Rain of Gold

by Victor Villaseñor

  “And so that’s when the miracle began to happen. People forgot about me, and my husband’s enemy began to speak as if I wasn’t there, and he told someone about what had happened between him and Don Juan. I suddenly understood everything. God had opened the door of this man’s heart for me. So, I made the sign of the cross over myself and stood up, fully armed with God’s words; and in one swift terrible attack, I gave that businessman what it was that he’d been wanting all these years. I gave him honor! I said to him, ‘Don Ernesto, I fully realize that what happened between my husband and you was terrible. And I further agree with you that my dear husband was a fool and you are a man of honor!’

  “Everyone in the place stopped their work and turned to stare at me. Especially the men. For no woman, I’m sure, had ever spoken of her husband like this and lived. But I’d never been a woman who was impressed with men’s habits, not even of the Pope, himself, so I had no such scruples and I wasn’t about to be silenced. So I closed my eyes in concentration and continued.

  “‘I’ve been here for nearly three fists of the sun, Don Ernesto, and I’ve seen you handle situation after situation like a man of high intelligence,’ I said. ‘And, sadly to say, I know my good husband only too well, and I realize how he always prides himself on being able to settle business matters with his fists or guns. And I further realize that he should never have sold you those goats that day, but, also, he had no right to later rope you off your horse and beat you with his fists like a fool!

  “‘For, I swear to you, as my father the great Don Pío always told me, fists and guns are only the tools of children and fools! The real battles of life are won by planning, thinking and hard work, having the confidence not to panic into violence but, instead, to hold steady as a rock and keep working as you yourself have done here in your business, Don Ernesto!’

  “And then I opened my eyes, looking at the businessman, and I saw that I had him. I’d given him what he’d wanted with conviction. But now I needed more, much more. I needed his love. So I closed my eyes again, drawing up from my deepest powers of what God had given me, and said, ‘And, furthermore, I’d like to apologize for my husband’s foolish behavior and salute you, Don Ernesto, who’s done so well! For yes, I fully know that your father left you money and I know that fools talk and they say that that’s how you got to where you are today in this fine office, but they are wrong! “‘Give a fool money, and he’ll lose it by sunset, especially with this war going on all around us. The truth is that it takes greater cunning to keep what’s been given to you than to build up from nothing. For when you have nothing, you have nothing to lose, and so you can afford to be brave. But you were brave even when you had much to lose, and so I salute you! You have done wonders with what your father left you. You are a man to respect! And I do!’”

  The people applauded, and Doña Margarita grinned, showing her one good tooth. “Oh, I had him good by then, I tell you! He just sat there, staring at me, seeing me for the first time, seeing my bare feet and rags; and I guess that he thought of his own mother because tears came swelling up in his eyes.

  “‘Señora,’ he said, standing up and coming around his desk to take my hand, ‘you can have whatever you want within my capacity! You are an inspiration! You are a living tribute to your father, the great Don Pío, who, of course, I remember well, even though I was very young when he came to this region and drove the bands of bandits out of our mountains. I bow my head in respect to you and his great memory.’

  “‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘thank you. And all I need from you is train fare to Guadalajara. God will provide me with the rest.’

  “‘I’m sure He will,’ he said to me, and he gave me the money I needed, plus some extra cash, and then had one of his best men drive me to the train depot over the mountains, two towns away.

  “And that was just the beginning, Luisa,” said their mother, turning to her doubting daughter, “the beginning of my God-given days of miracles!”

  “Oh, Mama, I’m sorry I doubted you,” said Luisa. “But I’m just so frightened for you. Especially since you insist on going alone again.”

  “Your lack of faith tires me,” said the old lady. “And, besides, the point is that Cheee-a-caca will be easy. Nothing compared to what I had to do to get your brother José released. Domingo isn’t in jail, as far as we know.”

  “Please, Mama, go on with the story,” said Salvador. “Tell us what happened on the train. That’s my favorite part.”

  “Yes, please go on, Señora,” said several of the people.

