The Brick People

by Alejandro Morales

  Nana had tried to go once before, but Malaquías had refused to allow his three older daughters to attend. However, since that denial Nana had spoken with Don Angel who explained to Malaquías that he could not keep his girls penned up like prisoners. They were women and if they were to grow up normal, Malaquías had to allow them to dance and express themselves as women to other women and to men. Nana decided to ask her father and went to Andrea to solicit her help in taking care of their brothers.

  Nana and her sisters Paquita and Jesus lay in wait for Malaquías to arrive. When he entered the house he sensed that his three older daughters were waiting for the perfect time to spring the question. He had been indirectly warned by Don Angel’s conversations concerning the children, but he had not decided what his response would be. His daughters had prepared a delicious meal and Lorenza had fussed through dinner about how hard they had worked for him. He ate and listened. For dessert they had even made his favorite empanadas de manzana and wonderful hot chocolate with a tinge of cinnamon. When Malaquías finished he pushed away from the table, sat back and crossed his legs.

  “Gracias a Dios,” he declared, contented.

  Paquita, Jesus and their mother passed around a glance which stopped on Nana. Leonardo, Miguel, Juan and Rafael played with their food. In a few minutes Malaquías’ patience would end. Nana thought about her father’s comment ... Thank us who prepared dinner, father, she steamed mentally.

  “I’ll take care of them,” Andrea blurted out, responding to the mess the boys had made on the table.

  Her sisters’ and mother’s eyes urged Nana to ask. Malaquías unbuckled his belt and rubbed his stomach. He was about to react to the boys when Nana moved to the edge of her chair.

  “Papa, please, Paquita, Jesus and I want to go to the dance at the Rodelos’ home tonight. Please give us permission to go.” Nana felt relief in her chest when her father gave his assent.

  The women were about to leave. Nana noticed that her mother had a curious look. She proudly primped her daughters’ hair and adjusted the collars on their dresses. Malaquías came up to his daughters and reminded them to sit and return home with Don Angel who would be leaving the dance around one in the morning. Nana noticed that her father and mother were in a splendid mood.

  Nana was happy as she and her sisters walked down Maple to the Rodelos’ home from where the music came. The three young women were met by Celia who was talking with two female friends in the front garden. Celia accompanied the de Leons to the back where the dance was happening and sat them at a long table next to Don Angel and his wife. Celia sat next to Nana and from there flirted with the men sitting, standing, leaning around the dance floor.

  “Look, here comes Federico Revueltas. Do you know the family? He has brothers,” Celia said excitedly.

  “Oh, you,” Nana replied, hiding her interest in wanting to hear more about Federico’s brothers.

  “The oldest is Octavio. He has a reputation for gambling but they say he is responsible. There comes Maximiliano. He is serious, but fun also. Then my Federico, and Jose is the youngest. He is immature. They should be here any moment.” Celia fished and reached for Federico’s arm as he arrived at the table.

  “Sit down, Federico.” Celia pulled Federico down to the chair between her and Nana. Federico took off his cap and adjusted his tie.

  “Federico, this is Nana, Paquita and Jesus de Leon. They are the sisters who live down the street in one of Don Angel’s houses.” Celia spoke, smiling at the women.

  The band struck up a romantic bolero. Celia, with dance in her eyes, turned to Federico when two men stepped into her view. Maximiliano Revueltas and Cuco Lopez spotted Federico and began to circle to avoid the dancers. Directly through the dance floor advanced a third man. Octavio Revueltas presented himself before the table; his brothers stood behind him. He slowly removed his cap, all the while exploring Nana’s face. A strange, exciting sensation took hold of his heart, forcing him to search for a deep breath.

  Nana, although uncomfortable, did not retreat her eyes from his, nor did her lips break a tiny smile, yet inside she felt a desire to laugh hysterically about the possibilities that ran amuck in her mind. She was relentlessly staring into Octavio’s almond, yellowish brown-green eyes dancing among long curly lashes. Nana finally smiled and thought about the spiritual togetherness she sensed in her parents earlier that evening.

