Ana shrugged her shoulders and smiled cynically. “Really? What’s so special about me. I told you yesterday I was a jailbird.”
“Don’t talk that way. I don’t care about that, and I don’t even want to know why it happened. All I’m saying is you’re a smart woman and you ought to do something with those smarts.”
“I’m too old. I’m nearly twenty-nine years old.”
“Hey, I’m thirty, so if you think I’m going to let you tell me that’s old, you’ve got a fight on your hands! No, kid, listen to me. Remember when you went into the old man’s office and laid out what the workers wanted? Had it been anybody else, whoosh!” Shelly made a sweeping motion with his hand and forearm. “But did he bat an eye at you? Of course not! And why not? I’ll tell you why. You’ve got something special. It’s built-in, and all it needs is to be let out. Polished. Trained. Use whatever word you want, but I think that with a little bit of schooling, you’ll go places.”
Impressed by his sincerity, Ana was looking intently at Shelly as he spoke. She didn’t appear to be surprised; it was as if he were saying something she had heard before, or thought before.
“Where can I go? I’ve already done high school.”
“College!”
“Col…College? Now I know you’ve lost a screw!” Ana was incredulous, and she laughed at the idea. “College is for rich white boys. Not someone like me!”
“Not anymore, lady. Up to five years ago—maybe. Look, Ana, there are new colleges cropping up all over the place. They’re called junior colleges. Why don’t you look into it? You could take a couple of courses, at night, maybe. Classes in—oh, hell, I don’t know. Something like business, or economics, or what about accounting? Yeah, that’s it! Accounting. The old man would go bananas if he didn’t have to depend on those shysters who screw him every time they feel like it.”
Ana silently stood up, but before leaving she placed her hand on his shoulder. She wanted to let him know that she took him seriously and that he, inadvertently perhaps, had reached into her, breaking through some of the layers that had caked over her after Octavio had betrayed her. All that night she considered what Shelly had said because she often felt that there was something inside of her waiting to be freed from its cage.
She checked around and found out that there was a new junior college in East Los Angeles, located close to where she had grown up, out where the tracks of flowers used to grow on Floral Drive. She decided to move close to the school, and found a small apartment in a two-story building on Brooklyn Avenue, almost across the street from the college. It didn’t matter that now she would have to take a bus to work. What was important, she told herself, was that now she could take courses every Monday, Wednesday and Friday night.
Nearly two years passed while I worked with the Fuermanns and took courses. Although I kept in touch with Amy and Franklin with letters, I knew that I was alone. I could have had friends, but something inside of me didn’t want to be with other people. I could have allowed Shelly to love me, but I was afraid, and whenever I asked myself why this was so, a door inside of me closed so that I never answered my own questions.
I liked attending classes and I didn’t mind spending most of the money I earned on books. Some were for subjects I was studying, but others were those that attracted me with their title, or even their cover. After work and classes, I read for hours during the night, and most of the time I reached the end of the textbook before the assigned class time.
As the months passed, I became more interested in the factory. I saw that there was something about me that was liked by the workers, both men and women. Up to that time, I hadn’t realized that others wanted to follow me. I saw that they listened to me, so I kept close to all the workers. My job as a supervisor made it easy for me to stop at their stations to ask how things were going, or what needed to be changed or fixed.
Maybe it was because of this that Mr. Fuermann began to depend on me more and more. One day, he asked me if I would be willing to keep the company books. But I had to tell him that it was too soon, that I had to study more. He laughed and told me to hurry up because he couldn’t wait for me much longer.
Shelly and I went on being friends. Sometimes I accepted his invitation to go to a restaurant and a movie on Saturday nights, but most of the time we talked and joked during lunch breaks or after work. I liked him, and perhaps we could have been more than friends, but we never got the time.
The Korean War broke out in 1950, and Shelly was called up from the list of reserves. At that time, his father was so upset that he was absent from work for three days. Shelly, however, laughed it off, saying that he would win the war single-handed. He joked that if the enemy hadn’t plugged him in the last war, they wouldn’t do it in this one.
All of us at the factory got together and had a farewell party for him. We sang and ate cake in his honor, and we even gave him a pair of flannel pajamas to keep him warm over there. The day came for him to leave, and Mr. Fuermann asked me to accompany him and Shelly to the ship that was going to transport him. When we said goodbye, he kissed me. I liked the sensation of his lips on mine, but the feeling stayed there. It never reached the rest of my body.
Ezra Fuermann and Son, Inc. experienced a surge of new business during the first months of the Korean War. Ezra had commissioned Ana to make contact with the small stores that were appearing along First and Spring Streets in an effort to create new outlets. He was certain that her style and ability to communicate with the merchants in Spanish would prove to be an asset. He was right. Orders increased to the point that he saw that he had to expand.
Although Ana was now involved with marketing, she continued with her classes. Since her salary had gone up, she was able to buy a used car, giving her more time to concentrate on her books as well as on company business. It turned out that she thrived on work, and everyone around her wondered how she could keep up with her responsibilities, which increased with each day.
