A burro with two loaded baskets on his back came up behind her, and Polly stepped off the road to let him and his owner go by.
“Buenos días, Señora,” the man said, and Polly smiled and nodded. These people were friendly, even if she didn’t know what they were saying most of the time. The Rush family had been in the little village of Galeana for two weeks now. Just thinking about the new things she had seen and heard in that time made Polly’s head whirl.
Polly looked around carefully as she neared the market stalls. She was certainly not accustomed to walking this far to get food for the day, but the house where they lived had no garden where she could pick her own vegetables. There was no springhouse or root cellar either. Polly had never before had so many new things to get used to.
Now she approached a stall where baskets of big, ripe tomatoes were displayed. Pointing at one basket, she said, “Cuánto?”
“Five centavos, Señora.”
Polly shook her head. “Too much.”
“Four.”
“I can get them for three centavos down here.” Polly turned away.
“Three.”
Polly nodded, then dug into her bag for three coins. As she transferred the tomatoes to her basket, she thought gratefully of Carlotta.
“When you shop,” Carlotta had told her, “don’t just say ‘I’ll take that.’ You must say cuánto? That means ‘how much?’ The vendor will always tell you more than it’s worth, so you must bargain.”
This Polly learned to do quickly, and she was soon able to get the best price on everything she bought. She continued down the row of tables, reflecting on the new foods she had already cooked in Mexico with Carlotta’s help.
On her first trip to the market with Carlotta and Manda, Polly had stopped in front of a table piled high with small cactus plants. “I seen enough cactuses along the road without buyin’ ’em to plant in the yard. Do they really sell ’em?”
“Oh yes,” Carlotta said, “but you do not plant them. They are good to eat.”
Polly stared at her in disbelief. “You’re joshin’ us, ain’t you?”
“Joshing?”
“That means joking or being funny,” Manda had explained.
“Oh no,” Carlotta replied. “It is not a joke. This is called a prickly pear, and you can cook them many ways. I like them fried, but you can also stew them like apples.”
Polly hadn’t yet fixed prickly pears for the family, but she had tried many other new things. Everyone in Mexico, she discovered, ate a flat pancake called a tortilla instead of bread. Polly had watched in fascination as Carlotta showed her how to pat the cornmeal dough on the table, then toss the dough back and forth between her hands, slapping it sharply until it was round and thin. When it was warmed in a skillet, it could be rolled up with a filling of meat or cheese or mashed and fried beans. The family soon became fond of this new food. Polly’s tortillas weren’t as round and thin as Carlotta’s, but no one minded.
Polly squinted up at the sun and decided that it was time to be getting home. She would be late with dinner unless she hurried. As she turned back, she saw a boy running down a side street.
“Ethan,” she muttered to herself. “That boy has no idea what time it is. If I can catch him, he can carry this basket home.”
Quickly she crossed the road and entered the little street. A burro was coming toward her, and Polly backed up against a building to let it pass. When she started again, the street was empty.
“Oh, bother. He’s already gone around the corner. But he can’t be too far ahead of me.”
As fast as she could, Polly continued on. The street twisted and turned, and there was still no sign of Ethan. Confused now, Polly was beginning to tire. Removing the shawl from her head, she sank onto a wooden step in front of a deserted-looking building.
There sure ain’t much of anybody livin’ back here, she thought. I ain’t seen another soul since I passed that donkey.
Suddenly two large black boots appeared in front of her. Slowly she raised her head and looked at the man who was in them. Gripping her basket, she moved as close as she could to the building.
A bandit! Polly knew a bandit when she saw one. The man was dressed in a black shirt and black pants and had black hair and a mustache. Even the eyes peering down at her were like pieces of coal in his tanned face. Mutely, Polly held out the bag that contained her remaining centavos.
“Oh no, Señora. I do not want your money. I stopped to see if you are lost.”
Polly slumped down with relief. “Oh, mercy. You scared me. You speak English, so I guess you ain’t a bandit after all.”
The man threw his head back and laughed. “I would not say that, Señora, but I will do you no harm. May I help you find your way home?”
Polly nodded. “Yes, if you would please, Mr. …?”
“Villa, Señora,” he replied. “Pancho Villa.”
A shadow passed over the cloth on which Manda was sewing. She peered up at the window to see that clouds were gathering in the sky, then glanced at the clock.
“Goodness! It’s getting late! Where in the world is Polly?” She spoke to Frances, who was dusting the cupboard.
“She’s probably arguing with Señora Raza over two centavos.You know how she loves to get the best of those ladies.”
“But it’s past noon. She left right after breakfast. Where is Ethan?”
“Out in back chopping wood.”
Ethan was summoned.
“I think you’d better start toward the market and see if you can find Polly. Just say that you came to help her with her basket. She won’t like it if we tell her we thought she was lost. I tried to get her to take Frances with her, but she insisted that she could handle it alone. I’m afraid she’s gotten turned around somehow, and saying cuánto to everyone she sees isn’t going to get her very far.”
