She spoke so fast I could barely understand her Spanish. “Okay. We will take your picture and make several documents with a Social Security number.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mama.
“You need a number to get a job and an ID,” she said.
“I’ll be needing papers also, so slow down,” I said firmly.
This lady was acting as if she was doing us a favor. Her lipstick stained her teeth. It looked like she had blood in her mouth. “Never show these to the police or to someone you think really wants to see real papers. I don’t give refunds. These papers are fakes, nothing more. To be honest, most people don’t even care.”
“The police don’t care?” I asked.
“The police—they don’t care about you or your problems. Just like me.”
In Mexico, you also had to be careful of the police. But who would protect us if something bad happened? Come to think of it, no one had come to help us as we fought to get off the truck. This is why we really had to find Papa—he was our protector.
Mama whined. “I’m just trying to find my husband.”
The woman sneered at Mama with disdain. “Look, I just make the papers. You should have thought about that before you swam the river.”
“We came on a truck,” I said.
“Aren’t you a fancy girl?” she said nastily to me, then turned to Mama. “Most people in this neighborhood don’t care if you are legal or not. Just ask around for work.”
“B-but…,” stammered Mama.
“And men are worthless. He’s probably with a new girlfriend up here.”
“Excuse me, aren’t we paying you?” I challenged. “My papa wouldn’t do that.”
The woman stared at me venomously. “Do you want the papers or not?”
“We’re not stupid,” I shot back. “You don’t have to treat us like this.” Why did we need papers if no one cared if we were legal or not?
She began folding up the papers and putting them in her purse. “I don’t need this. You’re still wet from the river. Everyone will know you just came over, and it isn’t my problem that you are so ignorant.”
Mama reached out to her arm, pleading. “No, we need them. Please.”
I pulled her back. “We don’t have to beg.”
She folded our money and put it into her bra.
I leaned forward as a warning that she wouldn’t be leaving with our money. “I suggest you get us those papers.” Her eyes moved from my face first. I had won. I fought the truck driver, and I wasn’t afraid to fight her, either.
She clenched her jaw but pulled out the papers.
“Just take our pictures and we can be finished,” I hissed at her.
“Wetbacks,” she muttered under her breath, as if we were low class.
I let it go, because some people have to have the last word. Papa used to tell me, Know when the fight is finished.
Outside, the crazy man parked himself on the corner. His sun-scarred face pointed into the traffic. I wondered when he stopped struggling and began sitting.
No matter what happened, I would always fight.
CHAPTER 19
Pounding the Pavement
“Papers. Cook. Clean?” It was hard to sleep with Mama mumbling all night long.
I elbowed her, and she turned over for the millionth time. We would never get any sleep if she kept this up. I would have slept on the floor, but I was afraid the cockroaches would climb into my hair. What I needed was Grandma’s stink candle. Maybe it could scare away the huge flying bugs. But I had wasted it on the truck driver.
When the sun rose, I had to shake Mama awake. “It’s time.”
She rubbed her red puffy eyes. “¿Qué? What?”
I stared out the window and noticed the girl from the restaurant trying to get out of a blue car. She shook her head no, and then the driver slapped her. She fell to the ground. I noticed a large tattoo of a red star on his bulging arm with 713 underneath.
He got out of the car and as he was about to kick her, a scream escaped my lips. “No!”
They both looked in our direction. Fear coated the girl’s face as she scrambled to her feet. The hulking boy moved in our direction, but the skinny girl held up her hands in surrender and picked up the green backpack. I saw a trickle of blood running down her nose.
Mama pulled me in the opposite direction. “It’s not our business,” she said quietly.
I turned away. But I felt even more horrible.
I needed a secret manual of how to make it work in Texas. It felt like everything was upside down and backward, but someone had to lead our way to Papa.
The furniture store appeared interesting. There was so much stuff, we could barely find the owner. Sofas smelled like the old men who played cards in the evening in Cedula. Papa and I would watch them and laugh as they told jokes and smoked. Grandma used to say they smelled like dust and farts. Either way, my heart ached as much as my feet.
The bald owner pointed at me. “We’ll take you. But your sister, no.”
Mama stammered, “I’m her mother.”
“Do you speak English?” he asked me in Spanish.
“I understand a lot. We could learn together,” I suggested.
The man rubbed his head, and then his chin. “Try back next week.”
He ran a chubby finger up my arm. “Unless you would like to do something today? Do you need some cash?”
A shudder shook my body. The taste of lumpy sour milk filled my mouth. He didn’t want a worker for the store, and I wasn’t selling what he wanted to buy. Hopefully I would never have to resort to what he wanted.
This went on for days. We asked everyone about Papa. We opened every door to every business we could find.
No work. No Papa. No nothing.
To keep my legs moving down the sidewalk, I thought about the times Grandma would wash my hair before Mass.
“Grandma, not so hard. I’m not that dirty.” My hair was getting long. I wanted to cut it, but Grandma thought I looked prettier with braids. Besides, I could do much better with a quince crown if I had long hair to weave through it.
“You must be clean for Mass tomorrow,” said Grandma.
