Sol never left the girl’s side. He could not let go of her hand. In the morning she gently pulled her hand away.
SOL BECAME CARETAKER for the Ríos Adobe, a California State Historical Monument. He did not live in his parents’ house but instead converted the garden shed into a small bungalow on the Adobe grounds. He enjoyed tending to the gardens and doing the house maintenance. When he was unable to repair something, he turned to his brother, who brought in a crew to fix the problem. He continued to go down to the river and to the River Mother’s house. As Albert grew he liked to go with his Uncle Sol to the dwellings of his grandparents and the River Mother. Albert freely explored both places. Sol taught his nephew what he knew about both houses and the land they rested on. He considered the dwellings and properties to possess life and spirit, and told his nephew stories about a time far off in his memory. Sol gave Albert the knowledge about the river that he had learned from his river mentor, advising Albert to respect the river’s idiosyncrasies.
Sol and Albert spent hours scavenging the river and its shores and floating on one of the old boats left over from Abelardo Ríos’ ferry business. The river regaled them with an abundance of objects. They would take a few to the River Mother’s dwelling and add them to the structure. Albert really enjoyed adding to the ongoing construction of the house that was livable but never finished and always adapting to the changes that the environment, the river and life brought. World War I, the Mexican Revolution, the Great Influenza Pandemic, along with the joyful and painful personal and communal memories, remained in the objects that made the house.
Sol and his precocious nephew would patiently steer a twenty-foot boat in a concentric pattern, rasquachando, searching the river for what Sol called treasures left by the lizard people for him to find. Sol considered any object that the river offered worthy of attention and careful inspection, because “treasure,” as Sol explained to Albert, “many times is hidden in the ugly, in the filth, in stained and smelly rags, or in dirty crumpled papers. In the ugliest you will find a bright star, a brilliant light, a treasure. In a dark smudged stone there might be a diamond. Don’t be afraid to talk to the ugly objects that float. Speak to them, because they will listen to you.” Sol repeated this advice in stuttered sounds, phrases, sentences, as if each repetition had a different meaning. Albert listened, learned and remembered. Uncle and nephew explored the river by boat, on horseback and on foot. They invested hours searching the deep pools, shallow flats, muddy and sandy shores that gave up their entangled gifts. But the river vegetation, thick shrubs, bright flowers, green grasses, ferns and trees did not give up their treasures easily. The river animals were always nearby. Wherever they went on the river there were wild beasts present. Sol seemed to know how close they were and warned Albert not to be afraid when a particular animal was near. It happened that once on a very sharp turn on the river trail there suddenly darted out of the thick brush a large golden mountain lion with a rabbit in its mouth. It was a fresh kill—the rabbit’s legs still flailing in spasms. Albert stood no more than ten feet away. The mountain lion crouched down low, slowly wagged its tail and watched them. Sol stepped forward five feet from the crouched lion.
“Thank you, but we’re not hungry. Go and eat. Watch over us!”
The cat turned once, twice, as if he wanted to stay, and on the third turn he fixed his gaze on Sol and gently made his way back into the brush leading up the hill. Albert had never before experienced the excitement and emotions brought forth by being so close to so large a predator.
On that same day, while exploring a shallow inlet, they simultaneously spotted the carved corner of a wooden box that for an instant broke the surface and disappeared back into the muddy water. Sol climbed into the mud to tie ropes around the heavy chest, but uncle and nephew struggled for four hours to separate the wooden chest from the sticky, sucking mud. It was the most intricately carved chest they had ever seen. As they rested from the strenuous chore, they sat staring at the box, the late afternoon sun quickly drying the finely carved patterns on the wood. Finally, they hoisted it into their boat and crossed the river, without uttering a word.
