Going across the open granite compound, Lupe saw the six American buildings. They looked long and dark and huge. She also noticed that they had no trees or flowers around them, and armed men walked back and forth on their terraces.
Straight ahead was the crushing plant, making a terrible rumble, and from the plant Lupe could see the cables that carried the iron boxes down from the mouth of the dark mine high above them. Two men and a team of mules came rushing by them in a hurry. One of the men was shouting orders in a hard, sharp-sounding language that Lupe had never before heard.
Staying close to Manuelita and the girls, Lupe passed by many tall Americans. Some were almost as tall as her Colonel. Lupe recognized one American. He was the young, handsome engineer named Señor Scott who was engaged to María’s best friend, Carmen. Many of the girls from La Lluvia had married Americans over the years. But it didn’t always turn out well. Most of the Americans gave children to these girls but then they didn’t take their Mexican families back home with them when they left the country. There were many brokenhearted, abandoned young women with fair-haired children in La Lluvia because of this. Lupe and her sisters were always told to keep away from the Americans; they were as bad as the gachupines, meaning the Spaniards.
Up ahead, Lupe could see that they were approaching a little white building with a soft yellow palm roof that sat all alone on the edge of a little knoll. There was an open field in front of the little building where children were playing ball. Some of the children were pure Tarahumara Indians, possibly descendants of the great legendary Espirito. Lupe had never imagined that there was so much open ground up here inside the American enfencement. Why, it was a whole city in itself, with fields and corrals for their livestock.
Approaching the little building, Lupe saw a tall American woman and her lovely daughter. They both had long golden hair and they were speaking to a pretty, dark, slender Mexican woman.
“That’s our teacher, Señora Muñoz,” said Manuelita, excitedly to Lupe. “And that’s Señora Jones, the wife of the man who runs the mine. And that’s her daughter, Katie, who also goes to our school part of the year.” Manuelita was very proud, telling them what she knew. “Come and I’ll introduce you! Señora Jones likes me! She’s always lending me books in both English and Spanish!”
Hearing that she was going to be introduced to this American woman, Lupe became frightened. She’d never met an American before. Quickly, she closed her eyes, asking God to please help her not get impregnated. But then remembering her Colonel’s card, she opened her eyes, trying to be brave.
“Excuse me, Señora Jones and Señora Muñoz,” said Manuelita, “but my sister Uva and I would like you and Katie to meet our sister Cuca and our friend Lupe.”
The two women turned to look at Manuelita and the three younger girls. And Lupe was just going to hand them the flowers that her mother had sent and show them her Colonel’s card when Rose-Mary rushed in, pushing Lupe aside.
“Look at my new dress,” said Rose-Mary. “My mother had it made especially for me!”
The two women looked at Rose-Mary’s dress and watched her whirl around for them, then the bell rang for school to start. Rose-Mary took Katie’s hand and they were off together. Lupe hid the Colonel’s card behind the flowers. She felt too embarrassed to try to give it to her teacher now.
“Well, excuse me,” said Señora Muñoz, turning back to the American woman, “but I have to go inside.”
“It was nice visiting with you, Esperanza,” said Señora Jones in Spanish. “And I’ll send down those new supplies I told you about as soon as they arrive.”
“Thank you,” said Señora Muñoz, also in Spanish, “that will be wonderful.”
Then the bell rang again and all the children stopped playing and hurried inside the little palm-roof building.
Following Manuelita and her sisters inside, Lupe saw that the schoolhouse was a large, long room with long, child-size tables and benches. A large desk with two chairs was up at the front of the room. Lupe wondered if her father had helped build the furniture; after all, he was a finish carpenter.
She glanced around and saw that the walls of the room were made of sticks and mud and were painted white. They weren’t weathered and brown like the walls of her home. There was a huge earthen pot in the back corner resting in the fork of a big oak tree branch for water. Lupe loved the clay pot; it looked so peaceful.
