River of Angels

by Alejandro Morales

  Ever since he was a child, he understood that Abelardo and Toypurina owned twenty acres of riverfront land, but somehow they had accumulated, according to the maps that the engineers had prepared, nearly one hundred acres. This included fifty acres of riverfront property, and the rest was land that extended out from this parcel like peninsulas, all owned legally by the Ríos family.

  “Most of that land is farm, and about ten acres is covered with warehouses. On the west side you own close to five acres along the river that the railroad ran tracks through,” Aikens MacLeash said with a smile.

  “Impossible. My father never bought any more land. It’s probably a recording error!” Oakley countered in disbelief.

  “No, we checked and double checked. We authenticated acreage, boundaries, rights, copied deeds and met with the county recorder to corroborate all documents and claims. It’s all verifiable and legal,” Gerald Fisher said with a proud tone in his voice.

  “There are many farms, homes, families who have been living on that land for years. How did my father do this?”

  “He bought land that the neighbors were going to lose. He helped them, made a deal with them to rescue their property from foreclosure. He offered them money to pay their mortgage to the bank and, in return, they signed over the property deed to your father. Your father gave them two years before requiring a payment. The idea was that once the farmers got on their feet and their farms became profitable, they would pay the note and get their deed back, but few farmers made it. Many struggled to survive. Eventually they simply paid your dad a minimal monthly rent to stay on the farm in order to feed their families. Your father never raised the rent. Some of those people have lived on this land a long time. Every month they came to pay your father in person. After your father died, just about all those men stopped paying. They wanted to see what was going to happen.”

  “It was like leasing land but never being forced to make the monthly payment. Anyway, the payment was so small it was like living on the land rent free!” Gerald exclaimed and then laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Where did he get the money?”

  “Your father was a shrewd businessman. He leased land. The property on the west side of the river he leased to the railroad for a right-of-way. Your parents received an initial payment and a monthly payment that grew accordingly with the profitability of the railroad. The money is deposited in an account at the Bank of Italy. The account is in his name, your mother’s, Sol’s and your name. All of you were given full power of attorney over the account,” Aikens explained.

  “I knew that I was to inherit the land and continue some deals he had made with the railroad company. But he never gave me details, and I didn’t inquire about them!”

  “You and your parents formed Sun Construction Company on his credit. You didn’t know, but the bank based the credit on his land holdings and assets. Oakley, you were busy with Sun Construction, Sol was presumed dead, your mother was losing her memory and you didn’t ask the right questions. Until now, that is. As I understand it, your father hardly ever went to the bank, but the railroad checks kept coming in every month.” Aikens stopped and waited for a comment from his boss.

  “How do the railroad leases work?”

  “The leases are generous. They are good for twenty years with an option to renegotiate for another twenty years. The Southern Pacific has first right of refusal if you decide to sell the land at any time. The lease has a cost-of-living clause also. Don Abelardo negotiated a great deal. I don’t know how he did it. I think he had some help from somebody in another bank,” Aikens said.

  “We cannot see our reflection

  in running water. It is only in

  still water that we can see.”

  —Taoist Proverb

  PART TWO

  It was one of the hardest challenges Oakley faced: What to do with his parents’ home, the house where he was born and raised. He had asked Agatha to see if the state would agree to declare the house a California State Historical Landmark and preserve it as one of the old rancho estates. Agatha worked out a deal whereby Oakley had to donate five acres: a plot large enough for parking, an administration office, a garden and picnic grounds. Days before he was to sign the deed over to the state, he recalled what somebody had suggested he do with his parents’ house and property: “Establish a park yourself.” Maybe it was Agatha, he thought. There was no need to sell the house or the land. That afternoon Oakley Rivers called on Jesús and Garras, Aikens and Gerald, and Sol to think about what it would take to plan, construct and maintain “Abelardo and Toypurina Gardens.”

  Still, Toypurina did not completely let go of the house. She appeared periodically in the kitchen, the living room and bedrooms, and made noise in the bathrooms. Toypurina also appeared along the river banks. Sol claimed to have seen her often. Oakley listened patiently to Sol describe what he experienced walking with Toypurina along the river. As he heard his brother talk about their mother as if she were alive, Oakley began to believe that his brother possessed a gift, a special ability—un don, as Toypurina called it. The river bank was undergoing rapid change. Building activity dominated the river as warehouses, housing and more lines of railroad tracks were constructed. Few people ventured out to the river’s edge at dusk, and especially not at night. It was at dusk when the sunset brilliantly covered the sky in red and purple hues, when some people returned from the river affected by something, a force that had changed them dramatically. Some who walked out a ways from the river banks went mad and never recovered; others were only able to speak of what they had seen and after that could not speak about anything else; others remained silent, never pronouncing a word again. The stories multiplied, moving from person to person like a plague. The central legend that was building among the working-class communities along the river was about a being that appeared suddenly to people strolling along or fishing in the river. The apparition revealed itself, out of the sunset, as if stepping out of a stained-glass window: a young woman dressed in a multi-colored flower-print dress with a striking white collar, a woman who smiled and waved in a friendly way. As she neared, observers declared that little faces peered through the countless flowers on her dress. Coming closer, people noticed that bodies seemed to cling to her hair, back and arms. The essences of men, women and children of all ages collected and proliferated all over her being. The bodies clung to her, became hordes, multitudes swarming over the woman’s body. She would suddenly retreat with a chorus of voices calling, communicating also with their beckoning hands and desperate eyes. The lady collected human beings as she moved among people who wandered by the river. Upon seeing the lady, most froze. Many lost control of their bowels, their breathing, their emotions, and could not respond with fear or joy to the apparition. Several fainted and were found days later far from the river; others wandered back to the streets of Los Angeles, Boyle Heights or East Los Angeles. Still others woke up from a nightmare or from a pleasant dream. Some saw the lady and returned to live a normal life. The police came and drove some home, but those who accepted rides could not remember where they lived. The police held them in jail, assigned staff to help them remember. Others sobbed and sobbed. A few became violent and ended up in the psychiatric ward of the downtown jail. The Los Angeles newspapers ran a few stories on these incidents and in a humorous way reported that the victims were intoxicated, demented or had scared themselves to the point of causing self-induced hallucinations that caused their loss of control of body and mind.

