During the warmer weather, Mama had a tub she filled with soap, water, heated stones and a grate. Another tub was also filled with water for rinsing. In the winter, doing laundry was a lot more challenging. On mild days, it could be done outside. But on very cold days, it would have to be done inside and only those items that were absolutely necessary, like dirty diapers.
Eva and Mama would ring and squeeze out as much water as they could with their hands and hang the laundry on the clothes line to dry. As a child, Eva’s hands and arms would become very tired and achy following an afternoon of doing the laundry, not to mention her back. But over the years, she became stronger and eventually was able to keep up with Mama.
Between caring for her younger brothers and working in the fields, there wasn’t much time for Eva to just be a child. Responsibility was thrust on her early, and she often felt like she would never be free of it. Mama needed help with the babies and the housework, and Papa needed her help in the fields. Day after day, year after year, hard work was her constant companion. Sometimes she just wanted to be a child, carefree and happy. She was only seven years old.
Eva’s whole young life had been centered around her family and trying the best she could as a child to help them survive. The time had come for her to be able to go to school.
Spanish was the only language Eva had ever spoken. Her mama had learned some English from her cousin, Olivia, but she couldn’t use it. Papa wouldn’t allow English to be spoken at home. So, Eva didn’t learn English until she started school. Mama enrolled her in the first grade at the Catholic school.
To enroll in school, Eva needed to have her birth certificate. Mama had to make a special trip to town, to the county clerk’s office, to ask them to order a birth certificate from the county in Arizona where Eva was born. She paid a fee of $1.00 to order it, which she had secretly saved from her grocery allowance. The young woman with auburn hair behind the counter told Sofía it would take a few weeks, and since she had no telephone, she would need to come back and check to see if it had come.
Three weeks later, Sofía again visited the county clerk’s office and waited her turn in line. A middle-aged white woman with short wavy dark hair walked up to the counter and asked, “Who’s next in line?” Sofía stepped forward and asked if the birth certificate had arrived. She checked the file drawer and pulled out a manila envelope. She handed it to Sofía.
Sofía took it out of the envelope and handed it back to the woman. She asked the clerk, in her broken English, to read it over to make sure it was right.
“Oh, no!” the clerk gasped, pushing her glasses farther up on her nose as she looked intently at the certificate. “This says that Eva was ‘stillborn’.”
“Stillborn?” Sofia asked, not understanding what that meant.
“That means she was born dead. See, right here.” She turned the certificate to face Sofia and pointed at the word.
“No, no, no. No es posible,” Sofía argued, shaking her head.
“It says so right here,” the clerk said, again pointing to the word ‘stillborn.’
“What do we do now?” Sofía asked.
“You’ll have to prove it’s wrong and pay another fee to get it corrected, Ma’am, and then get another certificate,” the clerk told her.
“No, no. No more money.” There was no more money she could pay. Maybe no one will notice, she thought.
Mama took Eva’s birth certificate back from the woman and left. She then took the certificate to the school’s office and got her daughter enrolled. She was right, no one noticed, which was an enormous relief to Sofía. Just the fact that she had an official-looking document with Eva’s name on it was enough.
Eva attended the small Catholic school in Hollister with some children from town and a few of the children of other farm workers. Eva felt lucky Mama pushed Papa to allow her to go to school. Not all of the migrant workers allowed their children to go to school, whether public school or Catholic school. Many of them preferred that their children work in the fields and the orchards so the family would have enough money to live on. They kept them out of school as long as possible, moving from farm to farm, until someone noticed and called the authorities.
Because Eva was already seven, she missed kindergarten and went directly into the first grade. The first year of school was very difficult for her. It was hard enough for a seven-year-old to try to learn to read and write, but she also had to learn a new language at the same time. Eva, fortunately, was a bright girl and after a rough beginning eventually caught up and did well.
Her teacher, a nun, from the very beginning expected Eva to stand in front of the class and read “Fun with Dick and Jane” like the other students. When she couldn’t read it, the nun would swat her hard with a long pointer and send her back to her seat. Eva didn’t even know how to sit at her desk properly, she straddled it. Of course, the other kids laughed at her, and she was embarrassed.
With a great deal of effort on her part, Eva quickly learned to read because she was afraid of the nuns and because she wanted to stop the constant embarrassment. She concentrated on watching the other kids read, and she memorized what they were saying. The words on the pages soon started to make sense. But, because the nuns were so mean and there was a financial cost for attending the Catholic school, Mama decided to take Eva out and enroll her in public school.
Eva’s new teacher, Miss Morimoto, was a welcome change from her old teacher. Miss Morimoto did her best to open the minds of her students to all kinds of possibilities by showing them photos of other countries and other people. She talked with them about all the different kinds of jobs available out in the world, encouraging them to think about what they might like to become one day when they grow up.
She knew most of these children came from poor families, many of them farm workers. Without her encouragement to read and learn about life outside of their limited existence, she believed they wouldn’t have much of a future.
As time went on, Eva found she loved to read and learn, especially science. She began to see there was a glimmer of hope for her, that she could have a better life than what she had now, she could have more than Mama had. Possibly she could be a teacher or maybe even a nurse. Sofía encouraged Eva to learn all she could, that she could become whatever she set her mind to be.
