One day Octavio returned home at seven in the morning. He drank a glass of warm milk, ate a slice of Mexican sweet bread and lay down to sleep. Nana lay next to her husband to embrace his slimming body. She encouraged him, but there was no response. Octavio, with eyes opened wide, stared up at the ceiling, resting, waiting for the moment to start the search again. Nana cried in silence and held his head on her bosom. Octavio was like a worried, obsessed and terrified child.
“Octavio, leave this. Don’t worry anymore. We will find a place. You’ll see, we’ll find one,” she said, trying to comfort him.
Octavio was gone and she was alone with the children who would be hungry soon. Micaela and Arturo arrived from work at four; Javier and Flor got home about three. In the kitchen Gregorio cried in a large toilet tissue box that Javier had brought home from work.
“Let’s go to the living room,” Nana said, picking the child up. She kissed him and placed him on a blanket in the center. In those moments she forgot everything and life seemed almost normal. She listened to the voices that filled the house, voices that in their particular way demanded of her to be an all-working, knowing, understanding, loving mother. Nana did not move. Lost in her thoughts and dreams of a normal life, she was interrupted by a feminine figure at the front door. Gregorio was at her feet. Nana looked caringly at her son and moved to the door where a woman leaned forward and peered through the screen.
“Nana, it’s Mrs. Cushner,” the figure said, almost whispering.
Nana recognized the face which spoke through the grey woven wired veil. One by one, as they heard the voice, the children entered the living room. Flor went to the baby and held him. Six inquisitive and annoyed faces made contact with the woman. An awkward tension held all seven together as Nana invited Mrs. Cushner in without saying a word. Both women moved to the kitchen and sat on two of the four chairs that were around the only table in the house. Mrs. Cushner ignored the young eyes that rested upon her. Urgently, nervously, she spoke to Nana who felt surprised and ashamed. Under these conditions, Nana did not want to receive a friend. Nonetheless, she did, for Mrs. Cushner, who recognized Nana as a dignified woman, sat at her table. They had known each other since Nana’s first child. Dr. Harold Cushner had delivered her second baby at home. Gregorio was the only child who was born in the antiseptic delivery room of Montebello’s Beverly Hospital. The two women had socialized only during the visits to the doctor’s office and at times when they ran into one another at the market. Still, they felt an unexplainable bond which made them feel like sisters.
“Some coffee, tea?” Nana asked.
“Tea, thank you.”
Mrs. Cushner took a deep breath. The tension had subsided. She smiled at the children waiting in the living room. Each one had a particular analysis of the situation, an answer for her visit. Both women peered down into their empty cups and watched the circular motion of the spoon as Nana prepared the tea.
“I read about it. I told Dr. Cushner it might be your house. I’m sorry, Nana.” Mrs. Cushner’s voice communicated a genuine concern.
“Thank you,” Nana said, lowering the cup onto the table.
“Well,” Mrs. Cushner began with a little excitement in her voice, as if what she was about to say was an excellent thought, an idea that she had conceived that would make her listener happy. “I said to Dr. Cushner that we should help Nana and her family. And so I went out and I found a house for you. It’s very clean and nice, perfect for you. The schools are close by. It’s two blocks from where we live. And it’s furnished, every room.”
Nana’s lips shaped a smile which she held while images of the perfect house, the dream come true, the object of Octavio’s search projected onto her mind. She wanted that house.
“Nana, I’ve told you many times that I don’t think you should live like this. You just don’t belong here. And your children don’t belong here.” Mrs. Cushner’s words cut deeply into Nana’s heart. Nana wanted to believe them.
“You can move in tonight. I’ll send for you and the children and the few things you might want to take. Or if you like, tomorrow morning.” Mrs. Cushner waited. “What do you say? I’ve reserved the house for a week. It’s there waiting for you. Nana, please tell me you’ll take it.”
