Caramelo (41 page)

At this point Mars interrupts, —Aw, it’s cause we’re
raza, ése
.

—I remember I promised to pay you back just as soon as I got to Mexico City, Father says, reeling the story back, —and the moment I stepped in the door my father, who was very correct, very much a gentleman, wired Mars his
centavitos …

Mars adds, —And what did I tell you back then? … Don’t worry about it, buddy. Way I figured it, you paid me or you paid somebody else one day. It’s all the same. Look, you give hate and you get paid back in hate. You give love and the world pays you back in love. I give you fifty bucks, and someday somebody does me a favor when I need it too, see?

—All the same. I paid back my debt. I’m a man of my word.

I look out the window and am surprised to see Mother leaning against our van smoking a cigarette. Mother hardly ever smokes, except maybe once in a while, like maybe on New Year’s Eve.

—But the day I met my friend here, Father continues, —he took me to the Red Cross to get duplicate furlough papers, then the USO station, he bought me a hamburger, two cups of coffee and a chocolate donut, he bought me a train ticket, and then he walked me over to the train station, gave me the Mexican good-bye—
un abrazo
and the double pat on the back …

—Because we’re
raza
, Mars says, shrugging. —Know what I’m talking about? Because we’re
familia
. And
familia
, like it or not, for richer or poorer,
familia
always gots to stick together, bro’.

Then Mars does the funky
raza
handshake with Father, like Chicano power, and Father, who is always ranting and raving about Chicanos, the same Father who calls Chicanos
exagerados, vulgarones
, zoot-suiting, wild-talking, mota-smoking, forgot-they-were-Mexican Mexicans, surprises us all. Father handshakes the funky handshake back.

57.

Birds Without a Nest

      S
in
—without.
Sin compañía
. Without company. Without companion. Without compromises. Without worries. The Grandmother was strangely quiet the rest of the trip. Mars’ string of buildings impressed her. She thought about how she might invest the money from the sale of the house on Destiny Street. She didn’t have to ask permission from anyone now, did she? She busied herself looking through the classifieds of the newspaper Mars had given her and ignored the chatter of her grandchildren. Since they spoke to each other in English most of the time, this was easy to do. Was it true one could become rich in San Antonio? Not that she had any intention of moving to San Antonio. Why, of course, she wanted to live near her sons and be with them in Chicago. But it doesn’t hurt to look, she thought to herself. It was this column that caught her heart:

FLECHAZO

Would you like to start an interesting friendship? Are you tired of looking everywhere for that special person to share your life with? Send us your personal announcement and mention your name, age, weight, height, and hobbies
.

Mexicana,
white, tall, thin, 5′3″, attractive, cheerful, decent, elegant, without vices, without compromises. I love dancing and all kinds of healthy diversions. I am formal and affectionate. I wish to meet a gentleman of 45 to 55 years old, light or fair-skinned, medium height (like 5′5″ or taller). He must be attentive, affectionate, responsible, without vices or compromises, and should be formal. Also, he must be educated; must love dancing and serious relationships; and above all, be economically solvent
.

Feel free to write me in English
o español, no le hace y
don’t you worry! Mex-Tex, single, 35 years old, 145 pounds
, piel apiñonada,
not too fat, not too skinny, not too bad-looking either, without vices, own my own tree-trimming and lawn-mowing business. I love
la música norteña,
dancing, accordion playing, I am without dependents, love diversions, but I am a homebody and loyal. I look for a woman between 19–30 years, any nationality, attractive, feminine above all, if you think you’re compatible with me, write, you won’t be sorry. Don’t forget photo and telephone number. Come on
, vamos a hacerle el
try!

I am a Mexican lady, divorced, 5′2″, 157 pounds, 46 years old, white-skinned, a home person, clean, hardworking, affectionate, and they say I am quite attractive. I am a romantic. I love those things that make a person better every day. I adore all kinds of healthy diversions, and I am a believer in moral values. I desire a gentleman of 43 years to 53 years, between 5′7″ and 5′10″ height, weight appropriate to his height
, moreno claro (no es requisito),
without vices, responsible, honest. Stable in his sentiments, please no lying. He should be a worker and without any amorous compromises
. Absténgase,
no
aventuras.
God willing I will find him to begin a friendship, not matrimony. When he writes, I will know him
.

My name is Rudy, I am a 61 years old widower (don’t have gray hairs, they say I look 55). I am a veteran and love healthy diversions, fishing, films, camping, and visiting Natural Bridge Caverns. I am looking for a life companion. I sweep my house, iron, and mop. I bake cakes and bread. I don’t smoke or drink, and I have always tried to be as sincere as possible. I would like to meet someone with good presentation, kind, with good character, to begin a clean and sincere relationship. My intentions are serious. Write or call me for friendly conversation. You won’t be sorry
.

