Dodger Blue Will Fill Your Soul

by Bryan Allen Fierro

  “That’s pretty good,” said George. “Couldn’t do that if I tried.”

  Daniel knew that the first rule of Superman was to be humble. The second rule was to do anything he needed to do under the circumstances. The Chevy rolled to a stop at the curb in front of Daniel’s house. It had a large porch with a broken cedar fence that surrounded its border. Superman clucked to the chickens under the house. “I had chickens when I was a boy,” he said.

  “In Kansas?” Daniel asked.

  “Little town in Iowa, actually,” said George. “Woolstock.”

  Daniel wasn’t sure of the game Superman was trying to play.

  A large rooster came out from under the porch to peck at Superman’s feet. “You can smash it into the ground if you want,” said Daniel. But Superman scooped up the yard bird and gently placed it back under the house. He pushed up a half-cut sheet of plywood to cover the hole. Daniel kicked at the siding, and all the chickens scrambled and flew with their stub wings into the crawl space floor joists. Daniel held a nail to the plywood’s edge. He asked Superman to push it in with his thumb as Daniel’s father kicked open the screen door.

  “Pinche gallos!” Daniel’s father yelled. Carlos Castillo had that boxer’s strut you see inside the ring just before the first bell. He kept his feet moving even when he told you, I AM standing still, cabrón. His head bobbed side to side when he spoke, and his hands had never been properly introduced to the inside of his pants pockets. Cauliflower ears and a calcified chin accounted for most of his face. It was a readiness you can’t teach someone who’s not interested in hitting a man over and over again under bright lights. Carlos wore his T-shirt with the front pulled over his head, his arms through the sleeves, so he could show off his wiry welterweight chest. Daniel’s mother once told him that if his father and the rooster could ever stand shoulder to shoulder, it would be very difficult to tell them apart.

  Daniel flipped the nail into the grass. “We’re down here.”

  “We nothing. Get up here, Danny,” Carlos said.

  Daniel stepped to the front of the house, pulling Superman to his side by his jacket sleeve to explain his day. “I got a ride home from—”

  “George Reeves, sir.” Superman held his hand out to Carlos. The men shook. “I hope you don’t mind, but I gave Daniel a ride home. There was some confusion at the school is all.”

  Carlos nodded that Mexican nod, a continuous movement that worked to help compute how the world was trying to get over on you. He slapped the back of Daniel’s head. “You bothering Mr. George Reeves?”

  “Please, Carlos. Mr. Castillo. Daniel wasn’t a bother at all.” Superman brushed Daniel’s hair back. “It was my honor to bring your son home.” He pointed to the hillside. “I’ve never been up here before.”

  The Chevy taking up most of Spruce Street caught Carlos’s eye. “That’s a mas chingon ride, George Reeves. Danny, you came home in that car?” Carlos leaned in close to Superman, still shaking his hand, only harder now. “You must get lots of Hollywood starlets in a ride like that.” Superman pulled his grip loose. Carlos turned to Daniel. “That’s a man’s ride, mijo. I met your mother in car like that.”

  Superman kneeled down and placed his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “I think you may have left your books in the car. Let’s get them out for you.” Daniel used all his might to pull open the passenger-side door that the carmaker should have considered using only for a barn. He was careful not to scrape the bottom on the curb. Carlos did his boxer dance in the front yard in front of Superman. Daniel could see that his father was nearly two feet shorter than the Man of Steel.

  “I think I’ll be going,” said George.

  “Daniel probably told you a lot of things, but he tell you I’m the welterweight boxing champion?” Carlos held up his fists. “They said I had hands made from rock. Eight years, and my back never hit the mat. That’s kinda super, huh?” Carlos stepped on the edge of Superman’s polished wing tips.

  “He told me you used to be,” George said. “The champ, that is.”

  Carlos walked into the middle of the street. Immediately, the hails of Hey, Champ! Órale, Champ! came from Genaro’s Market a half a block away. “Hear that? Wherever I go in La Loma, my legacy follows.” Carlos put his hand on the Chevy’s candy-cane front fender and pushed himself up onto the curb. He whispered into Superman’s ear. “If you ever want to know what it’s like to hit man for reals, you come see me.” Carlos grabbed Daniel as he walked between the two men with his books locked in his arms. “Get inside, Danny.”

