The last posada culminated at Mount Carmel where the townspeople gathered to sing the traditional hymn of asking for shelter. A boy costumed as Joseph and a girl dressed as Mary, on a donkey, went to several houses before they were invited to stay in a stable which waited for them at Mount Carmel Church. For nine nights they had sought a place to stay and found none, but on the twenty-fourth of December the couple found shelter at an inn. On the last evening of the ceremonies most of Simons participated, carrying candles which lit the way. When the priest declared that the holy couple had found refuge, the celebration began in earnest. To the disappointment of the priests on that particular Christmas Eve, Simons workers and their families returned home early. The visions of William Edward Hickman waiting in the night behind a bush encouraged parents to rejoice the birth of Christ in the safety of their homes.
The Revueltas family, talking, arguing, eating, and laughing, gathered closely together around Damian and Milagros to celebrate Christmas and the birth of their first-born child, special even though Octavio and Nana had borne a daughter. Enjoying his family in the small company house, Octavio felt the future when he saw Nana and Micaela. For next Christmas Nana envisioned her own house. The desire for her own dwelling stirred to greater emotion when Federico and Celia discussed their imminent move to Gardena.
On New Year’s an identical scene could have been photographed. Milagros made dozens of tamales, and a large pot of menudo simmered late in the night waiting for the bachelors of the family, Maximiliano and Jose, to return from the fiestas they had attended. Federico and Celia announced that they soon would be blessed with a child. For an instant Milagros sat motionless, resting among their movement, energy and growth which she felt tugging at her heart. She smiled and went to stir the menudo.
Almost two years, a matter of hours, since she had been brought to live with Milagros, Nana thought as she changed the baby. She would have no more living as if she were everybody’s maid. She would have a home for her children and freedom from restraint, from always having to consider first the other members of the family, never hurting Milagros. Octavio had not responded to Federico’s plans to leave. The likelihood of renting his brother’s house, located next door to his parents, seemed never to cross his mind. Why did Octavio ignore her desires, Nana silently asked.
During the week from Christmas to New Year’s, the friction between Nana and Octavio had mounted. He had not mentioned that Federico would leave on the third of January. He kept this information to himself. Octavio wanted to tell Nana, but he kept forgetting. Gambling had kept him away at night for most of the week. Although he won large sums and always placed plenty of money on top of Nana’s bureau, she was not happy with his chronic absence from the house at night. If he could give himself the privilege of gambling to all hours of the morning, she would give herself the right to an individual house.
Gunshots rang outside in celebration of the New Year as the men of Simons fired their pistols and rifles to the stars as if they attempted to puncture tiny holes in the firmament in search of where last year had gone.
In Pendleton, California, William Edward Hickman, startled by shots, erratically drove a stolen green Hudson past two local cops. The next morning Los Angeles newspapers heralded the apprehension of the Fox. The district attorney and half of the Los Angles Police Department bigshots took the first train north. There they found Hickman housed in a cage in the middle of the local jail, the townspeople circulating around him freely. Under heavy guard, Hickman was immediately returned to Los Angeles by train. The mob-minded people that the police expected did not materialize, and strangely, as the trial opened the public’s fervor dwindled to mere curiosity, especially because of Hickman’s plea of innocent by reason of insanity, which was quite new to the courts. The prevailing attitude was to insure him a fair trial and then hang him. The trial was over in a few days. The jury took less than an hour to reach its verdict. William Edward Hickman was adjudged to have known right from wrong at the time he kidnapped Marion Parker and in the moment he killed her. Hickman was sane. Judge James Trubucco quickly sentenced Hickman to be taken to the death house at San Quentin prison and there hanged by the neck until he was dead.
By the fall, Hickman’s name had virtually been forgotten. Consequently, on the day of his execution, the Los Angeles newspapers published articles reviewing the horrible crime committed by the Fox. On that day Hickman sat in his small cell, consoled by a phonograph recording of “In a Monastery Garden.” For his last meal he ate ham and eggs, grapefruit, potatoes and a waffle. It was as ordinary as anything in his life had been with the exception of the crime he had committed and his death.
