And saying this, she picked up her little pint bottle of whiskey and went across the room to go to bed, smoking her homemade cigarette from the good weed that she grew in back.
“Let me sleep on the matter and we’ll talk again in the morning,” she said.
“All right, in the morning, Mama,” said Juan, starting to undress.
“But wait,” said his mother, sitting down on her bed, “tell me more about this equipment and why is it that you can’t do bigger, eh?”
Juan smiled. There was just no problem that his mother didn’t think that she could solve.
“Well,” he said, “I guess it’s not really the equipment that gives me the biggest problem, now that I think more about it. The problem is, that, well, all the neighbors keep coming over to be friendly with me and take up too much of my time. And, also, I don’t want them to get wind of what it is that I really do,” he added.
“Oh, I see,” said his mother. “And this house that you rent is in the barrio of Los Angeles, no?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I see,” she said. “And the neighbors come over too much, wanting to be friendly, eh?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling, watching the wheels turn inside his mother’s head, “that’s right.”
“Well, then,” she said, opening the pint bottle of whiskey and taking a small pull, “the way I see it, you need to find a place where no people will want to befriend you, mi hijito.”
He grinned. “Yeah, that would do it, Mama, moving to the moon. And, also, while you’re at it, you might as well figure out a way for me to cover up the smell of the liquor.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll do that, too. But you should’ve come to me sooner.” She took another small sip. “Now let me see, first a place where no one will want to be your friend. Let me see,” she said, closing her wrinkled-up old eyes, concentrating with all her might.
Juan almost laughed. What could this old dried-up bag of bones possibly come up with to help him? Hell, she didn’t know how things worked in this country. But then, suddenly, her old eyes opened up wide.
“I got it!” she said excitedly. “Oh, why didn’t I see it before? It’s so obvious,” she added, laughing. “Why, mi hijito, all you do is rent a big house in the gringo part of town! A big house! And, oh, I’m sure that no gringo will ever try to befriend you. Why, they’ll be mad that you’re even there. They’ll be sure to keep away from you!”
Juan was flabbergasted. Why, his mother was absolutely right. This would work; it really would.
“But also,” she said, eyes still large with excitement, “this Julio that works for you, you’ll have to get him to move into the house with his family or else the gringos will see you two men alone and get fearful for their women and maybe even call the police for no reason.”
“Jesus!” said Juan. “How’d you get so smart, Mama?”
“I had no other choice,” she said. “It was that or perish.” She took another sip of the whiskey, capping the bottle. “But I’m not done,” she said, “smart ideas are a dime a dozen, unless you figure out all the thousands of little details that give life to an idea so that the idea can survive.”
Juan came over and sat down on the bed with his mother. “Oh, I love you so much, Mama,” he said, taking her in his thick arms.
“No, none of that!” she snapped. “I’m thinking!” She pushed him away. “Now, how will you be able to rent that house—you a mejicano with supposedly no real means of support? This is the question. And once you do rent the house, then what can you do to cover that smell and all suspicion of how you make your living?”
She closed her eyes, concentrating, thinking, figuring, trying to decipher the problem. And Juan watched her as another man might watch a great mountain, or a great river, or a great volcano just before it spouted fire. Oh, she looked so old and all dried up and useless, but underneath she was a universe of mystery, still a force to be reckoned with.
“Well, to solve the problem of smell next, because it’s easier, you could get Julio’s wife… what’s her name?”
“Geneva.”
“Yes, Geneva, to cook plenty of spicy food with lots of garlic. The garlic alone will keep the gringos away. They just can’t stand strong smells.” Her eyes lit up once again. “Yes, that’s it! Gringos don’t like strong smells, so you also put some chicken shit in that old truck of yours and let everyone know that you move manure for a living. Oh, I can just see it now! No one will ever want to get close enough to you to question you!”
And she laughed and laughed, truly enjoying herself, and then got under the covers.
“All right,” she said. “That’s enough for tonight. I’m going to sleep. And in the morning we’ll talk some more and see what to do about the Italian’s offer with the hotel. Then, after that, we’ll talk about this girl. I saw her again. She came by to milk our goat once more while you were gone.”
“That angel?”
“Yes. And she’s not just beautiful, mi hijito, she’s smart, too. And to make a home a woman must be very, very smart, remember. But now let me go to sleep so I can chew things over like the cow with its cud. In the morning I’ll know everything.”
Juan laughed. “Sleep with the angels,” he said, kissing her. And she kissed him, too, holding him tenderly.
Juan dumped everything out of the pockets and took off his pants, then lifted the mattress up off his bed. There were two wide boards on the box springs. Picking up the top board, Juan put his pants down on the lower board, making sure all the wrinkles were out of his pants before he lowered the top board again.
Feeling satisfied that his pants would get ironed out as he slept, he put the mattress back down over the two boards and then took off his vest and shirt and shook them out. These he hung carefully alongside his suit coat on the two other nails on the wall. He only had two suits, and he liked to take good care of them.
