by J P S Brown
Mikey sometimes thought that it would be better if he let his heart break so he could die once and for all. Maybe that would make Paul and Maggie kiss and stop fighting. He realized it was more likely that they would not admit that they were the cause of his heartbreak and would say he died of some silly congestion. Then nobody would be left to care if they killed each other, or hope that they would show some love for each other, or give them one dim reason to stay together anymore.
Their anger always subsided before they killed each other or hurt each other's bodies. Renewed hope that they would touch each other gently, speak softly to one another, and smile at one another again, always eased the pain in their son's heart just before it killed him.
The love of his parents made him plenty happy sometimes. Maggie liked to teach her son everything that was of value to her and she was a generous and patient teacher. He was not a hard-headed learner. He liked almost all the things that she liked, especially reading. Billy Shane came home from first grade able to read the funnies and excluded Mikey from that new adventure for a while, so Mikey asked Maggie to teach him to read. He learned to read Dick Tracy as fast as she was able to help him absorb the rules of letters. That learning time was wonderful for Mikey because he had to sit very still with his mother's voice in his ear, in the very middle of her sweet breath, with her touch close and soft upon him.
During the first three years of Mikey's life, Maggie and Paul took him everywhere they went and he never thought they could go away and leave him. To be inside the embrace of his father and mother was all he wanted. After he was three, they stopped hugging him. Other kids took their inclusion in the love of their fathers and mothers as a matter of fact. Mikey looked for it, hoped and longed for it, but finally learned to do without it.
Mikey's sister Maudy Marie was born when Mikey was five, two years after Paul and Maggie's war had begun and only six months before they separated. Maudy never knew how good life could be when Paul and Maggie loved each other. The Summers kids loved their parents from birth because they depended on them for warmth, shelter, and food like other kids, but Maudy never knew what it was like for them to love her graciously. After Paul and Maggie quit loving each other they imposed conditions on all loving done with kids.
Paul would love his kids if he could drink and cowboy and be reckless and did not have to come home. Maggie loved Mikey as long as he realized that Paul would have to stop drinking, come home when he was supposed to, and not spend his paychecks recklessly. When she was mean to Mikey, it was because she was especially angry at Paul. She would allow her son to love her as long as he did not act like Paul and Paul did not act like Paul. She planned to see to it that Mikey became a man not like Paul, but like another kind that she would mold.
Drinking was blamed for the downfall of the Summers marriage, yet when Mikey thought of the good times, when the love of his parents had included him in its embrace, drinking had almost always been involved. When his family met at a branding, a general roundup, or any other kind of reunion, everybody drank beer or the hard stuff and all the things that had been done wrong became all right. The fights were told and retold for the humor in them. The times Maggie had wanted to kill Mikey for scaring the peewadding out of her became funny stories, adventures that had thrilled them both.
The first time Mikey remembered drinking beer was at Los Parados, a drive-in beer joint across the line in Nogales, Sonora. At that time the Summerses were all in love, and once in a while on Sundays Paul drove them to Los Parados where they sat in the car and were served beer on a tray attached to the windowsill. Paul poured Mikey his first beer in a shot glass there as soon as the boy was able to stand up in the seat.
Mikey loved beer from the start. It did not just lie there and wait to be consumed. It acted and was full of its own energy. He was fascinated by the life it demonstrated in the jewel-like bubbles it formed inside itself that rose amiably and busily in a straight line to the surface and joined in foamy celebration at the top. The tawny color and the gemlike bubbles held him. This was not food. This was the assimilation of the essence of the jewel without the hard, cold weight of the stone. This was true spirit for a person to taste and swallow.