Three men stood with sharp knives poised against separate strands of rope. Only one was connected to the trap door at Hickman’s feet. The knives were drawn, and the ropes cut.
As the trap door opened, Hickman appeared to slump forward rather than fall. His body hit one of the uprights and had to be guided by guards. For ten long minutes, as the body twisted in midair, the sounds of agonizing death filled the room. When silence finally came, a doctor stepped forward and after listening with a stethoscope, pronounced William Edward Hickman dead. But his neck was not broken. He, like Marion Parker, strangled to death.
Chapter 13
Federico and Celia had been gone for almost two weeks and still their house remained empty. Celia had kept the rooms clean, and the roof and floor were in excellent condition. Nana had checked. She watered three small hydrangea cuttings potted and placed on the tiny front porch as she always had wherever she lived. One step down, she talked to and watered each one of the five pruned roses. Nana wanted her plants to bloom on the porch of the house that she stared at in the early January morning chill. She had visited Federico and Celia’s house on many occasions and now empty, she found it unbearable. Nana missed its kitchen, its bedrooms, living room and small porch which, ever since Federico had announced their departure, she had decorated and redecorated. The pail stood empty now. She started to the back of the house to the water pump when someone called her name.
“Good morning, Mrs. Revueltas,” Jacobo Ramos greeted her as she approached the fence gate. He carried a lunch bag and a folder stuffed with papers. Nana smiled and nodded a good morning.
“The house has been empty for weeks now.” Jacobo pointed to Federico’s home. “Octavio has not told me if he wants it. The thing is, a new worker and his family have arrived and he is interested ... ”
“I want it,” Nana interrupted. “Yes, sir. We will move in on Saturday,” she said confidently.
“Well, fine. How do you want to pay the rent?” Jacobo inquired. His face revealed a puzzled thought.
“Take the money out of Octavio’s pay,” Nana ordered.
“Mrs. Revueltas, have you spoken to your husband about this arrangement?” Jacobo expressed his confusion.
“Don’t worry. Octavio and I have talked. But I ask one consideration.” Nana paused, placed her left hand over her right hand which held the empty bucket and she stood straighter than ever before in her married life. “Please don’t tell Octavio about our conversation,” she implored. “I want to surprise him by moving in by myself.”
“Done, Mrs. Revueltas, done.” Jacobo moved on to the general store.
Nana filled her bucket with clean, clear water and returned to moisten the earth of the plants that she would soon place on her own front porch. The sooner the better, she thought when she heard Milagros call from the kitchen. Nana did not want to hurt Milagros in any way, for above anyone else, she was the kindest and most understanding mother-in-law. She admired Milagros, the great mother umbrella that invisibly and constantly hovered over the house, for her simplicity, strength and love.
There, pouring water over the rose bushes that ran along the front fence, she thought of her father. He would not acknowledge or speak to her. It was as if she had been cloistered from Malaquías, who still, after all these years, would not see her or his first grandchild. Stubborn h
e was, stubborn he and I will be, she thought and noticed the rings of her tears in the little puddles of water around the knotty trunks of the naked rose bushes. Angrily she wiped the tears with part of her dress and went inside to Milagros, who called again. Before she went in, Nana stopped and glanced at the space she had claimed for herself and her family.
The Saturday that Nana took over the house, Octavio left for work later than usual. This slight delay in Nana’s plan made her uneasy and irritable. A few minutes after his departure, she went outside to make sure her husband had not stopped to talk with one of the neighbors and unknowingly run into her plan. No, Octavio was well into the roads and mechanical internals of the brickyard, which had grown to be a giant among its kind. Nana returned to the house, went to Rogaciano and Felicitas’ room and reminded them that they had promised to help her move. The girls turned and tucked themselves comfortably under the covers, mumbled a yes and went back to sleep. Nana went to her room where she found Milagros gathering boxes that she had collected from the general store. Both women paused to contemplate the baby who slept in her crib.
