There were moments when Sol saw the world floating away, a floating world with all the people he loved on a river moving away on an unstoppable current. He had to hold the world together for those he loved. The world disappeared, and he wanted it to be a happy place for his precious families. And when Louise was pregnant yet again, he felt obligated to protect her in a world where evil grew more powerful.
When Albert and Louise found out that they were going to have their third child, joy completely filled the Rivers and Kellers’ houses, cottages, offices and sheds. Every place they entered they brought joy with them. According to the doctors who had treated Albert for his injuries, the pregnancy was a miracle. With the severity of Albert’s wounds it had been considered impossible for him to father any more children. For Uncle Philip, his niece’s pregnancy was an insult, but for the rest of the family it was a miracle, a sign that life was going to get better for the Keller and Rivers families and for all the people they knew.
I do not want Oakley to do anything crazy to Uncle Philip, Sol thought, while he walked toward the river. If anything happens to my brother, what will become of Agatha, Dame Marie, Albert, Louise and the children? Nobody can stop the hate that grows in Philip. Once he finds out that Louise is pregnant again, he will go after Albert again. I have to at least talk with him. He will understand that this hate must not go on. I must convince him.
Sol gazed toward the sea, the horizon, the sunset, with clouds that appeared like four angels rising to the heavens, angels with brilliant, blazing wings. The image of the beautiful woman with resplendent wings, who had appeared to him months earlier, again came to mind. She had become his constant companion.
“Angels with big bright wings,” he whispered.
Ever since he had experienced the beautiful woman, he wanted to stay near Albert and Louise’s house in constant vigilance. Sol had made his decision to speak with Uncle Philip. He walked away, distancing himself from the house he had entered and left so many times before. This time, though, he departed resolved to see Philip Keller and stop his campaign against Albert. Sol was convinced that once Uncle Philip learned of Louise’s condition, he would not hesitate to act. He would also find out that his attempted castration of Albert had failed, that his pig-knife-waving associate had botched the ripping out of Albert’s testicles, and that the Mexican mongrel could still bear children.
SOL FOUND OUT the date and the time that the Southern California Aryan Club met. He was also aware of the club’s several meeting places in the Los Angeles area. On Thursdays the club gathered at a conference room in the University of Southern California’s Public Purpose Center. Usually about fifty men and women—mostly men—gathered there to listen to speeches and reports from the homeland, Germany. On a sunny day as Sol headed to the university, he wondered about the terrible things that were happening worldwide, but particularly in Europe. The newsflash was always about Germany, the intellectual hotbed, the leader of the new ideology, the emerging new world order. Sol was aware that Uncle Philip parked his car in the same parking lot where Albert left his when attending engineering classes. He drove Albert’s pickup truck onto the campus, directly to the large parking lot where he expected Uncle Philip to show up at any time. The lot was only five minutes away from the Public Purpose Center. He parked at the back of the practically empty lot. Not much time went by before Philip drove his car to a slot under one of the reddish-purplish crepe myrtle trees. Uncle Philip got out of the car and walked into the shadows of the trees. The meeting went on well into the night. Sol started to get a little impatient after most of the attendees had left. Uncle Philip was the type of man who would stay on after the meeting to talk directly to the speaker and the club leaders. Sol waited, thinking about what he was about to do. Was it the wrong or right thing? His heart raced. Putting his hand on his chest, feeling its throbbing, Sol squinted and leaned forward over the steering wheel, trying to see, yet nothing emerged from the shadows. He really didn’t want any trouble, just wanted to talk to Uncle Philip about leaving Albert alone, about letting him raise his family peacefully and without fear. I’ll give him until ten to come out, he thought. If he doesn’t, I’ll leave, he resolved. Ten, fifteen minutes went by, and still he gave himself a little more time. Sol was about ready to turn the ignition key to Albert’s truck when out from between the crepe myrtles appeared Philip Keller by himself, carrying a box to the trunk of his car. He headed back toward the Public Purpose Center when he recognized Albert’s truck. Uncle Philip ran back to his car and opened the trunk. By then Sol was on foot only a few feet away.