Micaela, Javier and Flor heard the offer. They knew what Nana’s response would be, word for word, in Spanish or English, and in their hearts they silently repeated it.
“I have to tell Octavio,” Nana said.
In the children pessimism prevailed and shattered the outside chance, the hope of hearing something new, at least different. For it was always the same words, the punitive verb “tell,” not “consider,” “talk,” or “discuss.” The children immediately forgot Mrs. Cushner’s news. It was something that had been said willy-nilly and could not be taken seriously because it was not of the real world.
“Talk to him. You have a week to decide.” Mrs. Cushner attempted to hide her disappointment. She finished her tea and looked around once more. “You just shouldn’t be here, Nana.”
Nana offered her more tea and then filled her own cup. She stared into the boiling water. The steam caressed and followed the contours of her mestizo face. A soft tranquil shine made up her cheeks and nose. Her brow wrinkled a little when she looked up.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cushner. I’ll tell Octavio when he gets home.”
That evening Octavio arrived tired and irritable. It had been days since he had gotten any proper sleep. Although Nana did not want to tell him about Mrs. Cushner’s surprise visit and offer, she felt compelled to do so. Her description of the house and conditions for renting it lasted just about the time it took Octavio to eat one pan dulce and drink one cup of hot chocolate. He listened carefully to what his wife had said. An offer had been made and he would respond, but not tonight.
“We’ll see tomorrow,” Octavio said and went to bed and slept.
Nana cleared the table and put the milk in the ice chest. If he loses more weight he must go to a doctor, she thought. She recalled Maximiliano. How quickly he withered away to death. She would not allow that to happen to Octavio.
The sun shone in the cool morning the day after Mrs. Cushner’s visit. The briskness woke the family and made everyone arise from bed earlier. Arturo and Micaela went off to work. Javier and Flor had just finished breakfast and were preparing to leave for school when a voice outside called their father’s name. Nana walked to the door and saw that it was El Placatelas, a new assistant to William Melone. He stood exactly in the place where Mrs. Cushner had been.
“Buenos días. I want to speak with Octavio,” El Placatelas said.
“He’s sleeping... ”
“It’s urgent that I speak with him. Please tell him that I am here.” El Placatelas stepped forward against the screen door. His physical posture indicated that he would not leave. His tone of voice revealed anger and that he would not deal with a woman.
“Here I am, Placatelas. What do you want?” Octavio responded as he tucked in his shirt.
El Placatelas did not waste any time. “Mr. Melone sent me to tell you that this house will be taken by a new worker. Mr. Melone wants it empty by early tomorrow morning.”
Octavio had expected this news but not this soon. He was not ready. “Hey, please tell Mr. Melone that I need a week to find a house for the family.”
“Mr. Melone anticipated that. He said that you cannot stay one day more after today. He wants it empty by early tomorrow. If you want to complain, go over there with them. That’s all.” El Placatelas finished his job. He walked away silently, stopped, leaned forward and to the side and cleared his nose. He wiped his fingers on his pants as he moved on.
Nana moved to a chair and collapsed her tired body.
“Why can’t we move to Mrs. Cushner’s house?” Nana queried.
“We can’t take Mrs. Cushner’s house,” Octavio said. “We don’t want to go where the gringos don’t want us. Don’t worry. Get the kids off to school. I’ll be right back.”
She hurried Javier and Flor out the door. Nana did not want them to be late for school. She moved around the kitchen automatically, preparing food for Gregorio whom she heard stirring in the bedroom. The fruit and cereal were ready, the milk warmed and poured into a plastic-covered cup. Gregorio was the only one of her children who had begun to drink from a cup so early. She sat with her son, helped him eat and imagined about the faraway places she heard described on the radio. Nana went to the door and searched the street for Octavio. The baby played at the table while she folded clean clothes. When Octavio returned, he sat next to Gregorio. She turned towards him with a blank expression. In seconds Octavio knew he would feel worse, for what he had to tell her would not change their housing situation.