In the beer Mikey saw the very spirit of his family when it was on good terms, in good times, when its love was full. Maggie and Paul were good at laughing. The three Summerses laughed a lot at Los Parados and at other, larger family gatherings with beer. One shot glass was all he was given at a time. Maggie insisted on that. Paul would ask if Mikey could have another, but he would never argue when Maggie said no. The boy learned to savor the friendship of the bubbles when they visited his tongue, the coolness of the swallow, and the warm glow it carried to his belly. He learned to pause happily with that glow inside him while his parents laughed and talked and to watch the late bubbles rise in the glass along the same paths to catch up with earlier, more hurried bubbles and to savor the good, strong smell of it. Each bubble was an individual glitter in a rich, clear jewel. Beer was one of Mikey's simple pleasures, but it seemed so complicated when he examined it that he did not think he would ever stop finding new wonders about it.
Mikey knew that his parents were having a tough time making a living. Maggie confessed to Mikey that they could not always be happy because they were "hard up" and this was not only the fault of the Depression. Certain people had taken advantage of them. All the young breadwinners of that time were hard up, but if Paul did not grow up and face their problem and take as deep a seat as he did when he climbed on a bronc, the bottom would fall out from under his family. The bottom did fall out. When they stopped having fun together, Paul and Maggie lost one another.
Maggie could not understand how a man who loved the hard work of cowboying as much as Paul could not adapt to some other kind of hard work that paid better. Paul said that cowboying was the only work he could do. When he and Maggie first married, they had money, livestock, and credit. When that was gone, Paul's ability as a cowboy was not worth a nickel.
Paul told Maggie that if he could not cowboy he might as well be dead, because his life would be over. He did take other jobs. He went to work for the highway department long enough to learn to drive a Caterpillar and to take home a Caterpillar watch fob to show Mikey, but he ruined that by sparking a rancher's sister who lived near the camp where he stayed during the week. The rancher was an old friend of Paul and Maggie's. His ranch neighbored Buster's and it was only natural that he offer Paul his hospitality. Full of fun as Paul was, it was only natural that he and the rancher's sister, who also liked to have fun, got together.
Paul had cronies who drank, made, or smuggled whiskey everywhere in Santa Cruz County. If he was horseback when he saw a crony, he stopped and got off his horse to visit a while. If the crony had any whiskey, Paul drank with him. If Paul was riding a machine, he "shut her down," climbed down, and squatted in the shade to visit and drink. If the crony did not have whiskey, Paul knew where it could be found and was capable of walking his Caterpillar off the job and across country to go get it. No cowboy was capable of going afoot any farther than the nearest corral to get anything he wanted, even whiskey.
Paul's family saw little of him after he took the highway department job. He lost that job right away because he disappeared with his Caterpillar too often for reasons he was unable to explain. He told his son during one of his quick visits home that one day, when he was operating the Cat in the midst of impenetrable dust, pounding noise, and heat that bubbled the paint on the machine, he looked up into the cool reaches of a canyon in the Tumacacori Mountains on the Rock Corral Ranch and remembered how he had ridden horseback there looking after his own cows and doing the job for which he had been born. He became so sad that his cowboying days might be over that he wept. The tears made big adobes when they mixed with the dust caked on his face, which made him laugh. Not long after that he got fired, but he could not feel bad about it. Being a catskinner had not made him proud. He was only proud that he had never been fired
as a cowboy.
After the highway department job, Paul went down to cowboy for Cabezon Woodell in Sonora and that was the end of his marriage. Mikey stopped cowboying. Uncle Buster stopped coming to see Mikey because Paul was never home anymore. The boy came to realize how happy he had been when his dad was making him into a cowboy, because now he could only dream of being one, like all the other kids.
THREE
Sonora Girls
Cows are not troubled by their calves. Mares are unperturbed in their love for their foals. The smarter people become, the more their kids bother them. What happens to simple sweetness? Who are the dumb animals?
When Mikey was old enough to stand up in the seat of the car, Maggie would dress him up, part his hair in the middle, slick it back against his skull so he would look like his handsome uncles, and take him to Nogales. She always parked the car on Morley Avenue in front of the stores. She rolled down the windows to give Mikey air, told him to stay put and watch the people go by, but not to stare, and went away to the shops.
