No Fear

by Anne Schraff

  “I wonder if they’re here yet,” Mrs. Martinez said. “Maybe they changed their minds about coming.”

  “No,” Ernesto protested, “they’ll be here.”

  When they entered Los Osos, a girl in a flowing red skirt and embroidered white blouse welcomed them. A cheerful fire glowed over in the corner, and the walls were decorated with murals of Mexican subjects.

  “We’re joining two people who may be here already,” Ernesto told the young woman. He glanced around and quickly spotted Orlando and Manny. Manny looked a lot better than when Ernesto had seen him on the street. He was clean and nicely dressed.

  Naomi saw her brothers, and she put her arm protectively around her mother. “Mama, they’re smiling. Over there!” she pointed. “Orlando and Manny are smiling.”

  Orlando and his brother jumped up and came toward their mother. “Mama! Mama!” Orlando cried, his voice thick with emotion. He was a big, strong young man, but now tears filled his dark eyes. He took his mother in his arms and hugged her for what seemed a long time. Then Manny did the same. Both boys towered over their mother’s small figure. She had seemed lost in their arms.

  “Oh Manny,” Linda Martinez moaned, “you look so thin.”

  “He’s gonna do better now, Mama,” Orlando promised. “Tonight I’m taking him with me to LA. We’re getting him a job working on the equipment with the band. Manny was always good at the sound system when he had that little garage band. Come on, sit down, sit down.”

  Naomi was standing nearby, her eyes bright with tears. She was overjoyed at how her brothers were welcoming their mother. Ernesto reached out and placed his arm around Naomi.

  When everybody sat down, they ordered chicken enchiladas and quesadillas. Heaping dishes arrived, served family style, accompanied by rice and beans, corn chips, and salsa. Manny ate ravenously, making Orlando laugh. “He hasn’t eaten in a year!” he chuckled. “Pretty soon he’ll get big like me, eh?”

  “Orlando,” Mrs. Martinez said, “Naomi said you are a singer in a band. That was your dream when you were small. You’d watch the band from Veracruz. You even learned to play the jarana. Do you remember?”

  “Yeah Mama,” Orlando answered. “I sing with Oscar Perez. We do everything from traditional Mexican music to rock and roll. We want to be like Los Lobos. Oscar is getting some good gigs, and they’re downloading our music on iTunes. Maybe we’ll be in the big money, Mama,. Then I’ll buy you a nice house in LA for you and Naomi and Zack.” His eyes danced with excitement. “No more bowing and scrapin’ to nobody, Mama.”

  Mrs. Martinez looked stricken. “Are you saying leave your father?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Orlando responded. “You once needed him to support you, but if I made a lot of money . . .”

  “Orlando,” the woman chided, “he is mi esposo! For years he has taken care of me, of us. I could never leave him.”

  “Okay,” Orlando suggested goodnaturedly. “We won’t talk about that now. Let’s just enjoy the dinner and each other, eh? This is a big occasion, Mama. After all the rice and beans and chicken, we’ll eat the heavenly flan they serve here.”

  Ernesto stayed out of the conversation for the most part. He loved Mexican food anyway. He just enjoyed that and the bubbling warmth among the family members. To him, it was beautiful that, after all the years of bitterness, the natural love among them would spring to life so easily. It was almost as if none of the bad stuff had ever happened. Ernesto wondered whether a time would ever come when such a dinner would include Felix Martinez as well. Was it possible he would be laughing and talking to his sons again? It seemed farfetched, but perhaps not.

  At the end of the meal, the family hugged and kissed. And the boys promised their mother they would keep in touch. Eventually, Ernesto, Mrs. Martinez, and Naomi had to go to the Volvo for the ride home.

  “I am filled with so many feelings,” Linda Martinez mused. “I am so joyful and yet sad. I’m confused. These past years have been so hard. I am so thankful I have my boys again, but they don’t understand my heart. I cannot turn against their father. Never. I know he has hurt me. He has hurt me many times inside, but he loves me and I love him. I cannot be without him. I don’t know any other way to be.”

  Ernesto dropped off Mrs. Martinez and Naomi at their house and then headed home. He felt happy about the day. He was so glad he could do this favor for Naomi and her mother.

