Iron River

by Daniel Acosta

  Rudy stopped talking for a long time. He made a sound in his throat like he was choking. I didn’t know what I should do. Then he started talking again. When he did, his voice was different. Like somebody was squeezing his neck. He took out a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his nose.

  “I been in fights and I seen guys get beat up pretty bad, and I even seen guys die, and I did my share of killing in a couple of fire-fights, but I never lost a buddy or seen anything like what happened to Jimmy Beane. I sat there in the ditch holding his hand for I don’t know how long.

  “Then he says something. I don’t see how he could talk with his head smashed up so bad, but he says something to me. I can’t understand him so I lean down and put my ear right next to his mouth. I could hear the blood gurgle when he breathes in. ‘Hurts,’ he says. ‘Shoot me,’ he says. I could feel his hand try to squeeze mine. The blood gurgles. ‘Hurts.’”

  Rudy stopped again and put the handkerchief over his eyes.

  “When I re-lize what he wants, I don’t want to do what he’s asking me, but I could see he’s hurt so bad. And he’s crying. I sit up, and I could hear him hiss the words ‘hurt’ and ‘shoot’ over and over. I stand up and put the muzzle of my M-1 against his head. I hear him hiss something, and I close my eyes and squeeze the trigger.”

  Rudy gave a deep, croaky cough into the handkerchief, and his shoulders jumped up and down. After a long time, they settled down like earthquakes do. He took the handkerchief down from his eyes, and they were red. They didn’t look at me but past me at the mountain.

  “I sit down next to Jimmy Beane for a long time. Then I turn the rifle around and put the muzzle in my mouth. I want to pull the trigger again. I want to be with him. To pay for everything, you know? For all the bad things I done my whole life. But I don’t have the guts. Why did he had to be the one to die, you know? After all, he was a innocent kid. I should’ve died, not him. I deserve it way more than him, you know?

  “Then another unit comes along and finds us. They put us all in the bed of another deuce, and I sit next to Jimmy Beane all the way to the field hospital. They split us up and check me out, and I guess I’m okay because a few days later I get orders assigning me to another unit headed for Italy. But I’m no good to fight no more. I wait for them to charge me with killing Jimmy, but they never do. All they do is send me home and let me go with a general discharge which isn’t much better than a dishonorable.”

  Rudy kept sniffing because his nose was running. He used the handkerchief and looked down at the floor and kept shaking his head like saying no. I wanted to do something to make him feel better, but then I remembered what happened to Little. We were playing at his house one time when we saw a dog get hit by a car. The dog looked hurt bad and kept trying to get up. When Little tried to pick the dog up, it bit him. I didn’t know how to help Rudy so I just sat on the floor with my back against the porch wall and waited for him to come back.

  “I done a lot of bad things in my life. I know I hurt my ‘ama and my ‘apa and the familia real bad. I guess I’m what they call bad seed. I just wish I knew why God even put me on this earth, you know?” He looked at me. “No, you don’t know. I only been here a little while, but I already know you’re good seed like your daddy. He doesn’t want you near me because he’s afraid you might catch what I have like they catch polio or something. But you’re not like me. You won’t catch nothing bad from me.” He wiped his eyes and blew his nose in the handkerchief. “I guess your uncle Rudy’s just a big cry baby, huh?” he said. He looked around and looked surprised that he was on the front porch. He stood up and put the handkerchief back in his back pocket. He leaned over and mussed up my hair.

  “Don’t tell nobody about the crying, okay, Man?” I nodded and watched him go in through the screen door. I watched the door till the front door closed behind it.

  18

  All I could think about was the story Rudy told me. What would it be like to see Danny or Marco or Little dying and me not able to keep them alive? It seems like it would hurt more to see a friend suffering than to be the one dying, but I don’t know and I don’t want to know.

  I thought about Rudy and how hard it must be for him to live outside of prison. Everywhere he looked, he found trouble. And now that he was on parole, trouble came looking for him—like that guy Lino.

  He was trouble. I wish Rudy would’ve stayed away from him.

  I already told you I don’t want to go to high school. The seventh grade is the second-to-last stop before that.

