Rain of Gold

by Victor Villaseñor

  Salvador stared at his brother. “And then he became your friend, right? Telling you anything you wanted to hear . . . agreeing with you on everything, until you finally invited him to the house.”

  “Well, yes,” said Domingo. “But don’t look at me like that. I tell you, you would’ve done the same thing. He looked macho, a lot like our own father!”

  Salvador didn’t even bother to say anything more. Hell, this was the oldest trick in the world and his older, stronger brother had fallen for it like a stupid little baby. What did he think? That the cops would send in a man who looked like a nervous, little stool pigeon?

  “All right, so I did stupid!” yelled Domingo, “but what was I to do? We were locked up like in a prison.”

  Salvador blew out, shaking his head, and sat back against the concrete wall. Well now, at least he knew why his brother had been acting so big and brave with the cops. He felt guilty. He felt like a little piece of dog shit . . . so he’d tried to make up for it by showing how tough he could be now that he’d fucked everything up.

  “You know,” said Salvador calmly, softly, “I never realized until just now how much you and our father’s big muscles were nothing but a joke all of our lives.”

  “Hey, you can’t talk to me like that and expect to live!” said Domingo, sitting up.

  “Why not?” said Salvador, getting to his knees, “I’m not afraid of dead men. And you’re DEAD!”

  “Dead, your ass!” shouted Domingo, kneeling, too.

  And there they knelt, face to face, bloody and broken, pulsating with vengeance.

  The tender, good feelings of the night before were gone, and now they were ready to kill each other as surely as Cain and Abel.

  But then Salvador didn’t hit his brother; no, he turned and got to his feet, grabbing the bars of the tank, screaming, shaking them, ripping the clothes from his body, wanting to kill not only his brother, but his father, too. All this blood inside him that drove him insane!

  The guards came down the line between the tanks and they beat Salvador’s fist so he’d let go of the bars. Domingo now leaped to his feet in Salvador’s defense, willing to die for his brother, whom he’d been willing to kill only a moment before. The guards only laughed and beat his hands off the bars, too.

  Later that day, Salvador paid twenty dollars to one of the same guards who’d beaten them to call Fred Noon for him. Mexicans weren’t allowed to make phone calls. The guard finally traced down Fred Noon in Del Mar, just north of San Diego, where important men kept a little beach house for their mistresses.

  Fred Noon was at the jail by noon the next day. He had Salvador out on bail by four o’clock.

  “Those bigoted bastards!” said Fred, once they were outside in the parking lot. “They had their feet up on their desks, drinking your whiskey in the backroom, laughing about how they’d worked over a couple of chili-bellies!

  “Sure, I’ll take your case. And don’t worry about money right now. Just reimburse me the fifty I put up for your bail and you can pay me for my services when you can.”

  “But, Fred,” said Salvador, “I might not have any money for a long time. Maybe never.”

  “So what? You just get yourself to a hospital, Sal,” said Fred, “and don’t worry about this matter anymore. I’m going to make these racist bastards pay with their jobs!”

  Fred Noon and Salvador shook hands, then Noon took off in his big Buick. Salvador got into his truck. He was going to drive back to their rented house in Watts before going home.

  The sun was going down when Salvador got there. They’d truly worked him over good. He was having a hard time walking and he was pissing blood.

  When Salvador opened the front door, a huge black cat came screeching out. Salvador leaped back, almost shitting in his pants. He had to grip the side of the door to catch his breath. All those terrible fears of evil spirits from his childhood came up inside him.

  As he walked down the hallway, he could smell an awful odor. In the big backroom he saw that they’d dumped his drums of mash and destroyed his stove and kettle. Rats were all over the place. He hurried to the basement around back and he saw that they’d also taken all his whiskey. His knees went weak. He was broke. He had nothing, absolutely nothing, and next week he and Lupe had a date to order her wedding gown and the dresses for the bridesmaids.