  That night Octavio asked Nana to dance three times. Neither he nor she knew how to flutter or flicker to the waltzes, boleros, corridos, tangos and the latest dance crazes coming out of the Hollywood Paladium and the Bolero Club. Octavio sat with Nana while Cuco Lopez, Maximiliano and other gentlemen asked Paquita and Jesus to the dance floor.

  Octavio and Nana were shy so they did not speak much of the happenings outside of Simons. Most of the night Octavio fussed over Nana’s soft drink, making sure that she always had a full glass. He asked the appropriate questions about her family, if she worked, how she helped her father and mother. She asked about Octavio’s work, his brothers and sisters. Whenever Octavio’s question was answered, Nana would follow with her own question. Nonetheless, their conversation was interspersed with moments of silence.

  Several men who did not know Octavio asked Nana to dance. She did not refuse anyone. All the while she danced, Cuco Lopez repeated that he thought Nana was the most beautiful woman at the dance and he would never get over his love for her. Octavio considered Cuco’s comments and evaluations manifestations of too much alcohol. In fact, before he became unbearably obnoxious, Cuco went out to the sugarcane patch where at the top of his voice he began to compare Nana to the infinite beauty of the Milky Way ... Madmen and drunkards tell the truth, Octavio thought as he waved goodbye to Nana.

  Chapter 11

  Walter and Edit Simons’ first child was born without complication at home. The parents named her Helen Reubena. Walter had wanted to name her Sarah in memory of his first wife, an idea which Edit rejected from the first mention. She did not want the memory of Walter’s first love to parade in the name of their first-born. Walter opted to give the child the name of his father. Helen was Edit’s mother’s name. The compromise was acceptable enough to reestablish peace between the two debating spouses. Helen Reubena was born on a stormy March 25, 1925.

  Eight months later on November 1, Melissa Elledge Simons passed away from a massive stroke which she suffered at dinner at Joseph’s home. Death was acceptable, but not the manner of death, nor the condition of the body after death. Melissa Simons began to choke on a kernel of brown rice. Her family, realizing her condition, began to slap her on the back. Suddenly she reached for her own neck and squeezed with unbelievable strength, puncturing with the thumbs through to the esophagus. When this occurred, Joseph, with Laura at his left and James at his right, stepped back directly behind his mother who, perhaps trying to get a last glimpse of at least part of the family she dearly loved, turned her head one-hundred and eighty degrees without moving her body and died staring at the space between Laura and Joseph and James. When the ambulance came the attendants, unable to turn her head, laid her with her face up and body backwards. After exhaustive efforts, the last consideration was to sever Melissa’s head. This alternative was rejected by the family who, for the first time in twenty-five years, had gathered together. Lola Ellen, Mary Francis, Emma Lisa, Joseph and Walter agreed to bury their mother face up, body down.

  “We simply have to accept these occurrences. The more technologically advanced we become, the stranger the happenings,” Walter said softly at the funeral reception at his brother’s home.

  None of his sisters nor his brother wanted to discuss the condition of their mother. They preferred to forget.

  After Melissa’s death, Walter felt liberated from the dread of hurting her. When she was alive he lived with the fear of embarrassing her. She was always on his mind when he made decisions that might affect the family image. But not any longer. Now he would do whatever he decided and the hell with what people thoug
ht. Walter considered himself the Henry Ford of brick production. He knew he could produce the best product for the best price faster than any of his competitors. He was convinced that some day his product would be transported in trucks and trains throughout the United States. He had already sent material abroad to Mexico, Panama, Japan and even Russia for ship ballast. But boats were extremely slow. He envisioned great airplanes flying in a day or two across the ocean delivering Simons brick to any country that wanted the best building material in the world.

  In the same room, on exactly the same day, at the same hour one year after the birth of her first daughter, Edit gave birth to Drusilla Melissa. On the morning of March 14, 1926, to pass those last hours, Walter cleaned out his desk drawers. In a magazine that had been misplaced, he admired an announcement of the seven new locomotives he had bought for his brickyard. When he heard the cry, Walter dropped the magazine and rushed to the door of the bedroom. A nurse came out and Laura followed. She smiled and stepped out to the middle of the hall.

