Rain of Gold

by Victor Villaseñor

  “And so, angrily, my father took the money, sent my brother and me home, and went to town to drink. When he got home that night, my poor mother, who, in the meantime, had borrowed and scraped together all the money she could from friends and relatives, said to my father, ‘Look, Don Juan, you must go back to that man you sold our goats to and buy them back. Here is twenty-five pesos gold. Let him make a five-peso profit, but get our goats back. We need them to live.”

  “But my father said, ‘I can’t do that, woman! I made a deal with that man and my word is my honor!’ ‘But, Juan,” pleaded my mother, “those goats are our life. The cattle and horses don’t give us the money we need to buy our staples. It’s the cheese that we make from the goat milk that buys our supplies in town. Please, I beg of you, take this money and go back to that man. Tell him you were angry this morning and you weren’t in your best frame of mind and he’ll understand.”

  “You would have thought my mother had insulted my father, for he turned on her with such a rage, yelling at her, ‘Woman, are you crazy? No Villaseñor has gone back on his word in five hundred years!”

  “But, Don Juan,” begged my mother, “that man tricked you. He knows about your famous temper, so he took advantage of you.”

  “Well, I’m embarrassed to tell you, Señora, but my father, a gigantic man, whose family had come from northern Spain, then grabbed my poor little mother and shouted into her face like a wild man, ‘No man takes advantage of a Villaseñor and lives!’” he bellowed.

  “And so he got his gun to go kill the man and my mother had to turn around and plead with him that everything was all right and maybe it hadn’t been such a bad deal. But still, since she’d already raised the money, could he please go back to that man and talk reasonably to him and get their goats back.”

  “And your father?” said Doña Guadalupe, looking very concerned, “was he also one of these men that hit women?”

  Instantly, Salvador could see where the old woman was headed with this one. “No,” he said, breathing deeply. “My father had many faults, but that wasn’t one of them.” And he wasn’t lying; it was true.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” said Doña Guadalupe. “Go on.” She glanced toward the tent, hoping that the girls were listening. And, of course, they were. Especially Lupe and Manuelita who were catching every single word.

  “And so that night my poor mother begged my father as no wife should ever have to beg,” continued Salvador. “Querido,’” she said, “‘please, understand me, I’m not complaining that you spent part of the money. Please, believe me, I’m only saying that we need those goats back.”

  “But my father never heard my mother’s words. No, he just flew into another rage, saying if she wasn’t complaining, then why in the devil was she bringing it all up! And then he shouted that he was a Villaseñor and that he came from kings and no little . . . ” But here, Salvador stopped, tears coming to his eyes, remembering how his father had next called his mother una india pendeja, a stupid, backward, ignorant Indian. That night, his brother, José, the great, left their home never to set foot in it again while his father was there. Oh, José’s eyes had burned like fire, wanting to kill their father.

  “And so, well, to make it short,” said Salvador, never having meant to go this far, “I can truly say that I sympathize with you, Señora. For that shrewd businessman robbed my father, and we went hungry that year.” Salvador tried to stop, but he just couldn’t. He was hot, wishing that he’d been big enough to knock his own father down!

  “So, yes, Señora, to answer your question, I can honestly say with all my heart that I agree with you one thousand times one thousand! That a man is not necessarily superior to a woman in handling money!” He wanted to stop, he truly did, but he just couldn’t. “In fact, it has been my experience to find almost the opposite to be true!” he yelled. “I have found that women, with their instincts of the mother pig protecting her young, are often more capable of handling the family finances than men!

  “My mother, I swear it,” he said, standing up and pounding the air with his huge fists, “if she’d handled our money, we would have never come to ruin, even in the middle of the Revolution!” His hands were fists and he didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help himself, and he struck the heavy crate that he’d been sitting on with such force that it shattered into pieces. “We went hungry after my father sold those goats!” he bellowed, the cords of his neck coming up like ropes. “Hungry! And I’d never seen this, Señora, until now! But that was the beginning of our destruction! And my poor mother, what could she do? Nothing! Even when she turned to José, my older brother, and tried to get him to come back home and talk things over, my father was against it, and gave the reins of our family to Alejo, who was blue-eyed like himself!”