When they arrived at the small dock and steps that led up to the Ríos Adobe, they carried the chest to the porch, where they washed and dried the box, whose wood carvings grew brighter and clearer. As it dried, shades of red, purple, brown, blue and green rose from the highly polished wood. Albert brought three clean blankets from Sol’s cottage. They carefully wrapped the box. It was like handling a sacred relic. Sol placed it in a large cardboard box, set it on the back of the pickup, stuffed more blankets around it and covered the box with a thin sheet of plywood. Finally, with Albert’s help, Sol tied it down. When they arrived at the Rivers’ house in Hancock Park, Sol backed the truck into the driveway and drove to the back entrance. Albert held the kitchen door open while Sol carried the box in, wrapped in blankets, and placed it on the kitchen table. They looked at the box and at each other and smiled. Satisfied with what they had found, they waited for Agatha.
Oakley and Agatha entered the house with their daughter, Dame Marie, who at ten years of age was well into the educational program at the Marlborough School for Girls. She had opinions about everything and was not afraid to express them. For an instant the five stared at the object wrapped in a blue, red and green square-patterned blanket. Sol peeled the blanket back and revealed the exquisitely carved sides of the box.
“What’s inside?” Dame Marie moved closer to the table, her eyes roaming slowly over the carvings.
“Open it, Mom. We brought it for you!”
“The box is so elegant, so delicately decorated. It must hold something beautiful inside, I’m sure.”
As Agatha approached the table, strange thoughts came into her mind about what might be in the box. A coiled genie waiting to be freed to grant her three wishes, or a colorful snake waiting to strike, or a map to buried treasure, or jewelry worth thousands of dollars? Such childlike ideas, she thought, while placing her hands on the sides of the mysterious box. Like her daughter, Agatha studied every intricate marking on the box. Agatha tugged at the perfectly fitted box top, marveling at how it slipped onto its hand-carved receptor. Finally, she lifted the top one inch and separated the two parts. Agatha gently placed the top on the blanket. The family peered in and saw what appeared to be a green vase. The interior of the box was dry, as if it had sat on the table and had never touched water. The vase in the box was like a fetus in the womb, lovingly protected from the dangers of the outside world. Agatha reached into the box and slowly extracted the green vase.
“I bet it’s Chinese!” Oakley announced.
He, like the others around the table, was taken aback by the brightness and clarity of the flowers, spread wings of the countless white doves and the white lilies that had been painted on the vase. The doves traversed in constant flight on the vase’s green-stained body.
“God!” Agatha whispered, holding the vase above her eyes. She carefully set the vase down on the table.
“Where did you find it?”
“In the river.”
“How many times have I told you not to take Albert to the river? It’s dangerous.”
Agatha returned her attention to the vase and calmed down. She went to her son and held him against her hip. “You found it in the river. It must belong to somebody.”
Oakley looked at Sol.
“It belongs to us. Albert and I rescued it from the river. It belongs to our family. The River Mother has always said, ‘Whatever the river gives me belongs to me and to my family.’”
“It’s a magic vase. It makes you speak better, Tío Sol!” Dame Marie yelled out.
“Yes, m’ija, it does. It’s holy magic,” Sol confirmed.
“When you look at it for so long the doves seem to fly and the white lilies wave in the wind. Tomorrow we will take it to Mr. Chou, the jeweler in Chinatown. He’s an old friend of our parents, Sol. He knows about these things. He’s an honest man. Let’s se
e what he can tell us.”
That night Sol had dinner while sitting next to the vase. And instead of returning to the Ríos Adobe, he sat throughout the night to guard the box and the vase that had improved his speech.
“THE VASE IS a beautiful piece and it is worth thousands of dollars. How did you come to possess it?” Mr. Chou asked Oakley, who turned to Sol and Albert for a response.
“The river brought it to me. The river gave it to me and Albert.”
Mr. Chou spun the vase around, bringing it about an inch away from his left eye, whirled it in his hands, making the doves fly and the lilies sway gently. He slightly rubbed and raised it to his right eye, went to a wooden desk covered with small Chinese statues, vases, cups and colored bottles. After pushing broken pieces around and picking up a magnifying lens, he again carefully studied the vase.
“A beautiful vase, Sol. These markings on the box and the top identify the dynasty and the family who belong to the vase. It is very old, ancient, and time has guarded it well!