After school, Eva always came home and changed into her tattered play clothes, then helped her mother with the babies and with supper. They never had much, but they always had food to eat.
Sofía continued to be thrifty and was careful to always buy in bulk. She bought large sacks of flour, rice and beans, as these were staples in their diet. When there was a little extra money, she stocked up on things like canned milk, tomato sauce, spaghetti and macaroni. She also canned rabbit and fruit, when it was available.
Mama even made jerky when Carlos went hunting and brought home an animal he had killed. She would flavor the jerky with spices and place it on the clothesline to dry, covering it with cheesecloth.
At times, they had chickens running free in the yard. Mama would send the older children to catch a chicken for dinner sometimes. Eva and her brothers would chase the chickens around the yard until they wore one of them down and they could catch it. Mama would break its neck and put it in a pot of hot water to make it easier to pluck its feathers.
Sofía could make a piece of steak go a long way, and round steak and gravy was one of the family’s favorite dishes, especially when she made hot biscuits from scratch to go with it. Times were tough, and the family didn’t eat like people who had money, but Mama always did her best to make sure her family was well fed. There was no sliced white bread or creamy whole milk for the Gonzalez family, but they always had enough food to eat.
As children do, Eva and her siblings found ways to entertain themselves. Sometimes they challenged each other to foot races in the yard or on the street when there was no traffic in the evening. They had marbles to play with and sometimes they played “kick the can” to s
ee whose aluminum can would go the farthest.
Somehow, as they got a little older, they managed to lay their hands on an old bicycle, and they would all take turns riding it. Once, they even built a scooter using two wooden fruit boxes and wheels they had rescued from someone’s trash.
When they were younger, they sat on the wooden floor next to their parents’ bed and listened to the old radio. The children sat in awe, listening to the adventures of Red Ryder, the Lone Ranger and The Shadow before going to bed. This was their nightly escape from their hard life. Papa was usually gone to town in the evenings, and Mama was busy catching up on housework or tending to a baby. The stories were so exciting to the children that they sometimes carried the adventures to bed with them in their heads, playing them over and over in their minds as they drifted off to sleep.
They were happy when they were playing, as most children are. But once Carlos came home, the mood quickly changed to somber. Neither Mama nor the children ever knew what kind of mood he was in or how he was going to act. They all tried to stay out of his way as much as they could. He only needed the slightest provocation for one of them to receive a slap or a punch, maybe even drawing his ire to use his leather belt or a switch from the nearest tree.
Carlos’s punishment of choice was whipping the children with his leather belt or a green switch. A switch was a small branch Carlos made the offending child cut down from a locust tree in their yard for him to use on them. He or she was not allowed to scream or cry, just take the beatings in silence or the punishment would be worse.
Eva counted the days until she could be free of Carlos. She saw children at school every day that did not have to endure the life she and her brothers did. Her father’s abuse made her more and more determined to find a way to escape her dire situation and make a better life for herself.
This determination is what sparked hope in her, and that hope helped her get through each difficult day. One day she would be free from that cruel man, she told herself, just like her mother had gotten free from Tía Consuela. But Eva hoped she would not make the same mistakes her mother did that trapped them all in their miserable circumstances.
Chapter 10: The Secret
Though Sofía loved all her children equally, she knew that Carlos always favored his first-born son, Eduardo. Second to Eduardo, he treated the other boys equally. But he never gave any kind of positive attention whatsoever to Eva. He rarely even spoke to her unless he was ordering her to do something or calling her a fat cow if he thought she was being lazy.
Carlos never accepted Eva as his daughter, and he consistently treated her differently from the other children. He only saw her as another pair of hands to work, which was helpful to him, yet another mouth he had to feed. Sometimes Sofía and Carlos would argue over how he treated Eva, and Carlos would get so angry he would slap or back-hand Sofía. Eva witnessed the arguments and the abuse, but she didn’t understand it.
“It’s the drink,” she told Eva, “that often causes him to take his anger out on me and you children.”
“But it’s not right, Mama.”
“Just do as he asks, mi’ja, and stay out of his way,” Mama advised.
They couldn’t get through the day or have a peaceful meal without somehow making Carlos mad. Then someone would pay.
Even though they lived in town and had close neighbors, no one ever reported any spousal or child abuse to the authorities. Eva wondered why the teachers ignored the children’s bruises and never reported them. Sofía and her children were trapped, without hope.
Then another daughter was born. They named her Lydia. She became the apple of Carlos’s eye. She could do no wrong. Eva didn’t understand why her papa loved Lydia and not her. One day, when she was twelve years old, she learned why her papa never loved her.
* * * *
It was a hot, humid Sunday afternoon in the late spring of 1944. Carlos had been drinking out in the backyard, and Eva caught his ire. The back door of their rundown little house quickly creaked open and Eva ran in.
“Mama!” The girl called out in a weak, pained voice.
Mama looked up from her cooking, a baby on her hip, and pulled out a chair for Eva. “What’s wrong?”
