by Oscar Lewis
The return trip was hard because I had to walk from Veracruz to Puebla. It took me eight or nine days. I walked day and night, as no damned truck would pick me up. I took the Córdoba road and came to the police booth at the entrance of the city of Puebla. My shoes were all worn out, strong miner’s boots that my father always bought for us. I asked the truck drivers for a lift, but they refused. Some of them made fun of me. I paid no attention to them but I felt lonely for the first time, alone as a feather flying through the air. I sat at the side of the road, crying.
Finally, the police stopped a truck and said, “Take care of this kid adventurer. He is headed for Mexico City.” I got on and we arrived late at night, at the Merced Market, near the Zócalo, the central square of Mexico City. Imagine, it was my first time there. I had been to Veracruz but had never seen the Zócalo! When I crossed in front of the National Palace, I saw the great big clock in the Cathedral as it struck three. There I was, all alone in the plaza. I hurried home, knocked at the vecindad gate and the portera let me in.
Outside our door I sat, wondering whether or not to go in. I expected a terrific beating. I started to knock, but sat down again. Then something strange occurred. I am not superstitious, but if you had seen what I have, you would consider me a superior being. Sitting there, at that hour, I saw someone dressed like a charro, a cowboy, come down from the roof near the water tank. He lit something, a cigar, I think, because the fire was so big. I kept staring and wondering what the man was looking for. Then the cigar fell to the ground and the man disappeared … just like that. I figured he must have been kidding around … but where did he go?
I have always liked danger and strong emotions and when there is something unfamiliar, I want to know more about it. So I climbed up to the water tank, way up to the top. I went to the little garden and to the bathhouse. Rumors had gone around the vecindad that these places were haunted. Well, if I were superstitious, I would be dead now, because as I went to the bathhouse I heard a tremendous noise, a crash, as though something had broken. I got panicky and ran back to our door and knocked. They called out, “Who is it?” and I said, “Me, papá.”
My father opened the door immediately. “So you finally got back, son. Well, come on in.” He was very nice. I thought he would meet me with a belt in his hand and give me the hiding of the ages. But he said to me, “Did you have any supper?” We had no kerosene stove then, just a charcoal brazier, so he got himself to work and lit a fire. He heated the beans and coffee and said, “Eat. When you are finished turn out the light.” Then he went back to bed. As I knew he left for work early and that he was a light sleeper, I turned out the light and there I was eating in the dark. Then I went to sleep … and he hadn’t scolded me or hit me or anything.
The next day, before he left, my father gave me a terrible bawling out, which I well deserved. Then I noticed Saint Anthony, in the wardrobe, upside down, with my shirt wrapped around him. Elena took him out and said, “Well Señor San Antonio, now that you have brought him back to us, return to your place.” And she put him back on his feet. I don’t really know whether I am a good Catholic or not … I don’t like to talk much about religion, but it made me laugh when she did that. At the same time, I wondered whether it really had a deep meaning.
That afternoon the storm broke loose, and I got what I had expected the night before … but good. After that, the common ordinary days followed, one after another, here in the vecindad. My friends tormented me to tell them about my adventures and I felt like a big shot because all they knew was Chapultepec Park. I felt very proud talking about what I had done, about not having money or anything to eat or a place to sleep.
I also told a bunch of lies about the women I had had in Veracruz. I did it because my friends, boys younger than I, talked about how good so-and-so was, and that they did such-and-such with her. They topped me and so as not to be left behind, I told them that in Veracruz I too had had good “linings,” as we say.
I was working in the bathhouse, when a woman, the wife of a tailor I knew, came in and asked for an individual bathtub. She was with a man who ran a shell game in the streets, a con man, and right there he asked her … well, what he asked her. She said, “No! How can you think of such a thing. If my husband found out he would kill me.” So he says, “Yes, but you are not going to tell him.”
The fellows who worked in the baths with me heard this dialogue. Well, he convinced her and they went into tub No. 1 together. One of the attendants, an older man, climbed to the roof to watch. After a while, he came down and said, “Man! He put her through all the positions.” So I climbed up too and saw them doing this sexual business and it excited me very much. All the rest of the day I kept thinking, “I wonder how you do it? I wonder what it feels like?”
So I started talking about it with the boys and we decided to go to Tintero Street that night. I wanted to do it, but didn’t like the idea of going with a woman, least of all where you could get a disease. But the boys said, “Go, Negro, and knock off one small piece. What can it amount to? So you know what it feels like to be a man.” I said to myself, “Oh, so that’s what you have to do to be a man. Well, then I’ve got to do it.” So I went.
The woman I drew said, “Come on over, kiddo, don’t be afraid.” I really felt like running out, but she said, “Come on, climb on. Don’t be scared. Is this your first time?”
“Yes, lady, I’d better go.”
“Don’t be afraid. You’ll see how nice it feels.” She took me by the hand and the next thing I knew I was on the bed and we began to do … what we did. I liked it and after that I kept going on my own … only a few times … but I kept going.