  When Salvador finally stopped, he could see that everyone was staring at him. He tried to apologize, to say that he was sorry, but he was still so upset that he could do nothing but tremble like a leaf.

  Getting to her feet, Doña Guadalupe took each of his big hands in hers. “It’s a heart-warming experience to find a young man as strong and capable as you who can also see the predicament of women. Your mother must be a great, great woman to have raised such a son!”

  “She is,” said Salvador, wiping his eyes, “she really is, thank you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” said Doña Guadalupe. “Would you like to come and join us for dinner tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Why, yes, I’d like that,” he said.

  “Good, and please come early so we can continue our conversation.”

  “I will,” he said.

  And just then, as they were talking, a cat came up and started licking Salvador’s shoes. Salvador didn’t move, hoping to God that the cat would go away.

  “Well,” laughed Lupe’s mother, “at least you didn’t frighten the animals,” she said.

  “How could he?” said Carlota, coming out of the tent with the other girls, “wearing shoes that smell like chicharrones!” Carlota laughed, and she would’ve gone on ridiculing Salvador if Don Victor hadn’t chased the animal away.

  “Enough!” he said to Carlota. “I, too, have put bacon grease on my shoes many times. It preserves the leather and makes it waterproof.” He stuck out his hand to Salvador. “I salute you!” he said. “I don’t know of any man who could’ve stood up better than you have under the fire of these women!”

  “The pleasure was mine,” said Salvador, taking his hand. “And I’m sorry about the crate. I just got so mad, thinking of our goats and the hunger we went through, that, well, I just. . . . ”

  “There’s no need to explain yourself. It was a terrible Revolution for all of us,” said the old man. “I respect you; you are a real macho!”

  “Well, thank you, but really I didn’t mean to hit that crate,” he said again, hoping that this wouldn’t be the straw that broke the burro’s back in his relationship with Lupe. Oh, this lying business wasn’t turning out as simple as his mother had made it seem. He was exposing a lot more of himself than he’d ever expected.

  That evening Lupe walked Salvador to his automobile and, when he opened the door to get in, she did something that told him everything. She took his hand, whispering, “Thank you for being so gracious.” And she squeezed his hand, eyes dancing.

  Driving back to Kenny’s place that night, the Moon was still filled with Lupe’s smell, and Salvador could still feel her hand in his hand and see her dancing eyes looking like stars in the heavens. Oh, he was so crazy in love that he couldn’t come down. He was up in the clouds, sailing through heaven, feeling God’s breath.

  It was still dark the next morning when Archie came bursting into Kenny’s garage, grabbing Salvador where he slept on the floor.

  “Wake up!” he said, yanking him to his feet, “and get your ass in gear! I need five more barrels!”

  “What the hell you talking about?” said Salvador, still half asleep.

  “You’re free,” said Archie, grinn
ing.

  Salvador straightened up. “I’m free?”

  “Yep,” said Archie. “Wessely’s gone!”

  “Jesus! That’s wonderful!” screamed Salvador, leaping to his feet. “I’m free! I’m free! No more looking over my shoulder all the time! Jesus Christ, I love you, Archie!” He grabbed Archie in a bear hug, lifting the huge man off the ground and kissed him.

  “Put me down, you crazy son-of-a-bitch!” yelled Archie. “Get me five barrels to show your appreciation! Not this kissing shit!”

  Shaking his head at the sight of them, Kenny brought out a quart of whiskey.

  “Well, about your barrels,” said Salvador, putting Archie down, “I’m gonna need a little time to set up another distillery so I can pay you, Archie.”

  “You mean you’ve sold the rest of my liquor out from under me?” asked Archie.

  “Well, not exactly, but I only got two or three barrels left,” lied Salvador, fully realizing that a month’s time wasn’t up yet and this was a shakedown. “Everyone and his brother has been begging me for whiskey.”

