He stood transfixed by the sight of his sister, silhouetted against the dark moonlit sky, as she now threw back her head, hair flying, and she howled with joy, riding her man on the hard granite ground, bucking and howling and gaining power as she repeated the words mi amor again and again.
It was another month before they found a train to take them north to Chihuahua and then to Ciudad Juárez.
They were a very different family now. They were tired, quiet, and little Juan didn’t have a pot belly anymore. He was as skinny as a rabbit. Not only had they starved for days on end, losing much of their strength, but they’d seen more blood and death and destruction in the last few months than in the last five years of this terrible Revolution.
Still, that night, as they travelled north on the train, Epitacio couldn’t stop talking. He was so positive that everything would be fine once they got to the border.
He was nineteen years old, six months older than Luisa, and he’d done very well two years ago when he’d gone to the United States with his two older brothers.
“Oh, I tell you, Luisa,” he said, hugging her close, “as soon as we get to Ciudad Juárez, I’ll get us across the Rio Grande into the United States and get a job at the smelter plant where I used to work, and everything is going to be fine, querida.”
“Me and my two older brothers, God rest their souls, found work easily the last time we came. The United States is a wonderful land, I tell you! It’s at peace, and it’s a land of infinite opportunity!”
Epitacio’s eyes sparkled every time he spoke of the United States. This country across the border was heaven to him. “Why, even the dogs of the rich wear gold chains around their necks, I swear it,” he said, “and they’re fed three times a day!”
“Three times a day?” said Juan jokingly. “Oh, come on, Epitacio! The gold chain I can understand, because I’ve seen horses with fine silver bridles, but to eat three times a day . . . oh, Epitacio, even a man would blow up!”
“But, Juanito, it’s true,” insisted Epitacio. “In the United States, people have no wrinkles on their faces, they’re so well-fed. And they keep a toilet inside their homes so they can use them constantly . . . they’re so full of shit!” he laughed.
“Oh, no, Epitacio,” cut in Luisa, laughing loudly. “You’ve gone too far! How could they possibly keep a smelly toilet inside their homes?”
“Easy,” said Epitacio, “they run it with water and perfume!”
At this, Luisa screeched. “Oh, querido!” she screamed, hugging him. “Even I, who love you, can’t believe this one!”
Their excitement grew that night as the train sped north, singing on the rails. Luisa finally laid down to sleep. Epitacio and Juan stayed up together, looking out into the star-filled night.
Juan practiced his English with Epitacio, keeping his upper lip tight and sticking his tongue way out, saying the words, “Hello, mister! Where’s the alligator?” as they traveled north.
Epitacio had explained to Juan that in the middle of El Paso there was a big pond full of huge lizards the size of dragons with big rows of sharp teeth, and every night these monstrous alligators were turned loose into the Rio Grande to eat Mexicans who tried to get across the border illegally.
“So, Juan,” Epitacio said, “you have to practice these words carefully and be able to say, ‘Hello, mister, where’s the alligator?’ so you’ll know where to cross the river safely!”
Juan laughed excitedly and practiced his English so he’d be able to cross the river without getting eaten alive. He dreamed of a place across the river with tall, magnificent buildings and rich green fields and high country meadows and a great forest of mighty trees as far as the eye could see. He put together everything good that he’d seen back in their beloved mountains and all the stories he’d heard his mother tell of her days when she’d lived in Mexico City. He dreamed of all the good and wonderful possibilities in the world and then put them all together, across the Rio Grande in the United States.
But that morning, as they came around the last, short hill into the El Paso basin, Juan couldn’t believe what his eyes saw.
The sun was just coming up over the jagged horizon of solid rock mountains and, where Juan had expected to see the Rio Grande and a luscious green valley, he saw nothing but dry earth. Not even one blade of grass for as far as the eye could see.
Juan turned, looking in all directions as the train came into the basin, still expecting to see the river and trees and grass, and tall, well-constructed buildings like he’d seen back in León; but he could see nothing other than orange rock, grey granite and white sand.
