A Wetback in Reverse

by Frederick Martin-Del-Campo

  It did not take her long to respond, and she was anxious to gather what I really felt about her problems with her son, Gamaliel. Yes, I did try and include as much as I could about my own experiences in relating my sorrows and traumas. I am sure I left a lot out, but it was a daunting, monumental task trying to encapsulate so many years of bullshit, of putting it all into perspective, and yet keep it relevant to her own troubles. Towards the end of our conversations, I reflected on my prison experiences in greater detail, and exactly how it all came about. She was very open and solicitous about it all, and expressed a desire that I personally share my anecdotes with Gamaliel, if only to comfort and assure him that he was not alone in his sorrow. I had my doubts though:

  ~ Well, Primo, I wonder if you should share this with Gamaliel so that he could know, deep in his soul, that he is not alone, even though he hardly knows you. I can’t have any idea what he thinks or knows about you though since you are generally known to be a peaceful, modest person (or at least that is the impression you give to most people). I think it would affect him positively to know how someone like you also suffered in jail; this could help to free him from any doubts by showing that we deeply know, and share his pain and humiliation. Indeed, even one like you has a closet full of traumas and abominations.

  “Just Understand,” is what some famous person said about the suffering of his people to his oppressor. That is what I ask of certain people, so the fact that I am coming to understand the reasons for the way you and others turned out as human beings is very important to me, and the understanding goes a long way towards ameliorating our common lot.

  Again, I must insist that you not apologize for “making you remember these things.” I tell you, these memories have never left me, they haunt my dreams all the time.

  What you did was to lighten the burden of the isolation that has made me a prisoner of my own resentments for all of these past years. The fact that you are the first and only person that had bothered to ask, that had tried to understand, has helped to lift me, AT LONG LAST, from this sea of darkness and menace that has left me drowning, little by little, in despair for more than two decades. At last there is a sympathetic soul that will listen to, or read MY SIDE of the story. At last, I am expunged of the silence that threatened to follow me to my grave, and prevented me from reaching out to the truth; from reaching out to others who will share the light of vindication with others willing, and wanting to understand the meaning of the why-fore of our shared suffering.

  Yes, others have been very sympathetic, bless their souls, and of course I owe it to them for having opened my heart to therapy and other help. Nonetheless, they could never quite see things from the perspective of an insider, a member of the family. Of that group, again I say, only you who, once upon a time, I thought would NEVER see things from my point of view, have been chastened by life; enough to be able to see things from the perspective of a person who has truly been wronged by Life. Only you have shown that your heart has survived the fires of compassion and enduring sadness, and can see things clearly without the bullshit that blinds the eyes of our vain and more selfish family members.

  On another occasion you wrote: “I really don’t think I have done anything.” But, as the Hindus say: we are all like diamonds in the rough, but when the divine light is shed on us, the light of knowledge and understanding, it reflects on the facets of the other diamonds. In turn, the light keeps traveling, bouncing and reflecting from one diamond to another, towards infinity...

  Well, you may feel you have done nothing, but your light has truly reflected on me, illuminating my existence. The reflected light travels on, bouncing off of others.

  Your being able to understand sheds that divine light, that we may be able to see and follow the path that leads towards whatever Life has waiting for us; yes, us, the survivors of the horror, of the anger and sorrow we inherited from children of ignorance ~ children of the darkness who had little of the divine light fall on them. They all ended up giving nothing but the evil and barbarity that are inherent in the darkness.

  As for my family, because you have it in your heart to love them still, that is why I entrust them to you, especially my mother, even though it is a burden I would rather not trouble you with, in pride or in shame.

  Without you there is no one. Already all of my other brothers and sisters have totally abandoned her now that she is ailing and exhausted with Life. She now even begs help from me, the only one left who will speak to her. If she dies tomorrow or in 20 years, I have sworn not to tell anyone ~ assuming it is my terrible misfortune to have to watch out for her still after all those years.

  I am beyond the hypocrisy, however, and the pusillanimous piety that makes others---pious hypocrites every one of them---feel good about themselves. I will not play into their hands so that they can feel sorry for themselves once their sweet mother Maribel dies. NO! Not anymore. They didn’t give a shit about her while she was alive, I will not make it easy for them, like I have said many times.

  Only you will know, only you I will inform, assuming that, if her death does take place years from now, we are still communicating as we are, or if I am still alive (I don’t joke, or take the subject lightly considering the awful challenges we have survived just by living near a diseased riddled swamp---which spoils the serenity of our beloved Finca, and the damned local municipal government is slow to do anything about it---or this darkness that threatens to overtake my soul again, leading me towards my own, self-inflicted doom).

  I would prefer you not tell anyone else outside of your immediate family, but that would be your choice whether to inform my remaining brothers and sisters.

  I know my mother would rather I only inform Alicia, my third eldest sister, because she is still her darling daughter, but does not care if I inform any one of her other children.

  If you still care, then you will be informed, and know that you are truly her son now, the only one who really seems to care.

  In my case, again, she never showed that she would still love me if I turned out to be a murderer. On the contrary, she just might love you in spite of any faults you might have.

