When the bus had dropped them off here at the pool hall last night, her nephew wasn't waiting. The men, women and children with their rope-bound boxes and bulging suitcases had shuffled past them, absorbed into the dark barrio.
"Where are we going to sleep," Eugenia had said, her voice trembling with fear as she tried to pull down the sleeves of her dress to stay warm.
"We wait here," the old lady said. "He said he would come for us."
Vicente ground his teeth at the old lady's stupidity. "Did he know we were coming?"
She glared at him to shut up.
"I'm going in for a smoke," he said.
She'd hissed at him to come back, but Vicente ignored her. The man in the pool hall sold him a cigarette and offered him a shower with a clean towel and soap for twenty-five cents. Vicente handed over his last nickel that he'd made shining shoes in Yuma and then walked out onto the sidewalk to smoke. The pool hall closed up for the night, which was how they wound up asleep on the street.
Vicente winced as he stood on numb feet. He swayed as his nerves came back to life. The sun climbed up the backs of the mountains, outlining them in gold. The air was cold and wet, smelling of tar and damp earth.
He watched some of the windows of the tiny houses light up as women started the stove fires and prepared breakfast for their men who would go to work in the slaughterhouses, tanneries and the factories that made rail-road ties. Beyond the barrio that mushroomed around the train tracks, the sleepy town spread out east. Unlike the converted rail cars and wood shacks where the workers lived, the east side was made up of a few two-story homes that rose over red-tile roofed bungalows. Paved streets were laid out in neat gridlines. It was the first time he'd ever seen palm trees.
Vicente limped alongside the pool hall to get the blood into his feet again. Unlike the others halls where he'd picked up laundry for his grandmother to wash, this one didn't stink of urine or beer. The shallow steps were swept clean and the windows shined to reflect the mountains.
He swallowed his fear of what would happen if his grandmother's nephew had done a runner on them. They had nothing but the old lady's irons, his mother's oval-shaped portrait and a few clothes. She'd refused to pack Eugenia's dolls and the only way he could stop his sister's tears was a promise he'd buy her a new one.
Vicente tucked his fists under his armpits, calculating how long it would take him to get a job as an errand or shoe-shine boy. He wasn't old enough to work for the rail road and at 15, he'd already finished school. The one thing he wouldn't do was work in a field. He wasn't above pulling a harmless grift for a few extra nickels, but he wasn't a dumb animal.
"You can't sleep here," a voice cried out behind him. "Go! Get!"
He spun around, and for a moment, he couldn't move as a strange woman wearing an outdated feathered hat swatted at his grandmother and sister with her leather purse. Her pale, fleshy face reminded him of bread dough.
"Mama, stop," a man said, appearing behind the crazy woman.
"They're on our property," she exclaimed in a high-pitched, panicked voice. "They're nothing but filthy hobos!"
Her husband caught up with her, breathing hard from the exertion. "Stop it now," he said, grabbing for her arm and nearly taking her elbow in the eye.
Vicente heard the woman's purse smack his grandmother across the cheek. She cried out and her hands shot up in defense. Holding both arms in front of her face, Eugenia cried out, "Vicente!"
"Leave them alone," Vicente ordered, stepping in front of his sister in case she went after her next.
The lady screamed. They stood eye to eye, even in her heeled shoes. He puffed out his chest and stepped towards her, forcing her to back down. "We arrived late last night, and we had nowhere to go."
"You're trespassing on our property," she insisted, her jowls quivering righteously. "We'll call the sheriff if you don't leave."
Vicente took a few steps closer and the old bitch stepped into a muddy puddle. Fear, humiliation and exhaustion boiled up from the pit of his stomach. He clenched his fist to keep it from smashing into her face. Eugenia scrambled off the bench, murmuring to their grandmother.
"My wife, forgive us," the man stammered, recognizing how close Vicente teetered on violence. He said something to his wife in a strange language. Whatever it was, he seemed to be ordering his wife to shut the hell up.
