The voice of Ana’s cellmate yanked her back to the present.
“Aw, come on, lady. Quit the moping and sit over here with me. You’re making me nervous! Remember that you’re in here for just a couple of years. Put yourself in my place, for cryin’ out loud! I’m here for a nickel and a dime.”
Ana’s hands unclenched and fell limply from the bars. She turned to look at the woman who was speaking to her and saw that she was sitting on the bottom bunk bed. She was visible only from the neck down, her head enshrouded in the shadow cast by the upper bed. A cigarette ember glowed in the darkness. Without responding, Ana climbed up to her bed and laid on its uncovered mattress. Its rough material smelled of disinfectant. Reclining her head on the thin pillow, she closed her eyes as she listened to the words of the judge that rang with a hollow, painful echo.
“Because this court has heeded your defense, and because it, too, finds that your past comportment warrants leniency, you are hereby sentenced to only two years imprisonment for the crime you have committed. Bodily assault with the intent to kill is a serious crime, indeed. Nevertheless, the court will show you clemency.”
Ana stood in front of the judge. Looming far above her was his white, rigid face, glowering at her. His voice boomed out the sentence. “Furthermore, insofar as the child is concerned, the court is convinced that you have, by your violent and irrational behavior, proven yourself to be an unfit mother. On the other hand, the plaintiff has survived your attack and has asked the court to withhold full punishment on the condition that he be granted custody of the child.
“It seems obvious to me, therefore, that Mr. Arce, a man who has only recently proven his valor defending his country, a man married and settled, is the rightful party to bring up the child whose paternity he has now acknowledged. I, therefore, remand the boy to his care.
“It is the judgement of this court that you serve your term at the women’s correctional facility on Terminal Island. After the completion of the two years, be aware that this court will have also placed a five-year injunction on you. That is, if within that period of time you are ever found within two square miles of the Arce family, you will be liable to further incarceration.”
Ana’s body flinched at the bang of the judge’s gavel signaling the end of the hearing. Then, her body became numb as if paralyzed. When she became aware of the hand of the female marshal nudging her toward the door to the holding cells, Ana turned to look behind her. To the right of the large room she saw Amy and Franklin. They sat rigidly, with their heads hanging low. There were tears running down Franklin’s cheeks.
When Ana turned to the left, she made out Octavio, who had been recently released from the hospital. He was sitting behind a large wooden table. Her eyes focused on Alejandra, who stared at her unabashedly showing her hatred. Octavio avoided Ana’s glaring eyes; he fidgeted with the tip of his tie.
My mind returned to the cell and to the bunk bed where I lay staring at the ceiling. My thoughts had cleared and I realized that Octavio was not the only one to blame; my sisters had also taken part in the kidnapping of Ismael. They had been in the house, and none had tried to intervene or to help me. Rancor for them gagged me, and I vowed never to forget what they had done.
My spirit drifted, going beyond the cell, recalling that the prison was on an island and that I was surrounded by water. This thought gave me a sensation of plummeting downward, of spiraling headlong into a bottomless watery hole. Then my mind returned to Ismael, thinking of how he must cry out for me, and I shivered when it occurred to me that soon he would begin to forget me.
Ismael was happy to go with the man who said he was his father. The boy liked the stuffed toy he was given, and he went willingly when the man promised to take him to ride the ponies. The man took him, not to the park as Ismael had expected, but instead to a house to which he had never been. Ismael became frightened, and called for his mother. Several women appeared. One of them seemed to him to be the most important one. The only difference Ismael could see between them was that the main one had a white face. The others were brown.
Ismael did not want to be with those people, even though the man patted him on the head and offered him cookies. When Ismael saw that it was growing dark outside, he became alarmed and thought he would walk home. As he opened the front door to leave, one of the women took him by the arm and told him that he could not do that because he would get lost or run over by a car.
Ismael sat on the sofa, looking around him. Everything was strange and unknown to him. He saw that the women and the man were talking loudly; they often pointed at him and wagged their heads. The man kept saying yes again and again, but Ismael could not make sense of what it was the man wanted. The talk finally became so loud that he knew that they were fighting. At one point he saw the man push the white-faced woman against the wall. Ismael knew that the blow had hurt her.
After a while, Ismael was certain that he had heard his mother’s voice coming from somewhere outside. Everyone inside stopped talking; they listened. When Ismael was sure that it was his mother calling out, he jumped from the sofa and ran towards the door. He was about to shout for his mother when the woman with the white face cupped her hand over his mouth and prevented him from making a sound. He gagged but could not free himself from the hand which was stronger than both of his own hands.
While he was struggling with the big hand, Ismael saw the man go outside despite one of the other women trying to stop him. He pushed her away and opened the door. Ismael heard a squeak as the man disappeared behind the door. The hand was still pressed over his mouth when Ismael was startled by a loud blast, and then he caught a glimpse of the man’s face. Ismael heard him groan as he slipped down while his cheek scraped against the screen of the door.
Then there was wailing and screaming. The hand had suddenly let go of his jaw, but Ismael was too afraid to move. He looked around him and saw that the women were the ones screaming. They lunged toward the door, but he knew that they couldn’t open it because the body of the man was blocking it.
