The Brick People

by Alejandro Morales

  Octavio drank the tea and relaxed. His heavy eyelids closed. Nana put the children to bed, went for her husband and took him to bed. That evening she told Octavio that she had been pregnant for two months. Octavio laughed, Nana joined in, and gradually their bodies struggled passionately to unite and separate.

  The voices in the house moved in and out of Octavio’s mind as he thought about the founding of the cooperative store. The voices were the same voices that had surrounded Octavio for years, voices that at times bothered him, but that he loved more than his life. The children—Micaela, Arturo and Javier—waited excitedly to meet and see what a newborn baby looked like. Octavio had quieted them and saw them playing in their room. Tati had brought tea to warm him and prevent a chill from the dampness in the air. It had rained for two days, flooded Simons and converted the streets into mud rivers that led into other streets where the Simons Mexicans lived. Ignacio Sandoval lit a cigarette. The flame at the end of the match seemed to Octavio to be pasted against the whitewashed wall of the living room. Octavio had witnessed his compadre’s cigarette ritual hundreds, perhaps thousands of times. He realized that Ignacio had been with him during his most critical moments in life.

  Ignacio was present the day, one week after Octavio had told the union organizers to go to hell, in which Octavio, Jose Ceballos, Vicente Limon and Ignacio discussed plans for the cooperative store. Octavio recalled the day after the strike. Early that morning the barricades were cleaned, by eight o’clock the men were at their jobs and by late afternoon the brickyard was well on its way to producing seventy-five thousand bricks. The men had returned to work in silence; not a word had been spoken as they walked to their posts. There was a shared sentiment of defeat that dominated the workers that day. Depressed, Octavio still worked hard. It was during a lunch break that he entered into the conversation about the cooperative workers’ store. He, Jose Ceballos, and Vicente Limon were the three men designated as decision makers and possibly the store’s administrators. The plan was to have each family contribute five dollars to the cooperative store treasury and with these monies purchase items of necessity at discount prices. The workers developed a plan of purchase, credit and payment to be implemented as soon as they established a store. It was decided in a town meeting that the three designated organizers should approach Gonzalo Pedroza, Jacobo Ramos and William Melone.

  The workers’ representatives met with Gonzalo, Jacobo and William in the half-stocked general store which had ceased selling during the strike. Jacobo had taken advantage of the work stoppage to take a precise inventory. He had several books and ledgers which he had prepared for Walter that showed the exact financial condition of the general store and post office. Jacobo was proud of his accounting efforts and hoped that with such an excellent report Walter would allow him to expand the store once the brickyard got back to normal. Jacobo discussed these matters with Gonzalo and William early on the morning that the cooperative store organizers approached the general store.

  “Look who’s coming,” Gonzalo said sarcastically. William went to the window. Jacobo strained to see from where he sat.

  “What do they want now? Another strike?” William and Gonzalo laughed.

  Jacobo continued to review his ledgers. The transition from strike to production occurred smoothly and without incident. The three Simons administrators had heard rumors of continuing demands from the workers but did not expect any response other than diligent work from the defeated Mexicans. Nonetheless, three men walked up to the general store, entered and closed the door. A tension built which made Octavio scratch the back of his neck. A pause was filled with the sound of birds. Gonzalo broke a jagged smile over his grotesque block face. William stared out the window across the street to a large camphor tree. Jacobo roamed over his books, oblivious to who had entered. No one in the room threatened him.

  “What can I do for you men?” William searched the trees.

  “Well, speak up! What do you want?” Gonzalo said aggressively.

  Jose Ceballos, Vicente Limon, and Octavio waited, enjoying the uneasiness which their presence caused the foreman and the superintendent. Octavio moved to Jacobo’s desk and Jose and Vicente situated themselves along opposite walls of the room. The physical positioning confused Gonzalo. He made a complete circle following the intruders’ movement. William kept looking out the window and refused to speak to them directly.

  “The workers have decided to have a cooperative store. We need a place,” Jose said to Gonzalo.

  “I don’t think that Mr. Simons will like that idea,” Gonzalo said and pointed to William at the window.