  One day Capone told us we set a record for the hottest day for that date in history. She seemed happy about that and showed us the thermometer she keeps on the wall outside our classroom. It said one hundred and ten degrees. I sat in my desk and begged God to make the day go fast so I could go cool off up in the club.

  When I got home I could hardly wait to wash up and change. But when I went in the kitchen my dad was standing at the telephone talking to somebody. He put his hand over the talking part and jerked his head to the side for me to get lost.

  When I came out of the bathroom, I went through the kitchen as slow as I could to hear what dad was saying. He was talking Spanish. It sounded like he was either talking to Rudy or about him. And his voice was real rough. I heard him say, “Okay, but it’s going to take some time.”

  I went over and sat in front of the TV. When my dad came in, I asked him why he was home. He told me, “Never mind.” He went into his room and was there for a little while. Then he came out wearing clean clothes.

  I asked him, “Can I go with you?”

  “No,” he growled.

  He went out the kitchen door, pulled the car out of the driveway and drove away like he was in a hurry. When I went in the kitchen, Grandma was at the stove moving pots and pans around. I looked at the clock. It was too early to start supper. She wasn’t even cleaning any beans. I walked up next to her. She was crying.

  “Grandma, what’s the matter?” She turned then and hugged me real tight.

  “Mijo, oh, mijo.” I could feel her chest shaking.

  “What’s wrong, Grandma?”

  “Oh, Rodolfo, you have broken my mother’s heart!” It was weird to hear Rudy’s name in Spanish. She only says my name in Spanish like that when she’s mad. But she didn’t sound mad at Rudy. I stood there and let her hold me. Pretty soon her bony chest stopped shaking. She let me go. “We have to say the rosary, mijito. For your tío.”

  We went into her room and stood in front of the santos. “We have to pray to Saint Peter and Saint Paul because they both were in prison.” I kneeled down next to Grandma’s bed. I looked in the case for the statues of Peter and Paul. Peter’s an old guy holding a set of keys. Paul is the one with a book in one hand and a sword in the other. I found Peter standing behind St. Therese looking over the Little Flower’s shoulder. And I spotted Paul standing next to San Judas, the apostle with the flame sticking out the top of his head. Paul was turned like he’s looking out the window and wishing he was anywhere else but in that crowded case.

  I could say the rosary in Spanish and think about other things at the same time. I thought about Rudy. Then I thought about what happened at the Legion. Then I thought about the hobo. I always ended up thinking about the hobo. About halfway through the rosary, Dorothy came in. She kneeled down on the other side of Grandma and said the rest of the rosary with us.

  When we finished, I asked Grandma what was the matter, but she just shook her head and told me to go do my homework.

  “Is Rudy dead?” I asked. Grandma laughed a little nervous laugh, but her face didn’t look like I said something funny. I heard a car pull up in front of the house. I went to the screen door. It was Ted’s car. Betty was driving, and Mom was in the passenger side. I ran out to meet them.

  “Mom, what happened? Grandma’s crying and Dad came home from work early and left.”

  Mom kissed the top of my head real fast and rushed into the house. Betty wasn’t smiling. She scratched
the back of my head soft-like while we walked inside.

  Mom was holding Grandma in her arms and Grandma was crying again. Betty pushed me toward the front room where Dorothy was.

  “Watch TV. I’ll bring your supper later. Just stay in here, okay?”

  I didn’t really pay attention to the outer-space movie that was on after the cartoon hour ended, and I didn’t taste my supper. I spent the whole time trying to hear what the grown-ups were saying in the kitchen. Finally Betty came in and turned off the TV.

  “Your uncle Rudy is in the hospital. He’s in pretty bad shape. Your father’s at the hospital with him.”

  “What happened to him?”

  She shook her head. “All I know is he’s pretty bad.” I didn’t know if she meant he was hurt bad or that he was a bad person. “Get your school clothes ready for tomorrow in case you have to sleep over my house, okay?” She mussed up my hair, but this time I could tell she wasn’t playing. She gave Dorothy a kiss on her head and went back to the kitchen.