Grandma made me promise to go to confession. She’s big on confession—sin and redemption. She would have made a good nun.
I wonder how many prayers I’ll have to say to make this situation better? Or was I wasting my breath?
Hunger tore me away from my thoughts. The aroma of food floated from a lime green metal building. The woman working inside wore a tank top. Her hair was in a ponytail, and swingy silver earrings danced along with the rhythm while she cut vegetables. I pulled Mama in her direction.
I had a good feeling about her. “We’re looking for work.”
Her face was kind. “My husband needs someone for our stand by the pool.” She looked at us the way you look at a lost dog. I didn’t really like pity, but my feet hurt so much. I prayed silently for a miracle. Please God, no more walking.
“I’m Manuela. My husband and I have been running the stands here for eight years,” she said, running a wet rag over the counter. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“We just moved here,” I said quickly.
Then, with a cock of her eyebrow she asked, “Do you have papers?”
Mama dug into her purse and thrust them into the air. “Yes. We have papers.” It sounded so rehearsed.
I came to the stand and looked up at the woman. She reached out her hand to me. The nails were short. She wore a silver ring on her middle finger that had red stones in it.
Her liquid eyes grew as she looked at me. Suddenly I felt shy and nervous.
I grasped her hand lightly. “You can trust us. We can work really hard. I’m Nora; this is my mother, Aurora.” My words felt new and grown-up.
“Which school are you going to in the fall? Have you ever had a job?”
“No…I mean yes. I worked in our orchard, and then I sold the fruit at the market.”
&
nbsp; Around Manuela’s neck hung a thin gold chain and locket. She touched it with her fingers. “Let me call my husband.”
Mama held the papers to her chest. A broad grin gripped her face. I stood tall and proud. Maybe this was our miracle.
Manuela continued to nod as a smile spread across her face. Her earrings danced and twinkled in the rays of sunshine. “Yes, I know. Tessa would have been her age…No, I’m not getting attached. They seem like a nice pair…just meet them and you’ll see. She has eyes just like Abuela,” whispered Manuela into the phone.
I tried to look like I wasn’t listening, but I wanted to know the details. Who was Tessa?
“Do you know where Quitman Park is? That’s where our other stand is located. My husband and I work both stands, but we want to open a restaurant. If you work with him, he’ll have time to get other things done. Can you go and see him?”
“No problem,” I said. “You won’t be sorry!”
I wished I would have saved myself all of the walking and just looked in the park first for work.
CHAPTER 20
The Patron Saint of Liars
Even though the afternoon sun scorched the pavement, it seemed like my feet could move faster. With the money from my new job, I could buy new shoes. Leather, instead of cheap plastic.
At the park, we found the stand on the other side of the swimming pool. I hadn’t seen it the other night when we were exploring. Children were buying raspas and potato chips. How could we have walked for days and missed what was right in front of us?
“Are you Jorge?” I asked the man standing behind the counter.
“Are you the women my wife called about?” asked the man over the giggling of the girls waiting for their Sno-Kones. Mama stood as silent as a rock, so I nodded my head.
“Then I’m Jorge,” he said, jutting out his hand.
Mama shook his hand and I stood tall next to her. I noticed that I was almost taller than she was. It was our third day here. How could I have grown in three days?
The girls went back to the swimming pool. I could see the trails of water dripping from their suits as flies of envy bit my ankles.
“Tomorrow, be here by seven a.m. I’ll pay you cash at the end of every day. Six dollars an hour.”
Six dollars seemed like a lot of money, but I wasn’t exactly sure how much bread it would buy or rent it would pay.
“Yes, that sounds very good,” I said, “but if you want, we can start working now.” I looked at the graffiti scribbled on the side of the cart. “I could scrub that off if you want.”
His face told me something was wrong. I didn’t want to lose the job. “Man, you look just like Tessa.” He gasped.
“We live across the street, so there is not a problem. I don’t think it would take me long to clean it,” I said quickly, just in case he was wondering.
He put his hand to his chin. A small tattoo of a cross in between his thumb and first finger peeked out. “Our niece—you resemble our niece. No wonder Manuela was taken with you. Ah, Tessa.” He sighed, looking away while shaking his head.
“This lady, Tessa—” I stammered, about to ask who or what she was. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. What was I supposed to say? “I’m sorry about your loss.” That’s what Grandma would say whenever someone died in Cedula.
“Oh, she hasn’t died, or at least we don’t think so. She’s just not with us anymore.”
He shook his head and the moment was gone. “We do most of our business from the swimming pool. The city gives free lessons to kids in the neighborhood. In the morning and at lunchtime, we sell mostly to workers,” said Jorge. “Don’t worry about the graffiti. Just trash talk.”
Mama cleared her throat. “So Nora and I will work here?”
“No. I think you should work with Manuela. I’ll keep Nora here with me to sell at the pool.”
I was glad to be near the swimming pool and in the shade. Maybe we would find Papa by working here in the stands. Papa had to eat, right?
Several kids screamed as they jumped off the board and into the crystal blue water. Splashes floated like tiny raindrops into the hot sky. I thought I noticed a green backpack.
