Salvador took another deep breath, looking at Don Victor. “So, then, you haven’t told them?”
“No, of course not,” said Don Victor. “And I never will. But you got to promise me that you’ll never hurt my Lupe.”
Salvador could taste the bile coming up from his stomach. He was sure Don Manuel, being the proper little chicken-shit bastard that he was, had told Don Victor every rotten thing he could about him. This old man was all right. He was showing a lot of guts to still allow his daughter to marry him. “I swear,” said Salvador, “with all my heart, man to man, that I will never hurt your daughter. She is my queen!”
“Good,” said Don Victor. “Excellent.”
Then they embraced in a big abrazo, heart-to-heart, and it was done a lo macho.
The priest and Doña Guadalupe came up to them. She was holding a small potted plant with white flowers.
“Lupe,” called the old woman to her daughter, “come. It is time.”
Salvador would never forget as long as he lived the ring of these three magic words, “It is time.” He saw Lupe get up with her brother on one side and the child, Isabel, on the other. They came walking up, surrounded by golden light. It was a magic moment.
“And so, Salvador,” said Doña Guadalupe with Lupe at her side, “I want you to know that the good Father and I have just spoken this matter over at great length and . . . yes, my husband and I do accept your proposal of marriage on behalf of our daughter, Guadalupe. But, only on the condition that you will accept the responsibility of these potted lilies that I dug up with my own two hands in La Lluvia de Oro. And that you promise me that you will attend to them and to Lupe from now until your death with patient, loving hands.
“For I tell you,” she said, tears coming to her eyes, “a woman is like a flower, Salvador. And I raised this fine daughter of mine with all the love I have. Lupe isn’t just beautiful, Salvador, she’s intelligent, hard-working, obedient and thoughtful.”
“And I’m not saying this to sound like a bragger, but as a person who’s lived and loved and knows life. Lupe is an extraordinary young lady. But like the delicate rose that grows and blossoms with the tender, patient hands of love, if she is mistreated, Salvador, then this delicate rose will grow thorns to protect herself as you’ve never seen!” she shouted.
“I know, believe me,” she continued, tears streaming down her face, “for I was once a delicate flower, too, that would have followed my man to the ends of the earth. But then life became difficult and my husband was impatient and hard with me and our children, so I grew claws that would terrify any mortal man. And those thorns, once grown, cannot be hidden, for they come straight from the heart.”
Saying this, the old lady stared at Salvador with such open, naked power that he was stunned. And he wanted to glance at Don Victor and see how he was taking all of this, too, but he didn’t dare.
“And so,” she said, wiping her eyes, “do you now accept these flowers and promise to nourish them with patient, loving hands for the rest of your life?”
Salvador looked at the old lady and the beautiful potted flowers. He glanced at his angel, standing there beside her mother, and he had to squeeze his eyes so he wouldn’t cry, too. His whole chest came up and he reached across that fearful abyss of doubt and took hold of the potted plant. “I will,” he said, “with all of my heart.”
“To water with love and watch your seed grow? And to trust and always be understanding?” continued Doña Guadalupe, still holding onto the clay pot.
“Absolutely,” he said, holding the pot, also. “With patience and trust and understanding.”
Then, and only then, as the old lady stared into Salvador’s eyes, did she release the pot of flowers and Salvador took them into his own two hands.
He gazed at the old lady, then gazed at Lupe, feeling so intoxicated with the miracle of the moment that he almost forgot about the diamond ring, until the priest, coughing hard, pointed at his own finger.
“Oh, yes,” said Salvador, “I have something, too.”
He reached into his pocket for the diamond ring, but he almost dropped the flowers.
“Here, I’ll hold them,” laughed Victoriano. “My mother wants them to last at least until the wedding.”
“Thank you,” said Salvador. He brought out the little, dark blue velvet box that Harry had gotten for him and opened it with trembling hands. Everyone watched in silence.
“A diamond,” he said, showing them the ring.
Everyone just stood there, staring at the diamond in the little velvet box. It was just too much for Carlota, and she started laughing.