  I found out later that Dad spent the night at the hospital, then came home and changed and went straight to work. We didn’t have to sleep at Betty’s. I’m glad because when I woke up the next day, my sheets were soaked.

  Rudy was hurt real bad, and Dad was mad at him, and Grandma’s heart was broken, and I was a pee baby.

  I took a shower and got dressed, then I took my sheets out to the cuartito. When I came back inside, Betty was in the kitchen with Mom and Grandma.

  “Betty’s going to drop you off at school,” Mom told me, “and then take me into work. So eat your breakfast, and don’t waste time.” Dorothy was already dressed. Her hair was brushed, and she was halfway done with her cereal. Grandma was still in her nightgown and robe, and her hair was still in that braid she wears to bed. She looked tired and real old. She was holding her rosary.

  I was out in the playground at lunchtime with Danny and Marco and Little when I found out what happened to Rudy. Cruz told me from the other side of the fence where he was hanging out with Big and the other guys. He waved for me to come over.

  “Did you hear about Rudy?” I stood there waiting for him to tell me. “Well, did you?”

  “My dad didn’t come home last night. And I know Rudy got hurt.”

  Cruz turned to his friends. “Dumb ass. Rudy got his ass kicked by the Turk.” Then him and his friends laughed. “He busted him at Smith Park and beat the piss out of him.” They laughed again.

  I told Cruz, “I don’t think that’s funny.”

  “Who cares what you think, pee baby?”

  My whole body started burning. I wanted to take off my shirt and run so the wind would cool me off. I knew if I stayed there he would tell everybody there that I was twelve, and I still wet my bed. Pretty soon everybody in the high school and then in the grammar school would know.

  Before I could do anything, Danny pulled my arm and turned me around. “Let’s go.” Marco and Danny and Little walked me away from the fence. I could hear the teenagers laughing. Maybe everybody knew already.

  I couldn’t think about schoolwork the rest of the day. Me and the gang walked home without talking. When they dropped me off, Marco said, “Those guys are stupid. Don’t pay attention to them.”

  “See you tomorrow at school,” Danny said. He patted me on the shoulder.

  I dropped my book bag in the kitchen and went to lay down on the couch. Grandma’s salón was cool and dark. I was sweating and had a headache that was splitting my head like a sandía. I thought about Rudy getting beat up. I remembered his hands the day we were in the kitchen. I wondered if he got beat up the same way him and Marcel beat up that guy at the Legion.

  The next thing I knew Grandma was shaking my arm. “Wake up, mijito,” I heard her say. “Wash your face and change your clothes. Your daddy’s going to take us to see Rudy.”

  “What about Dorothy?” I asked her.

  “Betulia already picked her up.”

  I checked that my pants were dry. I took off my shirt and pulled a clean one out of the clothes box. I was finishing buttoning it up when Dad honked. Grandma walked fast through the front room like she was a younger woman.

  “Come on, mijito.”

  After a while driving, Dad turned into the parking lot of a huge grey building and parked.

  “Where are we?”

  “General Hospital. This is where they brought Rudy.”

  19

  Why didn’t they take him to Valley Hospital?” Valley Hospital was just across the tracks from our neighborhood on Broadway. It’s where I was born. Dad didn’t say anything.

  I waited on a bench with Grandma while Dad talked to a lady at the entrance counter. Dad came back to us.

  “Tenth floor.”

  We followed a blue line painted on the floor and got in that elevator with another family. The mom was holding a crying baby. She seemed as old and tired as Grandma. She kept putting a chupón in the baby’s mouth, and the baby kept spitting it out. Three other kids were with her, and they all wore old clothes. Their skin was kind of dirty brown, like coffee with not enough milk. The girl looked about as old as Dorothy but way littler than Dorothy. She stared at me and the shiny darks of her eyes were like black olives. I watched her olives follow the shape of my port-wine stain. She got to my red hair, then she looked at my eyes. When I smiled at her, she hid her face in her mother’s dress.

  The littlest kid had a runny nose and his mocos were like thick clear water on his top lip. I got asco and I had to turn away and look up at the numbers over the door.

