“Exactly!” said Domingo. “Slaves they have to pay money for, so they have value and treat ’em better.”
“Yes, that’s true!” said Epitacio.
“All right,” said Doña Margarita, “enough! Now go on.”
“So, well, anyway, I was in Chicago for years, looking for Del Mar,” said Domingo. “I spoke no English and so they just kept lying to me, until I finally paid off my debt, which took me four years! Then I immediately returned to our mountains, expecting to find you there.”
He began to cry so hard, he couldn’t speak. Nellie began to cry, too. She really loved Domingo.
“But you were all gone and everyone kept saying that you’d been killed,” he continued. “Oh, I felt like an orphan! And the ranch was destroyed! Nothing existed that I’d known.”
Salvador handed Nellie his handkerchief.
“Finally, beaten and crazy with grief I returned to Chicago, and that’s when I met you, Epitacio,” said Domingo.
“But my letters,” said Doña Margarita to Domingo, “didn’t you read them?”
Domingo looked at his mother full in the face. His eyes were bloodshot. “You want to know the truth, eh, Mama?” he asked with a vicious look in his eyes.
“Yes,” she said, unflinchingly. “I do.”
“Well, the truth is,” he said, “that I didn’t believe those letters, and . . . I wished you all DEAD!” He jumped from his chair, falling on his knees. “Forgive me, Mama,” he screamed, “forgive me! But I’d suffered so much that I didn’t want any more pain.”
He hugged his mother around the legs and buried his face in her lap, crying freely now. His mother hugged him and patted him on his head and glanced at the others, but no one was embarrassed. For they all well knew what it was like to lose faith.
“It’s all right, mi hijito,” said Doña Margarita, holding his huge head on her tiny lap, “God will understand and forgive you. Faith, after all, is very difficult. I know, believe me, for I’ve lost mine time and again.”
Salvador stared at his mother. How could she speak like this? She was always the power, the light, even in their darkest hours.
“Sit up, Domingo,” said his mother. “Believe me, I understand; I’ve wished you and my other lost children dead many, many times so I could just quit my vigil.” Her eyes overflowed, too. “War, it’s no fun for a mother or a child.” She said no more.
Salvador was stunned. He’d never realized that his mother’s faith also faltered.
They finished breakfast, and Salvador brought out a bottle of his best twelve-year-old whiskey.
“Here, taste it, Domingo,” said Salvador. “This is my best.”
“Not bad,” said Domingo, rolling the whiskey about inside his mouth. “But you should taste the whiskey I’ve made. Oh, yes, I was in the big time,” he added, smiling handsomely, “with Al Capone’s people.”
“With Al Capone?” said Salvador. “But I thought you said you worked in the slaughterhouses and then in high-rise construction.”
“That, too!” said Domingo quickly. “I’m a man who’s done a lot of different things!”
And he would’ve gone on bragging about himself, but Doña Margarita cut him off.
“Domingo,” said his mother, “your father . . . your father, he’s dead. He died up on the ranch.”
Domingo stared at her. “But how?” he asked. “Oh, my God, Mama! How? In your arms?”
She looked straight into her son’s eyes. Salvador and Luisa looked, too. This was going to be bad.
“No, Domingo,” said the old woman. “I wish it would have been that way, but it wasn’t. He died alone up on the mountain.”
Domingo glanced around the room. “But what do you mean, ‘alone up on the mountain?’ Are you keeping something from me?” he asked. “I demand to know what happened!” He leaped to his feet, eyes bloodshot, with sudden, unexpected rage.
“Your father,” continued Doña Margarita calmly, “when he came back from the United States and found the ranch destroyed and you gone, Domingo, he started drinking like he’d never done before.”
“Oh, no! NO!” screamed Domingo.
“Yes; he wouldn’t eat, and he’d go yelling from mountaintop to mountaintop, searching for his sons. Then one day, some neighbors found him dead in the barn, clutching the remains of his horse.” Her eyes drew inwardly. “The poor man must have shot his horse when he felt his hour coming, so that he’d have a mount to ride across the heavens.”
