The Children of Sanchez

by Oscar Lewis

  The next day my father came with Antonia and her sisters and took away the dressing table, the bedspreads, sheets, pillow cases, tablecloths, the flower vase, the curtains and even our new kerosene stove. Once again the house was stripped and left bare. We never again had curtains or pillow cases or flowers. If Marta and I attempted to fix up the house my father would tear down what we put up and order us to leave things as they were.

  Nevertheless he lived up to what he had said. He came to see us every afternoon to leave expense money. But when he was offered supper, he would say, “I don’t want anything,” in a cutting tone of voice. I didn’t insist.

  After my father left, I felt I needed my mother. I couldn’t control myself any more and began to cry as if my heart was going to break and until my eyes ached, turning to look at the picture of the Virgin and asking why my father was like this toward us.

  He had never left us before. We were used to living with him, to seeing him every day sitting in his chair reading, washing his feet, or examining the chickens and giving orders that they be washed or their coop changed. My father’s presence was everything; it filled the house. With him there, I felt my home complete. Now I began to have a feeling that was unbearable. “Am I not my father’s daughter? Is it a sin to be an orphan, my Lord?” I kept asking. I cried for my mother and waited and waited for an answer. How horrible I felt doing this. I had never called her before with such desperation. I shouted, shouted to my mother. I wanted to be answered from the unknown, anything.

  But only silence followed my words.

  Marta

  MY CHILDHOOD WAS TILE HAPPIEST ANY GIRL COULD HAVE. I FELT FREE … Nothing tied me down, absolutely nothing. I could do what I wanted and hardly ever got punished. If I cried, my papá petted me and gave me money. When he locked me indoors I escaped through the roof. I was rude and talked back to everyone because I felt that I was my father’s favorite. I gave my stepmothers and the women who worked for us a hard time. Most of them didn’t stay long; only Enoé and La Chata stuck it out for four or five years. But I made them cry, and Elena, my first stepmother, cried too.

  My friends looked up to me and made me feel like their chief. When we played baseball I decided where everyone was to go; no matter what we did, they had to get my agreement first. They saw that my father gave me the best of everything, and that I had money and fruit to give out. That’s why they were always coming by for me and asking me to play. I never lacked friends and I felt “big” in my circle.

  From the start, I didn’t like school and went only to please my papá. I couldn’t stand being shut up in a room and I cared nothing about learning to read or write or do sums. I spent three years in the first grade and another two in the second. At the end of the fifth grade, when I was fourteen years old, I quit. I never planned to be anything in life, like a nurse or a dressmaker: Tarzan was my favorite and I wanted only to be his companion.

  I was a tomboy and played boys’ games … burro, marbles, tops and dice, depending on the season. Those were the only toys for me and I broke the dishes and doll furniture Consuelo kept so neatly in a box under the bed. I never played with girls, but was delighted with dressing and undressing dolls.

  My papá treated us girls like royalty. He fed us, bought us clothes, sent us to school, and didn’t let our brothers mistreat us. He hardly paid attention to them, except when we complained. Then he would grab them and beat them without mercy.

  But I was not like Consuelo. She led a quiet life and had almost no friends. She couldn’t go out like I did, because my father was always taking care of her. We argued a lot: when I came back from the bakery with an assortment of rolls, she’d always grab the kind I liked. When my father brought home fruit, I’d take the ones she wanted. She would hide the little boxes full of my things and if I knew which toy was her favorite I’d go and break it. I was always after her in a mean way. I’d tell my father when she went out, so that he would hit her. She did the same, because she didn’t want me to run around like a tomboy.

  Consuelo was sad and didn’t like to go out and play. She made things worse for herself because she was always at home. When Roberto came he would pull her braids, and then Manuel would order her about and she had to obey or get hit.

  It’s a funny thing, but I confided more in my half-sister Antonia, and my sister-in-law Paula, than in Consuelo. It was because she acted superior and saw things in a bad light. She didn’t know how to give positive advice. And I always thought she was stingy and selfish.

  When I was little I liked Roberto best, because he gave me things and took me with him. But he was always very touchy and bossy and lied a lot. Manuel lived in a different world from ours. Perhaps because he was the oldest, he had always been distant and reserved. It seemed to me he was more hypocritical than the rest of us and said things he didn’t feel. He walked around with a lie ready on his lips. But neither of my brothers hit me when I was little; they began to show their temper when I was old enough to have novios.

  Manuel and Consuelo spent most of their childhood in school. They were a pair … serious, resigned, quiet. But I was more like Roberto, the rascal. We were really wild. He didn’t like school any more than I did and would escape by climbing out of the classroom windows. He showed me how to hide my books in the bathhouse and, instead of going to school, he’d take me to Chapultepec Park. We would climb in all the forbidden places and get chased by the Presidential Guards. If he had money, my brother would rent a boat and take me rowing. He stuffed me with sweets and chewing gum to keep me from getting hungry and when it was time to return from school, we’d hop a bus, get my books, and go home.