  Sol, on the other hand, had gone to the River Mother, who explained that the figure was Toypurina collecting souls. The souls were ánimas en pena, troubled souls, wanting to communicate with the living and move on.

  “I’m worried, hijo, about the quantity of souls your mother carries. She is happy to still be in this world to see and embrace her children. Sol, take your mother’s blessing and tell your brother to enjoy life with his family in this city of angels.”

  Sol saw the urgency of the
River Mother’s words. Understanding the fear and joy in her voice, he went to his brother immediately and told him.

  “Oakley, the River Mother saw Toypurina carrying and dragging a great human burden along the banks of the river. She had thousands of human souls attached to her. Toypurina does everything possible to hold on to all those souls. Those people never have a chance to say good-bye, to complete any unfinished business or tasks that need to be done. A spell came upon them without warning. Oakley, you must not go out of your house anymore. Don’t send the children to school. Protect yourself and your family.”

  Suddenly, what was on the other side of the world had now come to Los Angeles. Voices originating on the East Coast screamed; voices screamed from far-away Europe, from the smelly trenches of battle, from the people running away from the war; voices screamed when the killing fever rose in their bodies. The evil had infected the bodies of soldiers and then, once it could not be confined to the army bases, it penetrated the flesh, blood and minds of civilians. The disease moved quickly, faster than doctors had expected, spreading and killing from east to west. Public health officials warned that it would descend quickly upon the population of Los Angeles. Science was powerless against the beast. When health authorities isolated the families of the first-reported victims, neighbors placed food and medicine on the victims’ front porches. When the first deaths were announced in the newspapers, the reports were followed by people seeing hearses collecting bodies from various houses. City officials hurriedly ordered schools closed, theaters shut down, and they passed laws forbidding individuals from spitting on the sidewalk. Nothing worked to slow down the disease and its rising toll. The war in Europe ended, and people came out to celebrate. There were parades to welcome home the soldiers, large public gatherings where jubilant people danced, hugged, kissed and coughed on each other, passing on the sickness, the fever, the head and body ache, the pneumonia, the struggle for breath, and eventually death. The disease was everywhere. The health department distributed mouth and nose masks, but people failed to use them, convinced that the disease was unstoppable.

  Rumors that the world’s best scientists and epidemiologists could not control the disease as it spread through the City of Los Angeles and throughout Southern California. Rumors were translated and repeated in the poorest and wealthiest neighborhoods. Scientists explained their limited medical weapons, and in the newspapers doctors described their futile response. In their helplessness the doctors made panicked and exaggerated statements. One doctor declared to the Los Angeles News: “If the epidemic continues its mathematical rate of acceleration, civilization could easily disappear from the face of the earth within a few weeks.”

  People believed that science’s failure, like the Great War in Europe, proved that all the knowledge that human beings had acquired up to the present had failed to prevent the death of millions. The disease killed hundreds in the area and nearly four thousand in the country in the month of October. Fear turned into silent panic in Los Angeles, pushing people out of the streets and deep into the safety of their homes. Still the monster entered thousands of houses, sometimes twice or more, to rip the life away from a loved one. People boarded up windows and placed large pieces of furniture against doors, hoping to hold off the disease. Afraid to exchange a word with neighbors and friends, the entire Los Angeles community lived in deadly fear. First, a reddish pink shadow brushed the face, giving an appearance of good health; then, a slight cough started. A strange human bark brought on sobs and horrified the families. Blood-stained sputum announced the imminence of death. There was no escape from the clear signs, only hope that the disease would not strike down other loved ones.