  The “10” lit up and the operator opened the elevator doors. We stepped out into the middle of a long hallway. The big sign on the wall in front of us said, “Medical Detention Unit. Los Angeles County Sheriff.”

  On one side of the hallway people were sitting on beat-up steel chairs or standing up leaning against the walls. Little kids were sitting on the floor and running up and down the hall. All the people were Mexicans or negros. One end of the hall was blocked by steel bars. An old Mexican man was talking to a policeman on the other side of the bars. He was holding a white cowboy hat like men from Mexico wear.

  “Wait right here,” Dad told me and Grandma. He went to the bars and stood behind the Mexican man. The bell rang again and the elevator doors opened. Me and Grandma had to move out of the way to let another family come out of the elevator.

  A negro man got up from a chair and offered it to Grandma. She smiled and said, “No, thank you.” But before the man could sit back down, a woman who just got off the elevator ran to the chair and plopped herself down in it. Grandma and the man looked at each other and just shook their heads.

  Dad came back over to where we were. He looked so different from the other men there in the hall. He looked like a white man compared to them. His skin was lighter. The clothes he wore fit him.

  “Maldonado.” Our name was called even though people were there before us. The voice sounded like a dog bark. Dad touched my shoulder, and we walked over to the wall of bars. The bar door opened with a clank, and we walked through. A different policeman on the other side told us to empty our pockets in a steel tray on a wood table. Dad put in his wallet and car keys and pack of Camels and his Zippo lighter Mom gave him one Father’s Day. Grandma put in her purse. I took out my handkerchief, a pack of Juicy Fruit gum, and a baseball card I wanted to give Rudy. The officer looked through the things on the tray. He opened Grandma’s purse and emptied it in the tray and looked at what she had, then he told her to put it back in her purse. The same with Dad’s stuff. He pointed at my things, and I picked them up and stuffed them back in my pockets. “Six,” he barked at my dad.

  We found Room Six and went in. Four men in four beds. Rudy was by the window. His head was wrapped in bandages and both his eyes were bloodshot and black. His lips were puffed up and purple. He looked asleep, but when Dad got to his bed, he opened his eyes.

  “Traje a ‘amá para verte,” Dad grumbled. Then he moved over and stood looking out
the window. I stood behind Grandma and watched her start crying again. She blessed Rudy on the forehead and chest and said “Ay, mijo,” over and over. She kissed his cheeks and wiped her tears off his face. Then she kissed his hands and pressed them against her cheek.

  I looked at Dad. He kept staring out the window like something important was happening outside. Grandma whispered things to Rudy in Spanish. Then she stopped and moved to the side and said, “Manuelito’s here too.” I never heard her call me that way before. I moved closer to the bed and smiled the best I could to Rudy.

  I pulled the baseball card out of my pocket. It was all bent and folded from getting stuffed in my pocket. I smoothed out the card the best I could and held up it so he could see it, and then I laid it on the little table next to his bed.

  “I didn’t have no holy cards,” I told him, “so I brought you one of my favorite baseball cards, okay? It’s my Bobby Avila. Sorry it’s all bent up.”

  He smiled at me the best he could and said, “Thanks, Man. He’s my favorite too.” Rudy’s voice sounded all scratchy like an old man. I didn’t know what to say so I told him, “I hope you get well fast.”

  Then I went over to the window next to Dad. I wanted to see what he was looking at. When Dad felt me next to him, he looked down at me, then at Grandma. He said, “I’ll wait outside.” He didn’t even say goodbye to Rudy. He just walked out of the room.

  Something told me to go with him, so I waved bye at Rudy and told him, “See you soon.” I left him there with Grandma.

  Dad was leaning on the wall and looking at the floor when I came out. He saw me and stood up straight. He asked me, “Is your Grandma ready to go?” I shook my head to tell him no.

  I asked him, “How come you didn’t talk to Rudy, Dad?”

  “I don’t have anything to say to him.”

  “Are you mad because he got arrested or because he got beat up?” He didn’t answer me. We stood there for like half an hour until Grandma came out and closed the door so it didn’t make noise. She walked past Dad to the steel bar door without looking at him.