  When Ernesto got home, his mother was looking at photos of the illustrations for her book. The artist had sent electronic copies of them so that Maria could review them on her computer. “Look, Ernie, isn’t Thunder cute?” she asked. “He’s the dog in the story. Look at those eyes. Didn’t Marc do a fabulous job? Marc’s the illustrator. He’s only in his twenties. He made our hero actually look lovable. And the cat—isn’t that a cute face? She looks very wise too.”

  “Yeah, I like the pictures, Mom,” Ernesto replied.

  “Speaking of dogs, how is Brutus doing these days?” Mom inquired.

  “Good, Mom,” Ernesto answered. “I almost like the big guy. When he sees me coming, he’s wagging his tail, all excited.”

  “They’ve had him neutered, right?” Mom asked.

  “Oh yeah, absolutely,” Ernesto affirmed. “That makes a big difference, Mom. The vet told Naomi and her folks something very interesting. Pit bulls, and even other aggressive big dogs, are three times more likely to bite people or other animals if they haven’t been spayed or neutered. That’s a big thing, you know. It’s not just pit bulls that can be dangerous. Alot of big dogs are. Even German Shepherds and Huskies.”

  “It’s so sad that a lot of people don’t take care of their animals,” Mom commented. “They let them breed and produce more unwanted puppies and kittens when the shelters are already bursting. Well, good for the Martinez family, that they took care of that. I suppose Linda had to beg Felix to get it done. I’d expect him to be dead set against neutering his pit bull.”

  “No,” Ernesto said. “Actually he did it on his own. Zack told me his father checked into the breed and decided to schedule the neutering as soon as Brutus was old enough. Martinez seems like a stupid guy, but actually he’s kinda smart about some things. He operates some real tricky machinery. It’s a shame he’s not nicer.”

  At school on Monday, Naomi had lunch with Ernesto. She asked him whether he’d like to come over to her house the next day after school and take Brutus for a walk. “I need to walk him, and I’d love to have you along,” Naomi told him. “Then we can wind up at my house and have some of Zack’s birthday cake. Mom baked an awesome tres leches cake for his birthday.”

  Ernesto was delighted by every chance he got to be with Naomi. “Sure, I’d love to,” he responded eagerly. “Only it has to be after track practice. But I’ll take the car to school and back. I just won’t jog tomorrow.”

  Maybe his imagination was at work, he thought, but she did seem to be growing warmer toward him. She seemed friendlier every time they were together. Ernesto didn’t believe in love at first sight. He believed in “like” at first sight, but love took a lot longer. You had to get to know a person before she really got into your heart.

  The next day, Tuesday, Ernesto got home from track as soon as he could. He showered, put on fresh clothes, and left for Naomi’s place. If records were kept for doing all that, he’d have broken them. Then Ernesto and Naomi set out with Brutus for a walk late on a balmy afternoon. As usual, Brutus was eager to go, but now the dog was better behaved. He used to tug and strain at the leash, but, as his puppy days receded, his behavior improved.

  “Hey Brutus, old boy,” Ernesto commented, scratching the dog on his head. “You’re getting to be quite the gentleman.”

  “You know one of the reasons pit bulls have such a bad name, Ernie?” Naomi asked. “Gangbangers and other criminals buy them to guard their crooked dealings. Then they starve and mistreat them to make them meaner so they’re better guard dogs. They leave them outside when it gets cold and rainy. It’s aw
ful.”

  They walked down Tremayne, past Ernesto’s home on Wren Street. Then they passed Nuthatch where Carmen lived. Finally they got to Starling, where they turned for the trip back. The houses on Starling were not as nice as those on the other streets. The street had some foreclosures, and many of the houses were rentals. The absentee owners let their homes get rundown. When they got too bad, they had them torn down and built small apartment buildings. The lawns were brown, and there were no flowers. On Wren and Bluebird, beautiful jacaranda trees spilled their lovely lilac blossoms on the street. In the spring the whole street looked magical. On Nuthatch a lot of the people had flower gardens with roses and geraniums. On Starling Street, except for a few gawky Washington palms that looked like inverted broomsticks, there was no greenery.

  “Look,” Naomi pointed out. “The palm fronds droop, and no one trims the dead ones. Then rats and bats make nests in the dead stuff.”

  They were halfway down the street when Brutus started barking. He’d been happily sniffing tree stumps and shrubs when suddenly he became agitated. He looked alert and barked persistently.