Frances laughed. “Yes, and when they don’t understand what she says, Polly just says it louder. But she is trying to learn. She’s probably on the road toward home right now.”
“I’d still feel better if Ethan walked with her,” Manda insisted.
Ethan started at once for the village square. The road ahead was empty, but he wasn’t surprised. Very soon after their arrival in Galeana, the family discovered that the hours following the noon meal were a time for siesta. Life seemed to stop during the hottest part of the day. The market stalls closed down as their owners shut their doors and rested in the nearest shade.
Surely Polly wouldn’t be shopping now, Ethan thought. He hurried a little faster, not sure where he would look if she weren’t on the road.
He had almost reached the square when Polly appeared. She wasn’t alone. Ethan slowed down and studied the big man beside her. Polly didn’t appear to be alarmed, even though she was so small that her head didn’t even come to the man’s shoulder. Ethan could see that the man was listening attentively as Polly talked. He was dressed in black, and his hair and mustache gave him the appearance of one who had lived a rough life. The fact that he carried Polly’s basket on his arm relieved Ethan’s fears a bit, but he continued to walk slowly until the three of them met.
“Ma sent me to carry your basket, Polly,” Ethan said.
“Now, she didn’t need to do that. This here gentleman offered to help me. His name’s Señor Villa.”
Polly smiled up at the man, and he extended his hand to Ethan.
“Buenos días, amigo. You must be Ethan.”
Ethan stared at him. “Yes, sir. How did you know?”
“Your good Señora Polly told me about you and your sister and brothers. We have much in common, you and I. I, too, was an orphan. It is a hard life, yes?”
Ethan nodded. “But I have a home. I’ve learned a lot. And I take care of my sister and brothers just like I promised Ma I would.”
“You are a brave young man
,” Señor Villa said to him. “Go to school as long as you can. Education will help you to live a successful life.”
“Next year, when we return to South Dakota, I’ll go to school. This year I want to work and help Ma and the others.”
The big man looked thoughtful. “You want work? Go to the newspaper office. Boys your age sell papers. How much you make depends on how hard you try.” He handed the basket of food to Ethan. “If you were older, I would hire you. You have the kind of heart I admire.” He lifted his hat to Polly. “Adiós, Señora. You are in good hands.”
They watched him for a moment as he strode back toward town.
“How did you meet him, Polly? Weren’t you scared that he might be a bandit?” Ethan asked.
“That nice man?” Polly sniffed. “He’s as fine a gentleman as I’ve seen.” She paused, then admitted, “I was a little anxious at first, but he offered to … carry my basket.”
Ethan grinned to himself. He knew she wasn’t about to admit that she had been lost and in need of rescue. Ma would put up a fuss and insist she not make the trip alone again, and Polly clearly enjoyed being on her own in this strange land.
Chapter Ten
Ethan Plays the Game
The following morning Ethan presented himself at the newspaper office.
The manager leaned over the counter. “You want to sell papers, eh? I do not have any Anglo boys working for me. All my boys Mexican. You think you sell as much as they do?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sí, Señor,” the man corrected him.
“Sí, Señor,” Ethan repeated. “I can do it.”
The man shrugged and pushed a bundle of papers across the counter. “Three centavos each. Bring all the money back, and you get paid this evening.”
Ethan sold all his papers, and that evening he returned home with five centavos, which he gave to Manda.
“I just walked up to everyone I saw and said, ‘El periódico?’ and most of them took one,” he told the family as he ate supper. “They don’t see many Americans selling things, I guess. Tomorrow I’ll do even better.”
Manda looked pleased. “Chad will be proud of you when he hears that you’re earning money.” She placed the centavos in a jar on the cupboard shelf. “Maybe you’ll have this filled by the time the men come back.”
In the next few days, Ethan discovered that he could talk with the other newsboys by using the little Spanish he knew and the few English words they were familiar with. He also discovered that they weren’t happy when he sold more papers than they did.
“I’m not going to quit selling papers because they don’t like it,” he told Polly. “They could do better if they didn’t spend so much time playing games.”
“Nobody likes to be bested by a newcomer,” Polly warned. “But they’ll get over it when they get used to you. Wouldn’t hurt none for you to play a little too, though.”
“They don’t ask me to play with them. They stop their game every time I walk by. I don’t think they like me much.”
Ethan was surprised, then, when one of the boys called out to him as he passed by the alley where they sat on the ground.
“Hey, gringo!”
Ethan stopped, and when the boy beckoned to him, he walked over to see what he wanted. The boy, whose name was Carlos, had obviously been around a number of gringos, for he spoke English well.
“You sold all your papers?”
“Almost.”
“How much money you got?”
Ethan felt the coins in his pocket. “Haven’t counted it. Enough to pay for my papers, I guess.”
Carlos jerked his head toward another boy. “Miguel here thinks it’s too bad you only get a few centavos every day for all that work. He says we should help you earn more.”
Ethan was suspicious. “How do I do that?”
“Here. Sit down, and we’ll show you. First, everyone puts a coin in the circle.”
