Several men were brought to trial before a jury with Judge Ygnacio Sepulveda presiding. Some men were convicted—to be freed within six months. In spite of the unimaginable crimes that occurred, little punishment followed. The City of Los Angeles had shown little concern for the Chinese even at the most brutal moments during the massacre. The entire city fell into a state of historical amnesia. Few people talked about the massacre, and it soon became a Chinese legend or myth, a story about the Chinese populace being torn apart and devoured by giant beasts of the night.
Joseph notified the authorities of the discovery.
The reply was a simple “Burn the remains,” a statement made by an unidentified messenger who rode off as suddenly as he had arrived.
There were now five large heaps of bodies in the central pit. A strong stench of death reeked in the air. The workers kept digging and extricating more cadavers. As the mounds grew, so did the flowers that the women were bringing to surround the heaps of bone and leathered flesh. From a distance, sobbing women with playful children gathered to pray the rosary. They mourned for the unknown dead, for the loss that had never been recognized. Joseph and Rosendo watched and periodically expressed disbelief as to what was happening, what they were directing.
Earlier they had discussed the possibility of abandoning the site and beginning another pit on the west side of the yard, but the best clay was located under their feet and Joseph refused to alter the master plan that Rosendo had envisioned and explained. Joseph was prepared to eliminate anything from the past that might halt the successful progress of the plant.
The bodies would be exhumed and cremated. Joseph would follow the orders given to him by the messenger. He ordered Rosendo to bring in straw, logs and fuel. Rosendo organized some of the men to prepare the bodies for the burning. As men placed logs and fuel on the heaps of cadavers, the women brought more flowers and covered the faces of the dead with beautiful, colored embroidered doilies, quilts, mantillas, aprons and tablecloths. When finished, the crematoriums appeared to be multi-chromatic mountains of flowers.
As night enveloped the scene, Joseph asked for volunteers to keep the fires burning throughout the night and if necessary through the next day. The cadavers had to be eradicated, reduced to grey ashes. Rosendo selected ten young men to accompany him during the vigil. Joseph went to his horse and gave orders to torch the bodies. The flames rose rapidly. An explosive hissing sound competed with the chorus of women praying the rosary. Gradually, the stench gave way to the burning smell of wood, bones and leathered flesh. All night and part of the next day, Rosendo put wood on the fire. By the late afternoon Joseph Simons got his wish. The only physical evidence left of the dead were five mounds of ash, blown away that evening by a strong warm wind that came from the east and flew to the sea.
Chapter 2
Joseph held the reins of his horse as he looked down from the highest hill behind his property toward the intersection of Colorado Street and Raymond Avenue where his business had gotten its first big break: a major long-standing contract with the City of Pasadena. As the city grew and prospered, more people moved in, built houses, raised families, and traveled daily in and out of town. Because of the traffic, the streets were worn.
Joseph recalled the day when Rosendo had rushed into the office excited, as if he had received the good news from God, that the bottom had fallen out of Colorado Street at the intersection of Raymond. The rain had weakened the substructure which had buckled under the weight of the pavement. With Rosendo’s urging, Joseph went to the City Council and requested permission to put down a square of brick that would cover the intersection of Colorado and Fair Oaks, the busiest intersection in town, to demonstrate the superiority of the Simons product over any other material being considered by the City Council. The experiment was an overwhelming success; however, before the Council could come to a vote and an agreement, the dry months came on fast. Extraordinarily hot weather flattened and hardened the thoroughfares. Only Joseph knew that the streets would have to be fixed on a more permanent basis.
Time proved him correct; the next winter brought about the collapse of several streets and unbearable mud. By late winter the conditions had grown worse, promoting the City Council to award the Simons Brickyard a long-term open contract to repair the Pasadena streets at the first symptom of deteriorations. Joseph was proud that the City Council had approved a program of preventive maintenance introduced by him and developed by Rosendo.