“Nana, here are the keys Mr. Ramos just gave us. If you need more boxes, just ask. I have a lot more.” Milagros smiled and started out of Nana’s room.
“Thank you, Mama Milagros,” Nana called after her.
“I’m going to get the girls up to help you.”
In a few hours she would be living in her own home and would not have to concern herself about trying to satisfy everyone in the household. She and Octavio had not accumulated much. Octavio did not want to move. He was happy living with his parents, so he did not buy much for a future home. Nonetheless, Nana had begun to collect blankets, tablecloths, dishes, pots and pans, kitchen utensils, two chairs, a small lamp table, a bed, bedspreads, linens, three pillows and four lamps. Now she packed carefully and placed the boxes near the door to make Rogaciana and Felicitas’ job easier. Nana pulled the linen off the bed and threw it in a corner. She struggled with the mattress to stand it on edge on top of the box spring. Suddenly she felt it going over. She clung on only to topple over to the other side and land on the floor against the wall. She sat there with the mattress partly on her legs. Still sitting down, she checked Micaela, who slept comfortably.
“Mama sent us to help you,” Felicitas said, entering the room.
“How long are we going to take?” Rogaciana whined.
“I don’t have very much, those boxes, the bed, all that you see here, that is all,” Nana explained to the girls who were upset at having to get up so early on Saturday.
“We’ll start with the boxes,” Felicitas suggested.
“I’ll open the door. Put everything in the living room. I want to clean the rooms first.” Nana started for the door.
“That is not necessary. Since very early my mother has been there cleaning. Thank God you’re only moving next door.” Rogaciana was annoyed at all the attention Milagros gave to Nana’s move.
Milagros wanted her daughter-in-law to move into a clean house, for she considered this to be Nana’s nuptial home and it should be as clean as the pure white linen of her honeymoon bed. Milagros had been cleaning the rooms since early that morning. She asked Damian to stack firewood just outside the back door which he did with clandestine joy about his oldest son obtaining his own place to hang his cap and coat. Damian continued to stack wood and to clean the garden in the back and front. Neighbors came by and asked about the house, or if Damian was moving. While Damian took time to explain that Octavio was taking the house, other folks joined the conversation. As Milagros directed her daughters as to where Nana wanted the boxes, she engaged in the chit-chat with the group. After a short time Rogaciana and Felicitas simply stopped working and sat next to the gossipers who talked about everything and especially those delicate matters that must be kept among married adult couples.
Nana, who was busy putting paper in the kitchen cabinets, realized that she was by herself. She went to the front door and observed nine people enjoying an impromptu gathering. They had forgotten whatever business they had to attend and enjoyed a break, sharing news that concerned family, work, Simons, Montebello, the world. Rogaciana and Felicitas each sat on the ground next to a box of Micaela’s clothes. The two were sorting through the clothes and laughing. Nana put her hand on the door jamb and leaned against it, almost hiding. In the middle of the group that had gathered to chat were two people who seemed to have forgotten the past that had separated them spiritually and physically. Damian, with his arm around Milagros, talked with her and the others. She in turn rocked in his arms, enjoying his conversation. For that instant they seemed to stand together as a happy couple, not dominated or directed by personal events of the past.
As fast as it had gathered, the group broke up and returned to the normal morning activities. The smiles of Milagros and Damian slowly changed, and on their faces their normal expressionless mouths settled again. Milagros turned sharply away from her husband and walked to her house. Damian looked around and realized that his daughters were playing with baby clothes at his feet. Rogaciana and Felicitas immediately threw the clothes into the box, rose with the box in their hands and ran to Nana. Damian stared at the three women standing by the door. He felt a rhythm in his heart which he could not share. He waved to the three women and moved away toward the interior of the brickyard.
As Damian retreated, Nana saw that under his hat there was no head, no neck. At the end of his shirt sleeve there were no hands. While she traced the enchanting figure of cloth, Rogaciana and Felicitas returned home to bring the few pieces of furniture which Nana had collected. Micaela’s cry interrupted Nana’s mind which struggled to understand the phantom of cloth that masqueraded as her father-in-law. Nana took her baby in her arms and fed her ... Damian, neither your wife, nor your sons, nor your daughters know you, she thought.
