Welcome Home

by Lucia Berlin

  Southern Mexico

  We had great days camped near Teotihuacán. On the trip, I read out loud from Bernal Díaz, so the place was real to us all. Mark and Jeff both cried over Moctezuma’s betrayal … he was a hero to them. We explored all of the temples, spent hours in the museum. We all took turns carrying or pushing David in his stroller. He was a total pain on this trip. He was used to running free, unhampered and even undiapered, going nonstop all day until he collapsed for the night. When we stopped somewhere, he ran around happily in a plaza or a café. He was so beautiful that people came over to speak with us; he made us many friends. A few times Indians made the sign of the cross on his forehead. Many women would kiss him and say “pobrecito”—poor thing, so lovely to have to live in this cruel world. People would borrow him, take him to the kitchen or carry him around the plaza.

  Oaxaca

  We traveled well. Driving made David fall asleep, thank God, and the boys colored or read or played games with Buddy and me. I would read articles or poetry to Buddy, we’d talk, laugh. It only took one of us to say, “Let’s stop here!” “Okay. Let’s go,” Buddy would say, and we’d all get out, check it out, swim at the perfect beach, eat brain tacos at a tiny roadside stand with the sweet family, watch the white horse cantering in the field. That zest in him … the way he went for it, all of it. I can understand his doing drugs. I hate them for taking him from us.

  Before we even saw Monte Albán or Mitla, we loved Oa-xaca. The gentle faces of the Mixteca, the pastel pinks and greens of the laborers’ shirts, the color of the rocks and dirt. The ancient truth of the place. We spent the night in the old colonial hotel on the plaza, ate shrimp tamales wrapped in banana leaves. We spent the evening in the plaza, listening to marimbas. Buddy and I sat on a wrought-iron bench with David while Mark and Jeff played marbles with two boys. Vendors approached us with pottery, weavings; children sold us Chiclets. Their voices and the soft conversations of couples circling the plaza were like birdsong: Zapotecs and Mixtecs speaking with a lilt and tumble and murmur that was so pleasing. There is a song where Billie Holiday sings “Love is bee-yu-ti-fal” in this birdlike way. There was a Mixtec woman who would show her jewelry, or touch my cheek and say “beautiful” in that same slow way.

  Lucia in Oaxaca

  Jeff in Oaxaca

  We left the next morning. Eager now to get going, because we wanted to come back, to these elegant, gracious, and kind people, to this haunted, dignified place.

  An Unnamed Village in Chiapas, Hotel

  We renewed our tourist cards at the border. The plan had been to travel in Guatemala, go to the lake, some ruins there. But the rains had begun, Buddy ran out of drugs, the boys all had flu, I thought, but it got worse—dengue.

  I drove in rain, on sliding mud; everybody was moaning and throwing up. Finally, we got to a village. I stopped at the first adobe house to ask if there was a place to stay. Both the old man and his wife shook their heads. They said we could stay in their shed until the rains let up and the road was passable. The shed was in the barn, right off the corral. Everything was wet, the rain whipping down now. Cold and wet and new smells, chicken shit, cow shit, horse shit, goat shit. Shed too filthy to sit, just some more space to change David, cut up fabric to clean up everybody, diarrhea and vomiting. Buddy lay curled up and shaking violently on the front seat1

  The Trouble with All the Houses I’ve Lived In

  Lucia would go on to call eighteen other places home in her lifetime. The following is a list she made in the late 1980s detailing the pitfalls of some of them.

  Juneau, Alaska—Avalanche the day I was born, wiped out a third of town.

  Deerlodge, Montana—No heat, just the oven. Earthquake.

  Helena, Montana—Splinters in the cellar door. Blizzards.

  Mullan, Idaho—River right outside, too dangerous to play. Mill right by. Stay inside. Flood.

  Sunshine Mine, Idaho—Paper-thin walls. Mama crying crying. Woodstove smoked. Avalanches.

  El Paso, Texas—Cockroaches, dark hall, three mean drunks. Drought. Flood.

  Patagonia, Arizona—Bats got inside, got scared, batted you in the face. Grasshopper plague.