“I want you to start taking our belongings to Uncle Elias’ house. He doesn’t have room in the house, but he lent us his garage. When the boys return they will carry over what is left,” Octavio said, hoping for a sign on Nana’s face, but no expression of emotion registered. “Tonight I’m working two shifts, until eight. That way I will have Saturday and Sunday off. This weekend we will find a house,” he promised.
Octavio sat at the table and played with Gregorio’s hands while Nana placed his lunch in a brown paper bag. Still there were no emotional clues on her face. Octavio, embraced and kissed her.
Nana nodded and meant to say, “Go on now. That’s fine.” But instead of her wonderful voice, cold silence filled the kitchen. As soon as Octavio was out of sight, Nana sat in front of Gregorio and cried. With clenched fists she sobbed and at that moment she hated El Placatelas, Mr. Melone and Mr. Simons and understood that now more than ever Octavio would not capitulate to the enemy.
“After almost twenty-five years, Gregorio, what we have is a loaned dirty garage. I know they could have let us have this house for a couple more weeks. But they didn’t. They want to punish your father because he was a member of the labor union. That’s why they don’t want to help us. Oh, son, you can’t imagine how much I hate Mr. Melone and Mr. Simons. They forgave and did not harass other workers who were involved with the union, but not your father. They made him a target, an example.” She ran her tongue over her lips to catch the tears. She picked up Gregorio and hoped that somehow he would remember her anger.
After Nana changed Gregorio and placed him in the living room to play, she began to gather clothes and kitchen utensils. She wanted everything prepared so that when the children returned they could move the household to Uncle Elias’ garage. Flor arrived and immediately took bags to the garage. When Micaela walked into the kitchen she thought for an instant that her father had found a house, but one look at her mother told her the move was temporary again.
“Where are we going now, Mama?” Micaela asked angrily.
“Don’t ask. Help your sister and you’ll soon see,” Nana said as she continued preparing the evening meal.
Arturo walked in about five, understood what was happening and did not say a word. He ate quietly and when finished went outside and took the spare tire out of the car trunk.
“Boxes here, clothes there,” Arturo showed his two sisters. He wanted boxes in the trunk and the clothes in the back seat. He was afraid the boxes might scratch or rip the upholstery.
With Arturo’s help, by six the Revueltas household had moved from a Simons temporary house to a Simons dilapidated garage. After the family was installed, Arturo went for Javier who worked at the market until seven in the evening. Uncle Elias brought extra blankets and two lanterns and explained to Nana that the family could use the outhouse. He demonstrated the water pump and told Micaela and Flor to collect bricks to build a small comal for cooking. About the time Uncle Elias finished with the pit, Arturo and Javier arrived. Javier went to his mother and put his arm on her shoulders and listened to Uncle Elias.
“You can use as much wood as you need. Good night,” he said.
“Gracias, Don Elias,” Nana replied.
By eight the family was settled in the garage. Wrapped in blankets they lay or sat in a circle around a lamp hanging from a beam. Micaela and Flor talked softly, Javier did homework and Arturo sat cross-legged with Gregorio on his lap. He gazed out into the night in wonder of the mighty stars. Gregorio observed his brothers and sisters and his mother sitting in a chair above them dressed in a plain blue dress. Her hair was down, not in the usual molote but straight and with a touch of silver. Her eyes were blurred and her cheeks shone with silent tears. Gregorio followed one drop to the dirt floor on which the other children waited.
To Nana, sleep came periodically throughout the night. In the early morning she crawled in next to Flor and slept for two hours until five-thirty when her eyes opened automatically. She went outside to the comal and started a fire. At nine, Octavio would be back hungry. She checked to see what food there was in the makeshift icebox. Plenty for breakfast, but she would have to shop that day. While she prepared a cup of coffee, a familiar voice called her name. Nana turned to find Milagros standing before her in black against the greyness of the morning sky. Nana sobbed.