  He began to tremble so uncontrollably that he had to grab hold of the building. He pissed and it was all red. He stood there, shaking like a sick old man. Oh, how he wanted to kill his brother. It was all his fault! Buttoning his pants back up, Salvador turned and there was the big black cat, looking at him. And in that hundredth of a second before he passed out, Salvador knew that this cat was, indeed, the devil and he had to stop thinking about killing his own brother or he was going to lose his immortal soul as well.

  That night, Epitacio and José found Salvador behind the rented house. They took him home. For three days and nights, Doña Margarita sat by her son’s side with a rosary in her hand, asking God to please spare his young life. Salvador tossed and turned and pissed blood by the bucket. Luisa hand-fed him liquids and put cold herbal compacts to his wounds.

  Salvador screamed in delirium. He could never see Lupe again, looking like this. It brought tears to Doña Margarita’s eyes. She sent Luisa and Epitacio down to the jail to find out about Domingo, but the authorities only arrested Epitacio and gave him a beating, too.

  Luisa returned home and told her mother what the police had done. They immediately went to get the priest. The priest and Rodolfo spoke English, so they went to the jail, and they were able to get in and see Domingo without getting arrested. But they never told Doña Margarita how badly her son looked. His face would never be handsome again. The Texan had disfigured him, branding him for life.

  For two more days, Salvador lay in bed, half-conscious. On the sixth day, he began to come around. He ate menudo and was gaining strength. He began to realize that not only was he physically broken inside, but he was broke financially as well. Oh, he needed money quickly if he was to get back on his feet. He’d been a fool to give his brother a second chance. But what could he do? It was done, and now he had to concentrate, not on killing his brother, but on how to get some money.

  He thought of Lupe and how she’d looked when her mother had said, “Come, it is time.” Oh, those words were magic to his ears, especially when he pictured in his mind’s eye how Lupe had looked, coming from the walnut tree with Isabel at one side and Victoriano at the other. She’d looked like the sun itself, giving light to a whole world. Thinking of his truelove, Salvador began to mend quickly. After all, his mother always said that good thoughts were the seed of all healing.

  One afternoon, Pedro and his gang of pee wees were playing cops and robbers outside of Salvador’s window. They’d made up a ballad of Salvador’s encounter with the gringo rangers. And when the boys saw that Salvador was moving about in bed, they wanted Pedro to ask his uncle what had happened.

  “Uncle,” said Pedro to Salvador through the open window, “tell us what happened.” He and his friends were all looking with admiration at Salvador’s cuts and bruises. “You and Domingo, los chingaron, huh?”

  “We what?” said Salvador, groaning with pain.

  “You got ’em good, eh?” said the boy. “You fucked them over, like Pancho Villa!”

  “Fucked them?” said Salvador not being able to figure out what the hell the boy was talking about.

  “That’s enough,” said Epitacio, coming in behind the boys. “Don’t you see they almost killed him?”

  Epitacio grabbed Pedro by the ear and ran all the other boys off. But once Pedro was out on the street with his friends again, he wasn’t about to have his story ruined, so he made up another ballad about his uncle’s latest adventures.

  It was two more days before Salvador was out of bed. His first day walking around the barrio, he saw the men lined up by the dozens waiting to be picked up by the local ranchers to work. He thought of the rock
quarry and how a lot of good men had gotten killed just trying to keep their low-paying jobs.

  Late that afternoon, he was sitting in the back resting, when he saw Pedro and his bunch of friends shooting each other with sticks. He heard their screams of joy as they killed the gringo rangers. He remembered the days when he’d been a boy and they’d gotten word of José the Great’s death. He breathed deeply and watched them carefully. He thought of all the death that he’d seen during the Revolution. He remembered when Luisa’s husband, who’d treated him so well, had come into the room spouting blood across the entire dinner table as he fell dead. He watched Pedro and his friends come running toward him with their eyes full of admiration, asking him if he was going to kill some more rangers.

  “Kill more rangers? Why, you stupid kids! You think killing is fun?”

  But when he lunged at Pedro, trying to grab him, he only fell. Pedro stopped in fear. Neither he nor his friends could believe it. Their hero was so weak that he couldn’t even move.