Turning off the big lantern, Juan took off his red silk underwear and put on his red silk pajamas. Juan had first learned about silk from Katherine up in Montana. Then again from a Chinese doctor that he’d smuggled in from Mexicali to Chinatown in Hanford. Ever since then, Juan had been wearing nothing but silk against his private parts. He was protecting his investments a la Chinese so he could sire a dozen healthy children, children who’d come with the finest of blood.
Lupe hadn’t seen Mark for several days. But then, coming out of the library late one afternoon, there he was in white slacks and a dark blue sweater, leaning back on a long black car.
Upon seeing him, Lupe’s whole face lit up. He grinned with pleasure.
“Hi,” he said, “where’ve you been?”
“Me?” she said. “I’ve been back for three days. We were in Hemet, working.”
“Oh, I see,” he said.
Two well-dressed Anglo girls walked by and said hello to Mark. But he never took his eyes off Lupe.
“Come on,” he said. “Get in and I’ll drive you home.”
Lupe had never been in a fine car before, much less all alone with a man.
“No,” she said. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Well, because . . . ” She didn’t want to say it, but she didn’t have her mother’s permission.
“Lupe,” he said, “we’ve been seeing each other for months now. I’m not going to bite you. Look, I don’t even have fangs,” he added, showing his white, even teeth.
Lupe laughed and she knew that she shouldn’t, but still, she got in his car and he closed her door.
Another couple of young, well-dressed Anglo girls passed and said hello to Mark. He waved to them, then he came around and got in and started the motor, and they were off. But then at the corner, he didn’t turn toward the barrio; no, he turned in the opposite direction.
“Where are you taking me?” asked Lupe anxiously.
He laughed. “You’ll find out.”
“Stop!” she screamed. “Or I’ll jump out!”
&nb
sp; “You’re kidding,” he said.
Lupe opened the door and started to jump. But he grabbed her by the arm, bringing the car to the curb.
“Jesus Christ! What’s wrong with you?” he said. “You really were going to jump!”
“Yes!” she said, chest heaving with emotion.
“But why? I don’t understand. I was just taking you to meet my parents, for God’s sake.”
“Let go of me,” she said. “I’m getting out.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t tell me the truth,” she said, prying his fingers off her arm. “You tricked me!”
He stared at her. “But, Lupe,” he said, “I didn’t trick you. I was teasing you.”
But she said nothing and got out. “Bye,” she said, starting up the street, back toward the library.
“Come on, get back in,” he said. “No more teasing.”
She just kept walking on the sidewalk under the tall, green trees.
“I’ll follow you and I’ll honk my horn,” he said, giving the horn a small tap.
She got embarrassed. He loved it.
“Come on, Scout’s honor, no more tricks,” he said.
Finally she quit walking and came over. “Straight to my house?” she asked.
“Straight,” he said.
“All right,” she said.
He reached across the wide smooth seat and opened the door for her, and she slipped in once again.
The next morning Juan shaved off his beard and saw that with a few days of sun, the scar would hardly be noticeable. He decided to drive over to San Bernardino to take a look at the hotel that was being built.
Once there, he saw that there were dozens of Mexican laborers moving dirt by hand. Asking around, he found out that he knew a few of the laborers. In fact, one of them, named Don Manuel, was the timekeeper. A few months back Juan had sold him a barrel of whiskey.
Don Manuel was the type of proper-looking little man who always managed to get himself a good, soft job. He’d told Juan that he was putting his youngest daughter through an expensive Catholic finishing school with profits from the liquor he sold.
“Hello, Don Manuel,” said Juan.
“Oh, good morning,” said Don Manuel, glancing around. “But what are you doing here?” he whispered.
“Hey, relax, mano, I’m just looking around,” said Juan. “Maybe I can get the contract to do the fertilizer for your trees and plants.”
“Look,” whispered the elderly man who’d aged tremendously since he’d been the mayor in La Lluvia de Oro. “I don’t want no one here knowing about our business dealings.”
“Of course not,” said Juan, speaking loudly. “I don’t, either. So why don’t you just show me around? It’s a very impressive place you have here.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” said the old man, chest swelling up as if the place truly belonged to him. “And my job is to check the men and make sure it remains a fine place.”
“And I bet you do,” said Juan, looking at the three pens in Don Manuel’s breast pocket.
Don Manuel was the worst kind of Mexican, in Juan’s opinion. He wore pens in his pocket to show the whole world that he knew how to read and write. And, in matters of value, he would always side with the gringos, thinking he was one of them, and look down his nose at his own people.
Quickly, Don Manuel showed Juan around the hotel, and Juan was very impressed. He was just beginning to relax and think that maybe everything was on the up-and-up until Don Manuel took Juan to the basement. It was made of concrete and had no windows.
“And this is where they’ll park the cars,” said Don Manuel.
“You mean,” said Juan, feeling his heart pounding, “this is where the deliveries will be made?”
“Oh, no,” said Manuel.
“The deliveries will be on top, around the back. This basement is only for the customers, so that they won’t get caught in the rain or cold and they can go up to the lobby in the elevators.”
“Oh, I see,” said Juan.
Don Manuel was seeing Juan to the door and Juan was just beginning to relax again when a big Anglo came walking up behind them.
“What’s going on, Manuel?” asked the big, hairy-armed Anglo.