“Papa. He whipped me again,” she cried. Tears from her muffled cries, mingled with dirt, were caked on her cheeks.
“Come, sit.” Eva sat down and bent forward. Pulling up the back of Eva’s shirt with one hand, Mama surveyed her injuries. “No blood this time, mi’ja, just welts. But I’ll get some salve. It’ll make it feel better. I think there’s some in the bathroom.”
Sofía didn’t ask what happened, she didn’t need to. She already knew. Papa had just whipped the girl again in the backyard with a green switch from their elm tree. Sofía had heard nothing because Carlos warned the girl that if she cried he would beat her harder.
Looking out the cracked kitchen window, Sofía saw Carlos in a dirty T-shirt and work pants sitting on an old tree stump, opening another bottle of beer. The green switch lay on the ground by his feet. It was late afternoon and, from the number of empty bottles on the ground around him, she knew he already had a few.
As Sofía watched him, her face grew red and hot with anger and frustration. She loathed this prison of fear in which he held them all captive, but she was helpless to break free.
She didn’t bother to ask her daughter what set him off this time because it didn’t matter anymore. Carlos always had plenty of excuses – she didn’t move fast enough, she was in his way, she forgot to do something he had ordered her to do, she looked at him the wrong way – the list went on. It never took much to get him started.
“I don’t understand, Mama,” Eva said as she wiped her eyes with her hands. “Why does he hate me so much?”
Mama’s turned away from the window and handed her daughter a damp kitchen towel to wipe her face. Then she set the baby down in the old wooden high chair.
Sofía knew the day was coming when she would have to tell Eva the truth about Carlos, but she thought she would have more time. Eva was only twelve. Mama hoped for a few more years, but Eva was asking questions and it could not be put off any longer.
“I didn’t want to tell you until you were older, mi’ja, but I guess it’s time.” Sofía hoped she could spare her innocent young daughter from the truth of her mother’s indiscretions.
“Tell me what, Mama?” Eva sat up straight in the chair and her attention was riveted on Sofía’s next words.
“I’m so ashamed, niña.” Sofía felt heat rising in her face and couldn’t look Eva in the eye. She looked down at the floor, then at her hands, wiping them on her worn apron.
“I didn’t want you to know, but I suppose it’s really better that you do.”
“Know what, Mama?” Eva insisted.
“Papa…well…” she paused, wringing her hands, struggling to find the words. “Well, he’s not your real father,” Mama blurted out, embarrassedly.
“What? What do you mean?” Eva was stunned and trying to understand what her mama was attempting to tell her.
“I was with another man before I met Carlos. His name was Enrique. He was your father, mi’ja. Please forgive me.” Sofía’s voice was shaking, her eyes swimming with tears.
“Yes, Mama, I forgive you. But I want to know more.”
“It’s a long story, mi’ja.” Sofía just wanted this conversation to be over.
“Tell me, Mama,” Eva pressed.
“No, niña, I’ll tell you more about it when you’re older.” Sofía couldn’t look at Eva and her words were quick. “But for now, that’s all I’m going to say.” Then she hurried off to the bathroom to find the salve.
From that day on, Eva never called Carlos her “Papa” again.
Even though she was surprised to learn the man she always thought was her father was not, she was glad that now she understood why he treated her like he did. She realized she had done nothing to cause his hatred and cruelty toward her, and there was nothing she could do t
o change it.
Although Eva appreciated her mama telling her the truth about Carlos, she knew it meant she would never know her real father. At first she was sad about that, but somehow this new revelation set her free. She no longer felt an obligation to love Carlos simply because he was her father. She no longer desired his love or approval. For her mother’s sake, though, she would not disrespect him because she never wanted her mother to be ashamed of her. So, she continued to be an obedient and helpful child.
Chapter 11: An Unfortunate Union
On occasion, Carlos allowed Sofía to go into town to do some shopping or go to mass at the Catholic Church. She always tried to take Eva with her, giving them a little time together and showing her daughter there was more in the world than farm work and house work. They usually had to bring the youngest with them, little baby Lydia.
Attending mass gave Sofía a break from the brutality of her life and the constant responsibilities of all the children. She could sit in peace and quiet for awhile, praying and thinking, surrounded by the beauty of the stained glass windows, candlelight and soft music. The baby slept, and Eva sat quietly beside her in the wooden pew.
Being at mass, listening to the priest and the choir, also reminded Sofía that she and Carlos were not legally married, which filled her with guilt and shame. She had been living as Carlos’s wife for twelve years now, and they had many children together.
Surely in God’s eyes we must be married, she often told herself, trying to justify her marital situation. But, when she went to mass, just being in the sanctuary reminded her that she was not married in the eyes of the Church. And at confession, she was painfully aware that the priest knew she had many children with a man to whom she was not married. Even though Father Marcelo tried to be kind and understanding of her situation, she knew he disapproved of her sin.
After mass, she and her girls went to several stores for their shopping. Sofía was acquainted with some women in the Hispanic community, wives of other farm workers, neighbors, women who also attended mass sometimes, and women who worked in the stores she occasionally shopped in. Many of them knew that she and Carlos were not married, and she could feel their obvious disapproval.
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