“Oh, Salvador, it’s glass!” she said. “What do you think you are, a millionaire?”
“Well, no, of course not,” he said, “but it’s not glass. It is real. Honestly. I’ve worked so hard for this . . . this . . .
But he couldn’t go on. He felt too humiliated. His hands began to shake. Lupe stepped forward.
“Thank you, Salvador,” she said, taking both of his hands in hers. “It’s beautiful and I feel honored,” she added, looking at him straight in the eyes.
He forgot about Carlota, losing himself in Lupe’s eyes.
“But, Lupe,” continued Carlota, “it can’t possibly be a real diamond! What do you think Salvador is? A king?” she said, laughing. “And you, a queen?”
“Carlota!” snapped Doña Guadalupe, grabbing her by the ear, “that’s enough!” And she yanked her daughter about with such power that Carlota screeched as her mother led her off in a rush.
Don Victor laughed. “Pigs, like I’ve always said, it’s easier to raise pigs than kids!” he said, coming forward. “Please, accept my apology, Salvador,” he added. “It’s beautiful! And we all feel honored.”
“Thank you, Don Victor,” said Salvador.
Then he reached out for Lupe’s hand and slipped the ring on her finger. Lupe’s eyes overflowed with tears. This was a dream come true for her, too. A miracle of God, as high and great as the majestic feeling of their towering cathedral peaks back home.
The sun was going down behind the groves of orange trees in the distance, and Lupe and Salvador, the two babies of their families, stood, looking down at the large, beautiful stone.
This new land of theirs was filled with magic, too. The sun, the fragrance of the orange trees, the beautiful potted mountain lilies and this fabled diamond. It was paradise, as Doña Margarita had said.
A marriage had the value that a man and woman gave it and a marriage of true love was, indeed, the return to Eden, the birth of man living in God’s own image— pure love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Paradise was now within their reach when the devil came out of hiding, dancing with his huge serpent’s head, tempting them down into his depths.
After dropping the priest off, Salvador drove home that night to his mother’s house, honking his horn and howling to the moon. It was half past midnight when he came into the barrios. The goats and pigs awoke, calling out to him. But he didn’t care how much noise he caused, and he just kept honking all the more, shouting up to the blue-wrinkled moon.
“Mama! Mama!” he yelled, getting out of the Moon and coming into her little house. “Lupe and I are getting married! Look, her mother gave me these flowers for us to take care of for the rest of our lives!”
Doña Margarita sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Oh, mi hijito,” she said, “turn on the lamp, let me see. Oh, what beautiful white flowers.”
“Lupe’s mother explained to me that they grew wild where they came from, cascading down the slopes. And she wants me to care for them with love’s tender feelings for all my life.”
“That’s wonderful,” said the old lady, looking at the tall, delicate flowers and then at her son’s glowing face. “I’m so proud of you, mi hijito, that you had the strength of mind and the fortitude of heart to go through with all of our traditions of courtship, even as demanding as her mother was . . . for, remember, as I’ve been telling you over an
d over these last few days,” she added, raising up her index finger, “life only has the value that we place on it, and you’ve placed a value of the highest order on your marriage by remaining faithful to our customs, no matter how far we’ve come from home.
“I congratulate you with all my heart, mi hijito,” she said. “All our sufferings have not been in vain. You’ve restored dignity to our casa. At this very moment, your father and your grandparents are smiling down on you from the heavens.”
“Oh, thank you, Mama,” said Salvador.
“The thanks are mine,” she said. “For, believe me, it’s not often that a mother gets to reap the benefits of her labor.”
He was so happy. He put the flowers down and took his mother in his arms and cried like a baby. He was so terribly, terribly happy after all the years of suffering. It was as if all his suffering had just been washed away with the incredible love that he felt inside his heart.
Then, Luisa and Pedro and José came from next door, and they hugged Salvador, too. It became a wonderful time of wet eyes and big abrazos, until Luisa asked about the diamond.
“Were they excited?” she asked proudly.
“Oh, yes,” said Salvador. “Except for her sister, Carlota. She started laughing at me, saying it was only glass.”