Ana underwent a visible change during that time. Instead of denim pants and loafers, she was now smartly outfitted in tailored suits or dark dresses, and she always wore high-heel shoes. The heavy net or bandanna that used to hold her long hair in place was replaced by smart hats, and she wore gloves whenever she went outdoors.
Ezra Fuermann often joked that he had found the woman with the touch of Midas because whatever the contact might be, if Ana did the transaction, it meant more money for the company. Because of this, Fuermann now included her in most of his major decisions regarding investing in new space and additional machines. She also became instrumental in devising new methods of packaging and transporting of products. It was Ana’s idea for the company to expand into baby apparel, a line that soon turned out to be the most successful.
Ezra was happy during that time, but it ended eleven months after Shelly left. One day, Ana was called to the main office. When she knocked on the door there was no response, but she went in anyway. She found him sitting at his desk, his back to the door, staring vacantly out the window. She stood by the desk for a while, but when Ezra still didn’t turn around, she cleared her voice, hoping that it would alert him to her presence. When she saw that even that did not stir him, she decided to say something.
“Mr. Fuermann. You asked me to come by?”
When he didn’t acknowledge her, Ana moved around the desk to have a better look at him. She saw that tears were coursing down his cheeks, and that he held a crumpled telegram in his right hand. She knew instantly what it was, and she closed her eyes for a few moments, hoping to get courage from somewhere within her. She leaned against the edge of the desk for balance, but she still couldn’t speak.
Impulsively, Ana reached over and took the message from Ezra’s hand. She read that Shelly was dead. He was killed during an assault on a machine-gun nest.
No one as close to her had been killed in war. She remembered Reyes Junior, but he had been distant, not as close to her as Shelly had been. She recalled how she had wished that Oc
tavio would have been killed, and was not. Then she thought of César, and that he, too, had died in a war waged in the streets of their barrio.
The factories closed for three days in memory of Shelly Fuermann. His body was flown to Los Angeles from Korea, and from the airport a long cortege of cars filled with friends and fellow workers accompanied Ezra and his son to the Veterans Cemetery in Westwood. There was a large gathering of people at the grave site, but Ana was singled out by Ezra to sit at his right hand while the Rabbi spoke of Shelly’s bravery and worthiness as a son.
As she listened, she was transported to César’s death. That time she had been forced to stand at the rear of the church and had been forbidden by her father to take part in his funeral and burial. Now, as Shelly Fuermann was being lowered into his grave, she felt the rage against her family more than ever. She was struck by the irony of having been blocked from her brother’s presence, whereas now she was in a place of honor, sitting next to someone who had been a stranger three years before. Ana felt affection for the man seated next to her, as if Ezra Fuermann had been the father she had longed for, someone who respected her and found in her something valuable.
When the service ended, Ana turned to Ezra and realized with a shock that he was struggling, fumbling with his vest. She saw that he was trying to stand, but that his feet were instead tracing tiny, jiggling steps that failed to give him balance. His head swiveled grotesquely toward her and his eyes, which were bulging, seemed to implore her to do something. Saliva was dribbling from the corners of his lips and his face was turning dark purple. As she reached out to take his hands, Ana realized that his body was stiffening, becoming rigid with each second.
By then others had noticed what was happening, and several men rushed to help her. They took hold of his shoulders and waist, but he wobbled out of their hands and collapsed on the damp grass. By the time the ambulance arrived and Ezra had been taken to the emergency care of the hospital, he had suffered a stroke that left him in danger of dying.
Ezra didn’t die, but the stroke left his left side paralyzed. The doctors affirmed that his mind was unaffected and that in time he would be able to regain most of his speaking ability. But even when he recovered consciousness and he could speak again, I saw that he was a changed man. It seemed that his soul was paralyzed with the grief of having lost Shelly. I tried to distract him with my visits, first at the hospital and then when he was taken home, but he was silent and withdrawn most of the time, and it wasn’t until weeks later that he began to notice me.
I visited Ezra every evening, taking time to tell him details about the business of the day that I thought would be of interest to him and sometimes might even make him laugh. I wanted to bring only good news. In the beginning, he hardly responded to my attempts to cheer him up. In time, he was normal again, and I thought I noticed that he was beginning to care more for me each day.
It was nearly Christmas by the time Ezra was able to overcome most of the slurring of his speech, and he and I talked as we used to before the stroke. Gradually, our conversations became more personal, like those of a father and a daughter. What I mean is that before his illness our words had been filled mostly with the details of business or wise cracks or sometimes even sarcasm. But now our conversations were simple, unaffected. I think that when we spoke to one another now, we were not afraid to say what we were feeling.
On one of those evenings, Ezra was seated in a wheel chair next to the fireplace; his lap was wrapped in a colorful afghan. “Ana, do you have a family?” The brief silence that followed his question was filled with the crackling of twigs underneath a larger piece of wood. “I mean, like brothers or sisters?”
Ana looked at Ezra and felt a deep fondness as she gazed at his face, its left side inert. The thought crossed her mind that the same question would have been offensive to her had it come from anyone else. Instead, she smiled.
“Yes. I come from a big family. I’m the oldest of seven girls, and we had a brother, too. He and one of my sisters died a long time ago.”
“You never mention any of them. Anyway, not in front of me.”
