by Oscar Lewis
She must have realized my sentiments because she said, “Well, now you understand things better.”
“Yes, now I see that nothing is possible for me here.” I asked her to sign her photos for me and to forget what I had said. I put four pictures of her in my wallet.
That night I had such a feeling of desperation that I wanted to die. I thought Tonia would tell my father and I wanted to do away with myself. I put some strong medicine in a glass of water and planned to drink it. I wasn’t afraid to die, but God illuminated my thoughts and I repented. I spilled out the medicine and broke the glass. The next day I walked around in a daze. Even the sun didn’t warm me.
After I lost Antonia’s love, because that was the way I understood it, I decided to ask Rufelia to be my novia. She knew how I felt about Tonia, because the day my sister moved back to Rosario Street, I cried bitterly. Rufelia came in and heard me wailing because Antonia was gone. She understood and told me not to cry, because after all, it was not a good thing. So I declared myself to Rufelia, and told her I said those things about Tonia only to attract Rufelia’s attention. She didn’t know what to think or say and asked me to give her time to answer.
She kept putting me off, but finally promised to tell me on Sunday. I was waiting impatiently at the gate of the Casa Grande, when Otón, Antonia’s ex-novio, came along and said: “Come, Attila, come and play cards.” Well, I was feeling very manly and I wanted to show him that I knew as much as he, so we sat down right there and started a game. Rufelia saw me and I think that was what influenced her to reject me.
She said I was a poor man, and what could I offer her anyway? Her novios gave her things and fulfilled their obligations, but it didn’t look as though I could give her anything. It wasn’t love she wanted, but money, I thought. It so happened that I had about a thousand pesos in my pocket because the day before, out at the race track, I had snatched a purse from a high-society lady with a fancy hairdo. I was tempted to show the money to Rufelia, but I thought that if she was so materialistic she was not for me.
Rufelia’s family had been just like the rest of us when they had first moved into the Casa Grande. They were as poor as we and we were all good friends. More than once, Rufelia’s mother came to borrow one or two or even ten pesos from us, and we did the same. But later, Rufelia’s father managed to learn something about mechanics and quit his job as a driver’s helper to take one servicing refrigerators. From then on, that family went up. Rufelia’s brothers attended high school and her parents began to fix their home. First, it was a gas stove, then a dining set, a radio, a “tele,” a balcony for the boys to sleep on … until they became the Rockefellers of the courtyard.
As they went up economically, they stopped speaking to their neighbors. I don’t say that just because I once did them favors they were obliged to speak to me, but I could not see why they had to insult and offend me, or ignore me completely. I couldn’t explain why some people change so radically. It seemed like I was no longer good enough for them. No wonder Rufelia turned me down.
At about the time I was courting Rufelia, strange things were happening in the Casa Grande and I was blamed. Someone threw salt in the doorway of Rufelia’s house, and then in Angélica Rivera’s and a few others, and everyone said I was doing it to punish Rufelia for refusing me and to create discord in the vecindad. Of course, it was only talk, because I never did anything like that.
One morning Rufelia and her mother and the butcher woman surprised Señora Chole of No. 93 picking up salt and garlic from her doorway and rubbing it on the door of my house. They heard her saying, “You black son-of-a-whore,” and, “You mother-fucking bastard, I hope your ass end rots,” and other stuff like that. Caray! I still don’t know why she did it. That family in No. 93 never spoke to anyone, and from the beginning I noticed that Señora Chole had something against me.
I never believed in witchcraft, even though I have been places where it is practiced to this day. And I never used love potions or any of that nonsense some suckers buy. Here in the capital, the boys say things about witches and potions, but they are only joking. In my gang, we don’t believe it.
But I do know of some cases of people getting sick because someone had done them harm. My papá, for example, or a man I knew in Córdoba, whose wife made an idiot out of him by sticking pins in his photograph and burying it on their piece of land. He was a rough character, a man who had hair on his chest. He and I shot at each other one time, over something that came up between us. But later, he wouldn’t eat or drink, and would just sit in his doorway. He never left his wife’s side, until he went completely mad.