“She what?” screamed Luisa. “I’ll kill her! The big-mouthed bitch! Where is she? I’ll strangle her ‘til her eyes pop out!”
“No, Luisa, please, it’s all right now,” said Salvador, laughing. “Her mother took her away by the ear, and her father apologized for her.”
“But, still, how could she? After you went to so much trouble! My God, I’d hoped that Lupe’s family would honor you, but this Carlota gets me so mad—oh, I want to get her by the throat!”
Salvador tried to calm Luisa down but he couldn’t. She went on and on, raging, screaming and swearing to do Carlota in when she met her.
For the first time in weeks, Salvador was able to sleep. He slept like a baby that night and his heart was at peace. Then, José came in and woke him up.
“It’s noon, Uncle,” he said. “Epitacio came by earlier. He said that it’s time to start the next batch of fermentation.”
Salvador thanked José and got up. “I’m going to be married!” he sang. “Married! Married!” He bathed, changed clothes, and had a cup of hot chocolate with his mother. He just couldn’t stop singing.
“Oh, Mama,” he said, “I’m so happy!”
“And you argued with me that the holy sacrament of marriage isn’t paradise,” said the crafty old woman, showing her one good canine. “Oh, I tell you, heaven is here on earth and it’s called marriage. That’s our true gift from God! I know, I had it once, too, and now I’m having it again, through you, my son.”
“Oh, Mama,” said Salvador, taking her in his arms. “I love you so much.” They hugged and kissed, loving each other.
It was getting late and Salvador took off for Los Angeles. He bought the sugar and yeast and headed for their rented house in Watts.
He was just driving up the alley behind their large rented house, singing to the sky, when he suddenly caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his left eye.
He braked, feeling every cell of his body talking to him. He put the truck in reverse and backed up. Four men came leaping over the hedges with guns in their hands.
Salvador braked and put up his hands. One man shoved his pistol in Salvador’s face. Two others grabbed him and jerked him out of the truck. They slammed him up against a fence and searched him thoroughly. Luckily, he was in his old work clothes and wasn’t armed.
They took him up to the rented house. Inside was Wesseley, the big Tom Mix-gorilla from the hotel bust in San Bernardino. Domingo was over by the corner, handcuffed to a chair. His face was a bloody mess.
Yet, seeing Salvador, Domingo still screamed out, “My partner is a gringo, you stupid fools!”
Quickly, smoothly, Salvador watched the big, hairy-armed Tom Mix-gorilla cross the room and hit Domingo in the face with his gloved hand wrapped in barbed wire.
Domingo’s face exploded with blood, splattering across the lime-colored wall.
Salvador was filled with horror. He’d heard of this little Texan trick of branding Indians and Mexicans, but he’d never seen it done. Not even in prison. Why, this big, Tom Mix son-of-a-bitch had enjoyed it to the root of his being.
Then, the hairy-armed gorilla came, walking toward Salvador, step-by-step, smiling as he adjusted the wrapped wire about his blood-covered glove.
“Hey, don’t I know you?” asked the big man.
“Sure, you know him!” shouted Domingo from across the room. He was wobbling on the floor with the chair on his back. “He fucked your mother!”
Grinning, the man forgot all about Salvador and returned to work on Domingo once again.
By the time they got to jail, Domingo had been beaten beyond recognition. Yet when they asked him his name, he still challenged them.
“I’m Johnny La Tuya,” he bellowed at the lawman defiantly, meaning Johnny-Up-Your-Own-Mother.
Salvador couldn’t believe it. Domingo was a tiger. And the more they abused him, the stronger he became.
Salvador and Domingo were put in separate rooms. Salvador sat down on the floor of his room. He sat and waited for them to come. He sat there and prepared himself inside his mind for the terrible beating he was sure that they were going to give him. But then, to his surprise, when the Tom Mix-gorilla finally came, he was friendly.
“Well, amigo,” he said in perfect Spanish, “we’re not going to have to work you over after all. Your partner broke down and told us everything. So, you’re the boss, eh? You been bootlegging ever since I met you in San Bernardino.”
