Rain of Gold

by Victor Villaseñor

  Juan held himself alongside the two, tall, lanky Indian boys, but it was hard. Juan was beginning to lose the power inside himself. He wasn’t one of the fastest runners, and the train was getting farther down the tracks.

  Then one of the other boys took off. He was tall and fast, but still he was having an awful time catching the train. He held on to his hat, running as fast as he could, arms swinging, bare feet lifting, and got up close to the end of the departing train, but he just couldn’t get a hold.

  Juan glanced at Eduardo next to him.

  “Hey,” he said, “we even out-waited Cucho, the fastest of all, so I think we’ve shown our worth!”

  “Yeah, let’s go!”

  “Yeah!” said Juan. “We’ve both won!”

  So they both took off down the tracks and, in the distance, the last boy finally got hold of the train. He tried to swing up but he lost his footing and his legs almost went under the steel wheels.

  Seeing this, Juan screamed out in terror and ran with all his might, arms pumping, feet climbing, having run up and down mountains all his life. He ran and ran, gaining on the train, but the pace was killing him.

  But then the front end of the long train hit a small downward grade. Suddenly, the whole train jerked forward, picking up speed. Eduardo gave it all he had, pulling ahead of Juan.

  Juan saw the train going and he thought of his mother and his sisters and Inocenta. He could imagine the grief and terror in his mother’s old face when she discovered that he wasn’t on the train and she’d lost yet another child. Tears came to his eyes and he became more scared than he’d ever been in all his life.

  “Mama! Mama!” he cried out in anguish.

  He raced on with all his heart and soul. The people on top of the boxcars looked back and saw the two boys running after them, but they thought they were only local boys playing, so they just waved.

  Gripped with the sudden understanding that he’d lost his mother forever, Juan lost all hope and he tripped, falling face first into the sharp rocks between the railroad ties, ripping open his mouth.

  He lay there spitting blood and choking; his eyes flowed with tears. Eduardo, the tall, lanky Indian, who’d gotten a good fifteen yards ahead of him, came walking back slowly.

  The long train was gone now. It was a good quarter of a mile down the tracks, whistling and picking up more and more speed as it went north from the city of León toward Aguascalientes, Zacatecas and Gómez Palacio, where it was to stop over for the night and refuel before going on to Chihuahua and then Ciudad Juárez, across the Rio Grande from El Paso, Texas, in the United States.

  Coming back, Eduardo saw that Juan was all bloody and he offered him his hand.

  “Well,” said Juan, getting to his feet and wiping the blood from his face, “let’s go! We’ve got to catch that train!”

  “Don’t be crazy, mano,” said the tall, lanky boy in a relaxed manner. “Not even a horse could catch it now.”

  “But we got to,” said Juan desperately. “Our families are on that train!”

  “Yes,” said the tall boy, casually, “that’s true, but I also have an uncle and aunt back here in León, so I can always catch the next train.”

  “You mean you still have family back here?” screamed Juan, suddenly getting so raging mad that all fear was gone.

  “Well, yes,” said the boy, not knowing why Juan was getting so upset.

  “Well, then, you lied!” screamed Juan. “You tricked me! You didn’t make your bet with your whole family on the train!”

  The boy only laughed. “Well, no, of course not, mano,” he said. “Only a fool would bet everything.”

  “You son-of-a-bitch!” said Juan.

  “Eh, don’t swear at me or I’ll beat you, Juan. I’m the strongest boy among us, remember? You wouldn’t have a chance.”

  “I spit on your strength!” said Juan to the bigger, older boy. “I’ll fight you to the death right now, cabrón! Come on, let’s do it the way the devil painted it!”

  Seeing Juan’s insane rage, the larger boy backed off. “Eh, mano, I’m sorry,” he said. “Look, you can come and stay with me and my family until we go.”

  “Stick your family up your ass!” said Juan. “I’m catching that train!” He picked up his hat and turned, taking off down the tracks.