  Oh well, I apologize now for this email. I did not mean to depress you, or harp on with my guilt and shame over the horrors we live with sans-resignation. You have enough to worry about.

  I did not intend to cause you any embarrassment or discomfort. I feel that knowing is much better, even it did leave you feeling a bit embarrassed, than keeping you in ignorance, leaving you to wonder if anyone cares, or has even noticed your quiet suffering throughout all of these past years.

  Yes, Freddy, someone does care, and has noticed your suffering ...

  So, let’s sing along again, and try to believe in angels.

  Amor y besos,

  Becky ~

  This last reply really got me to think about my own situation again. The catharsis I was attempting to achieve by traveling, she was undergoing by way of her sacrifices on behalf of her children. She truly is a changed person, far different from the mischievous rapscallion of a tom-boy I grew up with, and never really liked at the time now that I think about it. Today, however, our mutual Fate was joined by our souls and common misery, and more and more I would come to rely on her counsel. Hence, to reassure her of my sincerity, I replied:

  ~ Becky, my prayers for now, and as always, are focused on Gamaliel. He shall over come, and you shall overcome ... some day!

  I do hope that when your mother passes you will let me know, and of course, as for the others, I will not take the time of my day to tell them a single thing, especially after what happened with your sister Margara lately (when she angrily yelled at me over the phone after I’d called her to inquire about your mother’s health). I have thought about that moment many times, and wonder what will happen to you when it does happen. For me, I want you to be safe first of all, that you have access to the assets that you handle of hers so that you keep them for yourself ~ I know you are well off now and don’t need the
money, but fair is fair, and even your nemeses would agree that you are entitled to every red cent. You, more than anyone else, deserve them, and I know that the first thing they will do when they learn of her passing is try to take away hasta los calzones (even your under-wear) from you. So, especially now that I know, I will not tell anyone if that is your wish. I would like however that you have a plan, move back to the States, go to Peru with your long-lost lover, Roberto (I know that you are still carrying a torch for him, so don’t bother to deny it), to China as a teacher, like you always dreamed of doing, or wherever.

  As for feeling embarrassment, please believe me I do feel shame for how fucked up this world can be, but not for what you did or failed to do. You were there, I remember that day, and I remember how you tried to shut up my stupid sister when I was holding the base-ball bat, and the sight of the bloody head of that delinquent Jorge who’d broken into the house and attacked us. You missed what happened next because no one would tell you. It comes as a surprise that only recently you learned that I had gone to jail.

  I knew how you were back then, and you knew my family well; that bum Jorge deserved what he got, he had bothered others in the nearby streets, including yourself, many times. I remember also that on one occasion he got violent and abusive in the Pizzeria you worked at (remember that incident?), but luckily Sam, your boss, stopped him. It happened at one of the dinner tables, others were eating, and he had just been released from jail a few days before. It also must have been some time before the incident with me, all because he offered you drugs over the counter, and you refused. This surely must bring back many horrible details to mind.

  So, my sweet Becky, I always knew we had a special connection since we were little, despite all of our fights for territory---you defending Mexico, and me defending my sweet America---but somehow, while my brother Fabian was hovering over you with incest on his mind, I felt that you started seeing me differently, just like Margara and every one else, and there were times when you even avoided saying hello when I visited, which is something we clarified a while back. I am so glad now that I can show my true colors, my actual face, as well, and most importantly that you can see it.

  Cuidate prima y cuenta conmigo (take care cousin, and you can count on me) for anything that requires my support, which during these times isn’t much. But, I believe that God will provide for both of us! We are survivors. I want you to know that I enjoy even what you write, although bad experiences as they are, they are somehow poetic and touching.

  Yours truly,

  Freddy ~

  A whole new can of worms had been opened; memories long suppressed had emerged from my memory, and now would be her turn to stir the pot of nostalgia and trauma. What would come of it, neither of us could say, but we both felt that we were at a cross-roads in life, and the slightest misunderstanding might cause us to take divergent paths, even with all the sympathetic reassurances and vows to see to each-other’s welfare.

  Thus she stirred the murky pot some more:

  ~ Oh Primo, you were there when I fought against that nasty brother of yours? Damn that Fabian, he really disgusted me! Yet everyone, thinking the worst about me, thought that I had seduced him! Yes, that’s right ~ I had just been with your family a few months or more. My God, I wasn’t even 20 years old yet, right?

  Whenever you get a free moment, please write me about what you personally remember. I do recall the terrible circumstances that followed so well, but the actual event at the house is now hazy in my memory. I only remember swinging that damned base-ball bat (probably the same one you used on Jorge), and stupid Helena panicking and crying her eyes out, Why! Why!, como mariquita sin calzones (like a silly pansy).

  Wow! we really did participate in some history making, didn’t we? Y, pa que veas (and, it just goes to show), I truly had no idea that you had gone to jail. This was a real surprise. I can’t believe I did not know until recently.

  And, even more surprisingly, I did not know that you knew about the incident in the Pizzeria when that stupid drug-pusher had harassed and threatened me. And, thanks for saying that ~ that he deserved what he got. Bless you truly, even after all these years since it happened, the fact that you are on my side really helps my self-esteem.

