by Oscar Lewis
When we were little, I got along well with Consuelo. Later, I was surprised at how my sister changed. She blew up at practically nothing and would create a tempest in a glass of water. She had an uneven temperament and seemed to me to be unsociable, secretive and irritable. She was very dry and didn’t have much to do with people. But apart from that, she was good, all good.
The trouble between Consuelo and me began after my stepmother came to live with my father. I ate breakfast late, after the others, because, I don’t know why but ever since I was little, I was ashamed to sit at the table without doing some chore. I always did work around the house, like lighting the charcoal fire, putting up the coffee, cleaning the bird cages and feeding the birds. No one told me to, but it pained me not to do something before I ate.
After the family had eaten, I’d hunt around the kitchen for food. Many times, right in front of me, Consuelo or Elena would pour the leftover coffee down the drain, or crush up my bread. I would say, “Ha, ha! you make me laugh! I’m not even hungry.” I would grab one of the bananas we fed the birds and would go out. I’d send them to the devil, not out of anger but out of hurt feelings. The truth is that when they destroyed my breakfast like that, I felt great anxiety in my heart and a lump in my throat. I would cry, not in front of them, but in one of the little shower rooms in the courtyard. I tried to keep quiet about these things because I knew if I told my father, he’d scold them and maybe even punish them with the strap. He did scold Consuelo at times, but she didn’t change.
But I have always been a brother to my sisters. I have never punished them without a reason, like if they didn’t obey me, or because they talked back to my papá, or called me “lousy black.” I am heartbroken at the thought of how many times I have beaten them. I want to ask their pardon, but when I see them I lose my courage. It makes me suffer, because a man shouldn’t beat a woman. But I only slapped them with the palm or the back of my hand. And when I slapped, it was only on the arm or the back, or the head.
But when my father came home Consuelo would tell him that I had kicked her or hit her on the lung. Ay! my God! Those weren’t caresses my father gave me because of those lies! On my word! I speak from the heart, that I never hit her like that. She was a little liar then, and it was Elena’s fault that, well, the blessed woman is now at peace, God has her in heaven, but when she and my sister accused me and exaggerated, my papá thrashed me with that doubled electric cable that had a copper wire inside and a knot on the end.
How difficult Consuelo and Elena made life for me! I felt that they were against me and that I constantly had to be on guard. And my father favored the women. He had always taken better care of them and it seemed to me that he loved my sisters more. Rather, he loved us all equally, but only they had the privilege of having him demonstrate it to them. He had always preferred women. I never paid attention to it, it never bothered me. On the contrary, I liked it because that way I was more sure of my sisters, that is, the way I see it, they could never say as an excuse that they had missed their father’s love …
I’ll tell you why I hit my sisters. It wasn’t because I felt any hatred or bitterness toward them. It was that I never liked my sisters to play with boys. But they didn’t pay any attention to me and it’s logical, isn’t it? because, well, little girls naturally have to play with little boys.
I had this feeling because ever since I was small I’ve been very mean toward little girls, as mean as they make them. I was full of malice. Sometimes I would take a little girl to the toilet when nobody was home. I always tried to find a way so that we wouldn’t be seen, and then I’d begin to feel her up, with her consent, of course. I was only about five or six, and even after my mother died, when I was eight or nine, I still did it. That’s why I didn’t want my sisters to play with boys, because I figured the boys could do the same thing to them. Just feel them up, as we say, that’s all I ever did to the little girls.
When we were older, Manuel, my cousin Matilde, my cousin Julia, and I began to play. My brother went off with Julia in one direction, and I went off in another with Matilde. She was the stepdaughter of my uncle Alfredo, so she was not actually related to me. Unfortunately, ever since I was little and even now that I am grown-up just the slightest contact with a woman, if I would just touch a woman or shake hands with her, stimulates my natural feelings so that I cannot control myself. It’s the same with all men, I suppose.
So I had the idea of going to the bathroom with Matilde. There were no inside toilets in the vecindad where she lived; they were out in the courtyard, so it was convenient for what I wanted to do.