  “Mr. Melone, the men want to ask the patron for a place,” Jose said and watched Jacobo annoyingly turn the pages of one of his ledgers.

  “Talk to Jacobo. He’s in charge of the general store and you have to arrange it with him. Tell him to ask Mr. Simons for you.” William left the general store and never faced the three workers directly.

  Five men felt the nervousness of the others as Jacobo came to the end of his ledger. “Why do you want a store? You should use this one,” he said.

  “We want our own cooperative store. We want a store that will help us, not keep us in constant debt for the rest of our lives,” Octavio challenged the man who pressured the workers by collecting numbers in red, white and blue leather-bound ledgers.

  “Like Gonzalo said, Mr. Simons won’t like your idea. But if you insist, I’ll ask him tomorrow,” Jacobo said.

  “Oh, so he didn’t go on vacation. We want his answer within a week. If not, we’ll look for him at his home,” Jose replied as he moved to the door with Vicente and Octavio.

  The memory of that confrontation caused Octavio to grimace as he placed the bucket on the grill over the fire. When Nana gave birth, Tati asked for buckets of hot water. This time it seemed that more water than usual was required. He watched the flame and listened to Nana inside pushing their child into the world. The wind fanned the fire and chilled his hands. His body felt intensely the process of birth which occurred just a few feet away.

  Happiness and sadness lingered in his mind as he thought about Jacobo reporting Walter’s decision concerning the cooperative store. The patron had agreed that the workers should have their own store and he demonstrated his support by giving them the place where the Simons general store was located. Jacobo confessed that he had tried to convince Walter to negate the workers’ request. Despite his arguments, Walter wanted to give the general store to the Mexicans as a sign of solidarity, a reward for returning to work. Jacobo’s work and plans for the general store had been sabotaged by the defeated workers.

  Jacobo’s job changed in that his only duty became that of rayador, company timekeeper. He kept the same salary and privileges, but the responsibilities lessened to the point that he questioned whether or not he merited his salary. The possibility of leaving the company entered his thinking. Jacobo refused to help in the transition of administration of the general store and he never again entered the store.

  Guadalupe Sandoval was elected to be store manager, Vicente Limon treasurer and clerk, and Leon and Edit Sandoval store buyers. The store’s cooperative constitution was simple: five dollar entrance fee, and member must pay at least half of credit purchase debt each month. If these rules were abused, the member was subject to garnishment of wages or expulsion from the cooperative store.

  The abuse of credit was what it came down to. The workers had long been in the business of production and had been exploited and now they, by choice, had launched themselves in the business of selling and buying made easy by the credit installment plan, abonar. This would abolish the Mexican fear of debt. However, it was the installment plan that was the problem with the cooperative store. The saddest thing about all this effort, all the disorganization that it created, was that it had ended in a fight about how much was stolen and who kept what was stolen.

  One week after the birth of Flor Revueltas, Octavio and Nana’s fourth child, the signal to begin the
meeting of the members of the Simons Workers Cooperative Store was given by Guadalupe Sandoval, cooperative store manager, but nobody paid any attention. Guadalupe raised the beer bottle from which he drank and banged it on the table. On the fifth contact, beer ran over the table and onto Guadalupe, who stood up and flung the bottomless glass receptacle to the floor. The bottle shattered at the feet of the men sitting in the front row.

  “What the hell’s happening?” a man yelled.

  With the breaking of the bottle, the tone of the meeting was set. Comments and laughter from the members continued as they finally settled down to question the store administrators. Octavio observed from the back of the store. The broken bottles and spilled beer symbolized to him the attitude about credit that had developed among the participating workers. Beer had become the largest commodity sold on credit. Flushed with their new power, the men would come in and take six cases and walk out the store saying “Charge it.”

  Octavio had always saved money and he seldom bought anything on credit. To the people who filled the store, however, credit was “una maravilla,” but the bad use of it gradually destroyed an excellent idea. As the meeting moved into evening, thousands of accusative words were thrown toward the administrators who flung them back at the members.

  “The administrators threw away a page of the book!” a man pointed to Antonio Revueltas, Octavio’s uncle who had abused the credit plan.

