Iron River

by Daniel Acosta

  At first we thought the station was closed. We tried the glass door, but it wouldn’t open. Then a man in a suit walked out and before the door could close we slipped inside. There was a desk in the middle of the hall, but nobody was there. Danny pointed down the hall and there at the end was the Man From Mars standing straight wearing his bandit clothes like those dummies in the JC Penney window. There was one light shining on him and that made him look even scarier. Still, we walked up real close, real slow.

  Close up, the Man’s clothes were nothing special, just work clothes—like Dad’s, except black. The dummy had on black gloves and black motorcycle boots that laced almost to its knees. The gas mask he was wearing was kind of like the one Cruz bought at an Army-Navy store for last Halloween. The clothes were too big for the dummy and hung loose and made it seem more funny than scary. It’s weird how some things look scarier far away than close up.

  It was like that with the hobo too. When we first saw him on the rightaway, he was real scary, and we didn’t want to get closer. But when we did, it wasn’t so bad if you don’t count that he was dead. He just looked like a man sleeping on the ground except for his broken arm all twisted behind him.

  “Look there.” Danny pointed up at the football helmet. It was made out of leather and there was a spot in front that was darker than the rest with a hole in the middle. “That’s where the Turk got him.”

  I don’t know how far away the Turk was when he shot the Man From Mars, but he hit the bull’s eye. There was a picture of the Turk on the wall next to the dummy. He looked a lot younger than in real life. In the picture he was standing over the Man From Mars and pointing at a shotgun on the floor next to the Man. That’s how he looked on the rightaway standing over the hobo except older.

  “What are you two doing in here?” The hallway made the voice echo. We jumped. We turned around and saw a policeman standing behind the desk.

  “Nothing, sir,” Danny answered in that little-kid voice of his. “We just wanted to see the bad guy.” The police officer grunted and sat down at the desk. “Well, don’t touch anything.” We took one last look at the Man From Mars. I thought about how he just stole some money and the cops shot him dead, but we maybe killed a man, and we were going to walk out of the police station like free men. That made me feel sick to my stomach. I threw up on the grass in the park across the street. I barfed again and again until my stomach hurt even though nothing came up. Danny put his hand on my back and rubbed it, but it didn’t help.

  “What’s the matter?”

  I tasted that awful sour taste of barf. “Going in there must’ve gave me asco.”

  Danny sat down on a bench and waited for me to feel better. When I did, I went over and sat next to him. “Maybe we shouldn’t’ve went in.”

  “He’s dead and there’s nothing we can do about it,” Danny said. I didn’t know if he was talking about the Man From Mars or the hobo.

  I only saw Rudy one time during those two weeks. It was early in the morning. I know because the pee woke me. I was pulling the wet sheets off the couch when somebody came into the front room dressed all in black. I guess I was sleepy because all I could think of was that the Man From Mars was in our house. My heart started pounding in my chest and I almost peed again. Then the man in black went into Rudy’s room and closed the door.

  The second thing that happened during those two weeks was we started school. Besides not wanting summer vacation to end, what I don’t like about September is wearing new corduroy pants. At Mission Grammar we wear uniforms and the boys have to wear those salt-and-pepper corduroys. The weather’s always hot in September and those new pants give me a rash between my legs that burns like hell when I pee the bed. Plus they make that stupid zip-zip sound when I walk.

  My mom made me three new school shirts. I asked Grandma if she could starch and iron my new shirts so they would be crispy for school, and she did.

  I waited on the front porch for Danny and Marco to pick me up. Danny was in my grade, and Marco was a year behind and starting sixth grade. Me and Danny and Marco talked about all the stuff that happened during the summer. The heat wave made it feel like it was still summer, but the sunlight didn’t look the same as in July and the first part of August. It was still real smoggy, so I couldn’t see the heart on the mountain. And some of what happened in the summer was getting smoggy too. We had to talk about the hobo, but none of us wanted to say much about him, so we sort of agreed without words to skip the subject.