  The train was so far away now that it looked like nothing more than a small, dark line, smoking in the distance as it headed for the far end of the long, flat valley. Way ahead of the train, Juan could see a bunch of little red-rock hills no bigger than fresh cow pies, but he didn’t lessen his pace. His most perfect love in all the world was on that train, so he’d run to the end of the earth if he had to.

  The sun was high and Juan talked to God as he went, stepping quickly from tie to tie. He didn’t want to wear out the bottoms of his worn-out huaraches on the crushed sharp rocks between the wooden ties.

  “Oh, dear God,” said Juan, watching the tar-painted ties slide under his feet as he went, “I know I’ve sinned many times in the past, but I swear to You that I’ll never sin again if You help me this time. Give me the wings of an angel so I can fly across this land and catch the train. For remember, You’re all-powerful and can do whatever You please and, besides, it’s not just me who’ll suffer if I die, dear God. It will be my beloved mother who loves You more than life itself!”

  And saying this, Juan smiled as he ran on. He liked how he’d added his mother there at the end and he hoped it would make God feel guilty and force Him to come through and give him the wings of an angel. But the wings didn’t come, so he kept running, eating up the miles. And to his surprise, instead of getting weaker and weaker, he got stronger.

  The morning passed by and Juan noticed that the railroad men had cheated and started putting the ties farther apart. He began to miss the wooden ties as he ran, hitting the sharp rocks instead. Juan’s huaraches came apart and twice he had to stop to fix them with a piece of his shirt. He began to get thirsty and thick-tongued, but there were no signs of water anywhere.

  “Oh, Mama,” he said, glancing up at the great white sun, “what have I done to us? Without water, even a good man from Los Altos can’t survive.

  “Oh, dear God,” he said, “Lord and Master of all the heavens, forgive me, for I’m a fool. And I know that I played around and gambled when I should have been serious, but . . . well, if You help me this time, dear God, and give me the wings . . . look, if it’s bothering You to make me an angel because I’ve never been that good, then how about the wings of an eagle and I swear to You that I will never gamble or play around again when I should be serious.”

  So Juan talked to God, his old companion, who’d helped him all his life. The miles went by and the sun grew hotter and hotter, but not once did he slow down.

  He was strong; he’d been raised in the mountains at nearly six thousand feet and, ever since he could remember, he’d been running from sun to sun with his brother, Domingo, and their giant cousins, Basilio and Mateo, chasing the wolves and coyotes away from their herds of goats.

  But it was hotter down here in the valley. Juan was sweating more than he was used to. The powerful sun grew larger and larger and the high desert insects began to screech. Once, way ahead in the distance, Juan thought he saw a group of green trees. He thought it was a water hole.

  “Oh, thank You, God,” he said, and his mouth began to water, feeling better as he approached the trees.

  But then, getting there, he saw that the water hole had long ago dried up. Why, even in the shade of the trees, the earth was nothing but dead-cracked skin.

  “Oh, God!” he screamed. “Why do You tease me?”

  He thought he’d die; he was so thirsty. But then he remembered his mother and how she’d lost child after child in the Revolution and he stopped his rage. He had to be strong for her. He glanced around. He saw the little red hills. They were much bigger now. He looked back. The city of León was nothing but a wrinkle in the distance.

  “I can make it,�
� he said, taking courage. “I know I can.”

  He rested a few moments in the shade of the trees along with a few lizards and a fat, reddish rattlesnake, then he took off once again, but this time at an easy-going dog trot.

  The sun, the blanket of the poor, continued its journey across the tall, flat sky and the day grew so hot that the black tar on the railroad ties melted and came off on his huaraches. Heat waves danced in the distance and mirages of huge, blue lakes glistened all around.

  Juan became so thirsty that his mouth turned to cotton and his vision blurred. Finally, he began to walk. He started talking to himself so he wouldn’t go crazy. He remembered the stories that his mother had told him of his grandfather, the great Don Pío, and of his two brothers, Cristóbal and Agustín.