  “Well, all right, but give me a little more whiskito, and then I’ll go on if you insist.”

  She loved all the attention she was getting. Pedro rushed inside to get another bottle of whiskey.

  “You know,” she said, confessing, “in my dreams lately I’ve been dreaming that I’m the Pope and Cheee-a-caca is the whole world.”

  “And you are the Pope!” said Rodolfo, “of my heart and soul!”

  Everyone laughed. Don Rodolfo and Doña Margarita had become very close with all their letter writing.

  “Well,” she said, sipping the whiskey that she was served, “getting on the train, I decided to find the richest, most powerful-looking man I could. For you can’t squeeze water out of the poor any more than you can out of the rocks. So, I finally found a well-dressed man in a private car reading. I sat down next to him and told him that was a fine book, that I’d read it many times myself.”

  “He glanced at my ragged clothes and he didn’t know what to think, so he got up and moved away from me. But I stuck to him like a tick on a dog’s ass, saying to him, ‘Don’t you realize you can’t get away from me? You’re on this train, Señor, because you were sent to me by God.’”

  “You really said that?” asked Salvador.

  “Of course,” she said. “And I’ll tell you,” she continued, “he tried to get away from me again, but I grabbed him this time. ‘Sit down,’ I said, ‘I can’t keep chasing you up and down the train. I’m too old for that. And, besides, I’m no prostitute making an advance at you!’

  Everyone roared with laughter, especially Salvador. He loved this outrageous part of his mother’s story. He could just picture the rich man shitting in his pants.

  “‘I’m a mother that’s here before you because my son is in prison and doesn’t deserve to be! And the story I’m about to tell you makes that book you read pale in comparison! Because what I’m about to tell you is absolutely true and it comes from here, inside a mother’s burning soul!’

  “And at that moment, the train jerked in its tracks, as if by the mighty hand of God, and the man was thrown back into his seat; and I knew that I had him now.”

  And so, closing her eyes, Doña Margarita continued speaking, telling everyone of how she’d given this man what he wanted, too, a spellbinding story of her son, José, the great, the protector of their mountains, and how he and only a handful of youths had kept the Revolution away from their mountains for years.

  “And I explained to him that José was short and dark like myself,” said the old lady, “but that such a man isn’t measured in height from his feet to his head, but from his head to heaven above! For a man like José gives proof to the living world that God lives here on earth! And each new generation needs to do this for themselves, if God’s name is to remain a living force!

  “Then I explained to him how my son had gotten arrested, not because he’d destroyed army after army, but because he had put to shame the local federal marshal who’d tried to force himself on a beautiful young widow. And now he was sentenced to be executed in Guadalajara for such an act of chivalry!

  “And, oh, I tell you, I kept that rich man on the edge of his seat with José’s great feats and daring examples of greatness until we reached Guadalajara. Getting there, the rich man took me to his home, gave me money, and introduced me to all the important people that he knew. Armed with the names of these rich, influential people, I went to their homes and I petitioned th
em day and night until I got a dozen of them to go with me to the prison to get my son released to me in my custody.

  “The officer in charge of the prison was outraged, saying that no one, but no one, had ever been set free from his prison before. He told me that I was either the devil himself or I was the most cunning, determined woman he’d ever had the misfortune of encountering.

  “‘If my soldiers had half of your balls, Señora,’ he said, ‘there’d be no Revolution!’

  “‘No, you’re wrong,’ I told him, ‘for my tanates are the breasts that give milk to every child in every village in all of Mexico, no matter how poor, and that’s why you will LOSE! Now! And for all eternity!’

  “He got so mad that he threw me out, along with my son José, but only on the condition that José promise never to fight against them again. And he did, he kept his word, God rest his soul. But for what? Only to be shot down by the Rangers in Albuquerque when they mistook him for another mejicano!”

  Tears came to her old, wrinkled-up eyes and she got to her feet. “I will not lose another of my sons!” she shouted. “I will not! So help me God! And so that’s why I’m going to Chee-a-caca and I’m going alone! Alone, but with God! And the devil be warned, for I’m armed to do battle with the entire populace of the earth!”