  Yes, I remember the whole episode you suffered through, when you’d had occasion to beat the crap out of him, lasted almost 6 days ---3 in the hospital, then actual prison, then the processing and then being let go---but to what purpose? I later learned they’d let him out soon after you’d been released.

  With respect to Fabian’s nasty amorous advances, did you lose all respect for me at the time?

  Anyway, I am so glad that you understand those times now, and even why I may have stopped saying Hello to you. I am so relieved!

  Becky ~

  A couple of days passed, and not much went on between us. Gamaliel was still in jail, and I was still in Guerrero, but by now I had found my way to Zihuatanejo. It is a most enjoyable spot with languorous beaches, gentle Pacific breezes, lanky palm trees swaying to the rising tide, mouth-watering shell-fish cock-tails to be had at the palm-covered coktelerias (cock-tail huts), enervating Tequila Sunrises and Rum-Cocos offered gratis at the hotel bar, and gorgeous bodies, of both genders, sauntering about provocatively, enticing other less gorgeous types to abandon all cares to the sands. I followed suit, and slept on a hammock through entire afternoons without a care in the world. Then, on the second day, I awoke and discovered Becky’s reply had arrived four hours before.

  I prepared then to answer her without hesitation:

  ~ Becky, you know my stupid family could never understand. They only know that I was soberbio (proud), but that’s how it was in those days. They forget that not saying hello is nothing. I mean, how can they reproach you for not saying Hello when I lasted almost 4 years without saying a word to my own father, even while living under his roof and eating his food? It was the same with my other brothers, and the last one I refused to speak to anymore was Fabian. Instead of going crazy with violence, like I had with the dope-pusher, I found it much safer to stop talking to my new enemies. Many times I would stop talking to my mother, but she always caved in and ended up talking to me, imploring me to be forgiving and let bygones be bygones.

  It is too bad you are learning these bare facts the hard way, but it was inevitable. The evil was bound to slither out of dark oblivion.

  Even your sister Margara’s terrible attitude towards me, if you haven’t learned of this already, is not really due to any personal animosity she harbors against me. I know that for a fact, since she has no reason to dislike me. No, just like when you stopped saying hello to me, I knew I had nothing at all to do with it; if something did involve us, it was all Fabian’s and our own mothers’ fault because of their rumor mongering and accusations against us. He would act like a total asshole towards us, then blame us for turning him against us ~ blame everyone except himself, the obvious culprit.

  It was also my mother’s fault because she would repeat the slanders both Fabian and your mother, sweet “auntie” Lydia, had hurled against you. Fabian and your mother can be blamed because they actually started with the wickedly slanderous remarks against you, and someone as dumb as Margara or Alicia believed it all. But, as you yourself observed, my mother cannot be totally blamed since she was just stupid enough to believe what she was told. Like a cantankerous macaw, she just started to repeat everything she overheard without understanding the implications of the slander.

  As for your attitude today, I thank you again for understanding, and for caring about my future. Maybe the fact that we are so close by way of email now, after all these years, is a vindication of that feeling you described about being connected since we were little kids. Funny we should both recall those days when we would argue about defending our territories as children ~ now that you are all pro-American and had lived happily in the U.S. while attending college, while I took many Chicano Studies courses, and now am experiencing Mexico like few others eve
r do. What an extraordinary irony Life has served us!

  Yes, you do need a plan, and I would so much like to experience Peru with you, or even China some day. But, heading back to good ol’ America has to be my goal. I may be an idiot, but I am already dreaming of buying, sleeping and taking it easy in that house that your old sorority sister, Corazon, is selling. I can see me now, lolling in an easy-chair, watching old sitcom re-runs, and having chicken-pot pie for lunch in between writing articles about tourism for the E-Travel blogger. What a nice, quiet, serene little life that would be!

  Freddy ~

  ... As I proof-read my email looking for any typos and punctuation errors, I started wondering what old Fulgencio San Roman was doing back at that decaying old cantina where I’d first seen him. I wondered what he’d make out of all my tortured correspondence with Becky. Would he think it fodder for one of his movie plots? Perhaps not, even as I try to wrench some sense out of it. The past, nonetheless, is being resurrected for purposes of conciliation, and that’s something neither Becky nor me intended. Old Fulgencio would likely find it all too humorous to think about.

  DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS BETRAYED

  Well, Zihuatanejo worked splendidly on my nerves, and I relaxed more than I thought I could. So far the food was decent, and the people overtly friendly, perhaps too friendly in the case of some beach-boys looking for chamba (work) by offering themselves for an easy exchange, so to speak. There was much to consider regarding Becky’s correspondence, and during this phase of our long-distance relationship, some unhappy, even dirty, little secrets would escape that clandestine mental archive that guards them from impudent attention. Hence, I gratefully replied:

  ~ Well, my sweet friend, I must give you thanks again for all of your gentle reassurances. I was sincere by qualifying your writing as poetic and touching. It means a lot to me to learn these things, and just like you feel, it means a great deal coming from intelligent, educated people, like you, not from fucking pendejos analfabetos ignorantes (idiots, illiterates, ignorants), like a certain old woman I could name.