  The epidemic was unlike any other. In the morning an individual man, woman, child—no matter what class, race, religion or age—could be healthy; by nightfall the family prepared for a funeral. For the lucky ones the influenza brought on the last breaths rapidly; others died slowly, suffocating from the liquid filling their lungs. Eyes and open mouths flailing in a sea of oxygen were agonizing to watch as influenza infected children who bobbed desperately for air that did not fit in their lungs. Their eyes implored a higher power that did not respond. Doctors in their clinics and hospitals and at patients’ homes were rendered helpless to defend against the influenza. At first doctors identified the cause of the disease, perhaps because of its similar symptoms to tuberculosis, as bacteria. Later it was confirmed that the influenza of 1918 was caused by a virus.

  Oakley insisted that Dr. White come to examine Agatha and the children every other day. He insisted, and Dr. White could not refuse. Agatha declared a self-quarantine and refused to let the two housekeepers return to their homes. She dressed the housekeepers, the children and herself in white clothes. Oakley and the doctor were the only ones to enter and leave the house. Dr. White brought medicine, and Oakley food. They both purchased rolls of white linen, cotton and woolen materials for the housekeepers to make clothes, curtains, bedding and tablecloths.

  Agatha covered the furniture throughout the house with white linen and cotton sheets. She was convinced that clean white materials kept objects sterile and pure. She ordered everyone to bathe daily. She schooled Albert and Dame Marie at home. All foods and supplies brought into the house were washed and sterilized. Agatha and Oakley argued about him going in and out of the house.

  “It’s a terrible epidemic, but the world doesn’t stop … I still have to work, Agatha!”

  For a while Oakley slept in his study. He did not want to upset Agatha more than she was already. The news from the world outside came through the door with Oakley. Two of Jesús and Martina’s youngest had fallen ill and died. The influenza grabbed Garras and forced his family to isolate him in the barn. Gerald Fischer lost a sister, and she had lost two of her children. Agatha’s brother buried his youngest daughter. Her father got sick, and he warned her not to take the chance to visit him. He insisted that no one come to see him; he, too, separated himself from his family. Daily, there were many wakes and funerals attended only by the immediate families. Agatha looked out the window to the street and would see a hearse heading to Calvary Cemetery, to the Russian Cemetery or to the Jewish Cemetery. Those who could not afford a wake, a funeral, a burial plot in a cemetery buried their loved ones in their backyards; or they would drive out to the country or to the river to dig a deep, deep hole, more than six feet deep, to protect their loved ones from animals, and drop the departed to the bottom and shovel the good earth on top of them. They shoveled enough dirt to create a large mound, so when it rained the mound would sink down level to the ground. Crosses, wooden crosses, welded metal crosses appeared, in the fields, the forests, along the roads and at the river’s edge, marking the sites, where flowers and candles were placed by family members. There were so many burials that authorities simply ignored where families interred their dead. Thousands were dying, thousands had died, and thousands more were infected with the disease. Agatha kept bathing her children, kept dressing them in white. She prayed continuously, prayed that water and white sheets would keep her babies clean. At the beginning of November, Oakley came home with good news.

  “None of the crew is sick. No more reports of anyone in their families getting sick. Maybe the epidemic is slowing down.”

  By the end of November the disease began to subside. It seemed that it was running out of people who were susceptible and weak enough for infection. People carefully started to emerge from their houses. Neighbors waved to say hello from a distance. Women washed and hung clothes on their backyard clotheslines again. The word circulated that tens of thousands had died in the country and that millions had perished worldwide. Agatha asked Oakley not to sleep in his study, to return to their bed, to her.

  Entering their bedroom, Oakley told his wife that morning, “Agatha, the River Mother has been overwhelmed by the sick looking to be cured. Sol has been helping her.” After doctors had failed them, they sought out the River Mother for treatment. At the time of the great sickness, she
treated the sick every day from early morning to late at night. Never resting, never thinking of herself, she kept working. So many desperate victims came seeking help. The River Mother hardly ever refused them.

  Mothers holding their young daughters’ hands anxiously walked up to the River Mother’s dwelling. The daughters were afraid to enter the odd, mysterious structure. The River Mother would send Sol out to bring wood for the fire as she prepared a long table near the bed where she treated her patients. The River Mother prayed as she worked, “Manos de carnicero y alma cariñosa y benigna. Amén.”

  Sol made an extra effort to concentrate exactly on her every move, in hopes of learning the procedures. There were occasions when the girl and the mother stayed for several days. One girl had arrived by herself in the early evening. Sol remembered her legs, her dress spotted with red stains. The girl just ran into the house, into the kitchen where the River Mother was preparing a rabbit for dinner. Upon seeing her hold up the skinned rabbit, the girl screamed and ran toward the river, directly into the shallow water. Sol went out and pulled the girl to shore. The River Mother cut off the girl’s clothes, bathed her and, with Sol assisting, cleaned her insides and removed what was left of a rabbit that had grown inside her. Sol stood over the girl. Her long hair came down the sides of her breasts, wet with perspiration, onto her flaccid stomach, covered her swollen place, spread down to her thighs. The girl opened her eyes, took Sol’s hand. The River Mother covered her with a heavy blanket.

  “Sleep, child, sleep. Sol is with you. He will take care of you, niña.” The River Mother took away her tools and dressing, and placed her ointments back into their boxes.

  “Stay with her until she falls asleep.”