  Roberto taught me how to hitch onto buses and trolleys; we traveled all over the city that way. He got spending money by stopping kids in the park and scaring them into giving him things—pencils, pens, coins, whatever they had. Later when he joined the army and was in uniform, it was even easier because he threatened to arrest them. Roberto would also grab ladies’ purses and then we had more money; I had a big collection of lipsticks, compacts and wallets.

  I was so happy when I was young! Once, Roberto and his gang took me with them to the park. I was the only girl among ten boys. We went to one of those open-air restaurants near the Amusement Park and ordered tortas and orange drinks. Then I noticed that one by one, the boys got up and went off, some for cigarettes, some to the toilet, until only Roberto and I and two boys were left. One boy said to my brother, “Go on, Negro, disappear with your sister.” We went on one of the rides and they went elsewhere. We stayed on that ride three times around while the waiters were hunting for us. We made our escape and took the bus home. That’s how we got food without paying.

  When Roberto went to the Lagunilla Market to carry home the fruit, cheese and meat my father bought, he would take me along. He spent the fare on candy (we were always hungry and always eating) and we would hitch on to the back of the bus. A little dog, named the Rat, would follow us, and Roberto taught him how to carry a piece of fruit or a package of meat. The Rat followed Roberto everywhere and my brother took as good care of him as he did of me. But later someone poisoned the dog and killed him.

  I was about eight years old when my papá went into the bird business. One day he brought home a big cage that had a cardboard roof and bars made of cane. He had bought young centzontles and it was Roberto’s and Manuel’s job to whistle at them until they learned to sing. But the birds picked at the cane and made an opening through which a dozen and a half escaped. Elena was very worried, thinking that my father would get mad.

  When my papá got home, Elena told him the birds had died. She looked so scared that he couldn’t help laughing. He already knew the birds had flown away because the janitor’s wife, who was the biggest gossip in the vecindad, had told him, He didn’t get mad that time.

  Of my three stepmothers, I guess Elena was the best. She was the first woman, other than my aunt, whom I remember letting me sit on her lap, combing my hair and fondling me. But I never
called her mamá like Consuelo did. The thing I liked most about Elena was that she covered up my misdeeds and never hit me; even when I was nasty to her, she didn’t complain to my father.

  My aunt says Elena was about seventeen years old when my father married her. I remember that she played jump rope with us in the courtyard before she came to live in our house. She had been married to a man who beat her so much he damaged her lungs. She was already sick when she came to us and that’s why my papá hired help for her. He never liked his women to work too hard in the house.

  Consuelo was the one who was most fond of Elena and always sticking up for her. When I was fresh to my stepmother Consuelo would hit me, but Elena would say, “Let her alone, Skinny. After all, she is little and doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

  Elena fixed a swing for me in the kitchen, which was in a little inner courtyard. There was no roof over it then, only boards to keep the rain from coming in. She tied a rope around one of the boards and put a small piece of wood at the bottom for me to sit on. One day I was swinging and Consuelo tried to get me down. I fought and cried until Elena said, “Come here, Chubby.” They always called me that, never by my name. But I kicked and shouted that I didn’t want her to touch me. Consuelo slapped me but Elena came to my defense. She really was good to me, but I was so little, I hardly remember her.

  I was ten years old when Elena died. My papá said Manuel and Roberto killed her. He may have been right, but I believe it was mostly the operation that killed her, because when they took out her ribs she kept losing weight until she died. They say she died of tuberculosis but I don’t think so because my father is very fussy about contagious diseases. I think she had a tumor or something.

  Elena looked very pretty when she was laid out. My papá, or maybe her mother, bought a white dress and a blue veil and dressed her like the Purísima Concepción. The night of the wake my papá was angry because there was a dance going full blast in the courtyard. They didn’t even turn down the music.

  I met my stepmother Lupita before Elena died. My half-sister Antonia came to live with us and she took me secretly to Rosario Street to meet her mother and sisters. Lupita received me well, but not my half-sister Marielena. She got mad every time I came there. I think she was jealous of us and angry at my papá. But Lupita was always nice to me and gave me bus fare and little presents.

  My papá used to take Antonia to see her mamá every Wednesday. He didn’t know that Antonia and I went there during the week. One Wednesday, I wanted to go with them and began to cry. So my papá took me, telling me to greet the señora politely and to behave myself. That’s all he said. He never once mentioned that the señora was his wife. Nor did any of us tell him that I already knew her.

  Before Antonia came to live with us, my papá slept in the same bed with Consuelo and me. The other bed had been moved to Elena’s room and after she died it was given to Santitos, her mother. So when Antonia took my father’s place in our bed, he slept on the floor. Later, when Antonia went wild and ran away with some boys, my papá locked her up in Elena’s empty room, and he slept with us again. When he bought another bed, it was for Antonia. He slept with us until we were quite big.

  My father was so good to Antonia, that people in the vecindad began to gossip about it. They thought she wasn’t just his daughter, but also his mistress … or at least, that there was something between them. Everyone noticed that my father gave Antonia all his attention and bought her the best of everything. He would make us go to bed early and the two of them would get dressed up and go out for supper and a movie.

