines] Zianna standing in the grass, watering, wearing the squash dress. . . dark girl in the sunshine, seeking shade” (p. 159). “Blackbird, blackbird, what are you thinking?’ (p. 160), wonders Rocio, her desire to know Zianna more intimately barely repressed.
The final story ends and the reader is left unsure of whether or not Rocio ever reconciles with herself, whether or not she ever finds herself wrapped up in the love of another woman, whether or not her loneliness and dissatisfaction with her life will come to a close. We do learn, however, that unlike her older and younger sister, Rocio is not married and does not have any children, and also that she has gotten her college degree and intends to be a writer. Due to this revelation, it seems that Chavez has left the door open for the reader to speculate that Rocio has indeed accepted her sexuality – or at the very least the possibility of acceptance is still an option that has not yet been deterred by a marriage or the birth of children.