Carlos, Miguel, and two other boys each tossed a centavo into the ring traced in the dirt. They waited for Ethan to do the same.
“I don’t have any money of my own,” Ethan protested. “We don’t get paid till we go back to the office.”
“You don’t lose the money,” Carlos told him. “Toss one in to see how it works. If you don’t want to play, we’ll give it back to you.”
I need to make friends with these fellows, Ethan thought. I don’t need any enemies here. Reluctantly he threw a coin into the circle.
Carlos handed him a pair of dice. “Now, call out a number—any number you want.”
“Three,” Ethan said.
Each of the other boys called a number.
“Now throw the dice. If someone called the number that comes up, he gets all the coins. If nobody has the right number, we all add another centavo and call again.”
Ethan did as he was told, but no one had the right number. Each boy tossed in another coin, and it was Gilberto’s turn to throw the dice. There was still no winner, and a third coin was added to the ring. This time Miguel rolled a six—the number Ethan had called.
“¡Olé!” Carlos shouted. “You got them all!” He gathered up the fifteen centavos and handed them to Ethan. “Isn’t that more fun than selling papers?”
Ethan agreed that it was, although he had a feeling that something wasn’t right about this game. “What about the rest of you? You lost some of your paper money. What will the manager say?”
Carlos shrugged. “It’s only three centavos apiece. We have that much extra. The papers we don’t sell we give back to the manager. When you play with us, you just hand in enough for your papers. You get to keep the rest. How about it. Are you in?”
Ethan looked at the pile of coins. “I guess so,” he mumbled. “Now I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Sure,” Carlos said. “We’ll see you later.”
When the day ended, Ethan handed in money for all the papers. The other boys, as usual, had papers left over.
The manager grumbled as he took them back. “You should work as hard as the gringo. He sells his papers every day. What do you do with your time?”
Carlos grinned. “He’s just better than us, that’s all. He works too hard.”
Ethan felt uncomfortable and knew that his face was turning red. He put the centavos in his pocket and started for home. The coins he had won in the game felt heavy. He needed to think about this new development. Being one of the boys was a good thing. He didn’t want to be an outsider.
But he also knew that he couldn’t give the extra money to Ma. She would need to know where it came from, and he felt certain that she wouldn’t approve of the game. Where, he wondered, did the boys get the money to pay for their papers when they lost? Then it occurred to him that he himself now had enough centavos to play and win more. That was how they did it. They played only with their winnings, so there was always enough money.
This conclusion made him feel a little less nervous, but Ethan wasn’t as happy as usual when he handed the earned coins to Ma and was praised for working hard.
I did work hard and sold all my papers, he told himself as he tried to sleep that night. What harm did it do to get a little extra now and then, as long as he paid attention to his job?
The next day Ethan played the game with the boys and lost four centavos. Well, he had eight left. He would be more careful. In the days that followed, Ethan would win a few coins and then lose a few. He continued to faithfully sell his newspapers and take five centavos home to Ma each day, but he was never lucky enough to win a large amount in a game again.
Then in December, Ethan found out what happened when one of the boys lost so much he couldn’t pay for the papers he sold.
The game went five rounds, and no one had called the right number. Twenty-five centavos were in the ring—a small fortune, it seemed to Ethan. Everyone had to throw in
another coin. Ethan had only one left, and his heart pounded as he tossed it in with the others. Again, the number wasn’t called.
Ethan sat back on his heels. “I don’t have any more money,” he said. “I’ll have to quit.”
“You got your paper money,” Carlos said. “Put one in.”
“I can’t do that! It doesn’t belong to me! How will I pay for my papers?”
“Us fellows stick together,” Carlos told him. “If you don’t win the game, whoever does will pay for you. If you win, you make up what the other guys lose and pay for their papers. Then you keep the rest. Go ahead—throw it in.”
Two games later Gilberto won all the money. He scooped up thirty-two centavos and stuffed them into his pocket. Then, true to his word, he pulled out two and handed them to Ethan.
Carlos took a small notebook from his overalls and wrote, Ethan, two centavos. “Next time you win, you pay it back, and we’ll be even. You’ll probably best us all tomorrow.”
“But I won’t have anything to play with tomorrow,” Ethan protested. “I can’t use my paper money every day.”
“Look, you got your money to turn in today, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, tomorrow will be the same,” Carlos explained. “We give you a centavo to start with like you did the first time. Remember? You won enough to pay for your papers and took a bunch home. Just stay with us, and you’ll win big. You can’t lose—we’re always behind you.”
Even though he didn’t want to play any longer, Ethan knew that he had to pay back the money they had loaned him. Somehow, even when he won occasionally, he was never able to have all the centavos against his name erased from the book that Carlos carried with him.
Ethan was taking longer to get home in the evening, and when he did arrive, he wasn’t hungry. He pushed the food around on his plate, and he no longer told the family about all that happened during the day.
“You see?” Polly exclaimed. “I said you was workin’ too hard. I told you that you ought to play once in a while.”
Across the Border Page 6