Salvador stared at him. His Spanish was so good and his style was so relaxed that if Salvador hadn’t been a man of experience, he would’ve completely believed him and told him everything.
But having gone to prison at thirteen years of age and having been “worked over” physically and mentally by the best, Salvador knew what was going on.
Salvador thought of asking the man where he’d learned his Spanish and why he was so mad at Mexicans, since he’d obviously spent a lot of time with them. But he knew the son-of-a-bitch would only ridicule him all the more, thinking he was weak. Salvador dug down deep inside himself and said, “You’re full of shit! No one told you nothing! You’re just a tricky, Texan coward-bastard like all Texan son-of-a-bitches!”
The big man quit smiling and lunged at Salvador. Instantly, Salvador knew that he’d guessed right; they might kill Domingo, but they’d never break him.
And as the big man hit him, Salvador thought of Lupe and how he’d last seen her under the walnut tree, playing with that beautiful little girl named Isabel, and he forgot about the pain, ignored the beating he was getting, and he disappeared, going far away, beyond all bodily feelings, and it was good. He’d won again, and he was with Lupe, his truelove.
Moonlight was coming in the small, barred windows when they finally threw Salvador into the big tank along with all the other prisoners. Domingo was over to one side. He looked far worse than Salvador. Wesseley hadn’t used the barbed wire on Salvador. Here, in the jail, someone might have seen. Salvador laid down, face-first and went to sleep. The concrete floor was cold and stank of piss and sweat and human shit.
Domingo waited until the guards were gone. Then, glancing around and making sure that none of the other prisoners were awake, he crawled over to his fallen brother.
“Salvador,” he whispered. “It’s me, Domingo.”
But Salvador was too groggy. He could only hear his brother as if far away, in a dream.
“Oh, hermanito,” said Domingo, drawing his younger brother close. “I’m sorry, I really am. It’s all my fault.” He put Salvador’s head on his lap and rocked him back and forth.
Salvador tried to comprehend what Domingo was saying, but he couldn’t. His ears, his whole head, was still ringing from the b
lows that Wesseley had given him. He prayed for the day that he might meet this Wesseley, just the two of them, mano a mano. Oh, he’d kill the son-of-a- bitch just like he’d . . . He stopped the words inside his head. Not even inside his own mind could he ever admit to himself what had happened between him and Duel.
Salvador fell back asleep and Domingo held him close, crying all the while. When Salvador awoke next, sunlight was coming in the small barred windows. The other prisoners were eating breakfast. Salvador found himself lying on his brother’s lap. Domingo was leaning back against the concrete wall with his mouth wide open and his eyes closed as if he were dead.
Suddenly, Salvador remembered everything.
“Domingo!” he said. “Wake up! Wake up!”
Domingo couldn’t even open his eyes, they were so swollen and caked over with dried blood. Salvador got some water and used coffee grounds. The coffee grounds reduced the pain and lessened the swelling. For the next hour, Salvador tried to think and get things straight inside his head as he attended to his brother’s wounds. He could think of absolutely no reason why they should’ve gotten a beating like they had. They weren’t suspected of murder. The worst thing they were suspected of was making whiskey. He couldn’t understand why this man Wesseley, with his heavy Texan drawl, was so insanely hateful of Mexicans. Salvador decided to get ahold of Fred Noon as quickly as he could, and Archie, too. This wasn’t right. No, not at all. He had to get out of here, and quick.
Domingo finally started coming around.
“Did Nellie and Epitacio get away?” whispered Salvador, quietly. For all he knew, the tank could be full of stool pigeons.
“Yes,” said Domingo. “When we saw them coming, I went out the front door like a bull, giving them time to run out the back.”
“How’d it happen?” asked Salvador.
“Oh, little brother,” said Domingo, looking as if he might cry, “we’d been locked up all week. So, Nellie and me went out one day for a few hours while Epitacio attended to things. We met this guy at the pool-hall . . . he and I shot a few games of pool together and he asked me if I knew where he could get a drink. I said sure, and we had a drink together from my pint in the alley.”
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