The Importance of a Piece of Paper

by Jimmy Santiago Baca

  He looked around at the pots simmering on the stove, food in clay bowls on the counter. “Mama, I swear, your beans and tortillas... smelling them, I go crazy.”

  “Well, then, Ramoncito, pitch in—you used to eat more tortillas than an army.”

  He hung his suit jacket on the chair back, unclipped his cuff links, rolled up his white sleeves, turned the tortillas on the hot plate, and stacked and covered them with a towel.

  She and Susan embraced, then Julia knelt and peeked at Lila hiding behind her mother.

  “You going to give me a little hug?”

  “If I do, can I go outside and play with Omar? Please?”

  “Of course,” Julia said, “he would like that.”

  Lila gave her a quick little kiss and ran out.

  Susan took a glance out the window to check on them, sat down, and fanned herself with a farmer’s market flyer that had been lying on the table.

  “They get along so well,” Julia said and went back to stirring the ground beef.

  “Ray, have you told your mother the good news?” Susan stood at the sink next to Ramon.

  “What news?” Julia asked, giving Ramon a questioning look.

  “We’re moving,” Susan said, “into the country club area. And we’re going away for the summer. Europe. You know we met there when we were in college. Our bus broke down in a small town in Tuscany and we stayed in a monastery. Ray and his group were going to Rome and some mix-up in transportation forced them to settle in for the night at the same monastery.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Julia said, looking out on the lawn. She half listened to Susan, straining instead to hear Omar and Lila through the open window—her squeal of excitement as Omar, with arms extended like helicopter blades, whirled round and round, head tilted back, until he became dizzy and fell. She had come to distinguish his shrill giggles and strange sounds of fear, happiness, and confusion. He was happy.

  Julia turned from the stove and placed steaming chili sauce on the table covered with a plastic nonslip coverlet. “Tortillas are done, beans cooked, salsa made—ah, I’m sorry, would you like coffee?” They declined but she poured herself a cup and sat down. “Well, we’ll wait for Terrazo.”

  An hour or so later Terrazo pulled in. He was with a bunch of guys and Julia could tell he had already been drinking. She kept repeating, “Thank you Lord, thank you Lord for bringing my son back to me.” She went outside to greet him and cried, touching his face as if to reassure herself he was really there, caressing his cheeks, holding his arms. She tried to stifle her joyous tears but couldn’t.

  “Mama, it’s okay, I’m fine,” Terrazo said.

  “Come, come. Ramon’s here, Omar will be so glad to see you. Let’s eat.”

  Omar came rushing around the house. He clapped when he saw Terrazo, who took his brother and whirled him around until his feet were off the ground. Alarmed that Omar might get hurt, Julia ordered Terrazo to let him go.

  Ramon, with Susan next to him, stood outside on the stoop holding the screen door open. “Welcome home, little brother, hope you’re here to stay this time.” He looked at his brother’s bulging forearms tattooed with red winds and yellow fire, water rising with a ferocious blue face, and earth wielding a machete and beheading its enemies. Even his fingers were tattooed, each alternating a smiling and grim-lipped skull face. On the inner part of his arms sand blew into the eyes of a blood-dripping statue of lady justice holding the scales, one dish stacked with hearts and the other with gold coins piled high.

  “Actually I’m going back this afternoon,” he replied, his voice tinged with spite.

  “What?” Julia gasped.

  “He’s kidding, Mama,” Ramon said, but he wondered how long it would be before Terrazo started partying with all those girls again and ended up using heroin and failing his urine test at the parole officer’s and eventually being sent back to prison.

  “I’ll make you all plates in a little bit,” she told Terrazo’s friends, and they thanked her as they took six-packs out of the car, admiring Ramon’s new white Cadillac, and walked to the end of the driveway to the backyard. Susan watched them anxiously and then went inside.

  Julia set out plates and served everyone. Lila and Omar sat on the floor in the living room, eating off a little coffee table.

  Julia knew Susan merely endured their rare visits. She picked lightly at her plate, hardly eating. She acted nervous as if she felt out of place, constantly smoothing her dress, keeping her manicured hands on her lap, her posture erect. But she made Ramon happy and that’s what counted, although Julia had yet to see them hug or kiss in public.