I convinced her and we went. I told her to lie down in the corner. I lifted up her dress and pulled down her panties, and at that time I couldn’t call what I had a member, it was just barely sprouting, but I put it between her legs. I really couldn’t do anything and I didn’t even know where it should go, but with her consent, there were the two of us, trying to do it this way and that, playing papá and mamá.
So I did this shameful thing with my cousin and that’s why I was always trying to watch over my sisters.
When we moved to the Casa Grande I was still quite small. Our first room there was very tiny and in terrible condition. The floor was full of holes, out of which came large rats. We would lose lots of things down those holes, money, marbles, combs. There was no electricity there then, until my father paid to have them connect it up. I liked being in the dark, or having only candlelight, but my father has always insisted on modern comforts. He liked a place to be roomy and very clean, and that is why we moved into a larger room.
Elena liked to keep the house nice, too. Man, she was always wanting this and wanting that for the house, and moving around the furniture. I never liked all that changing about, but say what you will about Elena, she made our house a place to be proud of, an example to the neighbors, because it was always clean and orderly. Our house has changed a lot since then and is no longer respected. Before, it was so well thought of that people passing by even took off their hats. And all the time my father lived with us, he never fell behind in the rent. On the contrary, he paid one month in advance and, as a reward, the landlord gave him a free ticket to the bathhouse.
The law in the Casa Grande was … new tenant … new fight. To get into the gang, I had to pass through a number of tests. They put their best gallos or fighters on the new boy, to see if he was acceptable as a friend. Before, families moved in and out wholesale and there were lots of free-for-alls. Anyone who saw me in the courtyard would hit, pinch, or throw stones at me. If I was carrying something from the store, they would knock it down, and then I would get punished again at home. And so, as the amount of pain the human body can stand has its limit, so patience has its limits, and you find yourself obliged to fight.
One day I was walking by and there in the courtyard, waiting for me, were my brother and the four Ramírez boys. They were waiting for that decisive bout. Manuel had felt obligated to propose me as a member of the gang. But I wasn’t going to be their butt just because I was new. My brother said, “Come on, fight.” Daniel was going to be the one to test me. I called out to Manuel, but it made him mad that I should be such a coward. “Don’t be a slacker. Defend yourself. I won’t be fighting for you all your life.”
Then they threw Jorge Ramírez at me, and they said, “Mix it up with him or we’ll beat the hell out of you.” So, whether I wanted to or not, because I was so damned afraid of those guys, Jorge lasted two or three punches and went away crying. I drew blood. After that I fought Hermilio and Daniel … all good friends … as these were friendly fights, even though they seemed very real. I fought everyone of them until I got to the main gallo, and beat him. I figured that was it, but neighbors kept moving in and I had to test them, to make them come into our circle. If they didn’t, they were led a miserable life.
I began to like fighting. I didn’t go complaining when they hit me, but would tangle with anybody immediately. Thus, I relieved my brother of the respon
sibility of having to fight for me. Actually, I never wanted to fight with anybody, but they kept looking for it. I had to defend myself and continued to do so all my life.
The top gallos, the ones who fought best, became part of the group of leaders. They were ranked like the army: Wilfredo, Captain; Ignacio, Lieutenant; Hermilio, Second Lieutenant; Manuel, Sergeant; I, Roberto, Second Sergeant; and so on. When we measured our strength with the captain, we were the ones who decided what we would do when we played. One after another of us began to dominate.
There is a game, “follow the leader,” in which ten or fifteen of the gang would get together and follow “the hand,” the leader. If he jumps over a sewer, all the others have to do it. If they don’t, we gang up on them. When I was “the hand,” there were quite a number of complaints brought to my papá. I got into trouble because I jumped the fence around the little garden here in the vecindad. I could jump it easily, but there were boys who couldn’t and they began to destroy it. Also, there were my escapades with the water and sewer pipes. They were all the way up at the top and I used to climb to the roof that way. As a result, I pulled down or loosened a few pipes.