  Santiago, Chile—Maids, day and night. Earthquakes. Two floods.

  Rose Street, Albuquerque, New Mexico—Dust storms. Old man died in the apple orchard.

  Lead Street, Albuquerque, New Mexico—House Edward Abbey had lived in. Only one burner worked. Filthy.

  Mesa Street by the airport, Albuquerque, New Mexico—Airplanes.

  Corrales Road, Alameda, New Mexico—No running water, no electricity, no bathroom. Two kids in diapers.

  Santa Fe, New Mexico—Acequia Madre ditch. Two kids.

  Thirteenth Street, New York City—Five flights up. Two kids, none walking. Blizzard, all streets closed, miracle. Rothko.

  Greenwich Street, New York City—No heat after five on weekends. Kids in earmuffs and mittens to go to sleep. I wore gloves to type. Over a ham factory—my W. H. Hudson still smells like ham twenty-five years later.

  Fourth son, Daniel, born October 21, 1965

  Edith Boulevard, 1966

  Acapulco, Mexico—Honeymoon. Three weeks of rain. Flood, dysentery, Mark electrocuted, more flood.

  Edith Street, Albuquerque, New Mexico—Hard water, floor caved in, well went dry. All the neighboring ducks came to our swimming pool.

  Puerto Vallarta, Mexico—Too many maids, dealers. Fear.

  Oaxaca, Mexico—Herd of goats next door. Mildew. Struck by lightning on Monte Albán.

  Yelapa, Mexico—Sharks, scorpions, coconut grove—THUD THUD—three kids. Hurricane.

  Corrales, New Mexico—Mansion. Three bathrooms. Garbage disposal broke, washer broke, dishwasher broke. Zinnias wouldn’t grow. Roses wouldn’t grow.

  White House, Corrales, New Mexico—Pump broke, well went dry, wiring blew, chickens died, rabbits died, termites, goat broke leg. Shot her. Rains, cellar flooded, bannister caved in, roof fell in. New chickens died.

  Princeton Street, Albuquerque, New Mexico—Roof fell in. Evicted.

  Griegos Road, Albuquerque, New Mexico—I burned it down.

  Russell Street, Berkeley, California—Eight people, two bedrooms. Toilet overflowed. Sewer line broke. Evicted.

  Telegraph Avenue, Oakland, California—Broken windows. Police all night.

  Richmond Street, Oakland, California—Mosquitoes. Police. Fire next door. Evicted.

  Alcatraz Avenue, Oakland, California—Crazy landlady. Sirens. Evicted.

  Bateman Street, Berkeley, California—Perfect house, garden. Rains, roof fell in.

  Sixty-Fifth Street, Oakland, California—Jack in the Box until 2 a.m.

  Woodland, California—Heat wave, candles melted, air conditioner broke. R. too paranoid to open windows until he threw phone thru window when I looked at a man on a horse.

  Corrales, New Mexico, 1966

  Bateman Street, Berkeley, California, 1982

  (Photograph by Mark Sarfati)

  Regent Street, Oakland, California—Dark. No light until night, when the neighbor’s floodlight lights my room, like Soledad. I know it’s morning when it’s dark again.

  Alcatraz Avenue, Oakland, California—No catastrophe. So far.

  Selected Letters, 1944–1965

  November 1944

  Overseas

  Upson Drive, El Paso, Texas

  My Beloved Lucia:

  Thanks so very much for the sweet letter. I’m awfully sorry that I haven’t written more often. You’ve been so busy at Radford and there is so little out here to write about except to tell you how very very much I miss seeing your sweet face and listening to your talk and laughter. I think about you and Molly and Mother every minute I’m away and just live for the day I can come home.

  So now you’re eight years old and you think you like it. Why, you’re practically an old woman now, aren’t you? Wish I could be there to see you and listen to you tell about your school and your friends and the fun you have. But Daddy
is a long way off helping to fight a war to keep the world clean and good for all the Lucias and Mollys in the world.

  Many people are being hurt and many dying hoping that this world in which their children are growing up will be the kind of world they wanted for them.