  Danny asked Marco, “Who you getting this year?”

  Marco’s answer was short. “Mary Thomas.” Sister Mary Thomas isn’t as cool as Sister Francis Assisi, but still she loves art.

  I told Marco, “You’re going to get to do a lot of art projects.”

  We walked a little bit more. Then Danny said, “This is the year we get Capone.”

  Her real name is Sister Alphonsus, but the high school guys call her Capone. I guess because she’s Italian, and they say she can kill you with just a stare. Capone is the toughest teacher in our school. If we could just get past her for seventh, eighth grade would be a breeze. At least that’s what Cruz and Rafa told us.

  Keep this hush-hush, but I love Sister Francis Assisi. I wish she could’ve been our teacher this year too. And she’s beautiful. She has blue eyes and white skin and red lips and rosy cheeks like the ‘Maculate Conception statue in Grandma’s saints case.

  And can she throw a football! Last year during lunchtime some high school guys were passing a football around on their side of the fence to show off for the girls. The ball flew over to our side and Francis Assisi asked one of us to bring the ball to her. She took it and told a high school guy to go long. She threw a perfect spiral that went so far he had to run hard to catch it.

  Sister Francis Assisi taught us that God loves us and wants us to love him. She said our prayers are like love letters to God. She says God is a mystery, that we are all children of God, and we should love each other like brothers and sisters.

  I think about the Turk and how I wouldn’t want a brother as mean as him. Cruz is mean to me, but he’s just my cousin, and he’s nothing compared to the Turk. Sometimes I worry that I’m going to go to hell for something bad I did even though Francis Assisi tells me God forgives every sin if we’re sorry we did it. I always ask God to forgive me when I pray the radio rosary with Grandma. And I know God forgives me when I go to confession. Even to Father Simon.

  We met Little at the schoolyard gate and walked with him over to where the seventh graders line up. Little’s dad went back to Mexico after the Fourth of July and Little told us he still wasn’t back. He said his mom said Mister Guti probably got stopped by the border patrol as a wetback.

  Big’s mom said he probably had to check up on all his other families down there, and it would probably take some time. We all laughed.

  I told Little about seeing the Man From Mars with Danny, and he got kind of mad we didn’t invite him. But he got over it pretty quick and before long we were laughing about his dad again and marching to our classrooms to a record on the loudspeaker of some song that Cruz plays with the Mission High School marching band.

  15

  Capone was as hard as they said. I already had too much homework. My book bag felt like a ton of bricks. But I stayed out of trouble.

  On the Saturday afternoon of Cruz’ show, I took a shower and splashed on some of Dad’s Old Spice. I put on a crispy, new sport shirt Mom made that Grandma starched and ironed for me, and I combed my hair until my arm hurt. I looked pretty good in the mirror, so all I had to do was wait for Betty.

  When Betty pulled up in Ted’s car and honked, I ran out to the cuartito to say bye to Mom. She blessed the sign of the Cross on my forehead and told me to be good. I looked for Dad to get a blessing, but Mom said he went looking for Rudy. On my way to the front, Grandma stopped her watering and blessed my forehead in Spanish. Before I knew it, I was sitting next to Betty in the front seat. And before we knew it, we were at the Le
gion.

  That’s what they call the El Monte American Legion Stadium. But it doesn’t look anything like a stadium. More like the Mission High School auditorium, just way bigger.

  When we got out of the car Betty put her hand through my arm. Any place else and with anybody else, I would’ve wiggled away like a worm, but because it was Betty, I let her. I could smell her perfume even though there was cigarette smoke everywhere from the teenagers hanging around in the parking lot.

  I saw teenage couples holding hands and kissing each other like there’s no tomorrow and lots of custom cars—real nice paint jobs and some lowered so much they almost scraped the ground. One time Cruz told me those kinds of pipes that run along the sides of the car are called “lakes pipes,” but when I asked him why, he told me to shut up and stop asking stupid questions.