“Not too long ago there lived in Chinatown several very prominent Chinese families. These families owned rich shops nearby. One family sold vegetables, herbs and teas; the others dealt in fine materials they gathered from Asia and Europe; and another collected and sold fine china, ceramics, sculptures, vases and furniture. I cannot tell you exactly what happened, but I will try to honor your mother and father by trying to be as correct as my old mind allows. I tell you this history because you now possess a vase that belonged to one of these families. Sol is correct: the river has brought this vase to you, and you must know its history and its worth. These rich merchants worked with outsiders. They had many non-Chinese clients. And this made the families’ businesses prosper. The families were independent and did not recognize the Tongs that controlled parts of Chinatown. They did have close ties to the powerful old Tongs in San Francisco. For this reason they were able to survive here in our community for as long as they did.
“It happened, and it always seems to happen to us, that the City of Los Angeles wanted the building where these families lived and had their shops. This particular building was located at the edge of Chinatown. The city council declared that the street needed to be widened and that the building was to be condemned. But the situation soon developed into a very curious problem because the families owned the land but not the building. Do not ask me how this happened. I will explain this on another occasion. The owner of the building wanted to sell to the city, but the families refused to sell the land. With help from the San Francisco Tongs, the families offered to buy the building, but the amount the owner wanted was too high. Soon after that, the owner did a strange thing. He agreed to transfer the building’s deed to the city for much less than the offer from the Chinese families. The city council gave the families one month to abandon their homes or be taken to jail. There was no appeal against the city’s Declaration of Public Inclusion of the Chinese property. The city council made no counter financial offer possible but considered that one month to vacate was more than generous. The families and the Chinatown community waited for the city to make a more reasonable deadline and make a fair offer for the land. These changes never came. At the end of the twenty-fifth day, the families expected the police to come at any moment to drag them off to jail.”
The elder Mr. Chou paused for a sip of water. He spun the vase in his hands and from there resumed his story, knowing that his narrative had captured the attention of those present.
“On the twenty-seventh day, early in the morning, the families started to pack their belongings into two cars and one old pickup truck. At ten, a car drove up. Three men and a woman got out of the car and waited in front of the contested property. By eleven, approximately ten nurses wearing pure white uniforms and three doctors in short white smocks joined the gathering group of public health workers. Then, about twenty police officers surrounded several blocks in Chinatown. The medical people broke into three teams escorted by five policemen. Each team had the city council’s authority to enter every house and apartment in the four-block area. The medical teams entered all of the apartments and houses and examined every man, woman and child, after which several buses pulled up. The Chinese family members were lined up in front of a table, where the nurses registered them, and then they were forced to board the buses. Oakley, you will not believe what they came to do. The community had no choice: Men, women and children were separated from their families and forced to go on the buses.
“People from outside the quarantined area stopped to see what was happening. As they stood by watching, they heard the word tuberculosis being used by the medical teams. Finally, it became clear to the Chinese that they were targets of a trumped-up medical quarantine. The city council along with the Los Angeles Health Department had launched a medical campaign to exterminate us by identifying a contagious disease in our families. They separated all those people whom they suspected of having tuberculosis. Some of the victims did have tuberculosis, but most did not. Two more buses arrived. The first two, fully loaded with Chinese of all ages, drove to the County General Hospital, to the contagious disease ward, and from there, in time, they were sent to sanatoriums.
