The Brick People

by Alejandro Morales

  “Octavio!” Tati exclaimed joyfully and opened the door to urge him inside.

  Octavio waited for some indication as to whether Nana had delivered the child.

  “You have a son!” Milagros joyfully cried. “He has arrived!”

  “Gracias, Mama. How is Nana?” Octavio asked softly.

  “Resting. Go in,” Tati encouraged. “I will wait.”

  “Well done, brother!” Maximiliano shouted.

  Ignacio walked up to Octavio, hugged and kissed him. “You are a blessed man. Happy Octavio Revueltas,” he whispered.

  Octavio tenderly pushed Ignacio away and while still holding his arms, nodded agreement that he understood what he felt. Octavio moved to the door behind which Nana and their son waited. Octavio closed the door and looked up to contemplate a powerful woman. Nana, on the edge of the bed, her feet heel-to-heel on the rail of the bed frame, her naked knees and legs gleaming in the dim light of the bedroom, held a newborn child against her breast. She sat up straighter when Octavio came closer and sat next to her.

  “How do you feel?” Octavio asked, helpless to find the words to describe his emotion for her and the child.

  Nana nodded, sniffled and smiled. She leaned on his chest and he embraced her and then took the baby from her.

  “You are tired. Sleep a while. Your son and I will be here at your side. We’ll watch over you.”

  Nana closed her eyes and in a few minutes was asleep. In half an hour Tati came in carrying the sleeping Micaela.

  “Put the baby in the crib and give your daughter a kiss because she is going to bed,” Tati ordered.

  Octavio watched Nana and his first-born son Arturo sleep for a long time into the night.

  The rubber men multiplied. The bonfires grew larger and more men and women seeking work or simply escaping from boredom and hopelessness began to set up campsites around Simons. As these desperate people came to the doors of the Simons residents begging for food to feed themselves or their families, the people of Simons realized that suddenly, almost overnight, the world’s richest country, the world outside of Simons, had been thrown into a downward spiral of economic destitution and human destruction. As months went by the economic condition of the country plunged. The great confidence in the growth of the economy that Americans felt in the previous decade was replaced by disillusionment, despair, unemployment, hunger, idleness, futility and complete worthlessness.

  The Mexicans living in the Los Angeles area also suffered from the great Depression. They became the targets of racial violence from the Anglo population who saw the Mexicans as a major cause of the Depression. The Mexicans became the scapegoats. The Mexicans were the problem: they took jobs from American workers, they were parasites on welfare rolls draining the relief funds, they were illegal aliens and should not receive any public service designated for American citizens, and they did not want to learn English.

  By October of 1929, businesses began to fold daily and the stock market declined until late in October when the buildings on Wall Street shook and economic security crashed, ruining hundreds of investors, large and small. In the evening the bodies were counted; many died of self-inflicted wounds, others of burst hearts. Thousands wandered through the streets of the cities, psychologically devastated, their minds scrambled, never to recover again. The collapse had occurred and millions of jobs were lost. Banks failed. Families lost their life savings, their homes and were rendered penniless and homeless.

  By the early part of 1930, jobless men, women, children and street families congregated on the outskirts of cities setting up Hoovervilles, colonies of cardboard shacks. These people begged and scavenged for food, clothing and other useful items in the garbage bins and dumps of the cities and recognized their plight as a result of the many Mexicans in the country. The government agreed and started to discuss a policy of repatriation for all Mexicans. Government officials declared that Mexicans would be deported, and city officials distributed leaflets in the barrios of Los Angeles declaring that there would be an all-out campaign to return the Mexicans to where they came from. The Los Angeles Times ran articles which created an omnipresent fear in the Mexican community of being arrested at any place and time, day or night, by immigration authorities who would invade the house and drag whole families out, throw them in trucks, transport them to the stockyards, load them on trains and rush them to Mexico.