He didn’t even see cactus trees or brush in the low places, or chaparral on the surrounding mountains.
“Epitacio,” he said, feeling his chest constrict with fear, “but where’s the Rio Grande and the rich valley you told us about?”
Epitacio’s eyes were looking like a trapped mouse. “I don’t know,” he said. “But the river was big and wide the last time I came with my brothers. Honestly. I swear it before the Holy Virgin! There was a rich valley, too, all the way down from Las Cruces, Nuevo Mexico, to here in El Paso.”
Juan said nothing more and decided that it was good that his mother and sisters were still sleeping. They’d be shocked enough once they awoke. Nothing could live here except lizards and snakes. Why, this was the end of the world.
Then, as the train entered the town, it got even worse. Everywhere, Juan saw that there were poor, ragged, starving people. And not just two or three thousand, as they’d seen back in Torreón, but ten or twenty times that number of people.
“Oh, Dios mío,” said Epitacio, making the sign of the cross over himself, “it wasn’t like this two years ago. I swear it, Juan!”
Juan said nothing. He just turned to his mother. “Wake up, Mama,” he said.
“Are we there?” she asked, rubbing the layers of sagging old brown skin about her eyes. She was the only one who hadn’t lost any weight. She had none to lose.
“Yes,” said Juan. “But it’s not what we expected, Mama.”
Leisurely, the old woman stretched and then got to her feet and glanced around at the dried-out country and the mob of desperate-looking people. “Why, it’s a beautiful day, mi hijito,” she said. “See those vultures in the sky over there? They’re telling us there’s so much to eat here that even the vultures get their share.”
Juan began to laugh. He just couldn’t help it. No matter what life dealt them, their mother always came up smiling.
Leaving the train, Juan and his family shouldered their belongings and tried to find some shade. It was only an hour after daybreak, but already the sun was so hot that the air felt like a furnace blast. But they were not able to find any shade. Every tree, every bush, every rock was already taken by ten or twelve people.
Luisa and Epitacio got into another argument.
“Stop it!” said Luisa’s mother. “No more blaming each other! We’re here, and so God must have His reason. Now open your eyes and let’s look around and see what it is that He has for us!” she ordered.
“Look!” shouted Juan, dashing ahead. “A pair of huaraches that someone threw away!”
He’d had nothing to wear on his feet other than rags since his long walk.
“You see?” said Doña Margarita. “Already, God is giving us riches!”
Putting the huaraches on his burning feet, Juan strutted about. “They fit perfect,” he said.
His mother smiled. “Of course,” she said. “God’s gifts always fit us perfectly, if only we have eyes to see.”
They continued walking until they came to the little hills at the outskirts of the town. A family took pity on them and let them set up house under the brush alongside their fence. This way, at least, they could keep out of the sun and maybe even the wind, too.
It was late afternoon before Juan and Epitacio located the Rio Grande way across on the other side of town. The land was jammed with people for so many miles that even Epi
tacio hadn’t realized where the big muddy river was at first.
Looking across the slow moving water, Juan could see the well-kept buildings of the americanos, untouched by war. There were tall, well-fed, uniformed American soldiers patrolling the river, keeping the Mexican people from crossing into the United States. Asking around, Epitacio found out that Mexicans couldn’t cross the river freely into the United States anymore to look for work. It cost ten cents for each adult and five cents for children to cross, an unheard of fortune.
Going back to their home in the brush that evening, Epitacio told Luisa what he’d found out, and they had another fight. Luisa pulled his hair and bit him in frustration, but the next thing Juan knew, they started kissing and hurried off in the dark.
Later that same night, Emilia went into labor. Doña Margarita and Luisa boiled water and washed their hands and arms all the way to their armpits. They helped Emilia to relax, to push with all her strength, and, in the moonlight, the child came screaming into the world, being born right there, under the brush, alongside the fence.