  For days on end, Lupe had a terrible feeling that Salvador was dying. She’d be bent over, working in the fields alongside her brother and sisters, and she would get this eerie feeling that Salvador was dying and her heart would race in fear. But she’d tell no one about it. She knew that to put thoughts into words was asking them to become reality.

  The days passed and Lupe’s fear grew. One evening when they got in from work, Lupe found that Doña Manza and her family had come in from the Imperial Valley. That evening, Lupe poured out her feelings to her friend Manuelita and showed her the ring that Salvador had given her.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful!” said Manuelita. “I’m so happy for you. But I’m sure he’s fine. It’s just that you’re so nervous.”

  Lupe hugged her childhood friend close and they gossiped long into the night. Manuelita explained to Lupe how she and her fiancé were going to start a little business as soon as they were married.

  “He has a car and he’s building a trailer for it so we can carry clothes with us and sell them in the evenings as we follow the crops. You see,” she said, eyes dancing with excitement, “in five years, we’ll be able to get out of the fields.”

  “In five years? But how?”

  “With our plan of selling clothes and saving our money, we’ll eventually open a little store.”

  “Really, you’ll have your own store?”

  “Yes, but I’ll tell you, at first Vicente just didn’t believe that it was possible,” said Manuelita, talking about her future husband, “until I put it all down in black and white on paper. Then, boom, he saw it, and started talking like it had been his idea! Oh, men! They’re so childish!”

  Lupe laughed, loving it, and her mind went reeling, exploding; she’d never heard of such a thing. To put the dreams of your life on paper, in black and white, and actually have the state of mind to formulate a plan for your future. Why, it almost sounded sinful, it was so foreign to everything that Lupe had ever been taught. Especially, about God and destiny and having to accept whatever came to you.

  Oh, she could hardly wait to see Salvador so she could tell him about this incredible revelation. A plan, an organized, itemized schedule, of how to handle your income and get ahead.

  But then she wondered if Salvador would accept her coming up with such a plan. After all, Manuelita had just said that she’d had trouble with Vicente until he’d thought that it was his own idea.

  Lupe and Manuelita stayed up and visited long into the night every day that week and Manuelita explained to Lupe how to speak to Salvador so he’d think it was his own idea, too. Oh, it was so much fun, talking of the future just as they’d done back in La Lluvia de Oro. And sometimes Lupe found her friend Manuelita to be downright awful, she was so wonderfully ambitious.

  Feeling stronger, Salvador started thinking, planning, trying to figure out what he was going to do to get some money fast. He couldn’t just go out and rob a bank. Don Victor could let his bootlegging go unseen, but he couldn’t very well overlook a bank robbery. Besides, he didn’t want to be running from the law again. He’d had enough of that.

  He began to wish that he hadn’t bought Lupe such an expensive diamond ring and that he still had some of that cash so he could buy a new stove and kettle and set up a new distillery. But what could he do now? He couldn’t ask Lupe for her ring back.

  He continued thinking, figuring, trying to come up with a plan. Finally, he decided to sell his Moon automobile. But then he remembered how he’d promised himself that he and Lupe would go off on their honeymoon in his wonderful ivory car.

  He decided to keep his Moon and see about borrowing some money from some of the people who owed him favors. After all, he’d helped a lot of people in their hour of need.

  The next day, Salvador drove over to Riverside and approached a man who’d been selling whiskey for him for a couple of years in that area. His name was Febronio and he was a big, six-foot-six Mexican from Zacatecas who did cement work and had nine sons who all worked for him.

  “What the hell happened to you?” asked Febronio, seeing Salvador’s face, which still looked like it had gone through a windshield.

  “Nothing,” said Salvador. “I just had a little car accident.”

  “With the cops, eh?”

  Salvador nodded. “Yeah, but nothing to worry about. Look, Febronio,” he continued, feeling his heart pounding, he just wasn’t used to asking anyone for anything, “I need your help.”