“Sol, what do you want?” Uncle Philip said, not feeling threatened by the Mexican family’s idiot. He closed the trunk and started to walk away.
“Philip, you must talk with me.”
“I don’t want to waste my time with you!”
“You have to stop this violence and hatred toward Albert!” Sol stepped in front of him.
Uncle Philip pushed Sol away.
“Let’s talk about the children. We want to protect our children.”
“You mean those mongrels he created, and the ruin of my niece?”
Sol grabbed Philip’s coat and brought him face to face. Four Aryan brothers came running and immediately beat Sol to the ground. They kicked him again and again and ground his head into the dirt. Uncle Philip watched as they brutalized Sol. Then they turned to retrieve their weapons from their cars. They watched for a long time, until Sol moved his hands under his chest and slowly began to raise his head and his shoulders off the ground.
One weapon went off, then another, and a third. An Aryan brother hid a rifle behind the seat of Albert’s truck. The other two dragged Sol closer to the open door. The three men each fired one shot into Sol’s face and head. A breeze swept the crepe myrtle’s red and brown leaves, creating a swishing sound across the dirt, gravel and concrete pathways, streets and parking lot. The odor of fired guns drifted away. The wind stopped and left a stained human bundle perfectly still and peaceful now.
One of Uncle Philip’s Aryan brothers went for the campus police.
ONE OFFICER FROM the University of Southern California Campus Police and one from the Los Angeles Police wrote down Philip Keller’s statement about what had happened. For two hours into the early morning they listened to Uncle Philip’s explanation of how he was attacked by a crazed man possessed by superhuman strength.
“I fought him off, pushed him away, pleaded with him to stop, but he kept coming. Thank God for my friends who came just in time! The man kept attacking us. He wouldn’t stop. We were afraid for our lives. We beat him down, but he rose again. He lunged at us, trying for our necks. His hands were like steel vices. We had no choice but to shoot, and even then, after three shots hit him, he got up. I tell you the man was possessed by the devil. We did what we had to do to protect ourselves from being killed. Self-defense … it was self-defense, officers. Worst of all, I wasn’t hurt physically, but my heart sank when I was told by the detective that it was my niece’s husband’s uncle, Sol Rivers. His crazed face was so distorted that I couldn’t recognize him.”
“Hey, Detective Price! Found this behind the seat of that lunatic’s truck!” The Los Angeles Police officer triumphantly raised a rifle above his head.
“Probably what he was heading for!” a second officer yelled out.
AFTER SOL’S HORRIBLE death, events seemed to take control, dragging the Rivers and the Kellers right along their path. Things happened so quickly that they seemed to fall into place as if they were preordained.
There are people who do nothing wrong. They live their lives in a productive way, yet suffering and tragedy come to them. Both the Rivers and the Keller families agreed that they had to go on. They had grown so close that even this tragedy was not going to split them apart. Their deep friendship, their love for each other would survive because they gave themselves no other choice. They had become one family and would not allow Sol’s murder to break them up. The families were convinc
ed that Sol would want them to be strong, to stand together against the evil that had caused his death.
Sol’s funeral mass attracted hundreds of people who crowded into Our Lady of Guadalupe Church in East LA. The services brought out so many friends, acquaintances and people he had helped and who felt compelled to bid farewell to Sol and to pay their respects to his family. What people remembered about Sol during those days of memorial that ended in Calvary Cemetery differed from what had been printed by the local newspapers:
“Mad Vagrant Killed”
“Armed Rabid Thief Killed”
“Shot by USC Philanthropist”
“Mexican Vagrant Stalked Prey, Shot on USC Campus”
The press was merciless, inventing stories about an alien who had no business being on the USC campus, who was believed to have been stalking and lying in wait for coeds. Alcohol, drugs and weapons were discovered hidden in the crazed man’s truck, the newspaper reported. “The man was extremely dangerous. Mr. Keller had no choice but to defend himself. He did a heroic service for the city,” a Los Angeles police detective declared.