“Get your kids up and come with me. I don’t want to see you living here,” Milagros said, taking her daughter-in-law by the arm and walking her toward the garage. “Don’t cry anymore. Don’t let them see you this way.”
They both entered and hurried the boys up. Milagros got the girls to dress Gregorio. In less than half an hour the family left. As Arturo put the last of the boxes in the trunk of the car and tied down the open trunk door, Uncle Elias appeared.
“You’re going, Arturito?” he asked.
“Mama Milagros,” Arturo answered, proud and happy to tell him who had come for them.
“Milagros,” Uncle Elias repeated. He walked slowly, placing his large body in front of the garage. Milagros came out with Gregorio in her arms.
“Buenos días, Elias,” Milagros greeted him and turned toward the children. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go now.” She led and they followed.
“Wait a minute. That bicycle and refrigerator stay here. For the use of the garage, well, for the night,” Elias called out as Nana passed him.
“Of course, Don Elias, you’re absolutely correct, for the use of the garage. They’ll stay with you. What do we need them for?” Nana bit her lip. “Thank you for everything, Don Elias,” she called out, not turning to look back.
That morning the Octavio Revueltas family went to live once again with Milagros and Damian. Milagros had declared her wishes in such a tone that Nana could not have argued with her. Nana accepted with the condition that she would cook, help with the chores and supply the food for the household. She would have preferred a different arrangement, but under the circumstances, no other choice was available in Simons.
In the backyard of Damian and Milagros’ house on Iowa Street, a huge apricot tree shaded four benches around its trunk. Often, Milagros sat underneath the tree and thought about her life and her son Maximiliano. After his death her health declined. She grew heavier and walking became difficult. As a result of Nana’s presence, Milagros was able to make time for quiet moments of rest. Her daughter-in-law assumed the daily tasks of the woman of the house. She cooked, cleaned house and washed clothes. She cared for her children, her husband and made sure that her father-in-law had what he needed, for it became clear that Milagros could no longer do the housework.
One week after Octavio’s family had moved in with his parents, the Simons Brickyard situation had changed radically and its future was in question. Octavio asked Nana to sit with him outside under the apricot tree. They sat on the bench and for a time listened to the sounds of the birds, the children playing in the street, a young neighbor couple conversing about their child, people hammering on a fence, a roof, a piece of furniture, the great machines of the brickyard and the trucks transporting brick. Octavio and Nana listened to Simons, a place teeming with builders’ activity and with life. At that instant a brown insect scurried past them.
“Oh, how ugly! Squash it, Octavio,�
� Nana pleaded.
“No, that one’s going to visit. Let it get to where it’s going,” Octavio smiled.
“I can’t stand you, Octavio,” Nana said, her upset face on the verge of laughter.
Octavio smiled and picked up a long stick and began to trace a house on the ground. “Nana, we have three thousand dollars saved. With that we can buy a lot and build our own house.”
“Octavio, your mother has been wonderful to us, but we are not comfortable living here. When will you buy the lot?”
“Don Sebastian has two lots on Español Street for sale. I have told him I want one. I’ll speak with him this afternoon,” he answered.
“I like the idea, Octavio.” Nana allowed her voice to trail off into silence.
“Don’t you want to see them?” Octavio enthusiastically suggested, hoping to excite her about selecting the lot.
As they sat under the apricot tree listening to the living music of Simons, he considered the amount of money needed to purchase the lot and the material and labor to construct the house. He was prepared to work as much as he could, but he could not take time off from Phelps Dodge. He had planned for Arturo and Javier to work on the house along with the men he would hire to help in the main construction. The money worried Octavio. He did not want to spend the family’s entire savings. He had considered getting another job, but that demanded too much of his free time. At that moment, sitting with his wife under his mother’s apricot tree, Octavio decided that he would return to gambling after his regular work hours in order to build a house for his family.
The Brick People Page 36