Nana kept looking out toward the direction in which Damian had left her sight. Milagros appeared carrying a large chair. She put it down and sat in it to rest. Milagros rose, holding the chair behind her and asked Nana to open the door of the house so that she might find her a permanent place. Milagros found the chair a comfortable niche next to the wood-burning stove in the kitchen. The location was perfect. She found four small indentations in the wooden floor, as if a chair had stood there before. Milagros the chair communicated to Nana that from that chair in that place she would always be with her, and that if Nana ever needed her advice she would only have to sit in the chair, a simple oak straight-back chair which now meant so much to Nana and Milagros. Nana placed her hand on the back of the oak rest and Milagros, transfigured to herself, embraced her daughter-in-law and her woman child. Nana had now become the true center of her family. She embodied synthesis, stability and unity in her words and actions. Through Milagros the chair, she had learned these values, and in the embrace they shared they had silently vowed to act out on each other the concepts of support, exaltation, equilibrium and security. Again the two women embraced.
The results of Nana’s labor were in evidence by three that afternoon. However, she was not satisfied and began to make plans as to the pieces of furniture she would buy to make her house into a practical and comfortable home. The baby fed, changed and napping, Nana took a moment to rest and enjoy a cup of tea in silence, alone in her own house. She waited for Octavio to return.
He proudly pronounced his name loud and clear. He had done nothing wrong, never harmed anyone. His conscience was clean. And he was the best card player in Simons.
“Octavio Revueltas,” Jacobo Ramos repeated to James Simons who counted out the payroll cash to the workers. Gonzalo Pedroza and William Melone stood guard as they had done for years.
“Octavio Revueltas, thirty-seven fifty,” James declared and placed the money on the table in front of Octavio who did not move.
“Thank you, Octavio. Next, please.” James motioned to Octavio to move out. Octavio still did not move.
“This is not complete,” Octavio said as he look
ed at Jacobo and turned to his fellow workers with an expression on his face that asked for patience.
Jacobo now remembered that Octavio’s salary was incomplete because of the house Nana had rented. He put his hands up to calm Octavio and the men growing impatient. He explained the situation to James, and with his permission, turned with a tinge of a smile, placed his hands on the table, leaned forward and spoke softly to Octavio.
“The two-fifty they took out is for the house your wife has rented,” Jacobo said calmly.
“What house?” Octavio, shocked and surprised, raised his voice. “And who authorized it?” he shouted, leaning on the table, nose to nose with Jacobo. Gonzalo pulled at Octavio’s left arm.
“Go and discuss it with your wife,” Jacobo responded sternly. James reached to feel the snubnosed shotgun waiting under the table. He would not hesitate to blow off Octavio’s head.
“Pick up your money and move it, Revueltas.” With a rifle, William pushed Octavio out of line.
The tension subsided as Octavio walked away from the payroll table. The men who were closest had observed the altercation. Some saw only the violent manner in which William had used his rifle to shove Octavio out of line. The men had tensed up and no one knew where the battering of a fellow worker would lead. Their eyes followed Octavio, watching to see what he would do. Jacobo Ramos, James Simons, Gonzalo Pedroza and William Melone were sensitive to the unified energy of the workers. They could feel their power and their anger. A dangerous moment had passed and only the men in power had recognized it. The workers had simply lived it.
Octavio walked as fast as he could, almost at a run. No one, nothing could have slowed him down. He pulled the fence gate open and reached for the front door of his father and mother’s home. As the door slammed behind him, his mother looked up to acknowledge her oldest son. Octavio went to the room in back of the house where he and Nana had spent wonderful months together, where they had conceived their first-born. The room was empty. It had been devastated, violated without his permission. She had left nothing but three hairpins that lay on the floor where the chest of drawers once stood ... She didn’t even talk to me about it.
The Brick People Page 22