  The Mexicans of Simons struggled through these bad times. Their ingenuity and tenacity to avoid hunger and malnutrition, which were common conditions during these harsh years, became an inspiration for the people who associated with them and for their patron, Walter Robey Simons.

  Eventually Walter appeared alone walking on Vail Street toward the general store. He had arrived at five o’clock that morning and surveyed the condition of the brickyard: the machinery, the racks, the housing, the school, the clinic, the library, the mechanics, the garages and trucks, the trains, the bachelors’ quarters, the rooms where the prostitutes entertained on payday, the gambling rooms, the church, the water tanks and the men. It had been years since he had overtly toured the brickyard. He would send his orders and decisions through James Simons or William Melone and Gonzalo Pedroza. They would meet with Walter in his home in Los Angeles or in Newport on the Balboa Peninsula. In those years, Walter and Edit and their two daughters, Helen Reubena and Drusilla Melissa, spent the warm summers and damp winters in their Balboa Peninsula brick cottage.

  Although Walter had been absent physically from the brickyard, he still controlled every aspect of the business. It was he who decided how much brick to produce, how much to cut back and how many men would get fired. He also decided to let most of the men with families who had lost their jobs stay in Simons housing and continue to buy at the company store. He realized the difficulty that most families would have if he expelled them from Simons. However, his primary objective was to have available a corps of indebted labor to begin full production once the crisis ended.

  As he walked through the brickyard he recalled when seventeen machines were operating at full tilt. Now only three were producing at a slow pace, and probably, he concluded, he would have to cut back to one. Inspired by the dedication of his Mexicans and their willingness to work, he was sure that there would be an upswing in the economy. Unlike his brother Joseph, Walter still had hope, and the measures he would have to take now were to save the business from the total disaster that Joseph predicted.

  Walter entered the general store and perused the shelves. Jacobo Ramos had cut back on the orders of non-essential items. He stocked only the basic clothing and foods to sell. Walter went to his office where Jacobo, Gonzalo and William waited.

  The sound of chirping birds broke the silence that overpowered the space where the men sat. William was at the desk, Gonzalo sat in a chair in front and Jacobo stood by the door holding the general store ledgers. All three men stared out the window, meditating on a better day. Walter observed exhaustion and fear in their faces. Jacobo was nervous and tentative in his movements. He held the list of men that the three would suggest to be fired. William looked out the window at one of his family trucks. Only three were transporting material, and within the yard, not to a construction project. The remainder of the fleet was idle. Gonzalo thought of Pascuala and Amalia.

  By the spring of 1931, Gonzalo and Pascuala already had seven children, the youngest being Walter, named after Walter Robey Simons. Like most men with families, his first concern was feeding his wife and children, but Gonzalo had a double worry in that Amalia also demanded financial attention for herself and her three children whom, in nights of blind passion, Gonzalo had fathered. Supposedly, neither Pascuala nor her children ever found out about Gonzalo’s other family, but as gossip would have it, she probably knew of his second house. Gonzalo never acknowledged Amalia publicly as his lover, although she worked in his restaurant right up to the early part of 1931 when it closed.

  Amalia lived outside of Simons in a small work camp known as Montebello G
ardens. There her children went to school and there Gonzalo had visited her for the past years. He often heard his Amalia’s voice crying, asking how they were going to live, how they would buy their food and how she could help him support their family. Pascuala never criticized him, but on the contrary, offered help. Amalia’s requests were screams of anger and threats of exposure. She demanded money to feed and clothe her family. If she did not get her share of attention, she threatened to go to Pascuala and reveal the hypocritical secret that everyone in Simons knew about except her lover’s legitimate family. Gonzalo’s face had grown tired, thinner and uglier. His square face became cubed and his neck thinned and wrinkled. Everywhere he went people would turn and look at this strange phenomenon. He carried in his mind the responsibility of two families and the guilt of one and the shame of the other. Walter knew of Gonzalo’s circumstances and he considered him a man about to be broken by the results of his own decisions, consequences that were gnawing away at his physical and psychological being.