  “Sure, you just call it,” said the dark, virile-looking man, smiling good-naturedly.

  “They destroyed my distillery,” said Salvador, “and took all my whiskey. I’m going to need a few hundred dollars to get started again.”

  “Oh, money,” said the big man, putting his huge hand to his chin, rolling his lower lip about. “I’d like to help you, but I’m broke. I got a big family and we just added a new section to the house. But, well, if there’s any other way I can help you, you just call it.”

  Salvador stared at him. The man was lying. He had more money stashed away than any other Mexican in all of Riverside.

  “Febronio,” said Salvador carefully, evenly, “I’m getting married. I need to get back in business quick. And remember, I’ve helped you many times in the past with credit.”

  The tall, well-muscled man stepped back, not liking it. “Well, what can I say? I don’t got no money right now, Salvador. But if I had any money, you’d be the first one I’d loan it to.”

  “If you had any money?” yelled Salvador. “You lying son-of-a-bitch, you got money! But you’re just scared of the rumors about the cops being after me!”

  “Hey, watch it, amigo, you can’t talk to me like this in front of my own home.”

  “¡Chíngate!” said Salvador and he turned, daring the chicken-shit bastard to come after him. He got in his truck and drove off.

  And it was the same thing with every Mexican that Salvador went to asking for money. They had always been his best amigos, taking his liquor on credit when they didn’t have enough cash, but now that he was broke, they couldn’t help him. And some of the bastards were even nervous to have him near them, they were so afraid of the law.

  Salvador decided to go and see Archie. He was Salvador’s last chance. No one else that he knew had any money. Only the men and women who sold liquor for him and the lawmen who were on the take had money.

  It was noon the next day when Salvador got to Archie’s house. He found Archie playing poker with four men at a big table under a pepper tree in his backyard. They were all wearing ties and had their shirt sleeves rolled up.

  Seeing Salvador, Archie immediately excused himself and came forward. He was wearing his shoulder holster and badge.

  “Man, let me look at you,” he said. “I heard they really worked you guys over, but I hadn’t expected this.”

  “Yeah, and it was your friend Wesseley . . . who worked that deal out with you for me.”

  “Hey, hold on, I told you to stay in Escondido. What the hell di
d you go up to Watts for?”

  Salvador breathed deeply. “My brother, he ruined Escondido for us.”

  Archie laughed. “Damned relatives! I swear, I’ve gotten in more trouble all my life because of my friends and relatives than from any of my enemies! But I warned you: stay local. Those Feds, they ain’t human, like Big John and me. They go by the letter of the law, not giving a shit who they fuck up.” He turned Salvador’s face this way and that way in his huge hands, looking at him carefully.

  “Archie,” said Salvador, coming right to the point, “I’m broke and I need some money.”

  “How much?”

  “Three, four hundred, so I can get started again,” said Salvador, loving it how Archie had simply said, “how much?”

  “Well, that’s a little steep for me,” said Archie, “but I’ll tell you what, I can give you fifty.”

  “No, I need at least three hundred,” said Salvador, fully realizing that Archie and Big John had made a lot of money off him the last couple of years.

  “Look,” said Archie, “I’d really like to help you, Sal, but I’ve lost too many good friends by loaning them money and then, well, them hating me when they can’t pay me back. So I’ll tell you what,” he added, pulling out his roll of money, “I’ll just give you fifty for old times’ sake.”

  Bringing himself up erect, Salvador screamed out in a bellowing roar, “Archie, you son-of-a-bitch! I didn’t come here for charity! I came here to you, man-to-man, like a macho! Take your fifty and shove it up your ass!”

  “Well, okay,” said Archie, putting his money away, “but no need to get angry, Sal.”

  “No need? Why, you two-bit chicken-shit excuse for a real man; I have honor! I would have dragged my balls across the ends of the earth to pay you back!”

  And in that instant, Salvador realized that he was Domingo’s brother, after all. For he was now so raging angry inside that he could yank Archie off the ground with one hand and beat him to death without even working up a sweat.