  Daniel ran straight through the Mendozas’ rose garden and Tito Lopez’s junk car lot like his feet were on fire. He ducked through fences and stood on the empty altars in the front yards of abandoned houses to look out over the hillside—all the Saint Judes and Fatimas had packed up and relocated downtown without any say in the matter. He thought that if he just ignored the burning sensation in his chest as he ran, he might catch Superman at the end of Bishop’s Road before he jumped onto the highway and was gone forever. Daniel hadn’t expected the flashy Chevy to sneak up on him the way it had. And when Superman tipped his hat and pulled his glasses to the tip of his nose, lightning zapped through all the wires in his boy body. Daniel did his best to quiet his heavy breathing. Superman turned off the engine and adjusted the driver’s-side mirror to see down the road behind him.

  “Take it easy, son,” said George. “I think we’re in the clear.”

  “I can’t believe I caught you,” said Daniel.

  “Well, that’s because it doesn’t happen very often.” George laughed. “I stopped for a soda at the little market there by your house. Then I saw you jump from the window and take off running. So, I bought two.”

  Daniel was well aware of his blistering speed. “How did you find me?”

  “You made it easy for me,” George said. “I followed the clouds of dust between the houses.”

  Daniel ducked behind the Chevy and squinted hard into the sun. He rubbed his chest under his shirt, careful not to smudge Superman’s polished front bumper.

  “He didn’t follow me?” asked Daniel.

  “No, Daniel. Your father was talking to some official-looking men on the porch when I left.”

  “They come every week to nail paperwork to the door,” said Daniel. “They are forcing us to leave.” He exhaled from a deep place in his eight-year-old body. “I don’t want to leave here, but sometimes I don’t want to stay, either.”

  Superman bent down to rub the scuff off the tip of his shoe. “I know exactly how you feel,” he said.

  “What time is it?” Daniel pulled down Superman’s arm to look at the gold watch on his wrist. “Come with me.”

  Superman threw his keys up into the air and snatched them back without even looking. He put them in his pocket and loosened his tie. “Lead the way, young man. But not too fast, I’m an old man.”

  Daniel tucked his shirt into his jeans and pulled the laces tight on his shoes. For the first time during the day, Daniel noticed the gray hairs on the sides of Superman’s head, not that there were a lot, but enough that he wondered how being on this planet had taken its toll on the superhero over the years. Daniel promised he’d take it easy on him. “But you’ll have to climb a bit. It’s over that hill,” Daniel said, pointing in the distance. “We have to hurry before the sun goes down.”

  Superman rubbed his knee and took off his right shoe to pour out some loose gravel. “I think I’ve got that much left in me, sport.”

  They cut through the yards between Reposa Street and Gabriel Avenue until they reached the end of Malvina Avenue. This was where Chavez Ravine opened up to new construction in Elysian Park. Superman ripped his dust-covered suit pants on barbed wire from his left thigh to his ankle. Daniel looked for blood, but not one drop! Superman didn’t seem concerned in the slightest.

  “We look alike now,” Daniel said, pointing to the hole in his own pants leg.

  A yellow school bus appeared from around a tight cu
rve at the bottom of the hill where cinder block construction and dump trucks filled the small valley. Superman looked at his watch and showed Daniel the time, tapping the crystal face.

  “There’s a school down there?” asked George. “It seems awful late for kids to get home.”

  “We’re right on time.” Daniel picked up all the rounded stones at his feet. He made a small hammock from the bottom of his T-shirt and began to fill it. “Grab some rocks,” he said. “They’ll be gone soon.” When Daniel’s shirt began to tear, he dropped to his haunches. Superman tried to take the same pose, but the pain in his knee was too much. He sat down and crossed his legs Indian style. “I bet you’ll recognize most of them.”