  Walter felt tired. He took deep breaths and at times could not get the air to the deepest part of his lungs. He exhaled slowly toward the center of the room. As he studied Gonzalo’s cubed face, images of his brother Joseph stumbled through his mind. The daylight shone through the window, filling the room with warmth. Outside, dogs barked and played. Birds sang and flew from trees to the ground to the fields and back to the trees.

  “We’ll stop payroll on about one hundred men out there. We’ll keep about seventy-five on payroll and we’ll run only one machine. The men who are living here can stay.” Walter looked at each of the men. “Do you understand?” he asked softly as if he were telling them that he had no other choice if he were to save the company.

  William put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “What do we do about this union talk that has been going around?”

  “We don’t want unions here. We can handle our own problems. Warn them once. For those who insist, tell them to leave. I will not tolerate union talk here.” Walter raised his voice.

  “I want one machine in operation daily,” he continued. “I’ve wanted to build a house on my piece of property on Poplar Street. Now is the time to build. This Depression will end and I want to be ready to build.” He turned to Jacobo. “Is that the list?”

  Jacobo handed the folder to the patron.

  “No, you three men can handle that. I approve the list.” Walter pointed to the names. “Gonzalo, I want you to keep this place under control. I don’t want any trouble in this yard.” He went to the door and exited.

  William, Jacobo and Gonzalo left quietly. They slowly disappeared into the images of Simons Brickyard, into the juggling finances and properties, in between the scenes of the powerful past, the dangerous present and the hopeful future.

  Walter knew he could save the company. He was sure that the Depression would not destroy his creation. He would not fold, go bankrupt like so many. He would not give up, commit suicide, give in to despair, nor go mad. Each brick building he drove by renewed his spirits and confidence in the future. Brick would again be the main construction material, and when the economy mended and upsurged, he would be ready with the product. He had invented a process to improve building construction by combining reinforced cement material with stone and brick. He had applied for a patent and was sure the United States Patent Office would grant his request. Surrounded by the despair of the Depression, Walter nonetheless felt elated by the possibilities for the future.

  Now, before Joseph Simons’ house, he remembered the good times there and the battles—some won, some lost—with his brother. The grass was dry in the front yard. The shrubs struggled to push buds from stems. The garden seemed unattended. It was as if time itself had been abandoned to do what it would do and people so drastically depressed cared nothing for the future. Walter entered the house and recalled how neat it used to be when he lived across the street. Now the house was cluttered and dusty, reflective of a man who had stopped functioning in this world. At fifty-seven years of age, Walter stood waiting in the living room, wondering about the condition of his demented brother.

  “Are you here, Walter?” Laura asked as she went to the sofa and sat down to look out the window in silence.

  Her face had grown old, her hair silver and her body frail. She had dedicated her love and time to caring for her husband. Ever since 1929, when Joseph claimed to have seen millions of brown insects rise from a pit in a field near his home and devour a family of street people, his mind had slipped slowly into itself until his words and actions became inside out, absurd. Simultaneously, he lost competence in administering his business, and when the crash came he panicked and liquidated most of his investments, except for the Los Angeles and Santa Monica brickyards which were now on the verge of being shut down and taken over by Mexican workers.

  Joseph had lost everything that he had created. His madness was self-destructive. He would not eat human food; he preferred insects. He would not bathe or properly attend to his bowel movements; he lived in his own filth. Doctors from throughout Southern California came to treat him but all failed, and Joseph grew happily weaker in his illness. One day when Walter went to visit his brother, he learned that Joseph had not slept for five nights. When he encouraged his brother to sleep, Joseph answered that he did not understand what sleep meant and if he did before, he had now forgotten the concept. He would die from being wide awake forever.

  “Where is he?” Walter now asked.