  And hearing this, Luisa fell to her knees, begging for forgiveness, and there wasn’t a dry eye in all of the yard.

  “But, it is not for me to forgive you!” said her mother. “It is for you to make amends with your brother!”

  The people saw that it was time to move away, so they all went back to the barbacoa. Luisa took Salvador aside and apologized to him for having slapped him.

  “I’m sorry, Salvador,” she said, “but I keep forgetting how incredible our mother is. You’re right, we shouldn’t try to stop her. Doing the impossible gives her life!”

  Some of the people had gone home and things were calming down. The moon was bright and the stars were plentiful. Luisa and Salvador were visiting together when Pedro came running up to them.

  “Grandmother!” shouted the boy. “She fell down dead!”

  “No!” screamed Salvador, rushing across the yard, thinking that his beloved mother had had a heart attack.

  But getting there, Salvador saw that his mother was already coming to, and a tall, red-headed man was beside her. At first, Salvador couldn’t figure out who the stranger was. But then he almost dropped dead in his tracks, too. Why, it was their father, Don Juan, standing before his beloved mother. But he was so much younger than the last time Salvador had seen him.

  “Is that you, Juan?” asked the tall, handsome man, grinning with outstretched arms toward Salvador. “I don’t know what happened. I came up to Mama and she just . . . ”

  And in that split instant, Salvador suddenly realized that he wasn’t looking at his father after all, but he was, indeed, seeing his long-lost brother Domingo. Why, this truly was a miracle sent to them by God. Domingo was the reincarnation of their dead father all over again: tall and handsome and eyes as blue as the sea.

  Salvador rushed up and hugged Domingo in a big abrazo. Luisa came, too, and she was shouting at the top of her lungs, “Domingo! Domingo!”

  It became a joyous time of wet eyes and big abrazo. Two neighbors slaughtered a goat, and Salvador brought out another barrel of whiskey. It became the biggest celebration that the barrios had seen in years. Every one of them had lost a brother or sister, and so they knew what the family of the Villaseñors was feeling. The winds of war and the turmoil of poverty had separated many a loved one.

  “Oh, Dios mío!” said their mother, reaching for Domingo for the umpteenth time. “Why, you’re your father all over again!”

  And she drew him close once more, running her fingertips over Domingo’s face, inch by inch, curve by curve, memorizing them. Then she drew him to her heart, closing her eyes, holding him in rapture.

  Salvador had tears in his eyes as he watched his old mother holding his brother in her arms with such adoration. Oh, he loved his brother, too; he really did. They’d grown up together, being so close in age. Domingo was only five years older than Salvador, and they’d been constant companions until Domingo had suddenly disappeared at the age of thirteen, just before José, the great, had been arrested.

  “Oh, l loved your father so much,” Doña Margarita was saying to Domingo, “so very, very much! And now here you are, his living image! For the first fifteen years of our marriage, I don’t think that there ever lived a happier woman. Why, we were so strong,” she said, “and every eighteen months I’d pop us out another child, and we’d just hurry back to making more!”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “But then came that terrible winter when the mountaintops turned white and the wolves came down in packs, and we went hungry and the livestock died. Then the Revolution came upon us, too, and oh, mis hijitos, you youngest ones just never got to see Don Juan when he was young and strong! He was wonderful! But, when you last children saw him, he was a broken, tired old man.”

  And so she continued talking, and they stayed up all night: Luisa, Epitacio, José, Pedro, Salvador, Domingo and the American woman named Nellie that Domingo had brought with him from Chicago, and a couple of the neighbors.

  Nellie was a big, tall red-headed woman with a complexion as beautiful as Domingo’s. She smiled constantly, had on a lot of make-up and had a very shapely body.

  In the early morning hours of the night, a neighbor brought out a pot of menudo. Luisa chopped some fresh cilantro and green onions, then started making tortillas. Everyone laughed themselves silly when Nellie went up to the counter and started making tortillas with Luisa.