I liked to walk around the rooftops, too, and fell more than once. Most of the time, I fell feet first, standing up, and that’s why the boys called me the “Orangutang.” When we played soccer and would lose the ball on the roof, the “Orangutang,” to make a good impression, would climb up to look for it. The neighbors would tell Elena, or complain to my father and he would send Manuel to look for me. He was always sensitive about the neighbors’ complaints. Later, when I got home, I relaxed my body and waited to receive the blows.
When Elena asked my father for permission to visit her mother, who lived in a village in Jalisco, I begged her to take me. Consuelo, whom Elena loved the most, thought she should be the one to go but my papá sent me along, to look after Elena, or perhaps to spy on her. Anyway, the two of us left on the train. It was my first long trip and my memories of it are pleasant.
To me, to recall is to live again! I liked the way of life there. The village was picturesque, with unpaved streets and adobe houses. I liked the village church the most. I got to know Elena’s family, her mother, Santitos, her brothers, Raimundo and Arturo, her two sisters, Soledad and Concha, who later died. Señora Santitos was a fine person, very decent. Like Elena, she had no schooling and didn’t know how to read and write. I liked them all.
They taught me how to milk the cows, and I even drank the milk straight from the teats. I would push aside the calves or the baby goats and lie down and drink! We spent about a month there, a happy month for me.
Another time I got along well with Elena was when I was ill, with espanto or fright, according to her. I was sleepy all the time. I didn’t eat, I was pale and thin and had rings under my eyes. I never knew what illness I had. Only Elena and her mother knew … they said it was espanto and they tried to cure me with all kinds of herb concoctions. My father always looked out for us and sent me to a doctor. Elena took care of me that time, as there was a truce between us on account of me being sick. If she had always treated me the way she did then, maybe she would still be alive, or at least we would have gotten along better.
When I was about eleven years old and still in the first grade, I ran away for the first time. I went to Veracruz with no more than the clothes on my back. I had no money to start out with. In those days, I never got to have a whole peso in my pocket all at once. I was limited to the five centavos my father would put under our pillows each morning before he went to work. On Sundays, we got twenty centavos each. But I usually spent my money right away and never had any in my pocket. On the road all the money I had was what one driver gave me.
My excuse for running away was that my father scolded me, but in reality, he always scolded me. The main reason was that I heard the boys talking about their adventures and I wanted to find out for myself. So I went to Veracruz. I chose that place because I had been to Veracruz once with my father and mother, Manuel and Consuelo, who was a nursing baby then. My grandfather had died and some uncles of mine had put my father in jail and had taken away his inheritance. Just to think of it made my blood boil! Imagine, my uncles had done this to my father! Such shameless, materialistic people! Money was everything to them! But my uncles were dead and I didn’t know about my other relatives until later.
Right off the bat, I walked about twenty-three kilometers on the Mexico-Puebla highway. I have always liked the road; walking is my life. I’ve walked from Maltrata all the way along the railroad tracks as far as Orizaba (about seventy kilometers), just to see the vegetation and the fantastic view. The train would pass by and I could have jumped it (I don’t have the old-fashioned bad habit of paying fares) but I preferred to walk along, admiring the scenery. I like to walk day and night, until I fall down with exhaustion. Then I go to sleep at the side of the highway. I can find grass anywhere and I’d cut a pile of it for my bed.
On the highway I felt happy and carefree. The problem of food didn’t worry me. It was easy for me to go up to a shack and ask for work to do in exchange for a taco. Everybody gave me something to do, draw water from the well, chop wood, or any simple thing like that, and then they’d give me something to eat. Lots of people would tell me to sit down to eat first, and then they wouldn’t let me do anything for them. They would fix up a pack of tortillas and salt and off I’d go.
