“Oh please, Uncle Philip, for God’s sake, please don’t start on that Aryan diatribe. Please, all it does is get you all riled up. And now you have upset the children!”
Allison went to Emily and Gloria, who brushed ashes off their dresses. Glaring directly at Uncle Philip, Allison called out emphatically to the family housekeeper: “Ernestina, bring desert for the children. Ernestina!”
THE HEAT WAS intense on that Friday in October, but by late afternoon it had cooled down enough to walk along the river path that led to the First Street viaduct. That afternoon Ernest Keller had worked at home and was leaving to meet Oakley Rivers at his office on the Boyle Heights side of the Los Angeles River. Louise, who was studying with Albert, asked her father where he was rushing off to.
“To meet Albert’s dad at the river office.”
Albert and Louise spoke at once: “Can we go?”
Ernest stopped at the door, somewhat bothered but not surprised. It was hot indoors, and he understood that his daughter and Albert both were probably bored with all the studying they had done. Lately, Louise had put in a lot more time on her homework and classes than usual. Exam week, Ernest thought.
“Hurry up, it’s a long drive.”
The Boyle Heights office of Sun Construction Company stood near Albert’s grandparents’ house and was also close to the River Mother’s dwelling. They could get away, be alone at the river, Louise thought. They rode in Ernest’s Hudson. It was a smooth drive following Olympic Boulevard into Los Angeles, across the East Los Angeles Bridge to Whittier Boulevard to Boyle Street to First and down to the Sun Construction Company office. The three entered the office and greeted several men who waited for Mr. Keller’s arrival. Oakley Rivers came out of his office to join them.
“Hola, Papá.” Albert walked over and kissed his father’s hand.
Louise had never seen Albert do this. She liked the greeting, a sign of love and respect. She noticed her father, who had just arrived, looking at her. She smiled.
“Dad, Mr. Keller, with your permission, Louise and I will go walking over to the old house. We can get some fresh air along the river. Or, we can wait outside?”
Louise headed for the door. She was not going to wait for her father’s answer.
“It’s fine, I guess. Don’t go into the river. Be back soon!” Ernest called out to his daughter, who was by now walking alone toward the Ríos Adobe. She left all the men standing, staring at the open door.
Albert finally caught up with her, headed to the gazebo that Sol had built for himself. Sol often sat there alone, watching the river running down to the ocean. Albert did not see his uncle’s truck parked in front of the garden shed. There were three cars in the parking lot. A docent from the Los Angeles Department of Parks and Recreation was in charge of receiving guests. The docent opened and closed the house from Tuesday to Saturday. Sol was still responsible for the maintenance of the house and grounds.
Albert and Louise observed the river and held hands while heading for the gazebo. They walked along the edge, on the sandy earth between the water and the bank, where the River Mother’s house stood perched on solid ground. A warm breeze, that circulated and wove in and out of the brush, cattails and high grass, played with Louise’s brown hair. Albert pushed her hair away from her forehead. They kissed, looked about, saw no one on the river and kept walking toward the gazebo. As they slowly made their way up the bank, Louise paused to take in the view of Los Angeles.
“How can they cover this with cement?” Albert asked. He spoke softly to himself.
Louise nodded and said, “It’s for progress. They have to control the river in winter.”
“They can’t control the river. It will go where it wants to go.”
“My father believes it can be controlled. That’s why his company is bidding for the concrete contracts with the county. Uncle Philip says it will be beautiful once they’re finished. It’ll be a scenic place with paths and parkways filled with trees and flowers, and clean fast roads, modern speedways. Father said there’ll be a thousand parks for kids to play in and families to picnic. My father and uncle want the City Beautification Plan to be accepted. They’re planning on working with the Army Corp of Engineers. The plan will modernize the city and attract the right kind of people.”
“Louise, do you really believe that tons of cement will make this more beautiful? All it will do is hide the natural beauty of the river. The river will never be any more beautiful than it is now! What are ‘the right kind of people,’ anyway?”