  “Something’s bothering him,” Naomi noted. “The other day some guy came to our door. He was supposedly selling cleaning products, but he looked suspicious. I think he wanted to see whether anybody was home so he could break in if the house was empty. Anyway, Brutus went crazy, like he sensed something wrong, like he’s acting now.”

  They were in front of a small, rundown stucco house with burglar bars on all the windows. Old tires were stacked along one side of the house. A sign read “217 Starling” and contained a faded picture of a starling. Previous residents of the house must have put up the sign.

  “Naomi,” Ernesto remarked, “look, old building materials piled along the side of the house … rotten wood, cement blocks … looks like a dump. Hey, I see chunks of concrete like the kind that came through our window. I remember that chunk of concrete had red paint on it, and I see red paint on those chunks there too.”

  “Oh wow! Maybe . . .” Naomi said. Then her eyes widened. “Look, behind the chain link fence. Pit bulls!”

  These pit bulls didn’t look like Brutus. They were gaunt and bore scars. One of the dogs was missing an ear, and he looked as though he might have been used in dog fighting. The dogs were leaping up at the fence and yelping.

  “Poor dogs,” Naomi cried. “I’d be scared of them if they got out, but I pity them.”

  “That could be a drug house, Naomi,” Ernesto warned. “They keep the dogs to scare people from investigating too closely.” Ernesto reached down and patted Brutus on the head. “Good boy,” he calmed him. “I have a feeling something ugly is going on in that house, maybe a lot of ugly stuff.”

  They continued walking to the end of the street where there were apartments. Yvette Ozono and her family lived in one of these units.

  Yvette was in the side yard with her little brother and sister. She was helping them up and down the monkey bars. “Hi Ernie! Hi Naomi!” Yvette called out. When Ernesto and his father met her at Tommy Alvarado’s funeral at Our Lady of Guadalupe Church, she seemed more dead than alive. Ernesto couldn’t believe the difference in Yvette since she was back at Chavez. She had been like a sad zombie, but now she had come alive. Her face was usually bright with a smile.

  “Hey Yvette,” Ernesto responded, “there’s a real ratty looking house down at the end of the street and I was wondering if—”

  “217 Starling,” Yvette interrupted him with a frown. “Yeah, they deal from there. They sell drugs and guns. Everybody’s afraid of them. Guys with shaved heads, tattoos. Cars come and go a lot. When I walk to school, I go through the alley just so I don’t have to pass the house. I told Mom we ought to call the cops, but Mom’s afraid they’ll get back at us. Alot of people feel the same way. They’re scared to do anything.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Yvette,” Ernesto said.

  Ernesto and Naomi turned the corner with Brutus.

  “Coulda been dudes from that house threw the concrete in our window,” Ernesto suggested grimly. “Maybe they figured Dad might’ve run across their dirty operations walking around the streets.”

  “Yeah,” Naomi responded. “Are you telling your dad?”

  “What do you think?” Ernesto countered. “My father works hard in that classroom. He puts his heart and soul into saving teens like Yvette and Dom and the rest of them. He’s struggling—and guys like José Cabral are too—for the kids. It’s like the good guys are filling the bucket from the top with pure clean water, and the creeps boring holes in the bottom.”

  “I hear you, Ernie,” Naomi answered sadly.

  “Everything my father and Mr. Cabral and the other good teachers and the good parents are trying to do, the scum in that house are trying to undo,” Ernesto fumed.

  Ernesto and Naomi went into the Martinez house to get some of the tres leches cake Naomi had promised. Zack had turned eighteen, and they had had a party for him and his friends last night. Afew big slices of cake remained.

  “Whoa, look at that cake!” Ernesto exclaimed when he saw it on the table. “Where did you buy that cake? Conchita’s Bakery? She has the best.”

  “No,” Naomi corrected him. “Mom made it from scratch. She always makes our cakes from scratch.”

  Ernesto sat down at the dining room table with Naomi and had a big slice of cake. It was the most delicious, most moist tres leches cake he had ever tasted. “Oh man, this is amazing,” Ernesto commented, his mouth stuffed with cake. He saw Linda Martinez cleaning up some dishes, and he called to her. “Mrs. Martinez, I’ve never tasted such good cake. If you entered this cake in the county fair, you’d win the blue ribbon for sure.”