He then held his hands out in peace. "Tranquile, tranquile," he said, switching back to Spanish. "I'm so very sorry. This is your grandmother, you say?"
"And my sister."
"Come. I can provide you with coffee."
"Jakob!"
"We don't need your charity," Vicente said.
"They're filthy. They'll tell everyone we give everything away for free," the old bitch wailed.
"Enough," Jakob said and then gestured behind his wife. "Anna, come. Take your mother inside."
Out of the corner of his eye, Vicente saw the girl appear at her mother's side. His first impression was the graceful line of her jaw and lush pink lips that made him take a better look. Then his heart came to a sudden stop. All of the anger and the violence boiling inside him vanished.
Her face glowed like an angel's in the tender morning light. Her hair was pulled back and twisted low against her neck. He'd never seen anyone off a movie screen as elegant and regal as her. She took in his too-tight shoes and working her way up to his wrinkled and dusty jacket with sleeves that stopped inches short of his wrists.
Vicente stood frozen with shame at how he must appear to her. Then his stomach grumbled.
"Come, mama, let's go inside," Anna said in her deep, quiet voice.
"Jakob, you're too soft on these types of people," the old bitch said as she was led away. "They always take advantage of you."
Vicente wanted Anna to feel the same stunned recognition that clenched around his chest. But she lifted her chin and her blue eyes were almost ghostly in the dim light.
"Excuse us," she asked Vicente.
"She said get out of the way," her mother shouted. In his haste to move, he stepped on an untied shoe lace and staggered into the muddy street.
Anna noticed and rather than giggle, she merely walked by him as if he weren't worth her notice.
"Señora, please. Allow me," Jakob said to his grandmother.
She covered her eye with her hand where his crazy wife had struck her. Eugenia hovered over her. Vicente’s throat clenched with frustration.
"You must please come in," Jakob said, blocking Vicente's view of his wife and daughter, who turned the corner. "Anna will take my wife into the back office. I will make you something warm to drink, yes?"
His grandmother said, "We'll be on our way."
Vicente couldn't speak. He watched his grandmother painfully rise to her full height. She looked like a witch in the pale light with her hooked, crooked nose and long, outdated black clothes. Ashamed that they'd been caught like beggars, that this illiterate, mean old woman had put him in this position, he dropped his gaze to the ground.
"I wish there is some way I could help with this," Jakob said.
They hadn't had a decent night's sleep in two weeks. Vicente still wore the same clothes since his last bath three days ago. His stomach cramped with hunger and desperation that such a beautiful girl had taken him for a bum.
"Do you know Salvador Cardenas?" the old lady asked.
Jakob frowned and then his face lit with recognition. "Yes, yes of course."
"He's my nephew. He told us to come out here for work."
"I see. But he has left."
"Left where?" Vicente demanded, his heart hammering with a fresh wave of anger.
Jakob flinched, startled by Vicente's sudden intrusion on the conversation. "Up north. A whole group of them left to pick the crops."
The old lady dropped her bag and then snapped at Eugenia not to just stand there and look at it.
"You must go here," Jakob said, taking out a notepad and pen out of his pocket. Vicente caught the flash of a
silver watch pinned to a gray wool vest. "They will help you."
He ripped off the paper and handed it to Vicente.
"Give it to me," the old lady ordered even though she couldn't read or write.
Vicente could, and he knew she'd rather have them live in the street than take charity. He wasn't about to sleep another night on a bench or on a bus and snatched the note out of Jakob's hand.
"Thank you, sir," he said, stuffing the note in his pocket.
"Of course. But don't come here for a job, understand?"
Vicente stared at Jakob and knew the old man had seen the way he'd looked at his daughter.
"Please, there are many places to work. Just not here. We are only a small family business."
He jerked his head in a polite nod and then walked off as fast as he could.