  “Where supposedly your account was recorded, Antonio!” another member shouted.

  “I don’t believe you paid not even half of what you charged. You owe a lot more than what is in that book,” a man standing next to Octavio said.

  “It’s that none of the administrators carefully recorded what was taken from the store. Many times I have entered the store and seen one of us leave with a six-pack or a bag of groceries and Vicente or Guadalupe or Leon would say ‘Oh, we’ll record it later.’ But no one would record anything,” another worker spoke out.

  “We went to tell Octavio so that he would tell Gonzalo or William.” A man in the middle of the assembly indicated Octavio.

  “Everything is registered in the book!” Guadalupe insisted.

  “We don’t agree. And we have to deal with Antonio’s case. He hasn’t paid anything on his account and the rules say we have to kick him out,” the first man to speak said.

  “I don’t pay any more than what is marked in the book. I’ll pay half of that amount. If that’s not enough then I’ll leave.” Antonio stood up and moved to the door.

  “Antonio, please don’t leave.” Guadalupe saw a huge debt about to abandon responsibility of payment.

  “Kick him out if he doesn’t pay what’s in the book!” a woman shouted to Antonio.

  “Tell him to pay, Octavio!” Leon Martinez demanded.

  Octavio moved without hesitation to the front of the store, went directly at Guadalupe, grabbed the store credit ledger and headed toward the exit.

  “Where are you going, Octavio?” Vicente Limon called out.

  Octavio stopped about halfway to the door and raised the ledger above his head. “I’m going to burn this damn book!”

  Octavio’s last word was answered by his fellow workers and cooperative store members who lunged at him to save the book. The members returned the ledger to the front of the store, to the administrators who placed the credit record in front of the cooperative body. Octavio sat on a bench at the back and listened to the words dance violently in his brain. He felt tired when his name was nominated for treasurer.

  “No, thanks. I don’t accept. Treasurer, well, what am I going to treasure? The debts? You say there’s a thousand dollars in the bank. Where is it? I want nothing to do with this. You can have your store.”

  Octavio walked out into the evening and for the first time in his life in the United States he felt alone. He felt that he had been cut off from the groups and organizations that he should support or that should support him. He headed home, realizing that in the future no one would help him—only Nana, Micaela, Arturo, Javier, Flor and himself.

  Chapter 18

  Arturo Revueltas could distinguish clearly every word in Spanish. English was more of a challenge; at times the words sounded extremely long and seemingly endless, but at other moments he could identify each word. He knew two words well, for they had been used repeatedly to describe his behavior at school and at church. They had become his words. His sign. His social emblem. When Father Charles, the local priest, used the two words to describe him before the neighborhood boys and two nuns who taught catechism at Mount Carmel, Arturo equated the two words to his name.

  “Bad boy! Arturo, you are a bad boy!” Father Charles shouted as he picked up Mikey Rodelo whom Arturo had knocked to the ground after Mikey goosed him with a stick.

  “Bad boy!” Father Charles repeated while Mikey faked crying.

  Now the priest whom everybody respected and even Arturo liked had identified him as a bad boy. He was bad for defending himself and worse because he did not learn from his teachers. He tried, but when he repeated or wrote or solved math problems the teachers always said he was wrong. Arturo never said or wrote the answers correctly. Although to Arturo his letters and numbers seemed written well, to the teachers, parents, sisters, brother and friends, they appeared distorted.

  Twelve-year-old Arturo walked hand in hand with his mother toward the house after a parent conference where Nana had been told that her oldest son was a bad boy. Nana and Arturo were on Vail when Father Charles drove by in a truck. Arturo immediately waved. Nana stopped and watched the priest tip his hat and drive by.

  Father Charles, his eyes fixed straight ahead on the cooperative store, thought about the problems of the Mexican boys he was sent to minister. He agreed with Walter Simons’ concept of providing the Mexicans with the basic necessities and enclosing them in a small compound such as Simons town. They were true innocent children of God who required men like Walter and himself to take care of them and guide them through the temptations of life. The Mexicans lived in terrible conditions throughout the city. In the East Los Angeles area, many of the large homes of the millionaire Anglo population had been taken over by charitable institutions, and the smaller homes were becoming the homes of second and third-generation Mexicans.

