“Nineteen.”
“I think that even you are too young. Come on. Be good and go home. César, Amy and I will be out in the barrio on Monday around eleven o’clock. I want you to come with me. In fact, now that school’s out, I want you to come with us everyday.”
Crestfallen because he had not received the praise he had expected from his sister and because she had spoken to him as if he were a little boy, César hung his head, nodding despondently. He turned to his friend and jerked his head toward the car.
This had happened a few hours earlier and Ana now spoke into the telephone as the pounding in her head subsided. “Memo, how badly is he hurt? You didn’t leave him alone, did you?”
“Nah, the old man stayed with him. Ana, I think your brother is in real bad shape, but your jefito doesn’t want us to take him to the hospital. He says that César will be all right by himself.”
“I’m coming over.”
Ana hooked the receiver onto the goose-necked telephone. When she looked up, she saw that Franklin was dressed and that the keys to the pick-up were dangling from his hand. “Amy will stay with Ismael. I’ll do the driving.”
She darted into her room without saying a word. She came out dressed in gray slacks and a black cotton blouse. She had on the high top shoes she usually wore around the ranch. Amy stood by the sink, an anxious look flickering in her blue eyes. “You two be careful. I’ll have breakfast when you return.”
Franklin and Ana traveled in silence westbound on Whittier Boulevard toward the barrio. It was past one in the morning, so they hardly encountered any cars. When the headlights of their truck flashed on the sign indicating Humphrys Avenue, Franklin turned right, stopped on the dirt shoulder and turned off the motor. “I’ll wait for you here, Ana. Take your time, but call me if I can be of help.”
She patted his right forearm and jumped out of the truck; her feet created a transparent puff of dust. Without looking to either side, she approached the house to which she had not returned since the day her father had beaten and chased her away. All the lights were on. She took a few seconds to take a deep breath of night air. She was scared; she knew that she had been forbidden to return by her father, but her desire to see César overpowered her fear. She walked up the three steps onto the wooden porch and she rapped on the frame of the screen.
Rosalva opened the door. “Ana!” Her voice was loud, shrill and it made the other voices stop in mid-sentence. A deep, threatening silence followed. It seemed to Ana that everyone inside had suddenly vanished and that if she entered, she would find an empty room. She was trying to gather her thoughts as to what to do next, when the screen door suddenly slammed painfully against her forehead. Momentarily stunned, Ana swerved backward as she tried to regain her balance.
“You here! Haven’t I prohibited it?”
Rodolfo Calderón had rammed the door against her with all the force of his arms, but as she backed away, her eyes made out his face in the darkness of the porch. She saw that it was filled with fury and rage. He had not changed; hatred for her still dominated him.
“’Apá, let me see César! ¡Por favor! For the love of ’Amá!” Her voice didn’t betray her fear; it was strong and steady. She opened the door and stepped inside.
“¡Lárgate de aquí!”
As he commanded her to go away, his large hand lashed out, landing squarely on Ana’s nose. Blood gushed out of both nostrils; in the gloom, it glittered like black liquid. She jerked her hands to her face, elbows up in defense against other blows. She had backed out the door and off the porch. She stood her ground, feet spread wide apart on the weedy dirt.
“’Apá, please!…”
Rodolfo jumped off the porch, by-passing the steps. Ana saw this and retreated toward the street, moving backward while not turning her back to her father, who was charging straight ahead in pursuit of her. She stumbled, then fell. She saw him coming toward her, his face distorted with wrath.
Ana began to writhe on the ground blindly, anxiously groping for something with which to defend herself. Her fingers finally landed on a rock, and even though it was large, she was able to cup it in her right hand. As her father loomed directly above her, Ana sprang to her feet and lunged toward him. She raised her arm and brought it down with all the force in her body. She felt it crash on his forehead. He reeled and fell on his haunches.