Jakob sent them to St. Anthony's Church where they were fed pan dulce and coffee. The priest listened to the old lady's story about her nephew and then made it quite clear that after their meal, they were to get work and only return to receive penance and then mass.
By the time they left the priest's office with directions to the boarding house, the day had turned brilliant but with a chill that clung to the air. His grandmother limped slowly, leaning on Eugenia's arm. His sister nibbled on pan dulce the priest gave to her when their grandmother suddenly knocked it out of her hand.
"You're fat enough."
Eugenia stared at bread laying in the dirt. He could see the tears welling in her eyes.
"Move!" The old lady demanded.
Eugenia stumbled along. He swung around to deliver a verbal blow. But he saw his sister's face was gray with exhaustion. She was the buffer between them and bore the bruises and marks from the old woman.
"I'll go first," he said. "I'll get everything ready."
Eugenia looked up at him with fear that he'd leave them. The old lady scowled, preparing to call him back. But he already ran down the street, eager to get away. The air felt good and fresh over his dirty face. The cracked handles of their suitcases cut deep into his cold fingers, but with the beautiful swaying trees overhead and the snap in the air, the world had opened up and personally invited him to take what he wanted.
Knowing that Anna was just a few blocks away, Vicente imagined all he needed was a good job and a new suit. Perhaps her father would give him permission to visit her on account of the way his loca wife had beaten up his old grandmother. As he walked by the houses, he wondered which one was hers.
As they settled in the barrio, his grandmother resumed her laundry business and complained of her back, Vicente's laziness and Eugenia's stupidity. The old lady found him a job cleaning the trolley cars at dawn. As if she needed to make sure he knew the leash was fastened good and tight, she arranged with his boss to receive his earnings. Vicente found himself a job selling the evening editions of the newspaper to set some aside towards the new suit he needed to meet Anna again.
He kept his mouth shut around the other men at work, giving them the impression he was slightly dangerous if provoked. But with the women, he stoked their favor with smoldering looks and suggestive banter that made the starchiest giggle and preen. He kept a keen ear for their gossip. He knew better than to ask direct questions, for fear of being teased. He picked up bits and pieces, finally learned that Anna's last name was Vazquez. Her father was a German who came from somewhere near Mexicali. Her mother was slightly mad having lost of all of her children except for Anna during the epidemic. Each time their's or Anna's name popped up, his heart clenched tight.
"Her owner came back yesterday," Louisa said to her friends. Her kiss curls flopped about her face as she polished the wood benches. "He walked in with flowers and presents."
"That'll end the second he marries her."
"He doesn't have to. What do you think he does when he takes her on drives? Her mama doesn't go with them."
"Yes she does!"
"No she don't."
A finger drove into the soft place between his shoulder and neck. Vicente jerked up his shoulder and turned to see Fernando, the self-appointed boss of his crew.
"Hey, we got the next car to do," Fernando ordered and then turned away.
The ladies slowed their polishing to watch what Vicente would do next. He winked and they got all coy and giggly. But their talk sickened him. Who was this owner, this man who brought flowers and drove his own car?
As he walked home, Vicente didn't want to believe any of it because how could he compete? He had nothing and from what he heard, that man had everything. Vicente walked by Anna's house, a two story, white house with long windows at the crest of Billy Goat Hill across the street from St. Anthony's. His hands went sweaty as he slowed to a stop, directly across the road. He'd deliberately avoided it for the past month, hoping she'd forget he was the filthy bum who nearly cold cocked her crazy mother.
She and her parents were working at their pool hall. Lace curtains hung in the windows and their garden was filled with rose bushes instead of chickens and vegetables. There was no sign of this other man. He thought again of the morning when Jakob warned him off. The girls' gossip seethed in the pit of his stomach. He hated them for their glee.
Vicente couldn't stand to fight with the other newsboys over his corner, or go home to the old woman's bullying and Eugenia's tears. Even though his stomach ached with hunger, he skirted the edges of the barrio towards the tidelands. He followed the path that cut through the sage brush and the bush mallow that resisted the wind pushing them down against the spongy ground.