  In turn their children will not let them down either. They will grow up fine and honest and good. They will never sneak around doing evil things because they’re too fine and proud. Besides, their hearts would never sing and be happy knowing that they had let filth and ugliness take the place of honesty and goodness. Sometimes it’s hard for youngsters to know what is good and what is bad and they must learn as they grow, just as you learn spelling and reading.

  There are many things which will teach a person how to grow up beautiful, fine and good. One is the life of Jesus and many, many lovely books which you will read as you grow up. Another teacher is your mother, and another your father. They are there (and I will be … one of these days) for you to come to when you are troubled and don’t understand anything. But I think the greatest teacher is your own heart. If your heart feels light and airy and you feel like singing, you are being and doing good. If it feels black and soiled and ashamed, you are doing wrong.

  The reason I’m writing you this, Lucia, is that I’m so far away I can’t talk to you like I used to, and I just suddenly remembered, in the middle of this war, that you’re growing up without a daddy, almost. I want you to know, now that you are the young lady of the house, that you are a partner in this family, and we want it to be the most wonderful and happiest family in the whole world and though we may live on a mountain peak one year and in a black canyon the next, that our beautiful house will be built in our hearts. Some great writer said once that lots of gold and beautiful furs could cover many evil things but even rags and dirt couldn’t hide a beautiful heart.

  I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and if everything goes well I hope to see you for a short time soon after the first of the year. God bless you, Lucia, and keep you fine and strong and beautiful.

  Always your loving

  Daddy

  P.S. Kiss Mother and Molly for me.

  March 6, 1947

  713 Upson Street

  El Paso, Texas

  (age 11)

  Trench Mine, Patagonia, Arizona

  Dear Daddy,

  I’m sorry that I didn’t write sooner but I’ve been very busy (playin’). We miss you very much.

  Geemany Gumpals I have been put in the Low 7th grade because they are doin’ fifth grade work in the sixth grade here. I have decided to become a singer because we have so much fun in singing.

  How’s Mabel? I hear she’s your best fren’ now. I hope Benny doesn’t become a Tom cat. There are so many dog fights here that I don’t know what to do.

  We went to the symphony today. Miss Buck let us go ahead. We got there so early that we got to go in a drugstore and get a Coke, go to the dimestore, and get to Liberty Hall.

  The orchestra was very ugly. They were all mixed up. Instead of putting the violinists in one place, the trombones in one place, and the flutes in one place (one place, one place, ditto etc.) they were all mixed up. And all the men and women had on different colored clothes. The only thing that was good about it was the music, but of course that was the only thing that mattered. We had very good seats.

  There aren’t very many good shows here now. I saw one The Red House that was very good. There was one show that was supposed to be pretty good but I couldn’t go and besides I didn’t want to. It was called The Outlaw but I don’t know if it was good or it was dirty.

  Just remember that we all love you and miss you very much.

  Yours Very Truly and wit’ Lot’s of Love,

  Lucia

  1954 [Fall]

  Marron Hall, University of New Mexico

  Albuquerque, New Mexico

  (age 17)

  Fort Lewis College, Hesperus, Colorado

  Dear Lorna,

  Hello you no good wenchy slut … I arrived back at school on the 20th to find quite a few impassioned and resentful letters. We had a band clinic and they invaded Marron, then an FHA deal so we all had to move for three weeks … I won’t say any more as it was bitchy of me not to have written anyway …

  I would send back the three dollars but you have just saved my life. I’ll send you back the dough next month … that made me mad as I wanted you to come and I invited you. I expected you to come in August, I was only here a week tho, went to L.A., had a divine time … guess who I went out with, real big deal … Tonto of the The Lone Ranger … Everybody said “Oh how wonderful you’re going out with Tonto” … I died laughing, his name is Jay anyway … My cousin works in TV, so I really learned a lot about junk, real interesting the sets and everything … The thing I loved the most was The Lone Ranger set … A big sort of gymnasium deal … with western hotels and houses and country stores and saloons … horses running all over the place, cowboy extras (divine), manure etc.… Everything is perfect, down to the spitoon … I felt like a little girl … A camera man dropped something and said mierda, and I asked where he had heard it or learned it and it turned out he had been a sailor and had picked it up in Valpo … (diffusion of cultures) … we talked for hours. Everybody was so nice to me and they all explained things and introduced me to people etc. My cousin, you remember, the real pretty one, is married (not) to a guy who is EXACTLY like Danny, only handsome and tall … looks like a stretched out Danny … I almost died looking at him and all I did was stare at him.