I knew another man who was dominated by his wife. She yelled at him and even hit him and it was well known that she had put him under a spell. How could you explain it any other way? When I was in Chiapas, they told me to be careful because, there, women do harm to a man by giving him “coconut milk” to drink. They wash the vagina when menstruating and use the water to make the man’s coffee. Once he drinks it, they say he is completely under the woman’s power.
When I heard that, I wouldn’t take food or liquid in the house I was staying at, absolutely none, because there was a girl from Tehuantepec who was in love with me. They say that when a Tehuana wants a man, she does something to make him go to her, even if he is in China. As a matter of fact, they succeeded in putting the bug in my ear, and I went around with a piece of gold in my mouth to protect me.
When I wasn’t working, I would usually go home to eat at about two o’clock. This time Enoé was in the house, washing clothes. I never like a servant to dish out my food, so I helped myself to rice, beans and stew. I sat down to eat and my attention was caught by the movement of Enoé’s buttocks as she washed. I got up very quietly and bent down behind her to look up her dress. She noticed this. “Ay! you damned black one. Get out of here! Vaya!” and she threw water on me.
“What, wouldn’t you like a dark little fellow like me? A bit ugly, yes, but with more luck than money!”
“Ay, go to hell, you!”
Later, I was lying on the bed, watching her iron. We started to talk and I don’t know how we got to it, but she asked me for twenty pesos. I didn’t have a centavo but I offered her ten, and she said, “Very well, we’ll do it, but don’t tell anyone, do you hear?”
“No, Enoé, don’t worry.” I was very excited because she had accepted me. She closed both doors and got ready, when she repented and made fun of me. She said, “How could you believe …? Well, you are just like your father. He too comes around touching me!”
When she said my father was after her, my desire for her turned to hate. Why hadn’t she told me right away instead of leading me on? I wanted to die of shame … I was disgusted with myself, but really, I hadn’t known … that imbecile of a woman never dared mention it to me again. As for my father, he was in a privileged position and I was not the one to judge him.
Once, when I was still out of work, I went to Chapultepec Park. All I had in my pocket was twenty centavos. It wasn’t the first time I had no money on me, but it was my bad luck that a chance to swipe some money came up and I didn’t want to let the chance go.
It happened there was a half-drunken fellow on the terrace of Chapultepec Castle. He was pretty wobbly and the bottom of his jacket was raised up so that his billfold was sticking out of his pants pocket, in full view. It would have been easy for me to leave him alone and just walk away. It shouldn’t have made any difference to me that he would have been robbed by another person anyway, right? But the temptation was too great, I couldn’t control myself, and without thinking twice, I lifted the billfold and went off. It contained five hundred pesos and for a fellow like myself, without a centavo, it was a lot.
I don’t know what made me do it. It was not to get pleasure out of it, but ever since I was a kid I always had a yen for what belonged to someone else. I didn’t steal to buy luxuries or to accumulate a pile; I wasted it all on a big drunk. I did it for excitement, and to have facts to b
ack up my tales to the fellows.
I’ve never given my father hot money. For me my father was sacred and I just couldn’t give him bad money. I have given him only what I earned honestly, although not as much as I should.
I admit openly that the first time I landed in the Penitentiary it was my own fault. I had had troubles before, but never anything like this. I was working in a place where they made fancy light fixtures. What happened was, we were celebrating the foreman’s Saint’s Day, and I went to the boss’s shop with two other boys who worked there—Pedro Ríos, alias the Tiger, and Hermilio. We had a few beers and pulques, and were already a little wobbly when we left.
We got on a bus with only two or three passengers and we sat down in the back. I felt like smoking, like I always do when I drink; I’m like a chimney, I just smoke and smoke and smoke. Well, I asked the Tiger and Hermilio for a cigarette. They didn’t have one, and I didn’t mind getting up and asking those in the bus if they wouldn’t do me a favor and sell me a cigarette. The first one said to me, “Look, I don’t have any. If I did, I wouldn’t sell you one, I’d give it to you.”