Gently, Manuelita ushered Lupe and Cuca toward the front of the room. Lupe noticed that most of the boys, who were all young like herself, remained near the rear. They reminded her of rebellious male calves refusing to follow their mother on a path around the mountain.
Lupe knew one of the boys. His name was Jimmy. His father was one of the American engineers who’d married a local girl and then abandoned them. Lupe nodded to Jimmy as she went down the aisle. Jimmy smiled at her. He had large, blue eyes, dark hair, and was extremely good-looking. He lived up the barranca from them and his home was even smaller and poorer than theirs.
“Lupe, you sit here with Cuca,” said Manuelita. “And you help them, Uva. I have to sit up there, in front, with Señora Muñoz to help her with the lessons.”
Lupe pursed her lips together, shuffling her feet, but she said nothing. She sat down, doing as she’d been told, but she didn’t like it. She gripped Cuca’s hand under the table. Cuca gripped her back. She, too, was scared. Katie and Rose-Mary came down the center aisle, laughing happily, and sat down directly in front of Lupe and Cuca. They were by far the two best-dressed girls in the school. Lupe was glad that she had worn her new dress.
Then Señora Muñoz came to the front of the classroom and got behind her desk made of fine, white pine. She said good morning to Manuelita, who stood alongside her, then she turned to the class.
“My name is Señora Muñoz,” she said, smiling kindly. “I’m your teacher and we’ll be working together.” As she spoke, she waved her hands about so elegantly, like birds in flight. Lupe was enthralled; all her fears went out of her. Señora Muñoz was like her Colonel: a person who’d come into her life and touched her.
And so everything was going very well until each student had to stand up and introduce himself. Suddenly, Lupe’s heart wanted to hide.
“And we’ll start with the first row,” said Señora Muñoz. “So, please, don’t be shy and, if you’re new and get a little bit nervous, please don’t worry about it. Someone who knows you will be glad to assist you.”
Lupe could have died. She was in the second row. And so, there it came, and Katie got up first and she was tall and confident and poised.
“My name is Katie Jones,” she said. “I live with my father and mother in the last building up the hill. My father is Mr. Jones and he manages the gold mine. My mother’s name is Katherine and she was a school teacher in San Francisco, California, where we have our permanent home on Nob Hill, overlooking the Bay. I’m ten years old, and this is my second year here in La Lluvia de Oro. But I’ll only be here for part of the year. My mother and I have to return to San Francisco for the Christmas holidays. Thank you very much. I’m sure we’ll have another fine school year together.”
Everyone applauded, saying hello to Katie. She sat down and Rose-Mary stood up. Rose-Mary looked confident, too, but there was something different about her.
“My name is Rose-Mary Chávez,” said Don Manuel’s youngest daughter, glancing around with a smile, “and my father is the accountant at the mine. He makes the payroll and sees to it that all your fathers, who are lucky enough to work at the American mine, are paid. I live in the largest house down in the main plaza next to the market, which, of course you all know, my father also owns. We have the only home in all the village that has tile in every room of our house. I, too, will not be here for the entire school year; I’ll be going with Katie to do the Christmas holidays in San Francisco, where I stayed with Katie and her family last summer to learn English, which, I might add, I speak without accent, just as my two older sisters do. Thank yo
u.”
And saying this, she sat down, too, and everyone applauded again. Then it was Uva’s turn and next it would be Cuca’s, then it would be Lupe’s and she was so scared that she wasn’t even able to hear what Uva or Cuca said about themselves. Then it was Lupe’s turn, but she couldn’t even move, much less say anything.
“It’s all right,” said Señora Muñoz, seeing the young girl’s difficulty, “just take your time. Everything is fine.”
Lupe sat there staring at the floor, beginning to tremble, she was so frightened.
“Well, then,” said Señora Muñoz, “would anyone like to help her?”
“Yes,” said Rose-Mary, quickly getting to her feet, “I’ll do it! Her name is Lupe Gómez. She’s Carlota Gómez’s sister, and they live so high up on the hill that they don’t have a real home. They live in a shack and they make their living by feeding miners and taking in their laundry, because they have no father and they’re so poor.”
