Toypurina and Abelardo walked not far behind the mayor, who, when he got to the other side, greeted the waiting crowd, gave a short talk and invited several other politicians to speak. The mayor had completed his presentation and started back to the west side of the river. He walked toward Abelardo and Toypurina. Toypurina pushed Abelardo back, protecting him from the faceless omen she saw in the mayor. She stood in front of her husband as the mayor walked by shaking hands with the people who lined the bridge.
Most of the Los Angeles residents and people in neighboring communities were soon enjoying the convenience the bridge offered. Laborers who worked on the west side of the river used the bridge every day to return to their dwellings on the east side. On certain days and hours during the week, it seemed that only workers moved back and forth over the river. Mexicans, blacks and Chinese had settled in the center of the city around the old plaza. However, that was changing, and there was a deliberate and obvious push to house Mexicans on the east side of the river. The city council made it easier for Mexicans to buy property and build houses on the Eastside. Mostly Mexican workers and agricultural businesses still used Abelardo’s barges, but many residents walked or rode horses across the white wood-covered bridge. The Macy Street bridge became neutral territory, where all races, religions and ethnicities converged because of the economic necessity of crossing over the river quickly. The City of Los Angeles had painted the bridge a bright white that reflected the sunlight and made the bridge visible from a distance. The color and brightness of the bridge became an issue to some, who complained to the city council that the bridge was too bright, making it stand out from the natural surroundings. The bridge should be a dark color, a dark green and brown that would blend nicely with the river’s natural setting, they argued. The bridge remained bright white for everyone to see.
Over the years, the bridge was battered by heavy storms and floods. The city constantly repaired and painted the wooden structure to keep it clean and safe for its users. Many times Abelardo, his sons, the Morretti brothers and William Ross Henry, while tying the barges to the docks, watched what seemed to be all the water in California rush by to the sea. The Los Angeles, the San Gabriel and the Santa Ana often overran their banks to inundate sections of the Los Angeles basin. During heavy storms Abelardo closed the transportation company; it was too dangerous to attempt to cross the river. People went to the covered bridge to cross, but merchants—with wagons full of cargo too heavy for the bridge—went to Abelardo and offered three times the fee to cross their wagons by barge. Abelardo calmed the farmers, desperate to get to the Los Angeles Wholesale Produce Market. Once the river slowed down and stopped rising, Abelardo crossed the farmers and their wagons over to the west side.
On the west side of the bridge, the Bard Family Mortuary was the first large house people saw upon exiting the bridge. Each evening, Bard walked the bridge’s four-hundred-foot length from west to east, from east to west, lighting the coal-oil lamps that provided light for the evening pedestrians. Early in the morning Bard returned to snuff out the flames. At any time of night when the storm’s winds became too powerful, Bard got up to turn off the lamps for fear that the shaking of the covered bridge would knock down the lamps and cause a fire. Abelardo always took Bard’s precaution as a sign to double check and secure his barges and to completely prohibit people from crossing the river by barge at that time. Bard worked on his side and Abelardo worked on the other side of the river.
It never failed that, even after being warned, stubborn people drowned while attempting to cross on weakened rope and wooden slat bridges that never lasted through the rainy season. No matter what the season, crossing those unpredictable swinging bridges was always risky. After a violent storm, Jacob Bard carefully inspected every inch—top to bottom, from one side to the other—of the white bridge. If he found any damage, he immediately called in the city carpenters and, if needed, engineers to repair the damage. Storm after storm, flood after flood, the white Macy Street bridge survived. On several occasions Abelardo observed Bard painstakingly inspecting the bridge’s physical condition. Watching how seriously Bard took his responsibility, Abelardo decided that when he died he wanted his body to be sent to the Bard Family Mortuary for Jacob Bard to tend to his remains.
IT WAS RAINY SEASON when Abelardo looked out over his fields, large parcels of land that stretched along the river banks. A chill from a cool breeze surrounded him, chased him into the house. Toypurina prepared the evening meal while Sol stacked wood next to the fireplace and Otchoo latched the window shutters.
“It is going to be a bad one.” Abelardo smiled at his sons and enjoyed the warmth of the large kitchen.
The family spent most of its time here near the fire, sitting on the benches around the kitchen table, discussing the river, crops, barges, the bridge and the new neighbors who had purchased property, built houses and erected a stone wall facing the river shore. None of the families had asked Abelardo about flooding. In fact, several of the new landowners seemed to intentionally avoid Don Abelardo Ríos. Abelardo was certainly not going to seek them out and offer knowledge unsolicited.
“Esa pobre gente va a perder todo.” Toypurina warned about the foolhardiness of the new neighbors and placed on the table tortillas de maíz, nopales, camarones, frijoles, tomates and a pot of cebollas and hongos stirred with chile.
“Es cosa de ellos. It’s their business,” answered Abelardo as he sat down at the table and motioned for his sons to join him. Toypurina sat down after making sure she had brought everything the family needed. While Toypurina served dinner to her family, massive clouds carried by high winds rolled inland from the Pacific. The family ate quietly, listening to the building storm. Outside, the increasingly powerful wind surrounded the house, knocking down shovels and rakes, flinging empty buckets against the tool shed. Toypurina and Abelardo stood up and went to the door. Toypurina pushed apart the curtains over the small window in the front door. They studied the river. The wind howled and carried off any object that was not tied down. In the boys’ room a window boomed open and hung on one hinge. Right away Sol went for a hammer and nails to nail down the shutter, when he heard his father call out.