“And you weren’t there when it happened?” yelled Domingo, pounding the table, shattering the dishes. “BUT WHY DID YOU PEOPLE DESERT HIM!” He screamed. His eyes were as bloodshot as a bull’s in battle. The vein across his forehead pulsated. He was wild, crazy, insane, staring at them with vengeance.
But no one said anything. They were too shocked. Domingo was Don Juan Salvador all over again, screaming at them as Don Juan had always done, too.
Luisa was the first to speak. “But we didn’t desert him,” she said calmly. “He left us, Domingo.”
“Lies!” roared Domingo. “You left him on the mountain!”
“No, we didn’t!” yelled Salvador, leaping to his feet, too. “He left us, just like you left us, you fool! And we starved!”
“Oh, so now I and my good father are to blame for our family’s misfortune, eh?” said Domingo, smiling viciously.
“Yes!” screamed Salvador. “A thousand times, yes!”
Domingo went to hit Salvador, but quick as a cat Salvador hit Domingo first full in the face, knocking him over backwards, crashing into the tall cabinet full of cups and dishes.
Salvador continued crying. “And when I went up to get our father, begging him to come down and be with us because Luisa’s husband had gotten killed and we needed him, he just bellowed to the heavens to leave him alone to die in peace because all his sons were dead. I told him that I was his son, too, Domingo. But he just kicked me away like a dog because I wasn’t blue-eyed and tall like you and Alejo.”
“Oh, this is getting good,” said Domingo, turning to Nellie and wiping the blood off his lips as he got to his feet. “I told you that there’d be hell to pay, coming to see my family.”
Doña Margarita just shook her head.
“I’m going to whip you, Juan,” said Domingo calmly. “I’m going to whip you as you’ve never been whipped before!”
“Come on, you piece of shit!” yelled Salvador. “I’m not your little punching bag anymore, like when you used to bully me all the time. I spit on you, you coward! Running away and leaving us! You big, stupid, ignorant pendejo! We went hungry!”
Domingo just smiled, moving in for the fight.
“No, Domingo!” said Luisa, rushing between her two brothers. “It’s true, Domingo! No one loved Papa more than me! But he left us! We never left him!”
“Oh, no, Luisa,” said Domingo, still grinning, “my little brother here is saying much more than that. And what he needs is a whipping, just like I used to give him when we were kids because he’d run out on a fight and leave me holding off two or three boys alone!”
Then Domingo screamed. He was a huge giant of a man, bellowing to the heavens, just as their father had always done. “I never ran from a fight in all my life! And Papa never did, either! You people left him, and that’s the God-awful truth!”
Saying this, Domingo charged on his younger brother, but Luisa and Nellie got between them. Seeing his brother’s insane rage, Salvador suddenly remembered all the terrible things that his brother had done to him when they’d been small, and he knew that he was capable of going for his gun and killing his brother without mercy.
“Don’t hold them!” yelled Doña Margarita. “Let them kill each other if they’re such dogs that they have no respect for their mother!”
She downed her whiskey, got to her feet and turned on Salvador. “You had no right to strike your brother! Are you a savage that can’t see he was just shocked to learn of his father’s death and he knows nothing of our sufferi
ng or starvation?
“Salvador, you did wrong! Wrong! Wrong!” She grabbed him by the ear and twisted him down to the floor until he was kneeling.
“No, Mama, please!” yelled Salvador. “I’m not a child anymore!”
“Oh, yes you are, behaving like this! Now kneel there and apologize to your brother!”
“No!”
“Yes! Now!”
“No!”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“All right, all right, but let go!”
“No!” she yelled, twisting all the more. “You do it now and with all your heart and soul! And you promise that you’ll never strike him again as long as you live!”
“Okay, okay,” said Salvador. “I apologize, Domingo. Mama’s right! I had no right to strike you!”
“And you’ll never hit him again as long as you live!” said his mother. “Swear it!”
“I swear it!” added Salvador.
“Good!” said Doña Margarita, letting go of Salvador’s ear and then turning to Domingo.