  “Congratulations, you have a beautiful girl!” Laura said and rushed off, following the nurse.

  Walter received the news with half a smile that fell as soon as he was alone. He had been so sure that this child was going to be a boy, a male heir for the Simons Brickyard, a son that he wanted to prepare and educate as he had done with James these past years. Walter wanted his own son. They would simply have to try again and again.

  “How is she?” Walter moved with Laura toward the room.

  “Tired, but fine. You may see her and the baby as soon as we do a little tidying up. Wait in the library. Joseph will be here soon,” Laura said.

  He remembered that at Helen’s birth there were more people waiting, and all the family had waited for James. Now Walter waited alone in his beautiful library looking out to the garden of the brick house on Plymouth Avenue in Los Angeles. He sat quietly, listening and waiting for whoever would rescue him from the loneliness in which he had wrapped himself. He thought of what it would take to impregnate his wife with a man-child. He envisioned her in the normal positions which so far had produced exclusively females. He would have to try acrobatic, exotic positions, and above all, he thought, he must educate her to accept his penis in her mouth. Until now, Edit had always refused, but no longer, for he was convinced that if she swallowed his sperm a male child would result. Spurred on with disappointment and anger, Walter prepared to penetrate his adored wife through every love tunnel he could imagine. He had never taken images like these seriously. Feeling uncomfortable, he went to the window.

  “What is it, Walter? A boy or a girl?” Joseph had saved his brother.

  “A girl,” Walter, caught off guard, responded, mimicking joy and excitement.

  “Congratulations, Brother.” Joseph offered his hand. “By the way, in a few days you will receive a check. Open an account for your new daughter.”

  Joseph pushed his coat open and placed his hands in his trousers pockets and rocked.

  “Walter, I sold Mother’s house,” he continued. “You’ll receive your share. It’s not much, but give it to your children.”

  Joseph moved over to the window. “That garden is truly beautiful. Another matter you will have to deal with soon is your house. Much is happening today, ah? What I mean is that James wants to buy your house in Pasadena.” Joseph contemplated the intense greenery in the garden. It seemed like another world. A stillness fell, a rest between thoughts and words.

  “Fine. I’ll sell it to him. I’m planning to build a house at the beach,” Walter responded and noticed Joseph tilt his head to the side and back, questioning. “I bought a lot on the Newport Peninsula.”

  Walter leaned against the wall and allowed the garden to take him back. Joseph chuckled. “How we fought over that Pasadena house,” he spoke softly.

  “And you spent so much money keeping it,” Joseph chuckled.

  “And who’s going to end up with it?” Walter silently said goodbye to his garden although its image remained in his mind.

  “James wants to move in by December.” Joseph smiled at Laura who had just entered.

  “Fine.”

  Walter walked out first. Joseph and Laura followed to visit the newborn child and her mother.

  The instant the photographer’s shutter clicked on December 29, 1926, the gleam in the newlyweds’ eyes reached out through time and space. Octavio and Nana stared beyond the best man and maid of honor, the photographer, his wife and his assistant. The gleam was hope for the children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren they hoped for and were seeing at that moment. The photographer applauded and his wife and assistant threw rice as the couple ascended to the back seat of the 1925 Plymouth four-door sedan chauffeured by Ignacio Sandoval, best man, and Tati Sandoval, maid of honor. They drove directly to Ignacio’s house where a small celebration had been organized by Federico, Maximiliano, and Jose Revueltas and Paquita de Leon.

  Octavio, on a cane armchair, sipped cognac. Nana, also on a cane chair, held his hand and watched the few friends celebrate the marriage. At times her happiness was interrupted by memories of her father’s face. Malaquías had twice refused to give Nana’s hand to Octavio. There had been some friction—a misunderstanding about his gambling and his associates. Octavio had even sent a priest from Saint Benedict Catholic Church to explain his honorable intentions to Malaquías. But still Malaquías refused.