“¡Otra vez, la puerta del corral!” With wire, hammer and heavy-duty pliers, Abelardo went out in the wind and rain to attach once again the corral door to the heavy unstable fence post.
“¡Ten cuidado, Abelardo!” Toypurina called for him to be careful.
After about twenty minutes Abelardo knocked. Toypurina carefully released the latch and suddenly the wind flung Abelardo back into the house. Toypurina and Sol helped Abelardo push the door against the wind and finally closed it. Sol placed a cross beam, securing the door from any strong gusts of wind. Otchoo tossed several logs into the fireplace. The fire’s roar was steadily drowned out by large drops of rain that fell on the roof. Through cracks in the walls, the wind snaked its way into the house. The rain drops grew louder and heavier. Millions of drops pummeled the house like heavy stones. Toypurina prayed that the roof would hold up. All eyes were on the ceiling as the roar grew angrier.
“¡Granizo! ¡Granizo!”
Hail began to cover the ground as far as Abelardo could see. Fifteen minutes later, a foot or more of a deep sheet of ice balls had destroyed all that Abelardo had planted. His thoughts turned to the docks and the barges. Thunder had broken the roar of the hail. Curtains of rain slashed at the house. The storm continued into the late evening and early hours of the morning. Nobody slept, watching the lightning flashes through the cracks between the slats of the wood shutters, listening to the weight of the water that poured onto the earth. Abelardo waited for a knock on the door. The family could already hear the river lapping high beyond its shores. In storms like this—it never failed—someone would come screaming for help.
Several heavy thumps slammed against the entrance door and a more violent crash came some time later. Sol cautiously opened the shutter.
“The corral is gone, Papá. The bar
n is tilting. The livestock is out!”
“Déjalos, mejor sueltos por si se cae el mesón allí se quedan; it’s all right, the animals are safer running free.”
The Ríos family gathered heavy furniture under the sturdiest doorway. Abelardo was confident this was the safest part of the house. The doorway would withstand the wind; it would save the family. He was sure the house would stand firm. The house was constructed on top of a massive piece of solid bedrock that he had discovered one day by digging into the soil. Once he had located solid rock, where he marked center point, he then dug holes every twenty-five feet until he hit rock again. He repeated this digging for about two-hundred feet, excavating to the north, south, east and west until he staked out a pad of solid rock on top of which he built his house, which was the highest point on his property. Abelardo was aware the river would flood his fields, but his house and his family would be safe. Outside the wind grew stronger, coming in loud heavy gusts laden with shattered man-made and natural objects, accompanied by water smashing against the house. It seemed as if it was raining sideways, horizontal to the earth. A terrible crash, like thunder, a kind of cry invaded the house.
“¡El puente! I bet it’s the bridge!”
Sure enough, it was the Macy Street bridge floating downriver.
“Abelardo!” A scream neared the house. “Abelardo! Help us! Abelardo Ríos!”
Abelardo opened the door for a tall, slim, rain-soaked man. In the middle of the Ríos’ living room, he stood shivering as he gratefully accepted a cup of hot tea from Toypurina. Sol covered the man’s shoulders with a long black heavy raincoat.
“I am your neighbor, Mitchel Plummer. I’m here in desperate need of your help. Please, sir!”
Plummer went to the door and offered to return the raincoat to Sol.
“No, take it!” The man shoved the raincoat back into Sol’s hands. “I don’t want nothin’ from you! Just your help!”
Abelardo, Sol and Otchoo prepared to go with Plummer. As they made their way outside, Plummer was immediately drenched. Abelardo pushed him back under the small front porch.
“Put the raincoat on, Señor Plummer.”
Plummer stared out over the rain-drenched fields; for an instant he looked into the eyes of the men who stood by him. Plummer meekly put the raincoat on and led the way to his small ranch. Plummer was one of those neighbors who had never consulted with Abelardo about where to build a house near the riverbanks.
“No other man knows the river better than Abelardo Ríos,” he had been told many times.
Plummer never took the advice but built where he decided the safest spot on his property was located. Now the river had flooded his fields and undermined the foundation of his house, which was on the brink of sinking into the river.
Toypurina had reluctantly helped her sons get ready. They were outside; like good sons they would follow their father. “No te los lleves, Abelardo.” She hoped that her sons would not follow the two adults. Abelardo she could not stop, but her sons! He was taking her sons to the river in this terrible storm.
“¡Abelardo, no te vayas! ¡Los muchachos, Abelardo! ¡No es cosa de ellos!”
Abelardo slowed his walk for an instant but didn’t look back at Toypurina. He walked behind his two boys, heading to the Ríos’ docks. The rain started to fall harder and the wind picked up again.