  Laura stared out to the garden. Walter moved to the window which framed an oak tree. A brick planter encircled the trunk, and alongside, in a pool of blood, lay Joseph with his skull split. Walter ran to his side. Joseph had fallen backwards, breaking his head against the planter. He lay with eyes opened. Wide awake forever. When Walter pushed his brother out of the blood, hundreds of brown insects scattered from underneath Joseph’s back. Thousands more scurried away. Walter, infuriated with the beasts, crushed as many as he could under his shoes but the insects kept coming from some place under his brother’s body. Walter screamed at Laura, who continued to sit with her silver hair and her ancient face peering at the millions of crawling brown insects that covered her husband’s corpse.

  Joseph Simons’ many friends were surprised to hear that the funeral ceremonies were private. They would have liked to have said good-bye to the pillar of the brick industry, to the man who had brought the brick manufacturers to tremendous power and importance. Hundreds and hundreds of potted chrysanthemums, wrapped bouquets and wreaths began to arrive the day Joseph’s death was announced. So many flowers were sent that Laura was forced to pile them until mounds of flowers almost reached the ceiling of the library in which Joseph lay in his simple casket. The pungent perfume floated throughout the Joseph Simons home. Flowers kept coming until finally Laura asked the delivery men to leave the flowers in the front garden. Mountains of multicolors sang Joseph’s passing as cars drove by the house to stare at the strange happening.

  On the day that Walter and Edit, Helen and Drusilla, and Laura and James Simons transported Joseph’s body to the Pasadena gravesite next to his parents, Walter had ordered three Simons Brickyard trucks to move the tons of flowers to the cemetery. As the hearse, two limousines and three trucks loaded with flowers drove from the Simons family home to Joseph’s final resting place, people stopped to watch the procession of color and perfume. The overloaded trucks dropped a blanket of flowers on the streets they traveled. The fragrance stopped people everywhere and invited them to come and hold a flower. The peaceful scent entered the buildings and houses bordering Joseph’s route to his bed in the earth. People came out of their workplaces, businesses and homes to pick up a flower. They went on for another and another and followed the carpet of colors that led them to Joseph’s private ceremony.

  Walter realized that there was no way of preventing the people from coming closer. The crowd grew constantly. He ordered the casket to be lowered into the ground and at the same time he asked the drivers to dump
the loads of flowers. The casket situated, the trucks deposited the tonnage of bereavement on the side of the gravesite, but the loads overwhelmed the area and buried Joseph Simons. The children in the crowd jumped on the mountains of flowers and the people threw bouquets onto the mounds of aroma and color. Walter observed the multitude and then indicated to James that the family should abandon the site. The funeral director agreed and escorted the Simonses to the limousines. Walter looked back at where his brother lay and saw children and adults jumping into the mound of flowers that covered the casket. As the limousine drove to the gate, the crowd closed the road behind. Even if Walter had wanted to go back to dig up his brother and see his face once more, the crowd had made it impossible.

  That evening in the library of his home in Los Angeles, after writing letters to his sisters Lola Ellen, Mary Frances and Emma Lisa who had sent enormous wreaths but for reasons of health and distance did not attend Joseph’s funeral, Walter reviewed his brother’s documents and ledgers. James had given him all the records pertaining to his father’s business. He had studied the material and expressed his willingness to cooperate with his Uncle Walter. After an hour, Walter put down the ledger. His eyes focused on the three letters to his sisters who were far away physically and estranged emotionally from him and his family. Time and space were the enemies of brotherhood and sisterhood, he thought. He had seen them slowly die in his mind and heart. Now at this time Walter could not say he loved any of his sisters, nor would he miss them if they died. And he knew he would not go to their funerals, though he would send a small and simple bouquet. He couldn’t even imagine their faces. They had been blurred by absence.

  He picked up another ledger and studied it. By three o’clock that morning he finished and decided that he would suggest to James to liquidate all remaining properties and work with him in administering the two largest brickyards: the Santa Monica and the Simons yard. With the patent of his invention, Walter was sure that the Santa Monica yard and especially the Simons yard would again become the most productive in the country and the world.