  My friend Angélica, who lived opposite us in the same courtyard, told me what the neighbors were saying. But I didn’t do a thing. When it came to my father, I never interfered. I was a spectator, just listening and watching, and keeping my mouth shut. I never felt free to say to my father, “Just think, so and so says that …” I was afraid that he would get angry and hit me. In his presence, I always trembled a bit and was careful how I spoke.

  Roberto and Consuelo were very jealous of Antonia and would throw a fit every time she had her way. Roberto and Antonia fought like cats and dogs. I would take Antonia’s side and Consuelo would help Roberto. When my papá came home in the afternoon, he would settle the fight in her favor.

  Once, on the Day of the Three Kings, Consuelo had a big fight because Antonia received nicer presents. They had both asked for dolls, and Antonia got a pretty blond one, while Consuelo’s was dark and had a face like a death head. Antonia also got a watch. Consuelo was so angry she cried and refused to take the doll; it made her sick to realize that my papá loved Antonia more. Those two girls each had a crisis. After that they changed and got along better.

  I didn’t really miss my mother until I went to school, On Mother’s Day when all the children made presents to give to their mothers, I was left with my gift in my hand. Mother’s Day was the saddest day in the year for me. The older I grew the more I needed my mother.

  The only things I knew about my mother were what people told me. I had been deceived into thinking that she had died of a cerebral congestion brought on by overeating, but my aunt Piedad, the second wife of my uncle Alfredo, told me recently that a doctor had warned my mother that if she didn’t get rid of the baby she was carrying, she would not live to see it born. She was ill with each pregnancy because she had a bad heart and liver, and sick kidneys. She did not accept the doctor’s advice and died. The doctor wanted to save the baby but my papá said, “Better let her take it with her.”

  My aunt Guadalupe insists that my mother died from a bad disease she caught from my papá … because he had gone with other women. But La Chata, the woman who worked in our house, said my mamá died of anger, because of my brother. According to her, my grandma also died because of us, but my aunt said no, she died of a tumor. La Chata thought we were so bad we were capable of killing anyone. She claimed that her health was ruined in our house, because of the way we upset her bile, and that had it not been for my father, she never would have worked for us. We didn’t like her and often chased her out. My papá used to beat my brothers and then go to her house to beg her to come back. He’d give her money for the movies and that would calm her.

  La Chata used to wash clothes for my mother, and knew the whole family. She was my aunt Guadalupe’s comadre but they didn’t get along well. La Chata said that I looked like my mamá … short and fat, like a little barrel, and that is why my papá preferred me to my brothers and sister. According to La Chata, my mamá and papá had many quarrels because they were both jealous types. When my mamá worked in the Baratillo Market with her three brothers, she had to speak to a lot of men, and though she was serious and stern with them, it worried my papá. When Roberto was born dark, my papá didn’t like him because he thought my brother was not his son. And as for my father, he went with so many women that La Chata said he must have put Cupid in the pawnshop and forgotten to get him out!

  La Chata thought my mamá loved us a lot because she kept us dressed like little dolls. My mamá was away all day, selling cake crumbs in the morning and second-hand clothing in the afternoon. I was suckled by my aunt Piedad, because my mother had no milk for me. She had puerperal fever when I was born. But my mother did not neglect us because we were left in the care of her mother or her sister.

  My aunt Guadalupe, who helped bring me up, told me a lot about my mamá and her family. I would bother her with questions and she would answer like this:

  “Holy Mother! How can I remember when I was a little girl? I suppose you’ll be asking where I was born? Well, I was born on a lousy straw petate in Guanajuato. I was the oldest girl and I alone … alone as the corn on the stalk … took care of my brothers and sisters while my papá and mamá went to sell sugared fruit in the street.

  “I suppose you think they let us play with other children like you kids did? Oh, no! From the time I was small I struggled with my brothers. My mother had so many children … there would have been eighteen, but some were m
iscarriages and others died. Only seven of us grew up, Pablo, I, Bernardo, Lucio, Alfredo, your mother Lenore, and José. There was a half-sister, too, because my papá ‘slipped’ a little outside.”

  My aunt Guadalupe had always been jealous of my mamá, who had the good luck to be favored by my granny Pachita. My granny never liked Guadalupe’s sons, but when my mamá took a misstep with a railroad worker and had a baby girl when she was fifteen, my granny took care of her and the infant. My mamá was abandoned by the father of her child and the baby died of pneumonia after a few months. That was when my mother got a job as a dishwasher in the La Gloria restaurant and met my papá.

  My mother and father first set up house on Tintero Street, where there were all those bad women. My papá didn’t like it and they went to live in a room with my grandmother. Later they found a room of their own. At first they had no bed and slept on the floor. After Manuel and Roberto were born, my papá won on his lottery ticket and bought the big metal bed we still have. Later, he won the lottery again and bought the radio. My aunt said that radio caused a big quarrel in the house, because one day my papá came home and found my mamá listening to it. He said, “Who told you to turn on the radio? You’re such an Indian, such an imbecile, you don’t know how to take care of anything. Turn it off before you break it!”