  Time passed and the insects grew louder and the sun grew hotter, and Juan concentrated way back to those wonderful days up in Los Altos de Jalisco before the Revolution had come to them. He smiled, feeling good, remembering how cool and green the meadows of his youth had been. He began to trot and thought back to those days of his youth when he and his brother, Domingo, had played with Basilio and Mateo, the two bastard sons of their great Uncle Cristóbal.

  Oh, those were the days! Playing with those huge, dark Indian-looking men who’d even towered over their father, who was a very big man. Juan ran on. Why, they’d had heavy-boned Indian faces and small, yellowish teeth, and they’d been well into the age of wisdom when Juan had first started playing with them. But still, they’d been as simple as children, refusing to live indoors and, instead, they had slept under the oak leaves when the weather got cold.

  They wouldn’t come inside when it rained; instead, they loved to race and dance and shout to the heavens every time it stormed. They had no sense of money or personal property and would give away anything that anyone asked them for. They never rode a horse or a burro, but would challenge any horseman to a race across that meadow, over that ridge and to that distant rise. And they almost always won, even against the fastest horses, because they knew the mountains like the fingers of their hands. And even though many people called them simple, everyone knew that they were not fools.

  Oh, he was feeling good now, running up the tracks at a good dog trot, thinking of his two giant cousins. And no, he would never forget the day that he’d seen his two great cousins follow an armadillo into a cave where they’d found a chest of gold so big that a burro couldn’t carry it. Oh, that had been such a wonderful day, taking the mountain of gold home to Don Pío and his Uncle Cristóbal.

  The bottoms of Juan’s huaraches were gone. The rocks were poking up between them and getting caught in the leather straps. Sitting down on the iron rail, Juan took off his huaraches and decided he’d probably be better off barefoot. But walking on the ties, his feet stuck to the boiling hot, half-melted tar. He found he was better off going on the sharp stones between the ties.

  “Oh, Basilio,” he said aloud as he limped along, “if only you and Mateo were here right now to put me on your shoulders and run with me like you used to do when I was a boy.” His eyes filled with tears. “But don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not giving up. Your blood is my blood!”

  And saying this, he started loping once again, flying over the stones with his bare feet. He could almost feel his giant cousins here beside him. He could feel their love, he could feel that they’d always be here inside him, giving him strength, giving wings to his feet as long as he remembered them. He raced on.

  The sun inched its way across the towering flat, blue sky and the little red-rock hills continued dancing between the heat waves in the distance. Juan Salvador remembered the day that his brother, Domingo, had finally become so big that he thought he could beat Basilio and Mateo in a foot race. Boys from all over the mountains came to see. The race was set up in the green meadow by the three lakes.

  “But wait,” said Basilio. “I don’t race for free no more. Every month some new boys want to challenge me and my brother. We got to get paid.”

  “How much?” said Domingo. He was hot. He really wanted to beat them.

  “Well, I don’t know,” said Basilio, his eyes dancing with merriment, “but my brother and I were talking and, well, we figure that we never had enough peanuts to fill our bellies, so we’d like a sack of peanuts.”

  “Jesus Christ!” screamed Domingo. “That would cost a fortune!”

  Basilio and Mateo roared. But Domingo wanted to race, and so he stole one of their father’s goats, trading it for a twenty-kilo sack of peanuts to some passing mule skinners.

  The marks were set, Domingo and the two giants got in place, and then the call was made and they were off. And Domingo, blue-eyed and red-headed like his father, took off like lightning, barefoot and stripped to the waist. The muscles on his back rippled as his legs and arms worked so fast they became a blur of motion. He was flying, sailing over the short green meadow grass, but he never had a chance. For he’d gone no more than ten rods when the two giants went racing past him, each carrying a young calf on their backs like they always did when they raced against human beings and not against horses. They leaped over the short rock fence at the end of the meadow and began to dance with the glee of children.

  Oh, those were the days! Domingo had gotten so mad that his face had become as red as the setting sun. Everyone laughed at him, but he’d had to admit that he was still a long way from ever beating the giants in a race.

  Basilio and Mateo had shared their twenty-kilo sack of peanuts with all of them. They’d have other races with the younger boys and then they’d eat the peanuts—shells and all—so they could fill their starving furnaces of youth.