The newborn was undernourished and Emilia didn’t have enough milk. Mother and child cried long into the night.
The next morning the wind picked up and the sun drained them of their strength. They weren’t even hungry anymore, their stomachs felt so bloated.
That evening, Inocenta screamed and they found a rattlesnake under the blankets where she slept. Emilia thought it was a sign from the devil and they were all going to be sent to hell, but their mother calmed Emilia down while Juan and Epitacio killed the snake and skinned it out.
It was a big, fat old snake, and although they knew it was a sin before God to eat it because snakes were of the devil’s domain, they decided that God would forgive them this one time. They cut the snake into pieces and fried it in its own grease. The owners of the house, whose fence they lived by, gave them some tortillas, and they had one of the most wonderful meals they’d had in months.
Feeling stronger, they got together that night and talked about the future. But they could come to nothing. All Luisa wanted to do was kill Epitacio for having talked them into leaving their mountains.
“All right,” said Doña Margarita, “no more! We must keep strong of mind and open our eyes so we can see the good in our predicament or, believe me, we have nothing! Now, let us pray. Right now! On our knees!” she commanded.
And so they all knelt down on the hard, white granite and they prayed, repeating their mother’s words.
“Look,” said Epitacio when they were going to bed down for the night, “Luisa is right; I am responsible for us being here at the border. So, well, I think that it’s only right that I break across the Rio Grande a la brava and get a job so we can eat.”
“But the alligators!” said Luisa, suddenly looking fearful for him.
“To hell with the alligators!” he said. “The river’s down and I’m as fast as a rabbit when I’m scared.”
They all laughed. And that night they could hear Luisa and Epitacio making love again and again. Then in the morning, he ate all the rattlesnake soup he could eat, rolled up two tortillas and put them in his pockets, and he left.
Luisa cried the whole first day that he was gone, saying how much she loved him and that she wished she’d never been so mean to him.
“You were right, Mama, he’s a good man,” she said. “He’s stayed by us through everything.”
Three days later, Epitacio returned and he had a treasure of food. He had canned fruit, American bread, tomatoes and cheese, and even a big piece of meat. They all ate well that night, sitting around the fire like fat cats after a kill, switching their tails and farting happily.
“Mama,” said Luisa the next morning as she stroked her husband’s back, “Epitacio and I have talked it over, and he thinks that I should go across the border with him.” Her eyes filled with tears. “We’ll come back for you as soon as we have money. But, oh, Mama!” she cried, coming to her mother’s arms, “I love you so much, I just don’t want to leave you!”
“Mi hijita,” said the old lady calmly, “don’t worry. You are a fine, courageous daughter, and we believe in you. So go, do what you must, and with God willing, querida, we’ll be here when you return.”
“Of course you’ll be here,” snapped Epitacio quickly. “Look at the food I brought you!” He glanced at Juan, eyes darting. “You must understand, hermanito, that I had to argue with my gringo boss to get him to advance me the money for this food and passage. Now I have to get Luisa and me back across the border as quickly as I can so I don’t lose my job.”
Juan was wondering why Epitacio was bothering to explain all this to him. No one had questioned his words, but Epitacio just couldn’t seem to stop talking.
“So we’ll be back, Juan, as soon as I find an older man to sponsor you,” he continued. “You see, I have to find a man who has a job and yet is old enough to say that he’s married to your mother.” He laughed, showing his beautiful, white teeth. “But don’t worry, I’ll pay some old fart a few pesos and everything will be fine, Juan, I swear it!”
And he took Luisa’s hand. “Come, querida,” he said. “We must hurry!”
“Oh, my God,” said Luisa. Her eyes overflowed with tears as she hugged and kissed each one of them. Then she and her husband were gone, taking Joselito with them.
With Luisa gone, the family felt much smaller that night when they said their evening prayers. Luisa had always brought such strength and vitality to all of them. That night Juan dreamed of alligators chasing Luisa and Joselito across the Rio Grande, and he became so frightened for them that he hugged close to his mother, trembling like a leaf.