  “I’ve taught her well, eh?” said Domingo proudly, wolfing down his menudo and asking his woman to fix him another bowl.

  Nellie came over and got Domingo’s bowl, and she didn’t seem to mind when he patted her on the ass in front of everyone. But Salvador noticed that his mother wasn’t comfortable with it at all.

  “Are you Catholic?” their mother asked Nellie in Spanish.

  “Yes,” said Nellie, also in Spanish. “I’m Irish Catholic.”

  “And you two are married then?” continued the old lady.

  Good-naturedly, Nellie began to answer Doña Margarita’s question, but Domingo cut her off with a look, then turned to his mother.

  “No, not yet, Mama,” he said, “but we do plan on getting married.”

  “Well, I hope that it’s soon,” said the old woman. “What are you, Nellie, four or five months?”

  Salvador was stunned. Nellie absolutely didn’t look pregnant to him.

  “Four and a half,” said Nellie.

  “Is this your first?” asked their mother, already knowing the answer, but wanting to see if the girl would lie to her.

  “No,” said Nellie, glancing at Domingo nervously, who was getting more upset by the moment.

  “How many have you had?”

  “Mama!” said Domingo, getting to his feet. “Please, we just arrived. There’s more to talk about than just Nellie’s condition. I still don’t know what happened to Papa. Is he here or is he still back in Mexico?” he asked.

  “All right,” said his mother, “we won’t talk about Nellie right now, if that pleases you, Domingo. But, before I tell you about your father, answer me this. why didn’t you answer our first letters that we sent you?”

  “All right,” said Domingo, putting his arm around his woman, “I’ll tell you. When the first few letters came, I thought nothing of it. But then, when all the neighborhood began receiving letters and could talk of nothing else, I began to believe it really was you, Mama! ‘Who else,’ I said to myself, ‘would have the faith to just keep writing?’” He laughed, squeezing Nellie close. “Oh, for so long I’d thought you were all dead! Epitacio, here, I remember him trying to tell me about some Villaseñors when I met him, and I almost killed him, I got so mad.”

  He laughed again, sitting there, and Salvador still couldn’t get ove
r it. Why, he was the living picture of their father: the blue eyes, the reddish-brown hair, the fair skin with freckles, the beautiful white teeth and large, well-carved masculine features, plus the way he laughed. Domingo was a man among men who didn’t just turn women’s heads when he entered a room, but men’s, too.

  “You see,” continued Domingo, “when I went back to our mountains, I found no one . . . and . . . and . . . everything was destroyed—the orchards, the barns, the corrals, the whole settlement—everything.”

  “You mean you returned to our mountains after we’d all left?” asked Salvador.

  “Why, of course,” said Domingo. “I’d never intended to stay away. Hell, I’d been trying to get back for years.” Tears came to his eyes. “But I was in debt, labor to an American company in Chicago, and they told me I’d be put in prison if I tried to leave. I was only thirteen, so how was I to argue? Oh, I was lost, I tell you!” he screamed in agony.

  Nellie hugged him, giving him comfort, and he wiped his eyes. “You must realize that when I left home, I came to the United States with two other boys,” he continued. “I’d thought I’d surprise Papa in Del Mar, California, and work out the season with him and return home with him. But I was such a fool! I had no idea of how the gringos thought of us.”

  “Then you knew where Papa was?” asked Luisa.

  “Sure,” said Domingo. “He’d come to work with our cousin, Everardo, driving mules to build the new highway up the coast from San Diego to Los Angeles. I figured I’d find him easily. But the Texas Rangers didn’t contract me to California, like they promised; those sons-of-bitches…” he screamed, “lied to me and sent me to Chicago!”

  “Exactly!” yelled Epitacio. “Laughing at us all the way, those damned Rangers, they give their word of honor as men and then they send you wherever they damned please instead!” He was furious. “Excuse my language, ladies, but it’s just . . . oh, they’ve ruined so many families, those tricky Texan bastards! They don’t consider us mejicanos people! Just mules! Dogs! Worse than slaves!”