LOUISE MOVED headed to the top of the embankment as the sound of clinking glass, of pipes chiming in the wind announced that they were very near the River Mother’s house.
“Albert, I hear talking.”
The two youngsters quietly approached the side of the house. The voices became more distinct. Two men talked with the River Mother. Louise looked around the wall to where the people were speaking. Albert peeked over her back. Two young men were sitting on wooden straight-back chairs conversing with the old woman, who was sitting in a faded wicker chair.
“What is your name?”
“¿Cómo se llama?”
“La Madre del Río.”
“No, ask her name.”
“¿Tu nombre?”
“La Madre del Río.”
“Fine, fine then. Mrs. Madre del Río, how old are you?”
“¿Su edad es muchos años?”
“¿Mi edad?” the River Mother chuckled. “No tengo edad, sólo vida, la vida que ha pasado, la vida que tengo ahora y la vida que tengo por delante. Sabemos que la vida es eterna, es energía eterna.”
“She says she has no age, only life, and life’s eternal, life is energy, or something like that.”
“She’s an ancient beauty! I can see that. Ask, ask her how long she has lived here.”
“¿Cuántos años tiene vivir, tiene aquí?”
“Siempre he vivido aquí, siempre.”
“Always, she says.”
“Why do you live by the river? Ask her.”
“¿Por qué vive aquí? ¿Al lado del río?”
“Soy la criatura del río y el río es mi criatura. Como la madre y su criatura, como la criatura y su madre.”
“What? What did she say?”
“She’s a creature of the river.”
“Now ask her if she has ever seen the river go over its banks?”
“¿Madre del Río, visto el río subir a la tierra, flood la tierra?”
“El río inunda las tierras todos los días. El río bendice la tierra con su obsequio de vida, el agua del río es vida.”
“The river floods every day, she says, and gives life.”
“How high has the river risen? Ask her that. Come on, ask her.”
“¿Cuánto ha subido el río?”
“Sus aguas han subido a lamberme, a besarme esta puerta.” The old woman rose to point to the door. She seemed impatient with what she considered silly questions.
“Has the river always been here? Always followed this course to the sea?”
“¿Señora, sí, el río corre aquí siempre? ¿Siempre por aquí?”
“El río hace su propio camino. Tanto que quiere a la tierra que de vez en cuando se va a visitar otras partes de la ciudad.”
“She says the river makes its own way and at times visits other parts of the city.”
“Ask her, how high did the water come? How big was the biggest flood she can remember?”
“¿Cuánto alto llegó el agua cuando el río comió la tierra? ¿Qué grande fue la inundación más grande en su vida?”
“No lo crearás, ésa fue tan grande que dos ríos se juntaron. Mi río y el de San Gabriel se juntaron por más de una semana.”
“She says this river and the San Gabriel met, that’s how high.”
“When did it happen? What year?”
“¿Cuándo paso esa inundación, señora Madre del Río?”
“Eso pasó cuando no había casas, fábricas, puentes, ferrocarril, cua
ndo no existía la industria, cuando la naturaleza era inocente y no violada.”
“That was before there was any city here, no bridges, nothing, when nature was virgin and not violated.”
The River Mother stepped inside her dwelling and, although the men waited for a while, she did not return. Albert and Louise watched the two young men walk out toward the Ríos Adobe. The men drove away from Boyle Heights. They probably crossed the river by way of the recently completed Ninth Street bridge.
It was kind of an odd thought, how to cross the river. Both Louise and Albert, like other Los Angeles residents, considered where to cross the river. Which bridge to use became an important decision to many of the residents. People seemed to be excited about how fast and modern Los Angeles was becoming. Trains, railroad yards, trolleys, cars and trucks, factories, bridges and tall buildings were being constructed all around town. Downtown was beginning to look and feel like a modern metropolis, a city of the future. Louise remembered how Uncle Philip referred to Los Angeles as the city of the future, “a city of an Aryan future,” he repeated at many dinner conversations with Ernest, Allison and the children. The constant reference to the Aryan people upset Allison, but, for the sake of family peace, she tried to ignore Uncle Philip’s political rants, although not always successfully.