  Oh hell, Lorna, do you have any dough … I wish you’d call me and I’ll pay you on 1st of Nov. I’m depressed as hell … This has never happened to me before … I love Lou and we’re still going together, but all of a sudden I have become ambitious, and I want to finish school and there are so many bloody things I want to do … I never thought school would ever come between me and a guy … I’m real proud of myself … got two A’s in summer school … I like this idea of doing something and working for something that I can be proud of doing, you know … It would have been out of my Chilean character in S.C. but now I think differently, and I’m scared that maybe it isn’t so good. The thought of a refrigerator, deep freeze and grocery bill appalls me (how the hell do you spell it anyway) and I’m worried as hell.

  Guess what … I’m proctor of Marron Hall, have to crack the whip over all these screaming monsters.

  Have you heard from Danny? I dreamt about him last night, with a pink rose in a marine hat. Got a letter from Lionel today … I had forgotten all about him and it sure was good to hear from him … you know how you love and hate him sometimes, well, I got in a loving mood and wrote a long long letter.

  Sonia Lovald has a car … she gets more sophisticated every day.

  Am taking nineteen hours, Philosophy, Psychology, Russian Novel, Government, Newswriting, Spanish Contemporary Novel, and Art History … six term papers in all, so I’m going nuts.

  I goofed the other day … was depressed as hell and so I opened a charge account, this is why I’m broke … I bought a coat on the installment plan … I don’t know why I did it except that it was the most encouraging thing I’ve ever done. It’s straight down, has real weird sleeves, thin at the bottom, and two big pockets over the boobs … I look like an idiot in it but feel real voguish.

  Marisol is working at Santiago College … can you imagine? I’m sure she’s never going to get married. Conchi is going steady with some guy called Jaime Green (I guess you know all this).

  Hell, Lorna … OH, I forgot to tell you … Bernie, Lou’s brother, disappeared one morning leaving a note saying he had joined the navy … nobody has heard from him since … (this was in July). Don Roy, the guy that Irene Barker used to go with, got a divorce, claims to still love Irene. Your old love Mickey asks about the sexy dish from Chile all the time. I haven’t seen him tho, but he works in the same building as Lou, who also tries to avoid him. He used to work in the Tribune office but the editor couldn’t stand hi
s guts and had him moved to a little room all by himself on the top floor. Tony is OK. He asks about you. You’re the only girl I’ve ever heard him say he liked. Lou said to tell you hello. I love the bastard, Lorna, I really do. I’m just so fouled up with what I want in life or from life, I should say.

  We experimented with rats today. Got a rat who was starving to death and who hadn’t seen a dame for weeks … Well, we gave him two choices, food or the dame … and guess what the dirty rat chose … the food. The whole point was proof that if we had sex for breakfast lunch and dinner we’d probably all die, and if we thought food was immoral we’d tell dirty jokes about cabbages … imagine, a guy saying, “Come on, just one chocolate bar,” or “Let’s eat artichokes together.”

  It’s almost midnight and I have to get up at six … one of my little duties is to stay up (dressed) till 11 and get up at six … lock and unlock doors, check rooms … I feel like a jailer or a madam, one of the two.

  I’ve got another roommate … this one is real nice. Drama major, damn good too. Out of thirty-five girls, twenty of which were seniors, she got the lead in The Lady’s Not for Burning and she’s never been in a play in her life.

  Well, my friend … I just wrote to tell you that I’m sorry you misunderstood whatever it was you misunderstood, because I miss you like hell, and if I don’t write it’s because I don’t have a damned bit of time.

  Please write to me … And could you do me a favor … send me Johnny K.’s, Alfred H.’s and Martin B.’s addresses? I’m in a mood for them, I miss them all every once in a while, don’t you?