“Members of the Chinese families who had been loading their cars in front of the contested property were trapped within the quarantined space. The family that specialized in Chinese ceramics, sculptures and antique furniture had moved their truck about two blocks away to a gasoline station, where one of the sons with his wife and children filled the tank. While they paid the gas station attendant, they saw two police officers walking toward them. Soon a police car slowly approached the gas station. The family immediately got the children in the truck and drove away, but the police were soon behind them. The family turned east toward the river, and soon they were speeding, as fast as their old truck allowed, away from three police cars with sirens blaring, along the most treacherous road running alongside the Los Angeles River. It was only about a one-mile stretch of road with one curve that leaned against a high river-edge embankment about ten feet high above the flowing river. At that time of the year, they were speeding above the deepest section of the river. The water below was about ten to fifteen feet deep. Your father constantly warned us about that part of the river. There the river formed a small wide calm lake that hid a strong current below the surface. Every year the current carved a deep bowl where the water swirled near the right bank, below the fast-moving truck that day driven by a terrified Chinese father who feared that his family would be taken away because one of his children proved positive for tuberculosis. In San Francisco, thousands of Chinese had been herded to hospitals and sanatoriums. Some stayed for years, and others simply died there. Most never saw their loved ones again because the families were afraid to visit them at the sanatorium for fear of being imprisoned there.
“This father here in Los Angeles had decided that his family would not have that fate. The father drove the truck as fast as it possibly could go. Still the police cars cut the distance. Boxes of clothing, china and other items flew off the truck. Upon hitting a bump or a pothole, several more boxes and furniture fell to the road or down the river embankment to the pooled water below. As the pickup reached its fastest speed, a deep pothole waited. The right front tire smashed into the pothole and caved under the right fender, causing the truck to roll over and tumble down into the deepest part of the Los Angeles River. The river was not merciful and quickly sank the truck, the Chinese family and cases of fine china, sculptures and vases. The police watched as all but a few papers and three children’s slippers disappeared below the dark blue-green water.
“This vase, Mr. Rivers, is worth thousands of dollars. It is a true museum piece.”
Oakley, Sol and Albert drove to the spot where the accident had occurred. It was a perfect place for a bridge. Oakley gazed over to the east side. Sol smiled at the river, which had always brought him a joyful feeling. Maybe a bridge was what that Chinese family needed that day. Sol felt that something goo
d might come from this tragic event. He was proud that he and his nephew had found the vase. Albert looked at the sky and saw doves flying across the river, just like the doves on the vase. The birds perched on top of an old railroad car on tracks that crossed through Ríos land. He had heard stories that his grandfather Abelardo had made agreements giving permission to the railroad companies to build tracks on some of the land he owned along the river. Sol remembered the doves flying on the spinning vase in the old Chinaman’s hands. Albert remembered how Mr. Chou handed the vase carefully and tenderly to his father, as if it were a living thing. The vase possessed a spirit, like humans and all that exists in nature, Albert thought. The spirits of that Chinese family who died lived on in the vase and also in the story that the old Chinaman had shared. The vase had a spirit. It was a living memorial and must have a special place in their house.
Albert was growing up to be a handsome young man, one who attracted many girlfriends. Albert’s insightful questions and discussions in class brought several parents to his front door asking Albert to tutor their children. At first the boy resisted, but with his mother’s encouragement he began teaching students who needed private lessons in mathematics, biology, anatomy and general science. The children he tutored improved their academic standing and earned admission to top colleges. Soon Albert had gained a reputation of being a superb tutor and teacher. Albert had one more year at the Thomas Mat Academic Center and he started to consider which university he would attend. Most of his companions were writing to eastern schools and to Stanford. Albert planned to apply to all of those schools, and because of Gerald Fisher and Aikens MacLeash, the engineers who worked for his father’s company and encouraged him to become an engineer, Albert decided to apply to the University of California, Berkeley, and also to the University of Southern California, to study engineering.
WHITE BILLOWING CLOUDS formed over the deserts and rose above the mountains. Perhaps they would move west, open up and pour rain into the canyons and arroyos leading down to the Los Angeles River. The strong fast floods carried treasures to the river where Sol and Albert rowed out searching for the river’s gifts. Albert felt he should be able to make decisions for himself and not let his mother tell him what to do. He enjoyed going with Sol on the river. She was so insistent, always worrying about him and his sister, Dame Marie. Worrying about Dame Marie he understood, but his mom didn’t have to worry so much about him. Sol had taught him everything about the river, how to read and respect the river. Sol had been taught by the River Mother, and she was like the river itself. Agatha’s advice, Albert understood, was like water washing him with love.
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