  “What a pretty suit,” Julia said.

  “Tailored flannel. It’s a little hot, I should have worn my T-shirt and shorts,” Ramon said.

  “On Sunday? Are you kidding me? Don’t get chili on it, it’ll never wash out,” Susan said.

  “Blue’s my favorite color,” Julia said.

  “It’s a summer suit. I don’t know what he’d do without me,” Susan said. “I want him to grow one of those Zorro mustaches, a pencil-thin one.”

  “Do you shave him too?” Terrazo asked.

  “Make sure he gets regular checkups, at his age, for colon cancer. You know my brother had it, caught it in time, and is getting treatment for it,” Julia said.

  “I go to the doctor’s every three months. Don’t worry, Mama, I take good care of myself,” Ramon said. “I mean she takes good care of me.”

  “You got the easy life,” Terrazo said, as he rose to help himself to another serving. “If you want to get rid of that paunch and those flabby arms, I’ll show you how.”

  Ramon rose, went to the stove, and heaped his plate with beans and rice. He towered over his brother by a foot, but Terrazo was taut as a bowstring, built like a boxer in training.

  “If I didn’t have anything else to do but sit in a cell all day, I might have time to work out too.”

  Terrazo’s friends came in, respectfully greeted Julia, then lined up behind one another at the stove, piled their plates, and went out. The neighborhood kids Julia often fed stopped by to grab a burrito or taco and a cup of Kool-Aid and left. Friends drifted in briefly to say hi and share in Julia’s happiness. All over the yard groups of kids played, teenage boys gathered with their girls, and by the bonfire, men and women, some with guitars and others with congas, drank and laughed. The dusk filled with firecrackers and howling dogs, kids laughing. Julia was happy. This was how it should be.

  Back in the kitchen, Julia was covering the dishes of food with tinfoil. “I remember,” she began, “you used to sit right over there, Ramoncito, doing your homework. And late at night you’d get hungry, and everything I had covered up and put away would be out all over the counters in the morning.”

  “It was that glass of warm milk and cookies you set on my desk every evening as I studied,” Ramon smiled, “that gave me the brains to pass my tests.”

  “And how you used to worry me,” she said to Terrazo. “I was always at the window, praying, looking out anxiously for you. And of course, the authorities would call as usual because you had missed school again.”

  “I never liked school. I remember you at the ironing board all night, ironing Ramon’s clothes, mending his socks, making sure he was always dressed the best.”

  “Because I went to school,” Ramon added.

  Terrazo glanced up at him. “People learn a lot more by experiencing life, not reading about it.”

  Julia studied Terrazo for a moment. “You seem angry... I know, you just came out, and that’s a terrible experience to go through, but—”

  “Just happy to be home, Mama.” He refilled his plate.

  Ramon ate silently. Susan continued to pick at the little she had on her plate.

  Julia asked, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m dieting.” Susan frowned.

  Julia rose to serve more beans and rice to Lila.

  “No, she’s had enough,” Susan said.

&nb
sp; Julia smiled at Lila and wished she could have told the girl’s mother, Let her be a child. Had she been able to speak her mind freely with Susan, she also would’ve asked why they didn’t bring Lila over to visit her more. It seemed that whenever she called for Lila, Ramon said she was over at Susan’s parents’ house, with their big swimming pool, barbecues on the veranda, and more toys than the child could ever use.

  “You got anything lined up?” Ramon asked. “It’s going to be awful boring for Terrazo, hanging out around here all day.”

  Terrazo looked at his brother. “Jose asked me to help him get some of those cars out of his garage. Mama, you got any more lawn chairs?” She shrugged, and he said, “I’ll be outside.” He put his plate in the pan with warm soapy water in the sink.

  As Terrazo was walking out, Ramon said, “We make a lot of loans to businesses and I can call in a favor if you want.”

  “Take care of yourself, Ramon, looks like you got a lot more on your plate to finish than I did.”

  “Don’t go too far, we still have dessert,” Julia said.