Ismael held his hands to his ears; the shouting, mixed with the screeching of a loud noise outside, hurt the inside of his head. When the women were finally able to shove the door open, he peeked out and saw red lights. He felt his heart pounding as people ran from one side of the front yard to the other. Hoping to escape from what was happening outside, Ismael ran into another room. He knew it was the kitchen when he saw a table, a stove, a sink. He looked straight ahead and he discovered a small door and a space; it was open and just big enough for him. He crawled into the box and rolled himself into a ball. He closed the door, and in the darkness he leaned his cheek against a cold pipe; he felt its dampness. Although there was no light in the box, he liked it because he felt safe.
He didn’t know how much time passed because he had fallen asleep, when suddenly the door was flung open and one of the women peered into his box. She took hold of his hand and helped him out. He was cold and shivering, so she put a long sweater around his shoulders. Soon the other women came into the kitchen and started fighting again. This time it was the other ones against the one with the white face. Again they pointed at him, shaking their heads. Finally, the four left the kitchen for a while, and when they walked back into the room with the sofa, they had bundles and boxes which they took out the front door. Ismael never saw those women again.
He began to hate the woman with the white face because he felt that she rejected him. After a few days passed, the man returned; he had white bandages on his back and chest and it seemed to Ismael that he was very angry. He and the woman fought almost always. Ismael was taken to a new school. He didn’t like it there, so he pretended to himself that he was with his mother and his grandparents. The teacher scolded him for not paying attention like the other boys and girls, but he didn’t care because in his mind he preferred to be looking at his mother’s face.
Ismael knew that the teacher was displeased with him, especially when she went to the house to report hi
m. The man and the white-faced woman seemed to agree with the teacher, and Ismael thought that he heard them promise something to her. Still, he didn’t care because all he wanted was to return to his mother and his abuelitos, so he never listened when he was in class. Once the teacher punished him by putting him in the cloak room. He liked that because he could be alone to think, but then he began to cry because when he tried to see his mother’s face, he no longer could remember it. All he saw was her body.
The weather became less warm and then it got cold. Christmas came along. After that, the air began to smell like flowers and Ismael thought of his mother and abuelitos less and less. The man and the woman never stopped fighting; it happened every night. They stood facing one another, screaming, pointing at him. Sometimes they even pushed one another. Once the man slapped the woman so hard that blood came out of her nose. When the fighting began, Ismael tried to escape to his hideaway. Most of the times he slept there the whole night.
He knew that things were going to change when a woman wearing glasses came to the house. She, the man, and the white-faced woman sat on the sofa, talking for a long time. They made Ismael sit on a chair while they gestured toward him. He saw the woman he hated shake her head again and again as she said, no! no! Finally, he saw the woman with the glasses give the man a paper for them to sign.
A few days later, the woman with the glasses came to the house again, but this time it was to take Ismael with her. The man insisted on going with them, although the woman disagreed. Ismael was happy to leave that house, even if the man did come along anyway.
Ismael, the man, and the woman with glasses rode in her car until they got to a big building. He liked it because it had several layers of floors. When they went up the big stairs, the woman took his hand and led him to a small room where he saw a tall woman and a man by her side who was even taller. When he got near them, he had to put his head all the way back to look up at their faces. He was able to see that their eyes were the color of the sky. He liked them and the way they smiled at him. All the while, the other man stood by without saying anything to the two strangers.
The woman with the glasses bent down to take a closer look at Ismael as she spoke. “These people are your new parents.” Her voice echoed in his ears as if she had been speaking from far off. “You mustn’t forget that they chose you from among many other boys and girls.”
Ismael looked at the man and woman, and they smiled at him. The man said, “Hello, my name is Simon Wren, and this is Bertha. You can call her mother, and me, father.”
The woman with the glasses was speaking again, “You’re going to live in a city called San Francisco, which you’ll like very much. And now you’ll have a new name, too. From now on, you’ll be called Terrance Wren. Isn’t that a lovely name?”
Then she turned to the other man, “Mr. Arce, you can be sure that the boy will be in excellent hands.” She paused, and turned to the Wrens. “Remember. As the three of you have agreed, you will communicate with each other consistently regarding the boy’s welfare.”
The next day, Ismael struggled against falling asleep because he didn’t want to miss out on the scenery. To the left, the whitecaps of the ocean delighted him, as did the soft brown hills to the right side. But the gentle swaying of the train and the rhythmic clanging of its iron wheels were forcing “Terrance Wren” to fall asleep.
He was leaning against Bertha, the woman he was now to call mother. The boy liked the feeling of her arm and the softness of her chest against his cheek. He was aware that she and Simon were speaking about home, San Francisco, and his school, but Terrance allowed his eyes to shut for a moment. He was happy that he no longer was with the man and woman who fought with each other, and he was glad that he didn’t have to hide under the sink and lean against the cold pipe all night long.