The hundreds who attended the celebratory events knew better. Their lives had been changed positively by Sol. They spoke out, gave testimony about how Sol had saved their lives, saved them from financial disaster. People stepped up to speak about how Sol had provided food for families who were in danger of starving and of losing their homes. The testimonies came from rich and poor, and from different racial and ethnic groups in the city. Some people described Sol Rivers as a saintly man loved by the people he helped, mourned by all the communities of Los Angeles. Several mourners asked the reporters to write down these testimonies about a righteous man.
On the night of the wake, an hour and a half before it was scheduled to start and before the priest arrived, the River Mother arrived. Hoping to avoid the crowds, but finding the church was practically full already, she came to say good-bye to her River Son, Sol. She came with a group of assistants who maintained her spectacular dwelling and who took care of the ancient woman. When the River Mother entered, a complete silence flooded the mourning space. The funeral director, who throughout the years had had many dealings with her, immediately went to escort her to where Sol waited. She asked that the casket be opened completely. The funeral director hesitated for a second or two but with great respect acquiesced to the River Mother’s request. Gently, with love and great care she allowed her eyes to touch and caress her son. She held him tightly in her sight, forever in her heart. Her son, Sol, dwelled there to help her, be with her. She softly chanted ancient holy words, sang spiritual songs, prayed and sobbed for the boy the river had given her many years ago. She opened her hands, slowly ran them over Sol’s body and raised her energy to the heavens. She kissed her River Son for the first time again and expected to run into him walking the river very soon. The funeral director waited, making sure the River Mother had completed her ministrations. She stepped back from Sol’s casket, turned to the mourners. The funeral director took her arm and, followed by her entourage, escorted her to her car and for a moment held her hand.
“Thank you for coming, River Mother. You have made the family very happy, I’m sure.”
The funeral director let go of her hand and shut the door. So many times she had insisted on going to him to bury the indigent, the unwanted men and women whom she found or who went to her to die. The funeral director never refused the River Mother. He knew he was blessed by knowing and working with her.
A few weeks after Sol’s burial the final, official police report came out. A short article hidden in the back of the Los Angeles Times reported that the police investigation declared Mr. Philip Keller and three other members of the Southern California Aryan Club innocent. The article explained that Philip Keller acted in self-defense and that the other three had been confronted by an out-of-control, drug-crazed, mentally retarded assailant, that they had believed their lives were in imminent danger and were justified in employing lethal force. There was no evidence to the contrary presented by the family on behalf of the alleged perpetrator. The article concluded with a police officer’s admonishment to the family: “Dangerous retarded men like Sol Rivers must be institutionalized for life, for their own sake and for the protection of the general community.”
ALBERT, LOUISE AND the boys were frequently to be found at Oakley and Agatha’s house. Losing Sol devastated Oakley in a way that started to show physically and emotionally. Oakley lost weight, his face grew longer and his eyes sunk into their sockets. His neck and arms became thinner, his thighs and legs lost mass. He worked even harder, but in his mind he never completed any project. He continued to work long unbearable days, rising at five in the morning, leaving the office at nine or ten, eating very little, drinking tea and getting into bed at one or two in the early morning. He hardly rested, hardly slept. Well or sick he pushed on. Work and more work drove him physically and mentally. His employees, the office staff, the company engineers, the construction foremen, the skilled workers, the laborers kept Sun Construction winning bids. They mimicked their boss, worked double time without complaint, but even their hard work and the company’s success did not alter what they saw in Oakley’s body and manner. The boss was wasting away ever so slowly and persistently. They spoke with him, wanting to engage Oakley in a happy conversation about the various jobs, about training, the family, the kids’ schools, the way they used to do with him, engaging in sincere conversations they had so much enjoyed. Oakley only said hello and listened. The light in his eyes glowed less and less. Emotionally, Oakley could not communicate with them. The fire in his heart was fading away.