Franklin had run up to help Ana and was now by her side. He held her, trying to lead the way out to the car, but by now Rodolfo, though stunned and swaying, had gotten back to his feet. He was hysterical. He rolled his eyes from side to side, their whites gleaming menacingly in the dark. He held a hand to his bloodied face, and with the other he gestured violently towards Ana.
“You cursed whore. For raising your hand to your father, I curse you and your children again. Now get out of here!”
As Franklin led Ana through the front wire gate, she closed her eyes and cupped her hands over her ears, trying to drown out her father’s words that again cursed her and her son, this time because she had raised her hand in anger against him.
César died that day and nothing was ever done about it. ’Apá refused to call the police because he said that nothing they could do would bring my brother back to life. So there was a wake held at the house that night followed by a mass the next day. I was forbidden to be with my sisters, but I made sure to be at the back of the church during the service. Franklin and Amy drove me to the cemetery later on to see where César’s body was buried, and I thought of Jasmín and of my brothers who never made it through life. ’Amá seemed to be next to me; I thought I heard her crying softly.
Two years passed before the war ended. Many of the boys from the barrio were killed, and others were badly wounded. Reyes Junior was one of the ones who died, and his friend, Henry Miranda, lost one of his legs. When Henry returned home, the government paid for a car specially geared for him. Tavo was not wounded nor killed. He returned with two medals for bravery in the battle of Iwo Jima.
During those years, the Bast chicken farm grew. When I told Amy and Franklin that I wanted to return to school to get a diploma, both of them insisted that I stop working on the ranch and that they would pay for Ismael’s and my expenses. After that, instead of making desserts and food, they decided to set up a poultry store on Whittier Boulevard. That idea went over so well that soon they expanded it into a large market.
We heard that Doña Hiroko’s store was seriously damaged after a fire bomb was thrown through the front window. She was alone because her three sons had enlisted in the Army and were fighting the war in Europe. After that she was so afraid that she sold her store, her house, and all her things and willingly went to Tule Lake, where she said that she would at least be with others like her.
Ismael had grown mischievous and energetic during those two years. He ran after the chickens, shouting and filling the house with laughter. He was beautiful; his hair had taken on chestnut tones and his skin was white, despite the sun. Amy and Franklin took care of him during the hours that I spent in the classroom, and soon Ismael grew to love them as if they had been his grandparents. He even called Amy “Abuelita,” and Franklin “Abuelito.”
’Apá died just before the war ended. He neither spoke to me nor allowed me to come near him when he became ill. I wondered at that time if he understood how much I wanted to see him, at least to ask him why he hated me so much. I had hoped to tell him that there was still time for me, and that I would do something special with my life, so that it would erase the shame he had felt when I had Ismael without a husband. But he died taking his hatred for me to the grave.
I got my high-school diploma in June, 1945. Amy and Franklin had a graduation party for me, and my sisters came—all of them except Alejandra. I still have the photograph of me, Ismael and the Basts on that day. Shortly after that, Pilar called to tell me that Tavo would be receiving his discharge sometime in late August. When I hung up the telephone, I asked myself what would I do if suddenly I saw him again. What would
I say, I wondered; how would I act? I didn’t think about it anymore because I realized that I no longer felt anything for Tavo. Where there had been love, now there was nothing.
When the last of the boys returned from the war by the end of August, most of the families of the barrio got together for a celebration picnic at Echo Park. The Delgados, Ledesmas, Leyvas, Sotos, Calderóns and others brought food and drink to share with one another. Most of the men still wore their uniforms, and the crowd was dotted with the field green of those in the Army, bottle-green of the Marines, and sailors in Navy blue.
Games of softball and volleyball were organized as well as three-legged races. There was singing and a lot of hugging, but most of all there was telling of stories, each man vying to out-talk the next one. War experiences were exchanged, and some of them grew more exaggerated with each swig of cold beer.