“And now you, Domingo, understand this, “she said to him, “you had no right to provoke us like that! No right, do you hear me?” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “We didn’t desert your father any more than he deserted us, either!
“We were all lost! Do you hear me? Lost! Trapped by the war just as much as you were trapped in slavery in Chee-a-caca! Lost so far inside our minds and souls that your father went crazy with grief, bellowing to the heavens like a madman, searching for his sons.
“‘Alejo! José! Agustín! Teodoro! Jesús! Mateo! Vicente!’ And you, ‘Domingo!’ And all his daughters, too, and all your twenty-two cousins who’d been raised under our same roof like our own children! Oh, he was a lost, broken man!
“And so now you kneel down here, too, right, now, and kiss your brother; right now, take him in your arms and kiss him and ask for his forgiveness, too!”
Domingo didn’t want to, he still had the devil in his eyes, but nevertheless, he did as his mother said, and it was beautiful; two big, strong men, kneeling down before their tiny old mother and taking each other in their arms, kissing and holding, giving love and warmth in a big abrazo. Heart-to-heart.
Nellie was weeping, and so was Luisa, Pedro, José and Epitacio; they were all so happy. For they all knew that this was the beginning of a whole new familia for them here in the United States. If only they could forget the past and forgive each other and go forward with open hearts.
And their beloved old mother, that great woman of God, had made it possible by making yet another miracle here on earth!
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
And so they’d found it inside themselves—the angel’s head, the true love of life—a return to the Garden of Eden, the seed of their ancestry.
“Look,” said Domingo to Salvador, “back in Chicago I got connections and I own a house, but I came out here so quick that, well, I’m low on cash. So, you loan me fifty dollars and I’ll pay you back when the house sells, eh?”
“Sure,” said Salvador, taking out his wad of money. But seeing how his brother gaped at the wad, Salvador realized that he’d made a big mistake to show it to him. After all, this wasn’t money that Salvador could spend. It was his working capital, his stake, the cash he used for gambling and bootlegging.
“Gracias,” said Domingo, putting the fifty in his pocket. “And can I borrow your truck, too?”
“Of course,” said Salvador. “We’re brothers. And I’m really sorry I hit you. I was wrong.”
“Forget it,” said Domingo. “I’ve been hit harder by women!”
They laughed and Domingo hung around the house, drinking whiskey and visiting with Luisa and their mother for the next few days. Epitacio and Salvador left to go back to work.
Coming back from delivering the second batch of Canadian whiskey to the whorehouse in Pasadena, Salvador figured out how he could buy a ring for Lupe and not get cheated. He was going to do as the old Mexican saying advised: “For the wild bulls of the barrancas, the horses of there, too,” which meant that if you wanted to round up cattle in the hill country, then you had to use a horse that had grown up in that same terrain.
Over and over in his life, Salvador had found that this saying was absolutely true. A flatland horse, no matter how agile and strong, was no match whatsoever for a horse raised in the mountains. Or, as the gringos said, never play another man’s game.
So just as Salvador had used Kenny, a good friend and a fine mechanic, to go with him to buy a car, he’d now use the smartest, coolest businessman that he knew to help him buy Lupe a fabulous ring without being robbed.
He drove over to see his tailor. Salvador was pretty nervous by the time he pulled up to the little tailor shop in Santa Ana where he had his suits and shirts made. He’d never forget how he’d managed to find this little store in the first place. A couple of years back, he’d been shopping for a place that made quality suits like the ones that Lady Katherine in Montana had taught him to wear. But every good place he came to was so big and deluxe-looking that he felt too intimidated to go inside.
Then one afternoon, he was driving through Santa Ana after delivering some whiskey to Don Manuel when he saw this little tailor’s shop on the edge of town. He drove around the block three times before he got up the nerve to park his old truck in front. These were the days before he’d purchased his first fine automobile, the big green Dodge convertible. He’d learned a big lesson the day he’d been thrown out of that little, two-bit restaurant in Corona. A Mexican couldn’t go very far in California dressed like an honest workman. Oh, that big Dodge had really given him a lot of confidence.