  Linda Martinez blushed a little, but she smiled. “Oh Ernie, that’s so nice of you to say, but it’s just a cake.” She glanced over at her husband, who was watching television. He was also having a slice. Felix Martinez had heard what Ernesto said. Now he looked up.

  “Yeah Linda, the kid’s right. Cake is real moist … real good …”

  When Ernesto got home, he told his father about the house on Starling Street. He told him about the gaunt, scarred pit bulls guarding the yard and about what Yvette had said. He described the chunks of concrete that lay alongside the house with telltale red paint on them. The more he said, the angrier Luis Sandoval looked.

  “I’ll talk to my friend at the police station,” Dad promised. “In the meantime, don’t walk there, Ernesto.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next day, Ernesto, Abel, Dom, and Carlos were eating lunch at Cesar Chavez High School when Clay Aguirre walked by with Mira Nuñez. Clay didn’t seem too into her, but she seemed to be delighted to be with him. Clay was a good-looking guy, and many girls were interested in him. Mira was feeling lucky, and she looked it.

  Ernesto was afraid Clay was with Mira just to make Naomi jealous. He wanted to shake Naomi up. Clay glanced at Ernesto and his friends, and he seemed pleased that Naomi wasn’t with them. Lately she’d been eating lunch often with Ernesto. Today, Naomi, Yvette, Tessie, and some other girls were eating together. The boys had lunch in a small, grassy ravine, and maneuvering Tessie’s wheelchair down there would have been difficult. Anyway, Ernesto thought, girls sometimes want to talk girl stuff, and guys like him don’t enjoy talking about the new fashions at the mall.

  “The mural you guys made is ready, huh?” Ernesto asked Dom and Carlos. He’d watched the dramatic mural slowly develop on the side of the science building. Dom and Carlos, under the guidance of their art teacher, Ms. Polk, had drawn the design and made the outline. But many other students helped fill in the colors. The mural grew from a few splotches of vivid color to a very dramatic piece of art. When finished, it was a striking and poignant depiction of Cesar Chavez standing in the fields of grape vines, surrounded by the men, women, and children who labored in the fields. The mural showed the banner that Chavez always carried of Our Lady of Guadalupe and the symbol of the grape workers’ union, the
black eagle. Anyone approaching Chavez High would immediately be drawn to the beautiful mural.

  All they needed to do yet was color in a little more blue sky. Then it would be ready for the unveiling ceremony scheduled for Friday. Local television news and reporters were coming from as far away as Los Angeles and the Sacramento Valley to cover the unveiling.

  “We’re gonna be on TV, man,” Dom beamed, grinning. “You guys all bring your phones and take lots of pictures to post on the Net. My mom can’t believe I’m part of something like this. I mean, she’s always been hard on me. She always goes, ‘You’re nothin’ but a lazy bobo.’ And I guess it’s been true, but now she sits up and takes notice. Her lazy bobo is gonna be famous!”

  “Yeah,” Carlos added. “My parents are blown away too. They’re calling up all the relatives, the cousins they haven’t talked to in ages. It’s like I’m some big artist. They were so mad when I put graffiti on the fences. One time my old man whipped me for that. He said if he had to pay for cleaning up that stuff, he’d take it outta my hide. But now he’s telling all his friends that his kid is like Diego Rivera or somebody.”

  “I’m glad for you guys,” Ernesto told them. “My dad is so proud of you.”

  “Yeah,” Dom admitted, “we were both ready to drop out of Chavez. Until he came up with this mural deal. Now I’m even acing math. I’m an official geek! Your old man turned us around, Ernie.”

  “But not everybody likes what he’s doing,” Carlos advised. “Lotta bad stuff going on in the barrio. Your dad shines a light where they want it to be dark.”

  Ernesto Sandoval felt cold. Lately his father was holding impromptu basketball games in the early evening. Teenagers were welcome. He had ice-cold sodas and chips. Dropouts were especially welcome. The games were another way for Luis Sandoval to get in touch with kids needing a push in the right direction, a way to redirect aimless kids. Ernesto’s father was an All-American in basketball when he was a kid. He led his school to a championship. He still had the skills. He played under the lights now, and that wasn’t the safest place in the barrio. The danger didn’t lurk entirely in that house on Starling Street. Other gangbangers were out there. They had switchblades and guns. All Luis Sandoval had was courage.