Terrance opened his eyes to see his new father smiling at him. The man reminded him of someone; the white face and glasses provoked a picture in his memory. It was his abuelito Franklin. He couldn’t separate their faces because they seemed identical. The boy sat up on the stuffed bench as he looked up at his new mother, and he was surprised that the same thing was happening. She was his mother, except before she used to be brown and not so tall.
He leaned back while his hand touched the blue velvet seat cover. He was wide awake now; he felt the train slowing down and saw that several of the passengers were standing to take bags and suitcases down from the upper racks. The boy felt his father’s hand on his arm, “Look, son. Over there on the ocean side.”
He responded to his father’s words, craning his neck to look out the window to where his father had pointed. He liked the sound of the word son.
“That’s more or less where we live. You’ll have a room that looks out to where the sea gulls feed. Your mother and I think you’ll like it.”
One year after I was put in prison, Amy and Franklin were facing a dilemma. Later on I realized that they had discussed it for several weeks because neither of them could tell what would be best for me. On the one hand, they knew that being trapped behind bars meant that I couldn’t do anything to fight back once I found out what had happened to Ismael. On the other hand, they realized that I would sooner or later find out on my own and hate them for not having told me the truth.
They were brave. They decided to be the ones to tell me everything. Years later, Franklin let me know that before visiting me, they rehearsed over and again how they would tell me that Ismael had been put up for adoption, that he was gone and that no one could get the information as to where he had been taken, or by whom.
Visiting Sunday came, and Franklin and Amy sat nervously on the steel chairs provided for visitors. They had their elbows placed on the metal table as they faced the screened divider. On the other side were chairs for the inmates. Amy held a small bundle wrapped in brown paper; it contained new underwear and a couple of combs for Ana. On the table next to Franklin was a shoe box with jars of fig preserve which they had canned. They fidgeted, making small talk, and as they looked around they saw that, as usual, there were other visitors waiting to see a daughter or a wife or a sister.
When Ana appeared, she seemed pleased to see them, and she smiled broadly as she slid both her hands through the separation between the table and the bottom of the screen. No one spoke; they only squeezed each other’s hands for a few moments. Then Amy signaled the woman guard to hand Ana the parcels.
They chatted about the weather and the ranch. Franklin said that they were planning to sell the market; it was time that he and Amy began to relax, maybe move back to Cherokee County in Oklahoma with family. They spoke this way for a few minutes until Ana asked her usual questions.
“How is Ismael? Have you seen him recently? I can’t believe a whole year’s gone by. He must be a big boy now.”
They looked at one another nervously, but it was Amy who spoke. “Ana, you know that man doesn’t let us get within five miles of his place. How could we see Ismael?”
As they had foreseen, Ana’s questioning had signaled the right moment for what Amy and Franklin had to say. Clearing her throat and re-arranging herself in the chair, Amy got to the point. “Ana, do you remember way back, just before Ismael was born, we discussed Hagar and her son?”
Ana looked at Amy with an expression of not knowing exactly what that long-ago conversation had to do with her present condition. “Yes, I remember. What about it, Amy?”
“Well, good God, Gertie, wouldn’t you know it! The reading came up again the other night and we got to talking even more. We thought that you’d like to know what we said. Didn’t we Franklin?” She turned to her husband for corroboration, sounding slightly out of breath. Franklin nodded energetically.
Reaching into her sweater pocket, Amy pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She carefully spread it out on the table as she took her reading glasses from her bag. Ana waited patiently as this went on. She glanced at Franklin, who returned her gaze with a sheepish look. Amy began to read.
; “‘Hagar departed, and wandered about in the desert of Bersabee. When the water in her bottle was gone, she left the child under a bush. Then she went and sat opposite the place, for she said, ‘Let me not see the child die.’”
When Amy looked up to take a breath, she saw that Ana’s face had become pallid, and that the color of her eyes seemed to dip to pitch black. She realized that she was being misunderstood by Ana, so she quickly blurted out, “That’s not the real part! I mean, that’s not what we spoke about the other night.”
Swallowing hard, Amy spoke nervously. “This part right here is what we were concentrating on, the part when the good Lord again speaks to Hagar. Just listen, Ana, please. ‘The angel of God called to Hagar from heaven and said to her, what is the matter, Hagar? Fear not, for God has heard the boy’s cry in this plight of his. Be assured in his regard, for I will make him a great nation.’”
Amy’s voice trailed feebly as she read the last words; she was frightened by the intensity of Ana’s eyes and the expression that framed her mouth. Franklin and Amy shifted in their chairs. No one spoke for a long while. It was Ana who finally broke the silence.
“Amy, you’re trying to tell me something.” Her voice was calm but they could tell that she was controlling fierce emotion. “Is my son dead?”
“No!” Amy and Franklin answered so loudly that the other visitors and inmates turned to see who had shouted. At the same time, both of them reached in to take hold of Ana’s hands which were cold and clammy. Liberally interpreting what she had read, Amy said, “We mean that even if Hagar’s son was taken from her, the good Lord promised to make something great of him.”
Understanding flashed in Ana’s eyes as she sensed the truth behind what she was being told. Ismael was gone. He was beyond her reach, and any hope of getting him back was, for some reason, now out of the question.
The Memories of Ana Calderón Page 16