Albert and Louise reached the gazebo. They sat down on a bench below the white wooden structure in a spot sheltered by high brush. In silence they listened to the silence. They kissed and held tightly to each other as if they were the only people on earth. They kissed again and again. Albert’s face warmed and Louise’s heart raced. The river listened to their thoughts and hearts. Many birds were cavorting at the water’s edge. Herons and frogs orchestrated the river’s music.
“Your father is calling us!”
Albert ran up the hill. She followed, not worried.
“Albert, wait. Slow down. You look so suspicious. Did you do something wrong?”
Her gaze calmed him down.
“Albert, those men, asking the River Mother questions. … What did they want with her?”
“With the River Mother? They wanted information about the river. My school, USC’s engineering professors and students are doing a project on the river. Mostly students are asking old timers about the river. They’re finding old Mexicans who have lived by the river for generations, because they know so much history of the river. Find the oldest Mexican who has lived by the river and you’ll find the oldest history. The project has to do with cementing and controlling the river’s course. By finding out where the river ran and flooded in the past, they can map its future courses and floods. I don’t know if I like the idea.”
“The information might be good for history, but I don’t think this research is necessary to control the river. Cement will fix the river’s channel forever. With a stable river, Los Angeles can grow. That’s what my family’s investing in, Albert.”
“Well, I don’t like the plan. Cement will take the river’s freedom away. I don’t think that’s right, cementing something that’s natural. The river is part of the natural geography of Los Angeles, and by burying it under tons of concrete, they’re trying to turn it into something that it’s not. If they do it, imprison it, attempt to smother its natural flow, the river will have its revenge by carrying a great flood that will tear away the tons of cement, forcing its way to wherever it wants to flow. The river will rise and create its own course—cement or no cement.”
As they approached the office they saw Sol, who waved to them. He was placing several large potted white azaleas into his pickup truck. Albert, relieved that it was not Mr. Keller, gladly waved at his uncle. Albert and Louise grabbed the sides of a large clay pot and lifted it into the truck. It took about half an hour for Albert and Louise to help Sol place ten heavy pots in the truck.
Louise glanced over to the office.
“They’re still talking. I’ll tell your father you’re here, Louise,” Sol offered.
“Tell him we are walking to La Plaza. We’ll wait for him there.”
LOUISE AND ALBERT headed toward the First Street viaduct, constructed by the city and the railroad companies for train service. The viaduct carried the local traffic, cable cars, and also provided a walkway for thousands of people crossing over to work and shop on each side of the river, connecting Boyle Heights and downtown LA. On the weekends the viaduct became a promenade where individuals, couples and families strolled leisurely, taking in a variety of views of the river and the growing city.
In Albert’s opinion the viaduct was not built to survive the pounding of the fast-moving river water. Steel, cement and wood combined to bear the current weight of cable cars and humanity, yet but would not stand the additional weight of cars, trucks and heavily laden railroad cars that weren’t allowed to cross. Built in the 1880s, the viaduct would soon lose its utility and would have to be rebuilt or, better yet, be replaced by a new modern bridge. For Albert, roads and bridges needed to be vastly improved for a future of large trucks and more automobiles. It seemed that every family in Los Angeles owned a car. Everyone wanted an automobile, and families who lived in wealthy neighborhoods usually had two cars. About a quarter of the way across the viaduct, Albert and Louise kissed and held each other. They looked north upriver to several clusters of trees near the river banks.
“Look at that, that car camp on the other side of the river.” Albert pointed to a clump of cars, tents, tables and fires that hugged a grassy area not far from the river’s edge. Children played in the grassy area next to the encampment. The fifteen to twenty cars were organized in groups of four to six around the few trees. Women were hanging clothes on lines tied from a car to a tree. They had hung heavy towels and blankets on the lower tree branches.