  Many times Father Charles had helped to repair the toilets, baths and showers in these homes; nonetheless, the facilities available in the houses were not adequately proportionate to the number of users. Even though these living arrangements seemed to be an improvement over the conditions the Mexicans had left, ten families to a house was not conducive to progressive living. But no matter what he did to help, Father Charles believed that the Mexicans, in time, would allow the houses to deteriorate to the level of the inhumane living quarters of the industrial districts.

  Father Charles parked by the cooperative store and walked to the back of the car. The Simons homes on Vail brought on more ruminations about Mexican housing. There were certain spots in the East Los Angeles area that were already as bad as the industrial district ever was. He thought of the Flats district in the neighborhood of the Pecan Playground. Another terrible place was located east of Soto Street and south of Whittier Boulevard. This latter barrio grew because of several appearances the Virgin of Guadalupe had made and the miracles the people had witnessed there. The housing and living conditions were worse than deplorable. Yet the people flocked to live near the holy trees, shacks and gutters where the Virgin had appeared. Most of the Mexican families did not own their homes; therefore, they made little effort to improve the dwellings. The owners, for the most part large corporations in constant need of bottom cheap labor, saw no profit in improving the residences because they might soon want to clear the land for industrial development. Also, it was far easier to find tenants for a shack in this area at ten to fifteen dollars per month than to get a few dollars more after greatly improving the place at considerable expense. Compared to the way other Mexicans lived in Los Angeles, Walter Simons’ Mexican
s were living in paradise. Father Charles learned that in the industrial areas the Mexican bad boys were more difficult, if not impossible, to control. In Simons it was a lot easier to control the youth. But to control the youth of Simons he had to watch bad boys like Arturo Revueltas carefully.

  The Revueltas children sat outside in Nana’s backyard garden. Micaela, Javier and Flor played together. Arturo stared up at something beyond the frame in which Octavio and Nana saw him from the kitchen door. Nana poured more tea into Octavio’s cup, sat down and stirred the sugar into the piping hot tea in her cup. They had been discussing Arturo’s school report. His teacher had identified Arturo as a boy who did not care to learn. She suggested that if he did not improve his school performance, Arturo should be taken out of school, for he was wasting the teacher’s time as well as his own. He would do better working or as an apprentice learning a trade. Nana did not accept the teacher’s evaluation or her recommendation. She and Octavio simply did not know what to do next, or whom to see for help. They wanted Arturo to succeed in school, but for some unknown reason he did not learn. His speech and sentence construction seemed to fluctuate. At times he spoke well enough to be understood but there were other times when he seemed to lapse into unintelligible structures. Nonetheless, Nana refused to give up on her oldest son.

  “No, Octavio, those teachers have to do something for him,” Nana spoke defiantly.

  “What?” Octavio spoke softly.

  “I’ll never permit them to take him out of school. He’s still a baby and he should stay in school even if he doesn’t learn anything. Arturo should spend his days in school and not at the brickyard working.” Nana drank and Octavio watched the steam from the hot tea rise.

  The children continued to play in the garden. Now Arturo had joined them. He played and laughed. He did what all children his age did. Octavio took Nana’s hand and held on. He was glad that Arturo was not old enough to be sent away to any foreign war. Across the Atlantic the Nazis continued to over-run Europe. In the Pacific the Japanese war machine stepped up aggression against China and looked on to the South Pacific. Octavio looked at his children and felt compelled to protect them if the enemy dared to attack the United States. But if his son had to fight, he would want him to fight. Los Niños Heroes came to his mind. But he, like many others, believed that no country had the capacity to attack the United States. The distance and vastness of the country rendered an attack impossible. He and Nana agreed with President Roosevelt’s plan to send arms, munitions, food and other war supplies to countries that were friends and important to the protection of the United States. But only as a last recourse did he and Nana want American boys to die in Europe. Octavio drank another cup of tea.