Mama knocked me out of my daydream. “Señor Jorge asked you a question. Be polite to the new jefe.”
“How old are you?” He looked me directly in the eyes.
It was a good thing I had spent an entire day thinking about this question. I would save my fifteenth year for when we were all together. It was supposed to be a magical time. It was mine to have, and I wouldn’t give up my dreams just because things were a bit difficult.
“I’m sixteen,” I said, as if it were the exact truth. Because it was—no more little girl.
Jorge’s head was bald on the top, and the sides were filled with gray. His eyes were brown like Papa’s. As he leaned down, I could see a cross on a chain hanging around his neck. It had the same red stones as Manuela’s ring. “Okay, we’re legal.” Like a magician, he slapped his hands together as if he were showing us a rabbit had disappeared. With a wave of the arm and a few words—poof—we’re legal.
“Last question,” said Jorge. “Do you go to la iglesia?”
I noticed the crazy man jingling his cart toward the stand.
Mama stammered. I didn’t know what to say. What was the answer he wanted? “We haven’t found one yet,” I said.
The crazy man parked his cart behind the stand and covered it with a tarp. Jorge didn’t even look back, as if this happened every day.
“The church is one block past the Fiesta,” he said, as if part instruction, part suggestion.
“We’ll try to go to Mass soon.” I felt like I had to say something with Mama turning into a statue at my side. “We usually just watched it on TV with Grandma.”
“And where is your Grandma?” asked Jorge.
The dirty man disappeared with only a plastic bag.
“In Cedula,” I said, looking Jorge in the eye.
“Mexico? I haven’t heard of that town in ages. Such a tiny place.”
It seemed like a tiny place now, compared to Houston. It was small enough to sit in my head and burn a hole through my heart.
“Home is home,” I said. Grandma used to say that.
We waved good-bye and went back to our apartment, which didn’t feel like home at all.
CHAPTER 21
Mr. Mann
“Maybe we should try to go to Mass tomorrow,” I said. “You know, to light a candle or something?” It’s what Grandma would have done if she were nervous.
“Maybe another time.” Mama rubbed her eyes and flopped onto the bed.
In the dark, the noise still crept through the walls. I held my postcard from Papa as I fell asleep. Houston was supposed to be my place of dreams. Papa’s words rang in my head: We will be together.
Maybe it was a revelation. Maybe God was telling me to reunite my family. It says somewhere in the Bible that when a door closes, a window opens. Not that I had read the Bible, but the nuns told me. Maybe it’s not God, but I’m going crazy. It echoed through my thoughts like music from a radio in a distant room.
Suddenly clouds came and thunder and lightning shook everything around me. Mama ran away. Grandma could not be found. Our house and orchard didn’t exist anymore. I went through the entire journey of the truck by myself. Then I saw the crazy man and his shopping cart. Behind the cart sat Mama. When I approached, she didn’t know who I was anymore. Then the hulking boy who hit the girl began to chase me down the street. I tried to scream but awoke to sweaty sheets and the sound of Mama in the shower.
I carefully wiped away the tears from my eyes and convinced myself everything was okay. Only little girls have nightmares, and I couldn’t be one anymore.
Besides working in the orchard, I’d never had a real job.
“Mama, do you think we might see Papa today?”
Mama smiled into the mirror as she adjusted her dress. “Yes, let’s pray for that today.”
The ne
ighborhood was just waking up and stretching. A few cars clattered by. A man slept in the doorway with garbage bags all around him and a dog tied to his bicycle. It wasn’t the crazy man who parked his cart behind Jorge’s stand. How many homeless people lived in this neighborhood?
We walked to the park and waited for Jorge as the sun peeked through the leaves in the trees.
“Ladies! How’re you doing?” Jorge boomed, shattering the quiet. Birds fluttered from the trees.
He tossed a plastic bag in my direction. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but Manuela found a bathing suit. She thought Nora might like to swim during her break in the afternoon.” He held the suit out to my mother. The tags were attached. It was pure yellow, like the sun.
“Nora doesn’t know how to swim,” said Mama.
My heart sank. I wanted to be like the other girls. “I could learn,” I said. The idea of making friends while lying next to the pool gave me hope. Mama nodded with a shy smile.
“First go to the truck and get the ice. I’ll show your mama how we get things ready in the morning,” said Jorge.
The shadow of a man appeared from behind a tree and I shrieked.
Jorge looked up with a grin. “Good morning, Mr. Mann.”
The man sneered at me and uncovered his metal cart. Jorge handed Mama a broom and continued as if nothing had happened.
I unpacked supplies and picked up garbage in front of the stand. I heaved several watermelons from the truck and placed them next to the cutting board. Mr. Mann never said a word as he clattered away.
I took the butcher knife and sank it deep into the watermelon’s belly. Juice splashed out and coated my T-shirt. It cracked open, and the sweet meat spilled juice onto the counters.
I asked, “They really have swim lessons?”
“Yes.” Jorge laughed at some private joke. “I’m always telling Manuela not to get too attached. I told her it was weird to go off buying a swimsuit for you.”
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