Joseph remembered that year as he walked along the hilltop. He proudly studied what he had created: a successful brick company in the Los Angeles area. He looked at the dwellings of the new workers who numbered about one hundred, not including their large families. He saw the office that would become Rosendo’s house as soon as the homes that Joseph built were completed. Only the landscape and gardens remained to be done.
In front of the house with three chimneys which Laura Bolin Simons had chosen as her wedding gift from Joseph three years ago, the shrubs were in full broom. In the shrubs newly hatched birds hungrily chirped while their parents scrambled and darted noisily in and out of the nest, bringing food and protecting their charges. The day was hot in the middle of July. A Mexican workman from the brickyard irrigated the trees, shrubs, and flowers in the garden. The workman chuckled and was amazed at the commotion the birds made.
“¿Pues qué alboroto traen?” The workman laughed, whistled and continued watering.
At nine that morning, Joseph’s father had gone to the yard to tell him that Laura had commenced labor and that by late afternoon, according to Dr. McProssler, she would give birth. A quiet excitement prevailed throughout the house. Joseph could hear the voice of his brother Orin Elmer who encouraged everyone not to worry—that Laura was an exceptionally strong woman and that this child would be the first of many. Everyone wished he would be silent but none dared tell him to be quiet and take away his excitement and happiness. Orin Elmer was a sensitive person whom no member of the family wanted to hurt. As the midwife made several trips to the kitchen and the doctor had not come out of the bedroom for an hour or so, Orin Elmer’s talking became more incessant and hurried. The two soon-to-be grandfathers left Orin Elmer in the living room to wait and talk to himself.
On the porch, Joseph raised his sight from the photographs as he waited for news of his wife. He wiped his brow, loosened his tie and again studied the photograph of his parents and brothers which had been taken in 1898 when Theodore Roosevelt marched right up San Juan Hill. Even now, three years after the war, Teddy and the Rough Riders impressed him still.
Of the photographs that had been taken at the wedding, one daguerreotype especially captured Joseph’s mind. The image, composed of his father, mother, two brothers and himself, had been taken at his house in the middle of an argument that was interrupted by the arrival of the photographer. In Joseph’s opinion the discussion was never resolved and had lingered in his mind ever since. Joseph picked up the photograph and carefully peered at the faces.
Joseph’s father and mother were seated next to each other. They were extremely close, with their hands almost touching. Ruben Simons, in a black suit and bow-tie, smiled out at his observing son Joseph who stood at his right, as proud of his achievements and family as he knew his father was of him. An invisible line of power went from mother to father to Joseph, the first son to have survived. Between his parents stood the slim, fragile, delicate Orin Elmer, twenty-eight at the time. Joseph remembered how nervous Orin Elmer became as the photographer prepared to take the shot. Afraid to ruin the photo, he fidgeted with his tie and collar, and buttoned and unbuttoned his suit. When the photographer snapped the shot, Orin Elmer was caught unprepared. His eyes and mouth appeared limp as if at that instant he discovered that he had failed to look strong and intelligent. Orin Elmer drew the energy of love and protection from the center of the family. The photograph had captured Joseph’s mother, in a simple blue dress with white collar, turning slightly toward Orin Elmer as if to calm him at t
he moment of the flash. Positioned behind and to the left of her stood her youngest son Walter Robey, who, with a swaggering independent aura, boldly looked straight into the camera and smiled through the photograph and time. With his fingertips, Joseph caringly went over his brother’s image.
Walter had not yet arrived from the yard. His work and dedication to the business could not be criticized; nonetheless, Joseph found fault with Walter’s arrogant, almost lordly manner of blustering influence on the family and the future of the brick company. Their ways of accomplishing objectives were different; they stood philosophically at opposite poles, as in the photograph. Between them was their family, which was perhaps the only entity that kept them together other than their desire for monetary growth.