After a long time of loud guffaws and slapping of thighs, people became tired of listening, so most of the groups went back to their own conversations. Over at the Calderón table, however, things were different because only Octavio and Alejandra were seated at it, and they were not saying anything. He sat with his chin cupped in his hand; he seemed to be thinking of other things. Alejandra, too, was distracted as she looked into a hand mirror, fixing her hair and make-up.
Octavio was even more handsome than before the war. His body had filled out with hard muscle, his shoulders were broader and his waist leaner, and he had returned from the Pacific wearing a mustache that emphasized his eyes as well as his teeth.
Alejandra had also changed. She was still beautiful, although she looked older than twenty-two. People said that it was because she had inherited too much responsibility too soon. She had married at nineteen, and barely had that happened when Octavio left her for the war. With Ana gone from the house, Alejandra, as the gossips put it, was left alone with a stern father and four younger sisters to look after. She had grown bitter, some said, because Octavio had not left her at least with a first child.
Octavio had come home a few weeks before the picnic. Officially, he was still based in Camp Pendleton, where he stayed Monday through Friday. Even though he lived with her only on weekends, their relationship was already strained. They had gone through several arguments, which usually ended with shouting and his storming off to the base.
This time, the bickering began because Octavio was teaching Cruz how to jitterbug. At first Alejandra seemed happy as she changed the record so that the music would go on, but she gradually became irritated when she saw how tightly he held her sister’s waist. Cruz was now seventeen, and she and Pilar had turned into beautiful girls. The twins had developed exceptional bodies with slim waists, rounded hips and full busts. Alejandra had noticed that, physically, they surpassed her; only Ana was more beautiful than all of them, and Alejandra admitted this only to herself.
As she looked on as Octavio swirled and danced to the strong beat of the music, Alejandra saw how much he was enjoying himself. She saw that Cruz danced along, following his lead, dazzled by his strength and rhythm. She seemed charmed by his smile, which she returned with her eyes. It occurred to Alejandra that her sister’s glances were inviting Octavio to come closer, and when he stepped forward, she saw that he drew Cruz up against his body so tightly that her breasts bulged against his chest. The move had happened quickly, but Alejandra caught it.
She became furious. She suddenly pulled the record away from the player, smashing it against the wall. Alejandra’s move had been so quick and unexpected that the crashing record startled Octavio and Cruz, and both flinched in surprise, involuntarily shrinking and shielding their face from the broken pieces that showered them. A terrible argument followed which ended only when Cruz ran outside crying. The other two, however, did not speak to one another all that evening.
Now, despite the laughter and playing around, Octavio felt bored with the picnic. So he stood up without saying anything and walked away from the table, leaving Alejandra alone. He wanted to be by himself to sort things out. He walked along the small lagoon under the tall palm trees for a while, then over a hill, down to where he saw a small corral which housed ponies. When he got closer he saw that there was a line of people, most of them with children, purchasing tickets.
He smiled when he saw the small track, and he walked over to watch the kids ride the ponies, enjoying their squeals of excitement. He stood there for several minutes, looking at each new rider that entered the track. Octavio’s body suddenly tensed when he turned again to the ticket office and noticed a young woman standing in line. He blinked several times as if trying to get rid of a trapped eyelash, then he rubbed his eyes. He finally realized that he was staring at Ana, and that she was holding a little boy by the hand. At first, Octavio didn’t know what to do. He knew that she had not seen him, and that he could easily stride off without her knowing that he had been there. He felt compelled, however, to get near her, to say hello, and he was also pulled by the sight of the child. He decided to approach her.
“Hello, Ana.” His voice was soft as he pronounced her name. When she heard someone talking to her, she turned to see who it was. It took her a few seconds to adjust to the surprise of seeing Octavio standing in front of her. While she gazed at him, he was able to see that she had become lovelier than he had remembered. Her hair was longer, and it glimmered in the afternoon sun just as it had when they played in the cove off Puerto Real.