“Thank you very much,” and I left him. And that’s the way it was, I left and didn’t say a thing, nor did I have any reason to insult him. When I got back to my friends, the Tiger said, “Those god-damned sons-of-whores.” And I said, “Yes, they don’t care if a fellow is dying. Let’s get off here and buy some cigarettes.”
But when we began swearing, a passenger got insulted and said to me, “Who are you swearing at, you bastard? After coming around like a bunch of deadbeats, you have the nerve to swear at us!”
“No, sir, I didn’t swear at anybody at all. Actually I was just talking with my friends, but if you felt you were insulted then go ahead and feel insulted.”
“No you don’t, you son-of-a-whore,” and he started toward me. When I saw him coming I tried to stand up, but he knocked me back on the seat with a punch. When he hit me in the face I got angry and hit him back. Hermilio and the Tiger tried to separate us, but the man became even more stubborn. So I knocked him down. His glasses smashed to smithereens and, it seems, I broke his nose.
Well, the bus stopped and all the other passengers got off. The driver got up and said, “O.K., you so-and-so’s, the three of you ganging up on this man!” The driver’s son was sitting right next to him. So he said to his boy, “Open up the tool box and hand me the gun in there.”
Just hearing somebody mention a weapon when I’m in a fight makes me mad, awfully mad. I just go crazy. So I said to him, “Go ahead, you bloody son-of-a-whore! If you take out that thing I’ll kill you right on the spot,” and I pretended I was going to pull out a knife. I didn’t have any, I just wanted to see what he’d do. A lot of them talk big but if you pull out a knife or pistol, they back up.
But he called my bluff and took us to the Police Station No. 5 and they locked us up. It was then about ten or eleven at night. The judge called us in, one at a time, to get our story. They took down our statements, but locked up Hermilio and me. I was glad the Tiger got out, but it seemed strange to me that they should only let him go free. We told him to notify our boss to come and pay the fine, but he went home to sleep.
The next day some people came over, with pencil and paper, shouting and asking whether anyone wanted a message taken to his house. If a person is arrested and doesn’t have time to notify his family, these people do it, but they take advantage when they get to the house and ask for any amount they want. When our boss finally arrived at the Precinct, we were already going to be sent to El Carmen. It was impossible for him to pay the fine immediately and we ended up in the Penitentiary.
Never in my life had I been in jail … not even to visit a friend. They accused me of bodily injury, on account of the bloody nose, and property damage, on account of the glasses. That’s why they sent Hermilio and me up for three days. Well, it was tough in prison. You have to be a real jailbird, a brave man, not to be cowed by that place. Every prisoner is fingerprinted and an information sheet on him is filled out. That’s the first step; the second is when they search you for marijuana, cocaine, a knife or something like that. They make you take all your clothes off in the courtyard.
As soon as they shoved us in, they immediately began to rob us, beginning with the guards. You can’t imagine the expressions of greed on their faces as they look you over. One of them shouted as we came in, “The lioness just gave birth!” which meant a new batch of suckers had arrived. Unfortunately, we had put on our best clothes for the party.
The guard told us to undress, he insisted that we had to be searched … that we were in a court of justice … justice! As we began to dress, one of them said, “Let’s see that shirt.” Then, “I like this undershirt. Hand it over.”
“No, amigo!”
“Hand it over!”
And whether I was willing or not, they took my shirt and trousers, and gave me some old rags to put on.
The third step is when you go into the bull pen, where all those accused of a crime stay for seventy-two hours, until it is decided whether they have to serve a term or whether they can go free or out on bail.