  Juan ran on, feeling tired, drained, exhausted, but he never once lessened his pace. He had his grandfather, Don Pío, in his soul. He had his cousins, Basilio and Mateo, in his legs. And his brothers, Domingo and José, were in his heart. And his mother— the greatest woman in all the world—was waiting for him up ahead; he ran on.

  The sun was blasting hot and the valley was flat and wide and filled with nothing but dead, dry brush. He licked his lips, but he found that he had no saliva, so he stopped and picked up a small stone and wiped it off. He put it in his mouth to suck on. Oh, he’d never forget the day of the race when they’d also bought a basket of oranges and he’d tasted his first orange. They had cut one into quarters and he’d seen the luscious slices, juice dripping down, golden and wet and as sweet as honey. He ate three big oranges that day and he felt strong.

  Running up the valley, still tasting the sweet wetness of that golden orange, he now saw that the sun was beginning to slide down the tall, flat sky. Why, he’d run all day without realizing it. God’s eye was going down and the long, dark shadows of the coming night engulfed him as he came up to the first little hills. He’d made it across the valley with the help of his family, powerful men and women whose belief in God was so strong that life was indestructible.

  He stopped. His feet were swollen and bloody. He wondered if he could find some water here in these little hills and stay for the night before going on.

  Looking back, he saw that he must have been climbing for the last hour. The long, flat valley now lay way down below him. There were no traces of León, not even of the smoking, burned-out buildings.

  He turned, went on, and the farther he went, he saw that the hills became taller and the vegetation thicker. Now there were long-shadowed cactus trees and tight, twisted, low-creeping, thorny plants. Juan stopped to look for some cactus to suck on. But he was from the mountains, so he didn’t know which plant to choose. He sat down to rest. His mouth felt so dry, he was choking. Then he saw his mother in his mind’s eye, searching for him with her eyes swollen with tears. He struggled to his feet to go on. But his feet hurt so much, he couldn’t stand to touch the ground.

  “Oh, Mama,” he cried, “please, help me!”

  And he continued stumbling up the tracks, with his feet on fire.

  Then, coming around a long uphill bend in the tracks
, he saw something move ahead of him in the dim light of the going day. Quickly, he grabbed a rock. He figured it was a deer and so, if he got the chance, he would hit it on the head and then break its neck, so he could suck its blood and eat its meat.

  But when he got closer to the rocks where he’d first seen movement, he saw nothing. He glanced all around; still, he saw nothing but long, dark shadows and the last little, thin yellow veins of the evening light.

  He was just beginning to believe that it had all been a mistake and he’d seen nothing when suddenly, there, right before his very eyes, no more than twenty feet away between two small, low rocks, he saw the large, round eyes of a jaguar, his spots visible in the dim light.

  Juan froze.

  “Oh, Mama, Mama,” he said to himself, losing all courage as he stared at the big cat’s eyes. And he wanted to turn and run, but the big cat’s tail was now up and moving side to side like an upright snake, hypnotizing him.

  The big cat shifted his feet, crouched down, getting ready to leap, and Juan knew this was his last chance to do something, but he was just too scared to move. Then, Juan heard his mother’s voice inside himself and she said, “Attack, mi hijito! Don’t run! Attack! Or he’ll kill you!”

  “Yes, Mama,” he found himself saying, and he let out a howling roar with all his power and attacked the tiger of the desert.

  The spotted tiger heard Juan’s mighty roar and saw him coming at him in leaping bounds. The big animal leaped up, too, roaring out a terrible scream, but then he turned and ran.

  Juan Salvador stopped dead in his tracks, turned tail too, and took off up the side of the tracks as fast as his little legs could go. The big desert cat never looked back; he just kept racing in the other direction.

  Juan’s feet didn’t hurt anymore and he ran up the tracks without once slowing down until the sun was long gone and the moon had come out. He went all night, walking and running, until he came out of the other side of the small red-rock hills and the morning stars were his companions.