The shock, the rage, the anger that came bursting into Lupe’s heart when she heard these awful lies brought her to her feet before she realized that she’d even moved. “No!” she screamed. “That’s not true!” She was trembling with fear, but she didn’t care. “I do have a father! And we do have a real home!” Her heart was going wild. “Rose-Mary is wrong,” she said, tears coming to her eyes. “My name is Guadalupe Gómez Camargo, and my father’s name is Don Victor, and he’s a fine carpenter. In fact, he probably built these tables and benches that we’re sitting on. But when the American buildings were finished, there was no more work for him, so he went down to the lowlands looking for work. And yes, we are poor and we do feed the miners and take in their laundry, but our home was built by my father for us with his own two hands, and we have a roof that’s good to keep the rain out and walls that block the wind.
“My mother is a fine cook and everyone respects her and she keeps potted flowers in front of our ramada and . . . and . . . she leads us in prayer three times a day, and that’s what makes a home!” And saying this, Lupe burst into tears, got out over her bench and took off running down the aisle between the long tables and benches.
Jimmy clapped and whistled. “There, Rose-Mary,” he shouted, “start trouble, and you get the goat’s horn!”
“Jimmy,” said Señora Muñoz, “you stop that! And Rose-Mary, I’m ashamed of you. You’ll stay after school!”
“But, why? I only told the truth. That’s what my father told us!”
“That’s quite enough, Rose-Mary,” said their teacher.
“But I did nothing wrong,” she pleaded. “I’ll tell my father,” she added angrily.
“Fine,” said the teacher patiently, “but you’ll still stay. Now, no more.”
Outside, Manuelita caught Lupe before she ran out of the main gates.
“Lupe,” said Manuelita, “you did wonderfully! I’m so proud of you. You put that nasty, jealous Rose-Mary in her place and yet you behaved like a perfect lady.”
“Jealous,” said Lupe. “Rose-Mary? Of me?”
“Of course,” said Manuelita. “Ever since the Colonel has been living with your family, the mayor and his family have been green with envy!”
“I’ll be,” said Lupe, “I didn’t know.”
Lupe dried her eyes and Manuelita took her in her arms. And there it began; a friendship, a new kind of love. So Lupe relaxed, let herself go, and she cried on the older girl’s shoulder until she felt good and clean inside.
The rainy season was almost over. Colonel Maytorena had completed his road through the jungle, and they were now ready to take out the first shipment of gold. The whole pueblo hissed with excitement. And Lupe asked to stay home from school that day so she could watch her truelove go out of the canyon.
“Mi hijita,” said her Colonel early that morning, “I’d like to speak to you privately and ask you for another favor.”
“Yes, my Colonel,” said Lupe. And she was so excited. Maybe he was going to ask her to go with him and tell her that he would marry her when she grew up.
“Mi hijita,” he said, kneeling down on one knee before her. “I’ll be gone two weeks this time, if I’m lucky. But if I have to accompany the shipment to the Arizona border, then I’ll be gone maybe a month. So I want to ask a special favor of you.”
Her heart swelled, and her large dark eyes danced. “Anything,” she said.
“Good,” he said, “because what I’m going to ask you is very close to my heart.”
“Ask me,” she said.
“Well, what I want is for you to take care of Socorro. She’s going to have our child any day now, and she’ll need a close friend.”
Lupe felt her heart explode. Why, she loved this man, and this was all he’d wished to ask of her?
“Well, will you?” he asked again.
She nodded, saying yes, not knowing what else to do.
“Good,” he said, smiling, showing his fine, white teeth. He kissed her on the forehead and drew her near. Quickly, she cuddled into him with all her body, clinging to him, wishing he didn’t have to go, that he’d stay and hold her like this forever and ever.
“All right, querida,” said her Colonel, “I must go now, and I want you to know how proud I am of you for doing so well in school. For, without education, a person can’t go very far in life. This is what the whole war is about: the uplifting of our people. I love you and hope my children are even half as beautiful as you, my angel.”