  “Come on, Omar, let’s light up some firecrackers.” Omar jumped up and followed Terrazo.

  Lila followed behind Omar. “Mommy, please...”

  “It’s cool, she can play with the other kids,” Terrazo said. As long as Terrazo had known Lila, she always had to stay clean, sit on the chair or couch, and was never allowed to play with other kids and get dirty.

  Susan had reservations. “Ray?” She was afraid of Terrazo’s friends.

  “Keep an eye on her and don’t let her go running off with the other kids into other yards.” He kissed Lila and she followed Terrazo outside.

  “Are you sure?” Susan’s blue eyes flashed with warning, a cautionary look that questioned Ramon’s decision. “Ray?”

  “Relax, she’ll be fine.” Ramon then asked his mother, “Mama, you’re not going to baby him again are you? Don’t let him loaf around here all day taking advantage of you. Last time he got out, he started living here and dealing drugs right out of his room.”

  “Let me enjoy my son for a while, he just got out. I need to see him here, be with him, be together, and you too, you don’t come often enough.”

  “He’s a man now, treat him like one, Mama.” He paused. “I’m sorry, I’ll drop the subject. And Mama, I promise I’ll come over more—we’ve just been overwhelmed with business. We’re in the middle of expanding our market into Dallas and Phoenix, and the bank is...” Ramon continued but Julia wasn’t listening.

  She turned on the sink tap and felt content. The water seemed to have a memory of her hands. She liked washing dishes, the comforting feel of warm liquid pouring off her knuckles, which vanished underneath as if the soapy bubbles and swirls were playing a game with her fingers, remembering her hands as fish, and they became fish again, whirling, swimming, lifting, and submerging in it. She lost herself in the memory of the faucet stream, transforming her hands back into brown fish, surrendering to its warmth and softness.

  As she finished the dishes, she studied her hands again, now heavy, swollen, and wrinkled like elephant pads stomping through drought-baked days. These hands didn’t belong to her, callused stone mason’s hands, surfacing and plunging into the sink like carved rock animals, clacking among the cups and plates and forks and spoons. And as if some creature raised its head from the swamps to devour her in that instant, a scream came, and then seconds later Terrazo burst through the screen door, grabbed a bar of butter from the table, and was out again. He didn’t say anything to Ramon or Susan but they were already out the door, right behind him.

  Seconds later, Ramon saw Terrazo kneeling down by Lila and rubbing butter on her palm. The rest of the guys stared down, not saying anything, and other kids were gathered around Lila, trying to give Terrazo room but crowding in to see her hand. The kids were whispering frantically that it was an accident. One of them had lit a sparkler, and while it swung in circles through the air, Lila, seeing the sparks and the mirror glints, had grabbed at them, right where the sparkler was burning the hottest.

  Looming over Terrazo, Ramon roared out with rage in every word, “What the fuck are you doing, you idiot! You never put butter on a burn!”

  Susan grabbed Lila, crying, “Oh my God, oh my God, it’s a third-degree burn, we have to get her to a hospital!”

  Instantly, Ramon shoved Terrazo aside and swept Lila up in his arms and headed for the car. They took off, the wheels erupting a cloud of gravel and dust. Julia looked at the driveway after they left, then turned toward the group by the bonfire. The kids were playing again, chasing one another on the broad half-acre of grass on the side of the house. The men and women stood around drinking beer and smoking, resuming their conversations—everyone except Terrazo, who was sitting by the bonfire staring into the flames, scratching the embers with a stick, making sparks and red flakes float up around his head and shoulders.

  Ramon returned that evening around eleven after taking his wife and daughter home. Susan had forgotten her purse and Julia had it ready. Lila was going to be okay, Ramon said, but butter didn’t help. He sat down wearily, apologizing for getting angry and upsetting everything. It had been a great meal, he said, but the whole incident enraged him.

  “Why do you let them carry on like that?”

  Julia fixed him a cup of coffee and sat down. “You know it’s a tradition, and Terrazo just got out, he deserves to have a little party. That’s how it’s done, it’s better to have him here with me than in a bar, getting in trouble.”