  On Christmas Eve, Octavio drank a toast to the season with Ignacio Sandoval and offered Nana a sip. She kissed the cognac and took Octavio’s arm and led him to where Tati had arranged a white and gold nativity set by the window. A four-foot Christmas pine tree decorated with handmade straw decorations waited for the new year. Tati had bought the nativity set in Tijuana, and the tree was given to her by Gonzalo Pedroza and Jacobo Ramos who distributed the trees to the families one week before Christmas. From far away, music from the Simons band rehearsing for their second appearance in the Rose Parade came to Octavio and Nana.

  Walter and Edit Simons also heard the music on Christmas Eve as they led a group of fifty business colleagues and wives to observe the distribution of the Christmas gifts. That night Simons was a showcase town, an example of the success of Walter’s benevolent exploitation and control of Mexican labor. Many in the group considered the social unit of Simons a utopian achievement. Everyone affiliated with Simons seemed happy and content. The newspaper reporters and observers from the East were amazed at how well the workers were served for their toil. The guests experienced a beautiful Christmas filled with Walter and Edit’s generosity.

  That night the eight hundred little Mexicans and their mothers were introduced to the American custom of decorating a Christmas tree in honor of the Christ Child and the distribution of gifts commemorative of the Three Wise Men of the East. Ironically, most of the donated toys and clothes for the children came from the Eastern businessmen. Walter, Edit, and the invited guests saw the happy children receive their toys, mufflers, frocks, shoes, hats, caps and other sensible presents while the mothers rejoiced in the receiving of shawls, shoes, household items and colorful material for new dresses.

  Corpulent Walter Simons watched with great satisfaction and beamed with genuine pleasure. His guests witnessed a man who seemed to be an exceedingly happy individual because he had given joy to so many children and their mothers each recurring year for the last decade. His actions proved the sincerity of his purpose and the sense of accomplishment that he gained from the custom. Truly, the guests felt, to see the merry-faced, brown-skinned youngsters carrying off their treasures after a two-hour romp around the gorgeously decorated tree was to recognize a new light on the melting pot of America.

  Most of the children had been born in the town of Simons and educated in a grade school of substantial red brick. Built by Walter, the school was a high point in the tour of the little model community where the teachers imparted English and American ways to the four hundred brown pupils ranging from five to sixteen years of age. Another inspiring
sight was the hospital maintained by the patron. A visiting nurse made a continual round of the cottages and sanitation facilities as well as provided first aid instruction to the mothers and workers. Of course, she also cared for the sick and the injured. There was even a special oxygen room for those workers who, after years of laboring in the red brick dust, developed nagging coughs and breathing problems. The company doctor, Emil Strayhorn, dispensed medical care four days per week.

  Most certainly the vision of Santa’s little elves sprang into the minds of the visitors when they entered the model Simons wood-shop cottage in which the furniture was made by the older children of the grade school. The little Mexican elves displayed their ingenious collection of useful articles made out of wooden dry goods boxes, shoe boxes and roughly-finished lumber saved by the Simons store manager, Gonzalo Pedroza. More than several of the guests purchased the Mexican-made articles as mementos of the inspiring tour. They bought little bureaus covered with chintz, neat benches, kitchen tables, bedstands, a cradle, chests of drawers and a score of miscellaneous articles for the home created to lighten the housework and afford general comfort to the family. This display of products created from material that normally would have been thrown away manifested the Simons virtues of thrift and economy.

  The Simons community of four thousand Mexicans seemed happy and contented. The rent paid for the three and four-room cottages was $1.25 a room per month, which included water for house and garden. Many families nurtured a little green patch which yielded vegetables according to the taste of the humble, shiny-faced cultivator. A company store at which the women did most of the buying operated during the week.

  That evening of national religious glory, Octavio and Nana confessed their love for one another. They kissed and embraced, and for the first time Nana allowed Octavio’s hands to roam over her shapely figure. When they emerged from the dark where they had been caressing on a bench under a large walnut tree near the amusement hall, they heard the speeches and the children applauding Walter, the patron. Octavio smiled to the world for the wonderful gift he had discovered in Nana. The promised couple went to watch the children receive their gifts.