  On some cars the wheels had spinners, hubcaps that twinkle like stars when the wheels turn. Cruz thinks they look tough. When he gets a car, he says he’s going to put on lakes pipes and spinners. There were a few jalopies too, but I don’t like those too much. Neither does Betty. Jalopies don’t have fenders and some don’t even have tops.

  Betty pointed to one without a top and said, “Why would a girl go through all the trouble of fixing her hair if she was going to have to ride in one of those?”

  We waited in the ticket line a long time, but we finally got to the window. The whole time the lady in the window kept staring at my port-wine stain. I could feel her eyes on me like I do every time people stare at me. Her stare started at my collar and went up my neck and across my face and into my red hair like a crawling bug.

  The inside of the Legion smelled like old cigarettes and B.O. You’d think they’d open the windows during the daytime to let out the B.O., but in a little while when the show started and the teenagers were dancing, I forgot about the smells.

  The place got packed real fast. Me and Betty went up and sat in the balcony straight across from the stage. At first there was plenty of room to spread out, but when the balcony got more crowded we had to move closer together, so pretty soon we were sitting so close I could feel Betty’s hip press against mine which felt good.

  After most of the people were inside, they closed the lights. The place went black and the teenagers started yelling and hooting like they do at the San Gabriel Theater before the movie starts, and the white kids throw stuff at the screen, and the Mexicans get kicked out. In a minute a spotlight went up on a white man wearing a white tuxedo standing on the stage holding a microphone.

  “Are you ready to rock and roll?” He yelled it so loud into the mike that I had to cover my ears with my hands. The teenagers yelled and screamed back at him. They sounded like at the Smith Park pool when people are yelling, but you’re underwater.

  “I can’t hear you. I SAID, ‘ARE YOU READY TO ROCK AND ROLL?’” The teenagers yelled even louder than the first time. The curtains opened and a band started playing. Spotlights shined different colored lights on the people on the dance floor. I almost got dizzy from looking down at them dancing and moving around like ants when you pour gasoline on their ant hole.

  The band was four negros. They played three jive songs without singing. After them the man with the microphone announced a singing group that sang one song. They looked real young and real nervous, and they weren’t very good. They kept looking at each other like they didn’t know what to do. After their song, people clapped but some people booed. One of the singers looked like he was going to cry, then they left the stage.

  The Tones were the fourth group to take the stage. The man with the microphone said, “Let’s give an El Monte Legion Stadium welcome to San Gabriel’s very own, ‘The Casual Tones.’” He said that for every group, like “Baldwin Park’s very own” or “Azusa’s very own.” When Betty saw the Tones come on stage, she poked me in the ribs with her elbow. Her hip wiggled.

  They looked like I never saw them before. They were all wearing the same thing: starched and ironed khaki pants and French toe shoes and the shirts my mom made them. I remember going to downtown L.A. with Cruz and Mom to pick out the right material for the shirts. It took us a whole Saturday going into all the fabric shops on Maple Street until they found the perfect material. It was deep blue with silver threads going through it.

  Mom told Cruz that the fabric would look great when the spotlights shined on it. The neatest part was that she sewed “CT” in fancy letters with her Singer on the shirt pockets. No other group had that. Cruz used his birthday money to buy Florsheim French toe shoes, except they weren’t real Florsheims, and they squeaked when he first walked in them. They were cheap look-alikes, but Cruz didn’t care. He told me nobody would know when he was on stage. He brought them over to show Grandma. He spit-shined them on her side porch till I could see my face in the toes, and then he put them to bed in their box.

  The Tones sang a slow love song, then a fast one, then another slow love song that Cruz wrote himself. After the first song they didn’t look nervous anymore. Then Rafa—who sings the high parts—made a joke and the crowd laughed. When their set—Cruz, who knows everything, told me that’s what it’s called—when their set ended they got a good clap from the crowd.