Juan looked the man over carefully. He was a big, powerful brute in his early thirties. He looked a lot like Tom Mix, thought Juan, the Mexican-hating western star who, in his movies, knocked down five Mexicans with every punch.
“Oh, nothing, Bill,” said Don Manuel respectfully. “This man is in the fertilizer business. He just came by to see when we’ll be putting in our shrubbery so he can bid on the job.”
“I see,” said the big Anglo, looking at Juan’s good suit and white shirt. “So you move manure, do you?”
“Horseshit,” said Juan, “and a little cow, too. But no chicken. It’s too hot and it burns the roots.”
“I’ll be damned, so you know a lot about shit, eh?”
“Yeah,” said Juan, staring straight into the man’s eyes, “I see a lot of it.”
“I bet you do,” said the big man, not quite knowing how to take Juan’s last remark. Juan didn’t look like your typical bow-down-to-the-Anglo-boss Mexican.
“Well, so long,” said Juan, turning to Don Manuel. “I’ll check back in a few weeks.”
“Hey, just a minute,” said the Anglo. “What’s your name, amigo?”
Juan’s heart leaped, but still, he held as quiet as a desert reptile in the noontime heat. “Juan Raza,” he lied. He was glad that he’d lied and he was, also, very glad that he’d parked his car a few blocks away.
“Well, Juan Raza,” said the big Anglo, “glad to meet you. Bill Wesseley’s the handle.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m from Texas. Where you from?”
Juan took his hand. “My mother,” he said.
The big Anglo’s eyes filled with fire. But then, he burst out laughing, squeezing Juan’s hand with all his might.
But Juan didn’t squeeze back. He only held his hand firmly, being careful not to show his own strength. Long ago he’d learned that it was best for your enemy to underestimate you.
Getting to his Dodge, Juan was trembling. That whole damned hotel had smelled of cops and prison. But, on the other hand, seventy dollars a barrel was hard to pass up. And also, he had to remember that a man just couldn’t be too cautious or he’d never get ahead.
Driving down the road, Juan lit up a cigar and decided to go over to Santa Ana and see Archie. The oranges were in and Archie was putting on another dance. Juan figured that he’d sell him a few barrels and ask him if he knew anything about this new hotel.
And, while he was in Santa Ana, Juan also figured that he’d drive through the barrio and see if he couldn’t maybe get another look at Lupe. It had been nearly seven months since he’d last seen her.
Juan breathed deeply, thinking of the tender feelings that came up inside of him every time he thought of Lupe. But then he also remembered the fear that he’d seen in Lupe’s eyes when she’d seen him at the dancehall. He thought of his grandfather, Don Pío, and how the white-haired, old man had waited each morning on the terrace to have the day’s first cup of hot chocolate with his wife Silveria. Don Pío had been a man’s man, and yet he’d still been able to have soft, tender feelings.
Juan was just driving into the Santa Ana barrio, daydreaming as he went along, when suddenly there she was, his Lupe. And he couldn’t believe it; she was with an Anglo. She didn’t see Juan. She and the Anglo were talking together in the automobile.
Passing by them, Juan parked up the street, watching them in his rearview mirror. He was trembling. Lupe and the handsome Anglo were parked in front of a little house at the edge of the barrio. The tall Anglo got out of his car and came around and opened Lupe’s door for her like the most gentlemanly cabrón that Juan had ever seen.
Juan mimicked him, making a face of pure repulsion. Hell, he felt like getting his .45 and going down the street and shooting the son-of-a-bitch gringo and his shiny black
Ford. He was so angry.
But when Lupe stepped out of the car, her figure filled out her dress so well that Juan forgot everything. Why, this girl had blossomed! She had the most dangerous curves Juan had ever seen on a woman! She wasn’t young and innocent anymore. No, she was a luscious peach just waiting to be picked. Oh, he’d been a fool to have gone away. She was the most ready-looking woman that he’d ever seen!
Juan watched them walk up to the little, white picket fence. At the door, the Anglo took her hand and it looked like they might kiss, but the door suddenly opened and out came Carlota to call Lupe inside.
Juan grinned, truly enjoying it. The Anglo went back down the steps, mumbling disappointedly to himself.
Putting his big Dodge in gear, Juan drove off. Oh, he was shaking like a leaf, he was so excited. Lupe wasn’t just a dream. No, she was truly real. He had to get the pint bottle from under his seat and take a few good belts to calm down.
He thought of going home and telling his mother of this woman, this girl, this angel that made him feel so alive inside. But, no, a part of him just wanted to keep it to himself.
Oh, he was going crazy inside. And he knew that he’d be better off forgetting about this woman and just whoring around and keeping his mind on business, but down deep inside, something so powerful was happening to him that he couldn’t think straight. It was as if all these years of running around and fighting and wanting to be a man like Duel were suddenly evaporating before his very eyes. It was as if he knew that at the very center of his being something had been missing all these years but he’d been unable to see it until now.
He breathed deeply, feeling, thinking, remembering the boy inside himself before he’d gone to prison and had been forced to live with monsters. He felt so sad and lonely. His mother was right; he’d been alone, not on his own.
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