Then he kissed her again, and he was gone. A soldier was holding his orange-red stallion for him up the pathway by the wild peach tree. Lupe watched him mount. He wore a long sword on one hip and a pistol on the other. Then he turned and looked over her shoulder. Suddenly Lupe realized that they weren’t alone. His wife had come rushing out of the lean-to and there came her mother and sisters, too.
Quickly, Socorro rushed up to him. “But how could you leave without telling me goodbye?”
“I didn’t want to wake you, my love.”
“My love?” repeated Lupe.
“Come,” said Doña Guadalupe to Lupe, “we have things to do.”
“But, Mama, I can’t go right now!”
“Lupe,” said her mother, coming up as quickly as a snake and gripping her daughter by the left ear, “I said now.” And she twisted Lupe’s ear and took her away before anyone noticed what had happened.
The sun was two fists off the horizon when the first little mule came out of the American enfencement. The Colonel followed behind the frisky little mule on his glistening, orange-red stallion. Then came the next little mule, and the next; they all looked ready to go, having rested the long rainy season.
Lupe and her family stood in front of their ramada along with Socorro, their necks straining as they looked up the steep canyon wall, watching the mules, one by one, come out of the big wire gates.
Lupe’s Colonel was now in the lead with two of his officers, climbing up the twisting steep trail over the northern wall of the canyon which he had built. Each mule had a sixty-pound bar of pure gold strapped on each side of its pack, and the gold bars reflected like glistening jewels in the early morning sunlight.
María and Carlota counted the mules; there were thirty-five in all. But still, it was said that not all the gold had been taken out. So as soon as the Colonel delivered this shipment, he’d be right back with his men to take out another shipment. The Americans had so much gold stored in their concrete hole that it made them very nervous with the Revolution going on and Francisco Villa still at large.
The little dark mules came out of the gates, zigzagging up the trail like a long, dark centipede. The mule train cut back and forth up the steep wall of the canyon, going through the trees and boulders with the bars of gold shining bright white on their backs. It took a full hour for the centipede of mules to spiral up to the white pines near the rim of the canyon.
Lupe’s family and the entire village watched until the back of their necks hurt; then they went back to work. But Lupe and Socorro never moved, sta
nding there, rooted to the ground as they watched the man they both loved going up the canyon wall at the head of the long pack train, his horse glistening orange-red like the rising sun.
“Lupita, please,” said Socorro after an hour, “could you bring me a chair? This baby is just too heavy.”
Lupe didn’t want to leave her post. She wanted to stay and watch after her truelove. But then she remembered the promise she’d made, so she ran into the ramada and brought Socorro a chair and helped her to sit down.
Her Colonel was now up into the white pines where only the eagles flew, and any moment he’d disappear over the rim of the canyon. Lupe felt like her little heart would burst. Socorro had tears in her eyes. The man that they both loved was now no more than a tiny dot on the horizon as the mule train made its way out of the canyon, zigzagging back and forth with the bars of flickering gold. The mules were making their way over the break to the right of the cathedral rocks, the very same break where the meteorite had hit the earth the night Lupe’s parents had made desperate love, thinking it was the end of the world. The mule train was now drawing close to the second waterfall. Lupe just knew that the mules were getting wet and shiny.
Not once did Lupe or Socorro stop watching as the line of little mules went over the break. Then the Colonel was gone. And the rest of the long centipede followed him, the mules so far away that each looked like no more than a tiny dark dot as they went over the canyon rim.
Then they were all gone. Lupe and Socorro gripped their breasts, ready to burst out crying when, suddenly, they saw a dazzling beam of orange-red light come racing back over the rim and instantly they both knew that this was their Colonel! And there he was, mounted on his great sorrel stallion, waving down at them with his light-catching sword, just to the right of the roaring waterfall.
Lupe screamed; she couldn’t help it.
Socorro did, too. And they both waved back at him, but there was no way for him to see them.
Rain of Gold Page 5