Joseph overheard his father talking about building more homes like the ones they lived in today. With that sentence Joseph remembered the unresolved argument at the time the photograph was taken. Walter considered the house which he occupied to be his, but Joseph had built the three homes for his children. Joseph was the legal owner and the homes were destined for his sons and daughters. The understanding with his parents had been that once they were settled, they would build their own homes. Joseph and Laura’s first child was to inherit the house in which Walter lived. Walter rejected the idea. He was convinced that an agreement had been made with the family before he came to California that he would eventually buy the property and house he now lived in—the house he had already spent money on for paint, furniture, and improvements. Granted, the Simons family could and would construct new homes, but this particular house was special to Walter. It was his first home in California and he wanted it for his bride, whenever the time came for him to marry.
The argument was never resolved, Joseph thought, as he gathered the photographs and placed them in individual envelopes in a wooden album inside a lovely lacquered wooden box decorated with painted white roses. Joseph closed the lid. The cry of a newborn infant suddenly filled the silent house, and cries of jubilation followed. Joseph still held on tightly to the box of wedding day memories as his eyes teared and he smiled at the two new grandfathers who congratulated him. Orin Elmer ran in from the living room.
“Did you hear it? Joseph! Did you hear it?” Orin Elmer, drowned in joy, repeated the utterance throughout the house.
Joseph walked into the living room to find his mother holding the newborn. A smile of love and protection for the infant and the father reigned on her face.
“Your son, James,” she said, looking at Joseph. “That’s what Laura called him.”
“Yes, we decided on James a long time ago,” he said. Pride for Laura and his son James overwhelmed him as he touched the child’s forehead.
“He’s a strong boy,” Joseph’s mother whispered. “I must take him to Laura.” She walked away with her eyes consumed in tears.
“Mother!” Joseph raised his voice as she entered Laura’s bedroom. “What’s wrong with Laura?” Joseph yelled as he moved toward the doctor who raised his hands to stop him.
“She is fine,” Dr. McProssler sternly replied. “There was a problem, but Laura is all right!”
Dr. McProssler took Joseph by the arm and guided him outside to the porch. The doctor ordered brandy and was joined by Laura’s mother who called her husband to her side. The four sat at the table where moments ago Joseph had studied the photographs of his wedding which were now stored in the beautiful lacquer box. Joseph stared into the glass of brandy poured for him by his father-in-law, James Bolin. Something had marred the perfect birth of his beautiful son, James. For some reason he was led out of the house and not to Laura’s room. Mother and child were fine. They would both survive, but yet something drastically wrong had occurred. Joseph knew that in a few seconds one of these three people would tell him. Dr. McProssler and the Bolins looked at each other, desperately, silently urging the other to speak up.
“Joseph,” Mrs. Bolin broke the tension. “Laura had difficult labor. She lost a lot of blood. She was never in any real danger.” Mrs. Bolin turned to the doctor.
“Yes, that’s right, never in any danger. But after the birth and the placenta, Joseph, the uterus was contorted. I don’t know why; perhaps the muscles were extremely weak. I can’t explain it.” Dr. McProssler paused, looking into the lingering afternoon.
“Laura will not bear any more children,” he continued. “I’m sorry, Joseph. I must attend to her now. You can go to her in a while. Recovery will be slow, but she will be fine.”
Dr. McProssler had nothing else to say. Mr. Bolin, visibly shocked, followed after him and went to Laura’s room. Joseph contemplated the bush where the birds chirped in their nest.
“I’m sorry, Joseph. I had no idea. She was always a strong child,” Mrs. Bolin said. “If I knew, I would have told you before you were married. Laura feels that you will think that she betrayed you. I’m sure she didn’t know! It’s nature’s way ... God’s will. Don’t hold it against her!”
Tears ran down her face. She, like her daughter, was disappointed, perhaps even more. Mrs. Bolin stood and waited. Joseph said nothing.