Ana was quiet as she stared at the fire because she was remembering her sisters. The thought of them made the pit of her stomach contract. She knew that it was resentment that was yanking at her guts.
“I’m sorry. If you don’t want to speak about them, tell me. I don’t want to intrude. Oh, hell, what a liar I am!” He interrupted himself abruptly; his voice was hoarse and he spoke slowly, trying to control the muscles in his tongue. “First, I start poking around your insides, then I pull the old ‘I’m-so-sorry’ song and dance. It’s just that you’ve never said anything about them.”
“Yes, I know. It’s something I never speak about to anyone.” Ana stared at the log in the grate and saw that it was beginning to smolder. “I even had a son, once.”
Ezra’s small eyes locked on her face. He didn’t speak, but his expression was filled with surprise mixed with curiosity. When Ana returned his stare he looked away, embarrassed that she had been able to see his emotions.
“The boy’s father was scared to tell the truth, and I had the baby by myself. That is, with the help of two friends, Amy and Franklin Bast. My son was with me for a few years, then…”
Ana had not felt the knot forming in her throat. So, when her voice cracked, she stopped speaking. She was surprised and afraid that she would cry. Ezra, not knowing what to say, squirmed in the chair as he awkwardly slipped his right hand under the afghan along with the other one. She suddenly sprang to her feet, making him think that she was going to leave. But instead she went to the fireplace and threw a log into the fire. After that, she returned to her place and began to speak again.
“My son’s father stole him from me. It happened just after the war. He was able to do it with the help of my sisters.”
She was speaking tersely because her voice had grown husky and it was hard for her to talk without croaking. Her heart was beating so fast that she was sure that Ezra could hear it pounding from where he sat. She was amazed to think that she had not told anyone about Ismael, except for Franklin and Amy. Ana didn’t realize it at the moment, but she was clasping her hands around the wooden arms of the chair where she sat so hard that her fingers and knuckles had turned a brownish white.
When she stopped speaking, Ezra swallowed hard and said, “Kid, I’m sorry. I had no idea. You’ve always looked so... so...”
“What, Ezra, what do I look like? Dumb? Stupid?” Her voice took on a sharp edge that cut at the old man, making him recoil in the chair.
“No, Ana! No!” He seemed hurt that she should think that he would see her that way.
Ana released her grip on the chair, grinding her elbows into the armrests and putting her hands under her chin, palm against palm as if she were praying. Her voice was calming down. “I’m sorry, Ezra. I guess I’ll never get over it.”
They were quiet until he spoke. “Well? What did you do about it? I can’t even begin to imagine a woman like you letting that happen to her without doing something.”
“I got a gun and shot him!”
“You shot!… Who did you shoot?”
“The bastard! The guy who kidnapped my son!”
“Christ!… Ana!”
“I didn’t kill him, though. That’s my only regret, because I had to pay for it anyway. I did time on Terminal Island along with hundreds of other women who had done just about the same thing as I did. When I went to work for you and Shelly, I had just got out.” She paused, then said, “That’s why I never speak about my family. I hate them all!”
The crackling sounds in the fireplace bounced off the high ceiling, accentuating the prolonged silence between Ezra and Ana. Neither of the two spoke until he sucked in his breath as he shook his head. “You’ll have to forgive them one day, you know…”
“Why?” Ana cut off his sentence as resentment flooded her.
“Because your insides will freeze up on you if you don’t, that’
s why. I had a brother that I never forgave. He went to his grave that way.”
Ana was staring at him because she had never heard Ezra mention anyone except his wife, who had died years before. She was listening intently, still smarting from the idea of forgiving Alejandra and her other sisters.
Ana said, “Some things are unforgivable. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that my own sisters helped to hurt me so…” She abruptly stopped speaking, as if thinking of something else. A few moments later she spoke again. “But then, my father hated me. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for the others to do the same.”
Ezra was staring out the window. Evening had set in, and the garden was wrapped in darkness. The right side of his face twitched slightly, as if trying to carry the weight of its inert side.
“Your father hated you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“For years I thought it was because I wasn’t a boy. I was his first child, and I was convinced that his disappointment at my being a girl was too much for him. But later I saw how much he loved my other sisters, and I knew it couldn’t have been just because I turned out a girl.”
She was quiet. Then, moistening her lips with her tongue, she said, “Others told me that I had ruined my mother’s womb because all the boys she had after me died. Except for the last one.”
Shaking his head, Ezra said, “Oh, come on, Ana! You’re too smart to swallow that one. Besides, how sure can you be that your old man really hated you? Sometimes a kid can misunderstand her father, you know.”
Her head snapped towards Ezra. Her face had reddened. “How do I know? When he discovered that I was pregnant, he tried to kill me. He nearly beat my brains out, and he would have gotten what he wanted, except some neighbors stopped him. He cursed me and my baby, too.”
Again shaking his head, Ezra said, “I’m sorry, Kid, I really am. Rotten things happen in a lifetime, but you know…” He interrupted himself as he looked at her, his gaze was intense. “…I still think that forgiving them for all the crap they’ve handed you is the only way.”
The Memories of Ana Calderón Page 19