And so now, driving his gorgeous Moon gave Salvador even more confidence as he pulled up to the little tailor shop. He had a good car, was well-dressed, and had money in his pocket. He asked for Harry, the owner of the place whom he’d become friends with over the past few years.
“Do you know Harry?” asked a handsome young Anglo, giving Salvador the once-over.
Instantly, Salvador felt threatened. He didn’t know this salesman. He thought about leaving without even answering the question, but out of the back came Harry.
“Oh, Salvador, amigo mío!” said the owner in perfect Spanish.
Salvador had taught Harry and his wife Bernice a few words in Spanish, and they, in turn, had taught him a few in Yiddish.
“Muy bien, Harry,” said Salvador. “¿Y usted? ¿Cómo está?”
“Muy bien, also,” said Harry. “So what can I do for you today, Señor Villaseñor?”
“Well, could we speak alone?” asked Salvador, glancing at the salesman.
“But of course,” said Harry, motioning for his helper to leave the room. The salesman did so, but he didn’t like it. “Let’s sit down over here in this corner and have a cup of coffee while we talk.”
“Okay,” said Salvador. “You see, Harry,” he said, once they had their coffee, “I’m planning to get married.”
“Wonderful! Marvelous!”
“But I need help to get her engagement ring,” he added, looking at Harry in the eyes carefully.
“Oh, and why did you come to me?” asked Harry. “You know I’m only in the clothing business.”
“Yes,” said Salvador, liking that Harry hadn’t jumped at the chance like a hungry wolf. “But, also, I know that business is business and you’re a very smart businessman, Harry. And so, I’ve come to you, the man who knows how to dance the dance of fine business matters because, well, if I go to buy the rings alone, I’m afraid that, well, I’d be just a sitting duck.” Having said all this, Salvador said nothing more. He was studying Harry’s eyes. This was a poker game of the highest stakes.
And Harry was good; he never even grinned. No, he came through with respect. “You don’t have to say another word,” he said, looking at Salvador straight in the eye like a real man. “A diamond is what you want, and I know just the man to help us.”
“A diamond would be fabulous,” agreed Salvador. �
�But how does a man go about getting such a stone, Harry, without ending up with glass? I’m not a rich man; I can’t afford a mistake.”
Harry loved it. “Amigo mío,” he said, taking one of Salvador’s huge, calloused hands into both of his, “you don’t have to be a rich man to buy a real diamond,” he said. “Diamonds come in all prices and in all different qualities of perfection. But even a bad diamond isn’t good enough for you, my dear, good friend!”
Salvador still felt cautious, but the man’s eyes were holding good. He didn’t have a wild, greedy look. “Yes, but what are all these prices?” asked Salvador.
Harry laughed. “How much money you got, Salvador?”
Suddenly, Salvador was very wary once again. But, still, he answered Harry’s question. “Well, maybe if I’m lucky, two hundred dollars.”
“Make it four hundred,” said Harry, “and she’ll be the queen of California!”
Salvador’s heart missed a beat. “Okay, four hundred, but not a penny more,” he said, feeling his palms beginning to sweat. Oh, he just didn’t know if he was doing the right thing to trust this man.
“Great,” said Harry, “that’s enough if we go to this wholesale place I know in Los Angeles. But then, of course, you’ll be buying all the wedding clothes here from me.”
“Naturally,” said Salvador.
“Perfect,” said Harry, “then we go up there first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning?” said Salvador. He hadn’t expected to move this fast. But his mother had told him not to waste any time.
“Sure,” said Harry, “my friend, he’s very superstitious. You see, he’s Jewish and thinks that his first customer of the day brings him good luck all day long.”
Salvador looked at the store owner with great suspicion for the first time. This sounded like a hustle.
“But,” asked Salvador, “aren’t you Jewish, too?”
“Well, of course; aren’t we all?” said Harry.
“No, not all,” said Salvador, “some are mejicanos.”
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