Mikey looked for a friend in each face that passed. He made ready to smile when he looked into a face in case he found that he knew the person. If he liked the face, he smiled whether he knew the person or not. He and Paul were alike that way.
The first friend Mikey made on that street was an old black man named Joe. He came by almost every time Mikey was in town. Mikey became Black Joe's friend long before he was even noticed by him. He came by puffing his pipe with his eyes down-cast the first day and Mikey liked his face so much he felt forced to stare. The face passed within a foot of the boy's. The man walked slowly, so the boy was given a long, close look. Black Joe wore a brown hat that seemed to be powdered all over with ashes. His face was deeply lined, and the lines looked as though they were full of light gray ash that also lay in the lines of his hands. He wore a dark suit vest with his tobacco can, a gold watch and chain, another pipe to smoke, matches, and a handkerchief all showing above the rims of the four breast pockets. His walk was a poised and graceful amble.
That was the day Mikey began to study the way men walked. He began to think that the pace of a real man's walk must always have a special style that suited him. Black Joe's walk was unconsciously dignified, stately, and had taken shape with the grace of the way he lived. He did not drag his feet and he did not limp. He coasted at one mile per hour, even down as slow as half a mile per hour. His feet never seemed to leave the pavement, yet they did not touch down between steps, the same way that heavyweight boxer Joe Louis's feet imperceptibly cleared the floor when he jumped rope. One day Black Joe raised his eyes and Mikey saw that they were as feral as Pancho's. Years later, Mikey became aware of what he saw in those eyes. They looked at the world as though they had been doing so since before 2ooo BC and were still not tired enough to quit. They were the world's eyes, the ones the world used to watch what went on outside its heart. They had been much used but would never tire of what they saw or be surprised.
The third time Black Joe came by, Mikey murmured hello. He looked at Mikey and gave out a rumble so deep the boy could not understand the word for the sound. After that he would look into Mikey's eyes from farther down the street as he approached, then rumble something as he went by.
Maggie told Mikey that Black Joe had been a good friend and comrade in arms of Mikey's Granddaddy Bert. He owned the indoor shoeshine stand on the town plaza. Paul and Buster liked to stop and sit under a shade tree on the plaza with him from time to time and share a bottle of whiskey. He had been decorated for bravery as a Fort Huachuca cavalryman against Geronimo. Mikey told Granny about him and she said he was Old Black Joe, hers and Granddaddy Bert's best friend of all time. Mikey asked why he was called Black Joe. Mikey felt a kinship with Black Joe because of the nickname. The grown-ups in Mikey's family called him "Black Man" because his hair was so black and he burned so black under the sun. Black Joe did not look very black to Mikey. He was not as black as little Chapo Valenzuela, Granny's gardener who walked over from across the line to tend her lawn and flowers every Saturday. Granny said that he was called Old Black Joe because a song was named after him. She sang the song to Mikey and taught it to him. The next time Black Joe came by on the street, Mikey said, "Hi, Joe."
He looked at the boy with the world's eyes and said, "Hi, Joe," and started on by.
Mikey was willing to be Joe if Black Joe wanted that, so he said, "Is my name Joe, too?"
He stopped and said, "What do you call yourself?"
He seemed to like Joe, so Mikey said, "Joe."
"What else?"
"Michael Paul Summers."
"You say Paul Summers?"
"Yes."
"Maggie's your mama and Paul is your daddy?"
Maggie returned to the car at that moment. She shook Joe's hand and said she was glad her boy had stopped him so she could visit with him. He had great, burnished gold teeth and some of his color had come off on them, but his tongue was pink as a flower. He told Maggie that he and Mikey had been friends a long time but they had not spoken until that day. He was glad to know that Mikey was Bert Sorrells's grandson.
After that, Black Joe spoke to Mikey every time he came by, but he only patted the boy's hand, rumbled at him cheerfully, and went on.