I worked in the bathhouse all this time, watching the lockers, handing out towels and soap, even giving massages for extra tips, but then the other boy who worked there began complaining that we weren’t being paid enough … only two pesos fifty centavos a week, so, to even things up, we took fifty pesos out of the cash box but that bastard of a boss went and told my father we took more and my father made good for it. So I lost that job and got a beating besides.
Then Miguel, a friend of mine, asked me if I wanted to work in a glass shop. I had to enter as an apprentice at two pesos fifty a week, but I did it to learn the trade. About two months later I went to work in José Pinto’s glass shop. It was just a small shop then, but now that man has a big place, a house of his own, a bank account and a car. He was one man I knew who could get ahead. He paid for piecework and I made about thirty to thirty-five pesos a week.
All that time, I gave my father every centavo I earned. I was happy and proud to do it. My father used to tell my brother, “Manuel, you should learn from Roberto. He’s younger than you and he’s setting you a good example. He turns over everything he earns. How about you?”
Naturally, when I heard him say that I felt wonderful. I was satisfied with what my father gave me, bus fare and one peso a day for expenses. I didn’t drink or smoke then and I liked to work. All my life I liked to work, and when I do I don’t talk or fool around. I shut myself off and pay no attention to anything else.
After six months, I got tired of cutting glass and my uncle Alfredo took me into the bakery to teach me baking. I went because I loved to eat the bread hot from the oven, but baking itself didn’t appeal to me. My cousin Tomás, my great-aunt Catarina’s son, was a mason and he offered to teach me his trade. I liked that because I had to work on tall buildings. I always liked being way up high … that’s why I climbed trees and poles and played on roofs … but I lost that job because I stole a steel nameplate right off the side of the building. It was so pretty and shiny that I chipped it off the wall. Unfortunately, someone saw me. So I went back to work in a glass shop. There things worked out badly because on Saturday, our payday, the boss never had enough to pay us. He spent his money all week on drink and on Saturdays he would hide.
By the time I was thirteen, I had been a stevedore, a locker boy, a glass worker, a baker and a mason. The next thing I t
ried was varnishing furniture. When I took that job everyone warned me that the maestro was very tricky, especially on payday. And it was true. I really had to chase that man down the street on Saturdays, or look behind the furniture or in all the wardrobes, to get him to pay me the lousy eighteen pesos I earned for the week. I ran after him like he was a thief. I followed him to his house and saw him go in and then the señora would have the face to tell me he wasn’t home. And when I caught him, he would never give me my full pay. I got tired of that game after a few weeks and quit. I didn’t look for work any more and just bummed around.
Once I was in the courtyard talking with the boys about my adventures. I got myself worked up, talking about Veracruz and how there was so much fruit along the highway. I was so worked up I felt like going back again and, without stopping to think about it, I went home, grabbed a pair of pants and a T-shirt and a paper bag, and took off. I don’t think there was as much as twenty centavos in my pocket, and that’s how I took to the road a second time.
I got to know Veracruz real well. Because of the experience I had the first time, I more or less knew the ropes and it was easier for me to get food. I don’t remember anything particularly impressive about that second trip except that I saw a hurricane. I liked the way the wind pushed me but at the same time it frightened me, especially when I saw palm trees loaded with coconuts kiss the pavement. I saw the sea enraged … it wiped away a large part of the wall at the entrance of the bay, carrying it off like a piece of paper.
I didn’t get to know my father’s relatives that trip. They lived in Córdoba, but I didn’t know that until I returned home, until we read David’s advertisement in El Pepín.
My father had always bought copies of the comic magazines for Elena and for us kids. What quarrels and races we ran waiting for him to arrive with the “comics.” Consuelo and Marta were always given preference and read them first. I don’t know who saw the ad, but someone showed it to my papá. My father had never spoken of his family … this time he sat down and wrote a letter. It was a rare thing, something new for us, to see him write a letter.
I remember David’s arrival very well, for I took my father to the bus terminal. One morning, very early, at about five o’clock, my father said, “Roberto.”
“At your service, papá,” I answered.
“Let us see if you, who has bummed around so much, knows where the buses from Córdoba arrive.” So I took him, and we knew my cousin by the flower he wore in his lapel. He was big, a giant, and when he shook hands, what a grip he had! We took a taxi home and spent the whole day talking to him. He told us about the village he lived in, and about his mother, Olivia, who had married my father’s brother, who was deceased. She was now living with her second husband, who was a peasant.
David lived with us and my papá got him a job as night watchman in La Gloria restaurant. David always behaved well and we all liked him. Years later, after her death, he told me about an incident with Elena. He told me in confidence, I don’t believe Manuel or my sisters know about it. David happened to be lying on the bed one day, and Elena sat down on his legs, on his lap. He jumped up like a spring and said, “No, Elena. I may be poor and very Indian, but to do such a thing, no. You are my uncle’s wife and we must respect each other, so please behave in a different way.” Elena was very angry with him after that. Ah! how furious it made me. If he had told me when she was alive, who knows how it would have gone for Elena. Caray! without doubt women are the biggest tramps!