Albert, Louise and their children visited Oakley often, trying to get him to snap out of the reality that was overwhelming him, the reality that was becoming heavier, a burden signaling his eventual destruction. Agatha, Allison, Ernest, Gloria and Emily made plans for the weekends for him and the family. They prepared his favorite dinners at home. They organized outings to nearby parks and planned workdays in the garden. Oakley participated without saying much, only uttering the minimum of what was expected of him. On several weekends, to the disappointment of everyone, he said that he had too much work to do and left for the Boyle Heights Yard.
Agatha made appointments for Oakley to see several doctors: the family doctor, a psychologist and even a local natural healer, but not one guaranteed a resolution for the mighty physical and emotional weight he carried. Louise got bigger with child and sadly witnessed her father-in-law become thinner.
“Here I am getting huge, while you are slimming down,” Louise joked as she rubbed her belly. “Come on, you’ve got to eat. Your grandchildren love you. They need you to read with them, to teach them. Dad, please.” She stopped. She didn’t want to sound desperate, as if she were begging.
On one of those occasions, coming into his parents’ house, Albert heard Louise encouraging Oakley to eat the dinner she had prepared. On the kitchen table Albert placed a basket of vegetables he had harvested from the backyard garden. He raised his eyes and saw, through the large bay window in the living room, Uncle Philip slowly driving by on his way to Ernest and Allison’s. Albert bolted out the front door, but there was no sign of Uncle Philip.
“Let it go, Albert, let it go. Isn’t this enough?” Louise said to her husband as he sat at the table with his father.
Albert shook his head but did not say a word.
One week later, returning from a doctor’s appointment, Albert spotted Uncle Philip driving away from their Boyle Heights house. He did not ask Louise if Uncle Philip had visited, and she never said a word. Albert saw him again, this time almost stopping in front of the house. Albert walked out from the garage, down the driveway to the street. Uncle Philip leaned forward, squinted and immediately drove off. Albert ran out to the middle of the street and shouted, “Who in the hell did you expect to find?”
This stalking happened too often. The monster wants to come back, Albert thought. He was not sure if he should ask
if anybody else had seen Uncle Philip, or if he had already been in the Kellers’ or even in his own house. Maybe the family was afraid to tell him. After Sol’s murder, nobody mentioned Uncle Philip. Nobody wanted to hear his racist theories or see his ugly face. It was the same after Uncle Philip almost killed me, Albert thought. He has a way of sneaking back into his nephew’s tolerance. How dare that murderer think I’d allow him anywhere near my family!
THEY HAD HEARD that the River Mother’s health was failing. They had heard this so many times before, but always she had outlived the rumors. Nonetheless, the way things had been going, Albert and Louise decided to take the children to visit the Ancient One. The afternoon was clear, the sun warm, and the river was carpeted with patches of green wild grasses and wild flowers. Usually they would walk, but with Louise’s condition they didn’t want to take any chances. The ride offered different perspectives of the River Mother’s palace. The house had grown more complex, and the children pointed out objects they had never seen before. Rumors circulated that the city wanted to do away with uncertified dwellings. They had recently wanted to condemn and bulldoze the Watts Towers, but the community had defended the towers as works of community art and had won the case. The River Mother’s dwelling stood all alone. She had no community or neighbors to defend her. Despite these threats to her marvelous mansion and the news of the River Mother’s failing health, both had survived.
Several of the River Mother’s assistants were selling objects found in the river and also furniture, clothes and building materials brought down to the River Mother’s place from repossessed homes, evictions and closed or abandoned businesses. She had expanded her merchandise and had done very well with the help of her faithful assistants. Albert made his way down to the river’s edge.
River of Angels Page 31