Mikey's uncle Joe Sorrells drove a Wells Fargo Express delivery truck every summer for college money. Mikey often saw him on the street. Uncle Joe and he could spot each other in any crowd, even if one of them tried to hide as a beggar wearing an aviator cap and goggles. Most of his pickups and deliveries were on Morley Avenue in three blocks of stores between the county courthouse and the Ville De Paris in front of the garita on the line. Uncle Joe would drive up and double-park, then talk and laugh with the drivers of the cars that were stopped in the street by his truck while he loaded and unloaded packages. He could swing aboard the bed of his truck without touching it with anything but his hands and the soles of his feet, and then handle the packages as though they were feathers on the tips of his fingers. No one seemed to mind when Joe's truck blocked the way. He had been a great high school athlete and was making a good name as an athlete in college. He was handsome as a racehorse, and he was as good a grown-up friend as Mikey ever had. Everyone called Uncle Joe "Bronco."
"Brrronco," the men would growl at him when his truck blocked the street and made them wait, and then they would smile.
Mikey made friends with pretty girls who were still childlike enough to try their new wooing powers on him. They suspected they were pretty and were learning modest ways to find out if it was true. They made eyes even at little boys like Mikey as they searched for somebody simpatico, someone else who might want to let them know they were good-looking and share his own goodness with them. They walked down the street with their hips swaying, their pretty eyes full of the pure joy of innocence, and with a power to lay men low that they did not understand. They gave Mikey as much attention as they did boys their own age. Most of them were from Sonora and did not have to worry about being pretty. Sonora girls had enjoyed a worldwide reputation for beauty since the time of Maximilian and Carlotta. These who passed by on Morley Avenue flirted broadly and believed no one would take it as anything but innocent fun.
The girls who stopped to talk to Mikey were not always the same girls, but they universally shared a desire to woo the world. On the street they cast warm glances and watched for a chance to meet someone else's gaze. When their eyes met Mikey's they smiled and sometimes stopped to talk.
"Ay, mira, que muchachito tan simpático. Look at the handsome, friendly little boy," one might say. "¿Cómo te llamas? What do they call you? I'm Rosina and this other girl is Sparky."
"Miguel Pablo Veranos Sorreles," he would say. According to custom, he always included Maggie's maiden name. He was used to being told he was good-looking because all little boys were good-looking to them. He did not need to believe the girls were serious about wooing him, only that they wanted him to like it.
"Ay, Miguel, how beautiful you are," one
of them might say.
"¿Adónde van?" Mikey would ask. "Where are you going?"
"Ay, we've been looking for you, Miguelito. Are you married?"
"I'm still too little."
"Ojos de gato. Where did you get those cat eyes?"
"From my mama and daddy."
"Ay, will you be our Miguelito?"
"I am called Mikey."
"Will you?"
"No."
That made them laugh. "Why not?"
"I belong to Maggie Summers."
"Ah, she's your mama, but when you grow up I want you for my sweetheart," Rosina might say.
"No, me," Sparky would say, and she would move closer to Mikey. Rosina would then try to crowd even closer.
"I like you both."
"Ah, nooo," Sparky would whine. "Are you only another mujeriego, a ladies man who will only cause me pain, a milamores who wants to have a thousand women?"
"If you want her you can't have me," Rosina, or Carmela, or Maria would say.
All this time they stood close to Mikey without touching him with anything but their sound, smell, breath, and gaze. They kept their arms decently at their sides. They were chaste girls, virgins while they stopped to talk to the boy, clean and decent as always, or clean and decent for a moment as they once had been. Abruptly they would leave, but they always looked back at least once before they went out of sight.
Mikey's favorite passerby girIfriend was Enriqueta, called Queta. She was small and prieta, dark complexioned, with delicate features and shiny black hair that curled around the heavy golden earrings she wore. She first stopped to talk to Mikey when he was three or four. That first day she acted as though she had known him all his life and immediately started up a serious conversation while her black eyes took stock of him with a completely proprietary gaze.