Octavio looked at Ana’s dark complexioned face, at her slender neck, the full bust, the waist and hips emphasized by slacks that flowed softly to her feet. Looking at her filled him with joy and with an intense desire to take her in his arms. He took a step towards her, but he hesitated when he saw that she moved back and away from him.
Without returning his greeting, she turned to her place in line. Seeing Octavio so suddenly and unexpectedly set her mind reeling, and she felt her heart beating wildly. Ana scolded herself for being there, on that day, at that time, forgetting that she brought Ismael to the pony rides every Sunday, that it was his weekly treat. She fought to regain her composure, and when it was her turn to buy a ticket, she calmly put the dime on the counter as she took the small chip from the cashier. She was hoping that her aloofness would put off Octavio and that he would walk away.
Taking a firmer grip of Ismael’s hand, Ana made her way toward the entrance of the track, but she was aware that Octavio was walking behind her. She helped put her son onto the small saddle, making sure that the safety belt was in place. When the assistant led the pony onto the track, Ismael let out a howl of excitement. She took a deep breath and turned to face Octavio, her face frozen and expressionless.
“When did you return?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Great.” She muttered the word with finality; it said goodbye.
Octavio had no intention of leaving. “You look beautiful, Ana. Honest to God, you do. You don’t know how much I thought of you when I was over there.” He stepped closer to her, so much that she shifted, moving away from him again.
“I have nothing to say to you. Please go away.” Her words sounded hard, harsh, and he flinched as if she had slapped his face. He saw that she meant for him to leave, but he decided to pretend not to have heard what she said.
“He’s beautiful, too.” He pointed his right index finger at Ismael’s bouncing figure, “and I can’t believe that he’s mine, too.”
It was Ana’s turn to wince. Turning fully to face Octavio, she put her clenched fists on her hips and said, “Ismael is mine, all mine! You have nothing to do with him and I have nothing to do with you. Now, leave me alone! I don’t want to talk to you!” Her words squeezed out of clenched teeth because her heart had filled with fear when she caught the strange look in his eyes as he pointed at Ismael. It seemed hungry, greedy.
The pony carrying Ismael rounded the track and trotted up to the end; the boy was red-faced and laughing. As the assistant was unfastening Ismael’s safety belt, Octavio bolted towards him with long, quick str
ides, leaving Ana behind. He took Ismael out of the saddle and into his arms. The boy looked at him, wondering who he was. But he didn’t show fear because he soon saw his mother by his side. Before Ana could do anything, Octavio kissed Ismael on both cheeks as he told him, “I’m your daddy.”
When the boy heard this he recoiled, kicking and straining to be put on the ground. Ana grabbed her son, wrenching him away from those stiff, hard arms. As she did this, she saw that Octavio’s eyes were filled with tears. The sight only provoked her. She was outraged at what he had told Ismael.
Taking the boy by the hand, Ana ran over to the parking area. She didn’t look to see if Octavio was behind her. Fumbling through her bag, she finally found the keys for the pick-up, and even though her hands were shaking, she was able to jump in, put Ismael on the passenger side, insert the key into the ignition, and crank on the motor. The tires screeched as she backed the truck out. She saw that Octavio was still standing where she had left him. He looked so rigid that it flashed through her mind that his feet were buried in concrete.
We stayed up most of that night talking about what had happened in the park. Amy and Franklin knew all about Octavio from the beginning, and, like me, they hadn’t expected him to come back into my life. We also knew that he was married to Alejandra and that they were without children. This thought now worried us most of all. As for myself, there was something else. After the strange fire I had seen in Octavio’s eyes when he looked at Ismael, I felt terrified. But I didn’t say this to Franklin or Amy because I didn’t want them to feel what I was feeling.
We sat at the kitchen table, talking until we finally decided to take the incident for what it was: a chance meeting, a coincidence that more than likely would not happen again. Now I see how foolish we were, and we found out soon that this decision was our biggest mistake.
The Memories of Ana Calderón Page 14