  I asked Betty if we were leaving now that we saw the Tones, but she said no. She wanted to see a couple more groups, but we wouldn’t stay for Don and Dewey. Then she told me she left her sweater in the car and asked if I thought I could go by myself to get it for her. I asked her why she wanted a sweater. The big crowd of teenagers and the fact that there weren’t any open windows made me sweaty just sitting there. She said that the air outside would be cold when we left, and she didn’t want to catch a chill. She handed me her car keys and told me to be careful and come right back.

  Betty was right. When I went outside, it was foggy and cold. About halfway to the car I had to pee, so I looked around for a dark place where I could do my business. I found a shed nearby. I went behind it and unzipped my pants as fast as I could and let the pee shoot against the wall. There was a light shining somewhere because I could see my pee bend like a rainbow and make a dark puddle that steamed in the light and fog. When I was done, I zipped back up.

  But before I could turn around, I heard a voice behind me. I pushed myself into the wall of the shed and hoped whoever it was didn’t hear me. The voice was rough and hard, full of anger. The voice that answered was weak and scared. Then there was another voice that sounded real familiar. They were arguing and using lots of dirty words. They were men’s voices, not teenagers, and I recognized two of them. One was Rudy’s. He must have been tired or drunk because he was talking real slow. I couldn’t understand most of what he was saying.

  The other voice—the hard one—was Lino’s. He wanted money. Now. The voice I didn’t recognize said he would pay him.

  “When?”

  “A couple of days.”

  Then I heard shoes scraping on the ground and kicks and punches landing that sounded like when I sock the sack of flour in Grandma’s kitchen.

  I peeked around the corner and saw Rudy and Lino standing over the guy on the ground. He looked like the hobo did, but he wasn’t dead because I could see puffs of steam coming up from his face when he breathed. Rudy was swaying like he was on a boat. His head was nodding and his hands were stuffed in his pockets.

  Lino gave the man on the ground one last kick before Rudy and him left. I lost them in the rows of cars. I stayed pressed against the shed wall and waited for the other man to leave. He took a long time getting up and then he limped away holding his side and disappeared into the night and the fog.

  When the men were gone, I ran as fast as I could to Betty’s car and got her sweater.

  “What happened to you?” she asked me later when we left the show. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  “I got lost in the parking lot,” I lied, “and couldn’t find the car. I guess I got scared.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “you took a long time. I was just praying trouble didn’t find yo
u.”

  I like how she said that—“trouble didn’t find you.” Lino was trouble. But trouble didn’t see me or find me.

  16

  The light that bounced off her rear-view mirror made Betty’s face look red. I heard her mumble, “Damn it. Now what?” Then I heard the siren. Betty slowed down and pulled the car over to the curb. I turned around to look out the back window, but the light was shining in so bright, I couldn’t see. Betty fumbled around in her purse.

  In a minute a uniform came up next to her side window. I could only see from the belt to the shoulders. Betty rolled the window down.

  “Where are you headed?” he asked.

  “We’re on our way home, Officer.” She used that voice she uses when she talks English to the white waitresses at the Woolworth luncheonette.

  “Home from where?”

  Betty’s white voice asked, “Why was I stopped, Officer?”

  “Why don’t you let me ask the questions?” the cop said. “Do you know how fast you were going?”

  “Yes, Officer. I was going twenty in a twenty-five zone. I always drive under the speed limit.”

  “Oh you do, do you?” I recognized the voice. “License and registration.” He leaned down and looked in the window and stared straight at me. He wasn’t wearing those sunglasses now, and I could see his eyes squinting in the spotlight. “Is this your kid?”

  “No, Officer, he’s my nephew.” She gave him her license and her registration. I sat sideways looking at Betty who was looking straight out the windshield. We sat like that for a long time. Finally the Turk said, “Step out of the car.” I started to reach for the door handle.

  “Why did you stop us, Officer?”

  “Step out of the car, and go over to the curb, ma’am.” The Turk opened the door, and Betty nodded to me to get out.