“I don’t think the city should allow those campers on the river. They can stay for a day but not for weeks.”
Albert walked on toward the middle and highest point on the viaduct’s pedestrian sidewalk. The couple observed the entire panorama: the river flowing to the sea; to the left the city’s broad avenues, organized streets and twelve-floor office and commercial buildings; to the north and west, the affluent homes of Hancock Park, Hollywood, Brentwood, Beverly Hills. Builders invested in middle-class residential ventures for Anglo-American families. Along the river and across the greater Eastside, the city council had zoned the area for industrial development and for working-class Anglo families. Mexican housing was torn down or pushed to the edges of the newly developed sections. The Mexicans pushed against the river banks and railroad yards, lived in abandoned farm worker camps, segregated company towns, in areas that had not been designated for them in this city envisioned as Anglos-only. The residents of the original Mexican colonias in Los Angeles proper—near La Placita and other sections newly designated as Anglo-only—were evicted and forced to relocate to the immigrant quarters of Los Angeles that were thought of as Mexican reservations. The city’s Anglo population needed the Mexicans for labor. The Mexicans had to live near, but not among, the Anglo families.
Albert and Louise headed to the other side of the viaduct. They would meet Louise’s father or maybe Sol at La Plaza. Farther downriver near Alameda Street, black smoke rose forming several large clouds. Albert wondered what they were doing, not removing his eyes from the source of the smoke. There was no mistake. The city abatement crews were burning down two Mexican communities whose workers were employed in the Los Angeles sweatshops and in the nearby Vernon slaughter houses. According to the Los Angeles Health Department, these Mexican neighborhoods were a health hazard. The Los Angeles general population pointed to these poor sections as filthy, vermin-infested sources of such diseases as tuberculosis, typhoid, cholera, flu, venereal diseases and, the worst, plague. People on the viaduct crowded around to watch the smoke rise and dissipate slowly, high above the city. Anglo mothers looked up and placed their hands over their mouths, gathered the kids and rushed them away to safety. Others simply stared. Some knew the cause of the fire; to oth
ers it did not matter. They were too busy living their lives. After a short while they all moved on.
“Uncle Philip spoke with Mom and Dad about the burn-outs. He said it was for health reasons.”
“It’s one more Mexican section of the city that they need to clear out to build another factory or warehouse, or housing for Anglos, Louise, that’s what it is.”
“It’s not only Mexicans losing their houses. Uncle Philip mentioned the Negroes, Chinese, Japanese—maybe even the Russians—will be asked to leave their homes. Some of these places are terribly poor and dirty. Do you want those people to live like that, Albert?”
The couple was almost to La Plaza. Mexican musicians sang songs of the Revolution, others crooned love ballads. At La Plaza there was always some kind of entertainment. As they entered La Plaza, they saw Mexicans sitting on the outside benches and reading La Opinión newspaper, discussing current events in Mexico and life in Los Angeles. They wore dark work clothes, boots, some had on a suit jacket, and just about all of them wore a hat or a work beret or an Irish cap. In the middle of La Plaza families gathered, entertained by acrobats, magicians and theater actors advertising a play, “El Emperador Maximiliano I, Emperador de México.”
Under a tree at the side of La Plaza, a vendor sold cold drinks. Albert asked for horchata, a refreshing rice, sugar and cinnamon drink, and offered Louise a taste. She liked it so much that he ordered one for her, too. In silence and contentment they drank their horchatas and waited for their ride home.
“Are you Mexican?”
The question came from nowhere. Albert looked around him. There was only Louise sitting next to him.
Louise was enjoying her horchata. She smiled and waited for an answer.
He had never before, that he remembered, been asked this question. Nobody, even at USC, had ever inquired about who he was. Albert never thought much about who he was. It seemed not to be important. His father did not mention or discuss his identity with him or Dame Marie. His mother also, up to now, did not seem worried about who she was, or who her husband and children were. They were the Rivers family and that was who they were, who he was.
River of Angels Page 15