David went back to Córdoba on some pretext, but later he returned with his mother. They took me to Córdoba with them. I liked it very much there. I stayed with them for a month, and I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t have the comforts my father supplied, but I was healthy and happy. I prefer country life. It is calmer and quieter, one can breathe tranquilly. You feel the honesty even in your elbows! They are a different type of people, more respectful and upright, a different manner of being. Here in the city I have always to be alert, ready for anything from anybody.
I wanted to be a farmer, and I learned the work while I was there. Olivia’s husband taught me everything, how to plow, to cultivate, to hoe, to plant, to weed, to harvest, everything. He held little classes for me there in the fields and I learned to plant sugar cane, corn, beans and rice. It was useful to me later, because when I traveled about, I worked in the fields. There are parts of the Republic where there is no other way of life. I would go to work anywhere that had the same vegetation as Córdoba or Veracruz, because I loved it so. The third and fourth times I ran away from home, I went straight to Córdoba.
After the fifth time I left home, I didn’t go because I wanted to but because my father threw me out. He had good reason to. I didn’t help him at all; I didn’t even behave myself well enough to deserve being in the house, and so he would throw me out on the street all the time. As Elena helped pour fuel on the flame, he would hit me and bawl me out. For me, a bawling out has always hurt more than a beating; I prefer a bad beating to a little scolding. Blows hurt more physically, but when he called me a bum, a good-for-nothing, and a pig, it hurt me morally. He would say I wasn’t a decent person, and the only thing I was good for was to cause him headaches or shame. Really, I preferred him to beat me.
Anything Roberto did wrong, Manuel and his sisters would feel too, because my father would yell at all of us. He was letting me have it all the time. When he was in a bad mood not even the flies dared fly. None of us could go near him. It wasn’t until after Elena died that I rested up from the scoldings and beatings she had caused my father to give me.
I was right at the foot of the bed when Elena died and I can still see the look in her eyes. I don’t know whether she was cursing me or forgiving me. I never knew. Her eyes were already glassy and she kept looking at me. Inside me, I was asking her to forgive me for all I had done to her, for all my offenses. I asked that God forgive her and take her away quickly, or make her well. I have always prayed that when somebody is very ill. She kept staring at me, and I will never forget the look. Then, she just moved her arms, and that was the end.
She died, and my father felt like dying too, at that moment. Everyone was shocked and there was a lot of activity then. I think they told me to take her blankets and pillows to No. 64, to make room to lay her out. I nearly fainted when I got to the water tank and some boys there held me up so I didn’t fall.
I don’t know what it was, but something scared me that time. My papá kept looking at me … I felt he was accusing me with his eyes, as if he were telling me that I was to blame. He always said that we were to blame for Elena’s illness, particularly me, because I was the one who got her into rages more than anyone.
When Elena was still alive but very ill, I learned about my half-sister Antonia. One day my father came home early, which surprised us because he had never done that before. He called Manuel and me to him and pulled out a photograph.
“This is your sister.”
“Good Lord, how can she be our sister?” I said to myself. I thought she looked pretty, with her two braids. “How can she be my sister if she is already grown up?”
Then he said, “We’ve got to find this girl.”
“All right, papá.”
“Wherever you see her, bring her here.” That was the order my father gave us. Then he got the help of private detectives and they found Antonia, I don’t know where.
She had run away from her mother’s house; this Antonia and I certainly seemed to be chips off the same block. One night my father said, “Roberto, go to bed. Wait here, I’m going to bring your sister.” I was on pins and needles to see her. Consuelo and Marta were asleep, my brother was out, so I was the only one guarding the house and my sisters.
They arrived at about midnight, and from the time she entered the courtyard, the girl cried. She kept crying and crying and I didn’t get to see her face. All night long I was tempted to go over and see how she looked and to hear her speak, to see whether she had a pleasant voice or not. And
all night long, Antonia cried, there in my sisters’ bed.
The next day my father went off to work and immediately Manuel and I spoke to her and asked her all kinds of questions. It turned out that she and her mother Lupita lived on Rosario Street which was only one block from the school we went to. I remembered having seen Antonia in the street, and having liked her, without knowing she was my sister.
My father had another daughter with Lupita, Marielena, who was also my half-sister. I never got to know her well or to love her, but she had a strong, noble character and was very religious. You had to be careful what you said to her, and I always treated her with special respect. Lupita had two other daughters, Elida and Isabel, who were Antonia’s half-sisters. I respected them too, but they always seemed dry and unpleasant to me.
From the first moment Antonia came to live with us, I began to like her … to be completely frank, she became the great love of my life. Before that I had had novias, but of the three I only seriously liked Rufelia, a girl who lived in our courtyard. But Rufelia was light-skinned and superior to me, and I hadn’t declared myself to her. I just loved her from a distance. My first novia, a short pretty girl, turned out bad and played me for a sucker. I liked her but was too ashamed to ask for a kiss. Once I kissed her and ran home because I was so embarrassed. We were sweethearts for a few months, but it turned out that she was knocked up by some tramp, and that was the end of our courtship.
My other novia was a servant of a neighbor. She took a great liking to me and she’d use my sisters to arrange a date with me. She asked me to be her boy friend, but that wasn’t a real courtship, just kid stuff. The great love affair of my life, to my torment, and despair, was my half-sister Antonia.