  Superman couldn’t sit in one spot for too long. He pushed himself up to his feet and adjusted his glasses. The bus teetered on the dirt road. Men wearing orange jumpsuits bounced in their seats with their heads hung low. There were no windows, only a grated metal screen that made it difficult for Superman to make out their faces.

  “They’re prisoners,” said George. “A busload of prisoners.”

  “Dead men,” said Daniel. “Calaveras. The skulls. . . . Calaveras! Calaveras!” Daniel repeated, over and over as he urged Superman to join in.

  “Calaveras!” Superman yelled. A smile formed on his face.

  “My grandfather says they aren’t even men anymore.”

  Daniel handed Superman his smoothest and biggest rock. Superman held it at his side the entire time Daniel threw his rocks at the bus. When the prisoners began to yell obscenities at Daniel, they did so as if they knew him well, that they expected Daniel to be on the hillside every day. The pinche cabróns and little fuckers were mixed with hints of endearment, as if the prisoners saw something of themselves in Daniel throwing his rocks, a moment they have likely come to value after a long day of work, one that took them home when they, too, were young boys. The oldest prisoners never looked up from their feet. Superman told Daniel that they were the men who knew their mistakes better than anyone, redemptive men, and that was a quality not to be taken lightly in a man. He told Daniel that there were more sinners in this world than rocks on the hillside. Daniel agreed, as eight-year-olds do.

  Daniel’s arm was big-league ready. He arched each stone, accounting for the speed of the bus. He hit the side of the bus like it was a carnival game. The men pounded on their caged windows, promising Daniel the ass beating of the century.

  “They come here every day to help build the new police academy,” Daniel said. “Sometimes I get them in the morning before school.” Daniel tapped his head. “So they think of me all day.”

  The rock was still in Superman’s hand. He rubbed his wedding ring across its rough surface. Daniel waved his hasta mañana fist at the men and sat back down. “Did you see anyone you know?” asked Daniel. “The bank robbers, I bet.” Superman nodded. And as the calaveras rounded the last bend before heading down into Lincoln Heights, the superhero finally threw his rock. His fine Italian-made suit jacket made it difficult for him to get a full rotation into his throw. The rock hit the gravel near the back tire and short-hopped up and off the yellow-and-black striped metal siding.

  The Man of Steel and Daniel cheered wildly.

  They sat on the hill as the sun fell from the sky. From there they could see all the way to downtown, city hall rising up into the early evening stars. The palms and eucalyptus swayed with a breeze that also brought with it the smell of garbage from the nearby dump. All the promises of the Los Angeles cityscape stopped at the freight yards near the highway where the dirt trails fanned out into the hills. Superman pointed to white lights that turned on over the rose-covered shrines. A small procession gathered in front of the Santo Niño church. Women covered their heads with scarves and held up banners. Altar boys balanced wooden boards holding the statues of archangels and tired-looking saints over their heads. A young man sat on a nearby water tower, quietly plucking his guitar. His legs swung with the bending palm fronds. All the damaged and burned-out houses on the outskirts of Chavez Ravine gave way to eight-foot hibiscus and spidering bougainvillea that crept toward the center of town. Daniel held out his hand to match the shadows that fell over Chavez Ravine.

  “This is a beautiful place. The flowers alone,” George said.

  “My father spends more time cutting them down,” said Daniel. “He curses at them for taking over everything.”

  “Do you know what they call a place like this?”

  Daniel shrugged.

  “Shangri-La,” George said. “It’s the mystical paradise from a book called Lost Horizon. This might just be the most perfect place on earth.”

  Daniel raised his nose into the air and looked down the hillside toward the dump. “Do they play baseball in Shangri-La?” Daniel asked.

  “All year long.”

  Daniel could see his house from the hillside, just beyond the row of shacks where many of the railyard workers lived. They were only there for short periods of time before moving on to some place else.

  “What’s your home like, Superman?” asked Daniel.

  Superman spun his wedding band around his finger and dug his wing tip heels into the dirt. He pulled at the two frayed ends of fabric to bridge together the giant hole in his pants leg.

  “Home,” said George.

  “The Fortress of Solitude has to be better than this,” said Daniel. “That’s where I want to be—at the top of the world.”