I had laid out a route and went as I had planned. From Los Reyes, I walked as far as the crossroads, where the highways to Texcoco, Puebla, and Veracruz meet. No damned car would stop for me, even though they saw I was a kid. A bus picked me up and they asked where I was from. If I had known that saying you are from Mexico City closed doors to you, I would have said I was from somewhere else. People from the capital have a very bad reputation. At the carnivals and fiestas, whenever they catch anybody stealing or doing something wrong, he turns out to be from there. During Holy Week and the Carnival on July 24, lots of dope addicts and homosexuals from Mexico City go to Veracruz. I saw some there, dressed up like women. Who knows why they do this? It is nauseating.
I traveled alone. I never wanted to take along friends because I have always preferred to go on my own. It is easier for me to get around by myself. I would ask people the way. By asking, you can get to Rome.
When I left home, I felt as though a great weight was lifted off me. To live with other people is hard. I never wanted to be tied to the family again. Sometimes I would ask for lodging for a night and I would stay with a family for a few days. But I wasn’t comfortable because what I was looking for was to be free. And so I went, like the air, without difficulty, without direction, free … People would ask, “Why did you leave home?”
“Because my father scolded me. I have a stepmother.” How I used Elena as an excuse! I think that was why I was always making her mad, so that I could use her as a pretext for my lies. I had the luck of a canaille, for I achieved my ends for the moment. I call myself canaille, because I used another person to cover up my lies. What I have gone through is nothing, compared to what I deserve.
Like all adventurers, when I arrived in Veracruz, I asked the way to the sea. I reached it and sat on a navy dock all day looking at its vastness. The sea was beautiful, overpowering. I was there all day and saw how the tourists and the watchmen, who guard the docks and the cargoes, had nothing else to do but fish. When it was nightfall I wondered where I was going to sleep. That is the least problem there, because it is very hot. I decided to stay on one of the beaches, the best and softest one. At night the tide rises, so I stayed some distance from the sea.
The next day I felt like eating. I hadn’t eaten anything the day before. I was so entranced, watching the sea and the fishing. I went over to the docks, because of the cargo boats anchored there. I saw a lot of people walking back and forth. They were a rough bunch, dark-skinned guys, huskier than hell, the bastards. I approached the boat cook and asked if he didn’t have any work for me in exchange for a taco. He fel
t sorry for me and it was because of that cook that I worked as a longshoreman for the first time in my life. I carried any little stuff and they would give me meals in return. We started work at eight and stopped at twelve, then began at twelve-thirty and quit at four-thirty. That was the way I got my food and lodging, for they gave me permission to sleep on the boat.
After a while, it didn’t look like such a good setup for me. A boat would come in and I would stick to it like a leech. But the next day it would pull out and I would be homeless and without food again. I was always having to look for a place to eat and sleep. But I knew that if anybody died of hunger it was because he was lazy. If you helped the fishermen on the free beaches pull in their nets, you wouldn’t get money but they’d give you a few fish. In one casting, they get all kinds of things, from sharks to turtles. I sold the fish, keeping one or two which I’d ask the fisherman’s wives to cook for me.
I was willing to work at whatever came along, so I could eat. I never earned a copper working, they just gave me fruit, for the most part. I even ate wild greens and there were times when I didn’t taste bread for two weeks. When I had nothing to eat, I would ask the watchmen to let me take a few pieces of coconut. When ships came in from Tabasco, or from places where they grew fruit, I had a feast day!
I began to have worries about a place to sleep because I heard that the police van was going around the beaches, where all the riffraff of Veracruz gathered. Anyone found sleeping on the sand would be taken off to jail. Nothing happened to me, but I slept with less calm, and went further away from the beach, toward the mountains. I didn’t dare go away from the docks in the daytime—they were the source of life for me.
About three months passed like this. The time came when I felt like going home. I thought of the family only once in a while, but when I did, I felt like getting back home as fast as I could. There were moments when I felt brave enough to leave, then I would lose heart. I never wrote home, because I didn’t know how to write a letter and I didn’t want them to know where I was. I imagined that if my papá found out he would come and beat me to death. That is what I thought, but I went home anyway.