The cells are small, three by two meters, steel walls and cement floors, a solid steel door with a little opening in it. The personnel there is all militarized, from the guards down to the last prisoner. Everyone here has some special rank. Military discipline is enforced and that is why they use the titles: majors, which is the highest rank, captains, and all the ranks there are in the army. They ask, “Are you going to pay for the talacha?” which means the cleanup, as there are brigades going around constantly, cleaning up. Either “you enter by the door,” that is, you pay right away, or if you have no money, they say, “We can wait until some visitor comes to see you.” If later you don’t give the money, they make life very difficult for you.
If, from the beginning, you are not going to pay, you go right to the baths and they fumigate your clothes and make you go under the ice-cold water. After that, they put you in the steam-room. We went through it, but we didn’t do the talacha after all as our families later paid ten pesos for us.
On the third day, they called us to the court to give us our cards as permanent prisoners. Hermilio wanted to throw himself over the railing to kill himself. I felt like doing the same thing but lacked the courage. I had to keep an eye on him constantly because if I didn’t he would have thrown himself overboard.
We were plenty scared. I felt I was absolutely lost. I was not very religious but I had faith in the grace of God and the Virgin of Guadalupe. I vowed that if I got out, I would walk barefoot all the way from the “peni” to the Villa of Guadalupe; I promised to give away my shoes to one of the prisoners as a sacrifice. I also vowed to go to Chalma.
Well, at the very last minute, just before we were to go into the cell block, Consuelo arrived with some papers to sign. I didn’t even read them, you know what I mean? She worked for lawyers and got them to take care of our case. At six o’clock, they set us free, provisionally, under bond. We had to sign in every week.
I gave away my shoes and went out barefoot. Hermilio’s family was outside waiting for him. Nobody came for me, but that didn’t matter. I walked all the way to the Villa, begging alms to give to the priest. I didn’t collect much but it was a great satisfaction to turn it all in.
When I enter a church, I feel I’m carrying a heavy load, especially on my conscience. I always stay in the last row, just inside the door, and although it is crowded with worshipers, I feel alone with my thoughts and prayers. As far as I am concerned, only God and I are in the church. And when I leave, I feel relieved. Even my clothes weigh less. That’s why if I don’t go to Mass every week, I don’t feel right.
Back home, I was ashamed to go out into the courtyard. The whole vecindad knew what had happened. I may have been a hero to some, but to most I was a disgrace. One evening, I stood outside our door for a breath of fresh air. Señor Teobaldo, the butcher who lived in No. 67, came by. He and all
the other butchers and their wives were fighters and most of us kept out of their way. Teobaldo’s brother-in-law, who lived in the third court, was a real criminal with a long prison record. One look from him and he made people’s hair stand on end. He even frightened me!
But I wasn’t scared of Teobaldo, although he fancied himself a scrapper. He had once shot at me and the boys with grapeshot, and whenever he was drunk he made a big scandal, kicking at doors and cursing. If anyone threw him a dirty look, that person was as good as dead.
The evening he passed by me, he was drunk.
“Good evening, Negro,” he said.
“Good evening, Señor Teobaldo.”
“What crooked thing are you doing now?”
“Nothing. Just taking some air.”
“Fuck you! You have something crooked up your sleeve, but let me tell you, you bum, if you ever have anything to do with my family, or if you ever enter my house, you will die on the spot.”
“Look, Señor Teobaldo, I have always respected your family and you have respected mine. You’re a bit drunk, otherwise you wouldn’t dare speak to me like this. You better go lie down. If you want to insult me when you are sober, go ahead, but then I will be able to answer you.”
“I don’t give a damn. You may be the boss of this courtyard, but I’m going to let you have it. You may be one of the worst, you have been to the ‘peni’ and may have killed two or three guys, but that doesn’t mean a thing to me. For me, you are worth a pure and celestial fuck, you filthy ass-lover!”
Then he pulled a knife on me. That, and his offensive words, were too much and I took out the automatic .38 I happened to be carrying. If his wife hadn’t appeared I don’t believe I would have stood any more from him. From behind his back she signaled to me that he was crazy, so I let her grab him and pull him inside.