He followed the creek and then the short rise until the San Diego Bay lay flat and sparkling under the fall sun. He closed his eyes against the glare. The wind buffeted against him. When he opened his eyes, shading them with his hand, he saw her standing at the very edge of the water, a slender column of white.
Vicente headed straight for her. He didn't know what he'd say or do as shells crunched under his boots. He had nothing to offer her. What little he made scrubbing other people's dirt and trash was given to his grandmother. As he got closer, he curled his hands into fists so he wouldn't chicken out and run away.
The water lapped the tips of her bare toes. Her shiny black button boots lay on the sand a few steps behind her. Her dark hair was pulled up and twisted near the top of her head. A gold chain twinkled against her neck. Vicente stared hard at that place, tracing the path of her necklace where it slid down into the front of her dress.
"So this is where the world ends," he said.
She jumped at the sound of his voice and turned. Her lips were red from the candy she'd been sucking on. Her eyes narrowed at him, and she pointed at him with the candy stick that he noticed was still wet from her mouth. "You're the one who nearly punched my mother."
Chapter Twelve
Vicente laughed softly to himself. Dori watched him fading as he sat in her chair.
"I said, 'I'm sorry but she was hitting my grandmother.' But inside I was thinking how I'd love to be that piece of candy."
Dori was hardly a blushing spinster, but the way he said it made her toes curl.
He looked up at Dori, not really seeing her or the room. "Anna had this way of smiling like she was wise to you. And then she says to me, 'I wished you had. Sometimes I'd like to punch her in the face, too.'
"She didn't seem to mind me there. She just turned back to stare at the water. She always smelled very sweet, like candy. Probably because if she didn't have a piece stuck in her mouth, she carried it in her pocket."
Dori could now see the chair through him. She didn't dare ask any of the factual questions in her head for fear she'd pop him like a bubble.
"We didn't say a word for a long time," Vicente said, his voice growing fainter. "I was shaking in my boots, so I didn't dare try to hold her hand or say anything. Finally, she finished her candy and then asked me, 'Do you ever wonder what it's like on the other end of the ocean?' I shrugged because people like us didn't even think about stuff like that. We were too busy trying to
find work and survive."
Vicente's form flared just before dissolving. Dori released the breath she'd been holding and slunk against the back of the couch. She rubbed her arms, vigorously trying to get rid of the goose bumps on her skin and hoping wherever this Anna Vazquez was that she was worthy of such devotion.
There was no way she could just hang out alone after Vicente's story. A few minutes later, as her house receded in the rear view mirror, Dori decided she had to find a concrete fact that would prove Vicente and Anna had been real.
Her usual channels of investigation were closed to her. She couldn’t just type Vicente into the system to call up his arrest records – of which she had no doubt existed in some dusty archive – because the digital records only went back so many years. Dori tried to remember what year Social Security began. If he or Anna were in the system, she could locate their last known address.
Remembering the lady at Bay Books, Dori wound up at the new and improved National City Public Library. The automatic door swished open, and she immediately missed the shabby, cozy living-room feel of the original library set among pines and eucalyptus.
After she met Ellen and became a police cadet, every Thursday afternoon Dori would ride the city bus to the old library. She’d do her homework and then carry home an armload of novels and biographies. The old library had that soothing book smell and felt like more like home than her real home did. She remembered the catalog cards had felt soft, almost velvety under her fingertips. This new library smelled like new carpet and buzzed with computers and printers.
Dori knocked on the glass door of the local history room, feeling slightly ridiculous to be researching on behalf of a dead guy. In this 21st century building, with the sunlight streaming through the walls of glass and free WiFi whirling all around her, it was a little hard to believe she’d spoken to someone who faded into thin air.
Dori was about to turn back and check out the romance section when the door yanked open. A brunette stared at her with the outrage perfected by librarians through the ages.
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