  Just then Terrazo walked in. He went to the refrigerator, took out a twelve-pack of beer, and glared down at Ramon.

  “If you have something to say—say it.” Ramon usually dismissed people’s contempt—he had seen it in the eyes of both brown and white men when he walked down a street with Susan—but tonight he felt like intimidating, not being intimidated.

  “You ever talk to me like that again in front of my friends, I’ll break your face in half.”

  Julia spooned and stirred sugar in her cup. “You’re not fighting tonight.” She looked toward the living room where Omar was watching an old black-and-white cowboy movie. Omar glanced at her, peanut butter on his chin. She blew him a kiss that he blew back, like a soap bubble through an o he formed with his fingers.

  “Putting butter on her hand was the stupidest thing. When are you going to check in with the real world?”

  “Respect each other,” Julia said.

  “Respect?” Terrazo said, setting the twelve-pack down. “He’s the one who has to learn to respect people, punk ain’t got no respect for nobody.”

  “Am I supposed to respect you,” Ramon said, getting up, “because you have all those tattoos, you been in prison... ? I’m not afraid of you...”

  “You better be; I’m not the little brother you can push around anymore. You with your gold watch, gold rings, money, fuck you... you don’t impress me, you sold out, punk, sold out, turned your back on your own raza... how many Chicanos did you deny loans to today? Oh, I see, you only work for the rich people...”

  “Was I supposed to be successful like you? A successful drug addict, a skilled thief, a child who refuses to grow up!”

  Julia got between them. “Por favor de dios! Stop!”

  But Terrazo couldn’t and Julia saw that strange look on his face, that hard ground on metal blade look in his eyes that hadn’t been there before he went to prison. He had changed. Something in him had broken down, gathered itself around a seed of anger rooted deep in his blood, and grown into rage, awakening and breathing in him.

  Terrazo moved past Julia in a second and grabbed Ramon and hurled him back. Instantly he was on his brother, squeezing his neck, blocking Ramon’s punches with his elbows. Terrazo growled, “Don’t ever talk down to me. You haven’t earned that right. Every time you do it, you’ll pay for it.”

  Ramon used his wide hips and huge legs to throw Terrazo off. They rushed each other and rolled along the cabinet made by Julia’s cousin
Louey, a carpenter. The special dishes and glasses and the picture frames with photographs of her and the kids crashed to the floor. Then they tumbled into the counter, thudding hard against the wood, fists pounding at each other’s bodies. Blood sprayed from Terrazo’s mouth. A welt swelled around Ramon’s right eye.

  In the living room, crouched behind the La-Z-Boy recliner, Omar was shivering, shaking his head back and forth, slapping himself across the chest and arms, mumbling to himself. Julia knelt on the floor and rocked him in her embrace, soothing him with cooing sounds, covering his ears and eyes with her hands.

  Meanwhile, Ramon hurled Terrazo against the sink, where he cut his hand on a cup shard. They locked into each other, gritting teeth, sweating, cursing, freeing a hand to hit the other.

  “Think being in prison makes you a man, you bastard! It’s for losers, you got it? You’re a fucking loser!”

  Terrazo spat back, “You think coming down here with your gringa wife, showing off your money, makes you better? Kissing that white ass makes you a lackey sonofabitch!”

  “Get over it—the world doesn’t owe you shit. I love her. So she’s white, so she’s a gringa, fuck you and all your friends howling about pride and race and power. Pride to destroy yourself! Power to kill each other! Enough is enough little brother! All you ever do is moan and groan and complain about what the gringo has done—robbed your land, taken your culture—it’s all bullshit. An excuse for you being a failure. A fucking two-bit dope fiend!”

  They lunged, knocking over the kitchen table, upending the chairs, grappling on the faded, linoleum floor where as children they had propped a broom under a blanket and pretended they were camping in the woods—the floor where they slept together, their arms and legs entwined into a single braid of skin and bones, needing each other to survive in the world.

  Julia’s tears fell into Omar’s black hair that smelled of grass and leaves. Her eyes were far away as she took Omar’s fingers and kissed them, whispered to him how lovely the night was, how they were going to have ice cream and cherry pie later.