Doña Margarita held her little son close to her bony old chest, lying there on the hard granite ground alongside the fence of upright sticks and cactus, and she hummed to him and rocked him in her arms.
“God is with us, mi hijito,” she said. “Look at the stars and the moon; God is here. God is everywhere. Our life here on earth is good, if only we keep our faith and our hearts and souls open.”
Hearing his mother’s calm voice, Juan went back to sleep. In the morning when he awoke, he found ants crawling underneath his legs. He sat up and watched the ants working their way alongside the fence, and he started counting them. They numbered in the thousands and they looked so strong as they came out of their ant hole, going to work for the day. Oh, how he wished he were an ant and he could just live in the ground.
The sun climbed into the sky, hotter and brighter than usual. The insects sang and the flies buzzed around, but they didn’t act quite normal. Then, when the sun was only three fists off the horizon, Juan noticed that the ants began to go back into their hole. After that, he noticed that the flies had also disappeared. All the insects had gone quiet.
Juan looked off into the distance and he saw a black storm coming their way.
“Mama!” he said. “Look, rain!”
But, as the storm came into the basin, they could see that it wasn’t rain. No, it was the devil’s wind, blowing from hell. The ants and insects must have known what was coming.
The sandstorm hit Juan and his family with such force, each grain of sand stinging like a bullet, that they had to get under their blankets so they wouldn’t be skinned alive.
All day long the wind howled across the basin of El Paso, whistling in a torrent of sound and fury, tearing at them with such force that it felt like they’d be blown off the face of the earth if they didn’t keep down tight.
The blasting, hot sand was so fine, it shot through the blankets and got into their noses and mouths, between their teeth, and into their eyes, burning them.
Never in his life had Juan ever felt a wind like this. It dried the skin all the way to the bone. It blasted so much sand into their eyes that it hurt to blink.
For three days and nights the wind blew, and Juan hugged close to his mother under their blanket; Emilia and Inocenta hugged close together under theirs. By the third day, they were so dried out th
at they couldn’t even cry, and Doña Margarita’s old eyes were so inflamed, she couldn’t see.
Juan began to pray as he’d never prayed before. Here, they weren’t just going to starve to death; no, they were getting cooked alive by the devil’s wind.
By the fourth day, the wind was still howling and Juan remembered how the ants had gone underground. He came out from under their blanket and decided to dig a hole. Now his mother was coughing and choking, too. So much sand had gotten down her throat that she could hardly breathe.
Crawling around in the sandstorm, Juan found some rocks. He started to build a shelter for his family, but being half blind himself and working alone, he couldn’t do much. Emilia and Inocenta moaned and whined and the baby lay in a dead stupor. The wind continued for days on end.
Finally, one morning the wind suddenly quit—just like that—and all was calm. The ants came out and the flies began buzzing about. Juan stood up and glanced around, thinking all was well. But then, to his absolute horror, he saw that his mother’s eyes were swollen shut and oozing with infection.
“Mama, you’re blind!” he yelled.
“Oh, no!” screamed Emilia, holding her infant to her breast, “it’s the end of us! God has forsaken us and we’re going to die!”
“Emilia, stop it!” said her mother, staring with red-swollen, infested eyes. Flies were buzzing all about her face. “I can’t see, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to the powers of the Almighty!” She grabbed her daughter. “We’re not going to die! Do you hear me? We are going to live!”
“Just hear these flies buzzing around us, full of vitality, and look at those ants over there. They hid during the wind, but they didn’t die! Look at these bushes; they swayed in the wind, but they didn’t break!”
“But, Mama, you’re blind!” said Juan. “So how do you know about the ants and the bushes?”
Opening her mouth wide, the old woman tried to laugh, but started coughing instead. “Mi hijito,” she said between coughs, “I’ve seen dozens of winds sent by the devil before. I know how life goes on.”
Rain of Gold Page 19