  Superman put his glasses into the silk-lined pocket under his lapel. He squinted hard at Daniel. “It’s a big place, Daniel. Honestly, it’s probably too big for one man.”

  “I bet men don’t nail papers to your door.”

  “No, no, they don’t,” George said. “Too much ice at the top of the world for that kind of nonsense.”

  “That’s what I want. A place where none of them will come.”

  The procession grew down below. Superman pointed to a group of veteranos in their army greens with war medals pinned to their chests, carrying the statues on their war-torn bodies. “Do they ever tell their stories?” he asked.

  “Only that the fideo in Korea isn’t as good as home,” Daniel said. “My tío Gilbert says nothing you’d kill for.”

  Superman laughed and turned away to wipe his eyes. Daniel could only imagine that the songs and dancing had reached into Superman’s heart and softened it some, that as the Last Son of Krypton, he was left with an otherworldly dose of emotion to carry everywhere he went. Simply put, Daniel thought that a star-load of emotion gets squeezed out when you least expect it. He put his hand on Superman’s back and told him about how at night he dreamt of the Fortress of Solitude, its long crystal spires jettisoned from the middle of molten Earth, one hundred feet high into the magnetic sky. He drew the image from his dreams in the dirt. Superman gave it a thumbs up and took out his pocketknife to add to the drawing. “Don’t forget my bedroom. It opens up to the northern lights.” Superman handed Daniel his pocketknife and told him not to lose it, that super-hardened steel is not easy to come by. “Where’s that dump?” George asked. He covered his nose when the wind changed direction. “I know it’s close.” Daniel pointed down the back side of the hill into a section of Elysian Park with no lights or clear trail markings.

  “What’s at the dump?” asked Daniel.

  “The Fortress of Solitude. That’s where we’re going to build it.”

  Superman lifted the Maytag dryer box over his head and threw it up to Daniel. Maytag boxes were always the heaviest, the thickest cardboard to cut through. Daniel and his friends would come to the dumps to find appliance boxes. They’d cut them open and ride them down the grassy hillside in summer. There weren’t many boxes, as most families either rebuilt their existing oven or washing machine, or bought a used one from down the street. Daniel’s mother had joked that her refrigerator had been around the world and back, having lived on Yolo Drive, Bouett Street, and way over on Paducah Street. She’d wished she could get out as much, that maybe it would give
her a reason to buy a new dress rather than make one. She made clothes for the entire family. She told Daniel he was lucky to grow up in a family just rich enough that she didn’t have make his underwear from burlap potato sacks. Daniel had scratched himself at the thought.

  “That’s a roof-sized box right there, if I’ve ever seen one,” said George.

  Daniel sliced down the box seams. The hardened steel cut through the double-walled cardboard like he imagined a heat-vision ray might. The box had an advertisement taped on one side: A blonde woman wearing a fitted yellow sweater and string of pearls around her neck pointed to a banner that read, Exclusive Halo of Heat—A Gentle and Even-Drying Heat as Safe as Sunshine. She wore a long white skirt and hovered on her toes in diamond-studded high heels. She looked exactly like Miss Lorraine from Solano Elementary. The two women shared the same red lipstick. Daniel held up the box panel and yelled down to Superman, “Look, it’s Miss Lorraine!”

  “You can do a lot worse than to share the Fortress of Solitude with that doll,” said George.

  Daniel agreed and set the panel aside. He couldn’t wait to see Miss Lorraine again. He wouldn’t tell her, but Daniel knew that he’d picture her in front of the class like she was working the showroom floor at Maytag.

  Superman took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves on his white dress shirt. His thin black tie made for a good headband. Daniel stopped working and waited to see if Superman opened his shirt, to see if he might catch a glimpse of the S across his chest. But Superman turned away and headed farther down the hill to where all the old water heaters were lined up and half-buried like missile silos. Only a few homes in Chavez Ravine actually had water heaters, but people from all over Los Angeles often abandoned theirs here. Superman unearthed each cylinder and carried it over his shoulder to the space where Daniel had already removed much of the trash.