As Abelardo leaned his body against the wind and made his way to his barges, he wondered why Plummer had refused to seek his advice. Plummer had built his house on a small jetty, a small peninsula that sat high above the river. To the newcomers it appeared perfectly safe high solid ground. Abelardo had seen that peninsula disappear every five years or so and form up again. It was just one of the river’s deceptive habits. Now Abelardo had to help Plummer, who otherwise gave the appearance of being a smart man—but with no common sense. He should have sought Abelardo to ask him about that beautiful finger of land. Now his family waited on the roof for Plummer to come with help or for the river to rip the house from under them and suck them into its fast-moving current. The four men stood on the dock and waved at Plummer’s wife and their three children clinging to her dress.
“We have to get to them right now! Let’s take a barge!”
“¡Muy grande! Too big, heavy. We cannot control the barge in this current.”
Abelardo went to a barge that was wide at the center and narrow at each end. It was shaped like a twenty-foot canoe. He sent Otchoo to get help at the Indian camp about a quarter of a mile upriver. Abelardo was sure the Indians would help him. He went often to visit them, to see how they were. He took meat, vegetables and fruit to them. Now there were only about ten families living at the camp. Families came and went, searching for jobs. The Indians had been beaten down by the Spaniards and the gringos. Now, many lived in utter squalor just outside towns and cities throughout California.
Otchoo realized there was no time to get a horse. The Indian camp was not far. He would return with help in thirty minutes or less. Abelardo and Sol tossed five long ropes into the barge and secured two ropes from it to the dock. Luckily, the Plummer house was downriver from the dock. The plan they devised was to rescue the family by steering the wooden barge down to the teetering house now on the verge of sinking into the muddy water. The family would climb into the barge and the men on the dock would pull them back to shore. Abelardo, Sol and Plummer pushed away from the dock. Sol started to release the rope. As the barge moved into the river, the outside current tended to push it back to the shore, but Abelardo steered it across the river and next to the house, just below the roof line, but the family would not move. The children were petrified and would not leave their mother’s side, and Mrs. Plummer refused to slide down the roof to the barge. The current grew stronger. The house could slide under at any time and drag the barge down with it.
“Come on, Mary! Slide down! We will catch you! Come on, woman!” Mitchel Plummer screamed at his wife.
The more he screamed, the more immobile she became. The rushing water grew louder and pushed the barge under the roof eaves. The house seemed to grow. The river lifted it above them. Sol tied a rope around his waist and hoisted himself up to the roof. He calmly walked up to Mrs. Plummer, took two children, slid down to the roof’s edge and handed the children one at a time to Abelardo.
“¡Apúrate, hijo! Hurry up, my son, I can barely hold on!”
While Abelardo struggled to control the small barge, Sol cautiously moved up again to the apex of the roof and forced the third child, the youngest, from Mrs Plummer’s arms. The baby cried out and reached for its mother. Sol slid down to the barge and immediately went back for Mrs. Plummer, who was sobbing, screaming, flailing her hands, fighting Sol off as he tried to grab her and move her down to the barge. She slipped and from a sitting position started to kick Sol with both feet. She wouldn’t budge. Finally, Sol moved behind her back and wrapped his legs around her waist and forced her toward the edge. At that moment the house sank lower, allowing Plummer to grab his wife’s legs and drag her toward him and into the barge. Suddenly the barge was above the roof, and Abelardo and the Plummer family watched Sol quickly float away downriver. The rope stretched to its full length.
“Hang on, Sol!”
Mitchel Plummer signaled to Otchoo, who stood on the dock with about fifteen men ready to pull the barge in. The men understood immediately. They pulled, and slowly the strength of the men brought the barge toward the dock.
“Hang on, Sol!”
Sol waved back and pulled himself closer to the barge. He stopped to rest and waved again to let everybody know that he was all right. Sol began to pull on the rope again. On his wave the house broke away from its foundation and floated directly toward Sol.
“The house is gonna take him!” Plummer shouted to Abelardo.
“¡Agárrate, Sol!”
The house rose up and floated faster toward Sol. Like a roaring monster, the house turned on its side, exposing its interior cavities filled with organs of furniture
, glass, blankets, cabinets, tables and chairs, sucking in all that floated before it, and then it began to break up into chunks and pieces. Abelardo took an ax and raised it over the rope. The house, with thousands of sharp points, kept going. Sol was now directly in its path. As the barge neared the dock it brought Sol closer to the sinking wooden house. It was sure to swallow Sol, entangle his rope and take him to the bottom currents where it would hold him down.
“¡Corta la riata! ¡Papá!”
To Abelardo, Otchoo’s command to cut the rope sounded like a million voices screaming at him. He glanced once at Otchoo where he and fifteen Indians pulled frantically, bringing the barge closer. Then he saw Sol wave once again.
“¡Papá, corta la riata¡ ¡Libre se puede salvar! Papá, cut the rope so he can float away freely!”
“Cut the rope, Abelardo!” Plummer echoed
The house now was between Sol and the barge. Abelardo finally raised the ax and let it fall on the rope. In an instant the rope and Sol were gone. A few minutes later, Abelardo and the Plummer family were on the dock.
“Your boy, your boy!” Mrs. Plummer, holding her children, pointed downriver.
River of Angels Page 4