  Archie started laughing. “Why, that damned Wesseley made you rich, locking up all ’em other bootleggers!”

  Salvador nodded.

  “Shit, I want another free barrel per month, or I’m telling Wesseley he made you a rich man!”

  “You bastard!”

  “Never denied that,” said Archie. “But you better start making some whiskey pronto! Out by Escondido.”

  “You’ll cover me out there?” asked Salvador.

  Archie grinned. “No one searches that close to the border. They figure folks down there just mosey over to old Mexico for their whiskey.”

  “And I gotta pay you protection for that?”

  “You damned right! Ain’t nothing free in this life but your mama’s tit!”

  Kenny came up with some glasses and the quart of whiskey, pouring a round of drinks. They all saluted and drank down. Salvador felt wonderful. There really was a God in the heavens. He was free at last, and in love, too.

  Drinking a few shots, the three of them decided to go up to the Montana Cafe for breakfast. Taking a booth in the cafe, Helen suggested the morning’s special of two big juicy pork chops and four eggs.

  “Great!” said Salvador. “And I’m buying!” He was floating ten feet off the ground. After all these years of suffering, things finally seemed to be going his way.

  That same morning, Salvador asked Kenny to go with him to Oceanside to buy a good used truck from Harvey Swartz. Then Salvador put on his old work clothes and drove north three hours to Los Angeles. He wanted to buy another stove and kettle so he could set up a new distillery.

  When he arrived at the big wholesale house in downtown L.A., Salvador got the terrible feeling that something wasn’t quite right. He drove around the block and then took off. He’d make his own stove and kettle. Salvador’s instincts were right. Across the street, the FBI had set up a team of agents to watch the building.

  Driving back south to Carlsbad, Salvador decided to swing by Corona and see his family and tell them the wonderful news. Also, he wanted to look Epitacio in the eyes and have the son-of-a-bitch tell him that he hadn’t deserted them, the lying bastard!

  Everyone stared at Salvador as he came down the rutted street of the barrio. Men watched him from behind their fenced-in gardens, whispering to their sons about him. Salvador was the man who had refused to die, el macho that even the gringo cops couldn’t kill. He was a man so fearless that the blood ran backwards from his heart.

  And, of course, every man, woman and child in the barrio knew that Salvador was wanted by the law, but not one of them would even dream of saying anything to the Anglo law. For Salvador took care of his family. He was an example of what a mejicano could be if only he carried his balls with pride.

  Salvador parked and got out of his truck. José rushed out the door with Pedro right behind him.

  “Uncle, Uncle!” shouted José.

  Salvador hadn’t seen his nephews since that terrible day he had taken off for Mexico, escaping for his life. José grabbed his uncle in a big abrazo, kissing him. Then, Pedro came.

  “Pantsing any more teachers?” asked Salvador.

  “Oh, no, Uncle!” said Pedro, hugging Salvador, too.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” said Salvador. “Because I’m proud of both of you. The other day, when I saw your mother, she told me you two have become men of respect!”

  He held both boys closely. His old mother and Luisa came, and behind Luisa was a small, older, chubby man with white hair at his temples. Salvador couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Epitacio. He’d aged tremendously.

  Seeing her brother stare at her husband, Luisa put her arm around Epitacio protectively. “Juan,” she said, “I mean Salvador,” she added, correcting herself, “you got to talk to Mama, she’s gone crazy! Now she wants that schoolteacher to start writing a letter every day to Chee-a-cago!”

  “Don’t listen to her,” said their mother, grinning. “I know what I’m doing!” She came up and took Salvador by the arm, leading him away. “You see,” she said, “I went to church the other day and I spoke to the Virgin Mary, woman-to-woman, telling her of my grief at having lost so many sons, and then I had this vision.

  “A vision?” asked Salvador.