Mrs. Bolin left her son-in-law alone, staring at the lacquer box and listening to the chirping birds in the late afternoon. Joseph could hear the life, the world around him. In this time of joy, Joseph was overcome with a feeling of great loss. He had experienced a type of multiple death in his heart, and in his mind an eradication of images that represented his sons and daughters. He and Laura had lost them. There would be only one heir to their properties—their only son, James Bolin Simons. Unpredictable waves of anger and hatred toward those he loved came upon him.
... If James is to be the only child she can give me, he will be the best! Damn you, Laura! ...
From the house came smells of food, a light beaming out to the porch, people laughing, the world returning to normal. Everyone rallied around the newborn child and the mother, but to Joseph the birth marked the death of his family.
“Dinner will be ready soon. Doctor McProssler is still with Laura,” Orin Elmer said.
The door closed and Joseph was alone again. From the west a glimmer of sunlight struggled to be seen. A light shone in the Bolin house down the street.
“Back to normal,” Joseph commented to himself.
The sound of approaching horses and a wagon carried faintly through the darkness.
“Whoa! Here we are. Gracias, Rosendo. See you tomorrow. I hope it’s not as hot,” Walter Robey Simons said as he pushed open the gate.
“Please give my congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Simons,” Rosendo called out as he maneuvered the horses and wagon around and prepared to return to the black Flint Knife Gate of the Simons Brickyard.
Walter, excited to meet the newborn child and congratulate the parents, was about to enter the house when he noticed his brother.
“Congratulations! Boy or girl?” he asked.
“Boy,” Joseph answered softly.
Walter forced Joseph to stand and embrace him. “Well done, brother. God bless you with many more!” he declared. “Let’s go see Laura.”
“No, the doctor is with her,” Joseph said. Both men fell into an uncomfortable silence.
“What’s the boy’s name?”
“James,” Joseph answered.
“James Bolin Simons,” Walter pronounced with pride. “The doctor is still with her? Is Laura all right?”
“She is fine. She will be fine. Don’t worry!” Joseph stated angrily. He revealed his emotions, but before Walter could ask anything else, Dr. McProssler emerged from the house.
“Laura wants to see you.”
For an instant Joseph peered into his younger brother’s eyes. His lips were pursed, his brow crushed down on his eyes. An unidentifiable emotion made Joseph turn violently away and retreat into the house.
Dr. McProssler placed his hand on Walter’s shoulder. Dumbfounded by his brother’s reaction, Walter turned to the doctor.
“What happened?”
“You must not
worry about it,” Joseph was saying to Laura when the midwife brought James and placed him next to his mother’s breast. As the baby’s mouth searched for the nipple, Laura reached for Joseph’s hand.
“Please forgive me,” she said as if hoping tears would not come, but they did and she sobbed as her son nursed.
“Don’t cry, Laura. The important thing is that you and the baby are well,” Joseph said, trying to reassure her.
“But I can’t have any more children, any more beautiful babies like this one! Don’t you see, I have failed you!”
“Laura, please don’t say that. Look to me who loves you dearly and look to your child!”
“What child? This child marks my disappointment. I feel no joy feeding it. I don’t feel anything for this child. It is a stranger to me!” Laura declared in a stern tone. “I will nurse him like a beast and watch him devour me.”
“Laura, calm yourself!”
“This child represents the end of my motherliness!” Laura said bitterly.
“Laura, I love you. You’re going to be fine. Don’t fret anymore. You need time to recover.”
Joseph watched Laura nurse their baby. In a few minutes both mother and child slept soundly. He went for the midwife, who took James and placed him in the crib. Joseph watched over the woman and infant he loved, while the midwife busied herself folding diapers, sheets and nightgowns.
“You missed dinner, Mr. Simons?” she asked.
“Laura’s taking it hard,” Joseph said.
“It will take her a while to return to normal, physically and mentally as well. It’s quite a shock, sir.” The midwife carried a stack of diapers and placed them in the closet. “Why don’t you go out and get some food? I’ll be here with them. Come along now, sir.”
The Brick People Page 3