  “Yes, and it was so beautiful,” she said. “I’d been inside the church, praying for hours, realizing that maybe the letters we sent to Domingo hadn’t reached him, when suddenly, Christ came down to me from the cross, as surely as you stand here, and He spoke to me so calmly that I was suddenly filled with this power, this strength, this glowing fire inside me and . . . ”

  “Just wait,” said Salvador, cutting in. “I thought you said that it was the Virgin Mary you spoke to.”

  “Oh, it was,” she said. “But you know how Her Son is always putting His nose into everything.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that,” said Salvador, glancing at Luisa, wondering if their mother had finally broke. “Then you’re saying that Christ and Mary both spoke to you in this vision, eh?”

  “Exactly,” she said, “and the three of us got together, and we came up with the plan. That’s why I need a little money so I can hire Don Rodolfo to write a letter for me every day.”

  “I see,” said Salvador. “But one thing I don’t quite get, Mama; if you have Jesus Christ and His Most Holy Mother already helping you, then why do you need money for a schoolteacher?”

  His mother burst out laughing. “Because Don Rodolfo won’t write the letters for free, since that’s how he makes his living, and the American Postal Service still costs money, mi hijito.”

  “But Mama, hasn’t the schoolteacher already sent two or three letters to the address that Epitacio gave you?”

  His old mother shouted with gusto. “That’s the whole point! We sent those letters to the right address! And now I want to send letters to the wrong addresses!”

  Straightening up, Salvador stared at his mother. “But why in God’s name do you want to send a letter to the wrong address, Mama?” he asked, struggling to keep calm.

  “Because the Virgin and her Son told me to,” she said, making the sign of the cross. “For we want the neighbors on the left of where Domingo used to live to get a letter and the neighbors on the right, and the neighbors across the street! I want all those people on that street to get letters, for blocks and blocks, until everyone knows about this man named Domingo Villaseñor!

  “I want their curiosity to get so strong, mi hijito, that they’ll start opening the letters and reading them. And seeing Rodolfo’s fine penmanship, they’ll come to know that a serious mother from California is in search of her lost son. And then these mothers in Cheee-a-cago will start talking amongst themselves and soon they’ll all be searching for my son.

  “For, I swear to you, the Virgin told me that a mother is a mother, no matter where on earth, and so they’ll take my toil to their hearts, and soon all of Cheee-a-cago, no matter how big it is, wil
l join in our search! Mothers and sons, daughters and fathers, and then, soon, even the police and the mayor himself. And, in no time, Domingo will be found and sent home to us! I swear to you before God, before His Most Sacred Son and His Most Sacred Holy Mother, that this will come to pass!”

  Salvador saw the fire—the glow in his mother’s old, wrinkled-up eyes—and he knew that the powers of heaven had, indeed, spoken to her. She was glowing, burning, shooting through the heavens like a timeless star!

  “Twenty is all you need, Mama?” he asked.

  “Oh, make it thirty! For, remember, even God needs help for making miracles.”

  “Then here, take fifty!” he said, taking out his bankroll. His mother wasn’t crazy. No, she was riding on God’s wings.

  He gave her the money and they went inside to eat. Salvador told his mother and sister about his latest adventure with Lupe’s mother. He explained to them of Doña Guadalupe’s idea of money, that it had to be protected by the women for the survival of the family.

  “She’s absolutely right!” screamed Luisa, poking at Epitacio in the ribs. “See? I’m not the only one who thinks that way,” she said to him.

  Epitacio said nothing. He just sat there quietly.

  “Oh, I like this woman!” said Doña Margarita. “I think that she and I will get along just fine!”

  “But, Mama,” said Salvador, “sometimes I don’t even think I’m courting Lupe. It’s as if it’s her mother that I’m really courting.”

  Doña Margarita burst out laughing. “That’s as it should be!” she said.

  When they were done eating, Salvador told them about his other wonderful news.

  “And so,” he said, “because of Julio’s and Geneva’s death,” he swallowed hard, “Archie was able to fix it up, and now I’m free, Mama. I’m free for the first time since I escaped from that road camp in Arizona. I’m not going to have to be looking over my shoulder anymore.”