Señora
of 48 years seeks gentleman of 48 to 60 to establish a beautiful relationship. I am without vices, with a university degree in art and am very healthy spiritually. I am from a good family with an eye for the finer things of life. I look for a professional, no widowers or divorced please, a man of category without compromises, someone with the same qualities as I. If interested, send photo immediately
.

Single, 31, shy, hardworking, honorable man of good character seeks ideal woman to form firm relationship. I am 5′6
″,
160 lbs., and though I have a big heart, it’s patched as I had to undergo surgery recently. First we’ll talk by phone, then decide the date of our meeting. I have never married, and am clean, sincere, honest, and live simply. I work as an operator of heavy equipment
.

Woman of 60 years, Taurus, well conserved, active, very affectionate seeks man of appropriate age without vices. Must be cheerful, attentive, with no compromises whatever. If he’s a veteran, even better. I love t.v., soft music, meditation, fresh air. I am a bit of a vegetarian and I neither smoke nor drink. Desire a man with similar interests. Color, appearance, and nationality don’t matter, but qualities and thoughts do. If you are Virgo or Cancer, even better. Send telephone number
.

There were so many decent men out there in San Antonio. The Grandmother thought perhaps it was Divine Providence that was leading her there. Who knows what the future would bring? She felt a little
ashamed of her thoughts. Was it a sin to be thinking these things so soon after her terrible grief? But she’d always been so alone, especially
after
her marriage.

No, she could never bring herself to put an ad in the paper like a side of beef for sale. All the same, she could not help but mentally re-create herself:

Kind, mature woman, wronged in life too many times, seeks a stable, affectionate, tender, and above all, loyal gentleman
sin problemas.
Must be
feo, fuerte, y formal …

58.

My Kind of Town

      O
ne would think now that she was living in Chicago, in the same city as her Inocencio, the Grandmother would find happiness. But no, that wasn’t the case. The Grandmother was meaner than ever. She was unhappy. And didn’t know she was unhappy, the worst kind of unhappiness of all. As a result, everyone was in a hurry to find her a house of some sort. A bungalow, a duplex, a brownstone, an apartment. Something, anything, because the Grandmother’s gloominess was the contagious kind, infecting every member of the household as fiercely as the bubonic plague.

Because Baby and Ninfa’s apartment had room to accommodate a guest, it was understood the Grandmother would stay with them until she could find a house of her own. This had seemed all well and fine when the plans were made long-distance with Uncle Baby shouting into the receiver that he insisted, that he and Ninfa wouldn’t think of her staying anywhere else, that the girls were thrilled she was coming. But now that she was actually sleeping in Amor’s narrow bed with radios and televisions chattering throughout the apartment, and doors and cupboards banging, and the stink of cigarettes soaking into everything, even her skin, and trucks rumbling past and shaking the building like an earthquake, and sirens and car horns at all hours, well, it just about drove her crazy; even the rowdy Chicago wind, a rough, moody brute who took one look at you and laughed.

Baby’s family was housed in an immaculate apartment on the top floor of a ziggurat-capped three-flat facing the Kennedy Expressway, off North Avenue and Ashland. In the old days the hallways of these brick
buildings had exhaled the scent of pierogi or kielbasa, but now they let go a whiff of
arroz con gandules
or
sopa de fideo
.

All day and all night the expressway traffic whooshed past, keeping the Grandmother awake. She napped when she could, even when the apartment and its inhabitants jabbered the loudest. She was tired all the time, and yet she had trouble sleeping, often waking once or twice in the early morning, and in her sleeplessness, padding in her house slippers to the living room, where the front windows looked out onto the lanes of traffic, the expressway billboards, and the frighteningly grimy factories beyond. The trucks and cars, furious to get from here to there, never paused for a moment, the sound of the expressway almost not a sound at all, but a roar like the voice of the sea trapped inside a shell.

She pressed her forehead against the cold glass and sighed. If the Grandmother had consulted her feelings, she would’ve understood why it was taking her so long to buy a new house and settle in Chicago, but she was not a woman given to reflection. She missed her old house too much and was too proud to admit she’d made a mistake. She couldn’t go backward, could she? She was stuck, in the middle of nowhere it seemed, halfway between here and where?

The Grandmother missed the routine of her mornings, her three-minute eggs and
bolillo
breakfasts. She missed rubbing her big toe along the octagon tiles of her bathroom floor. But most of all, she missed her own bed with its mattress sagging in the center, the familiar scent and weight of her blankets, the way morning entered gradually from the left as the sun climbed over the east courtyard wall, the one topped with a cockscomb of glass shards to keep out the thieves. Why do we get so used to waking up in a certain room? And when we aren’t in our own bed and wake up in another, a terrible fear for a moment, like death.

There is nothing worse than being a houseguest for too long, especially when your host is a relative. The Grandmother felt like a prisoner. She hated climbing up the three flights of stairs, and always arrived clutching her heart, convinced she was having an attack, like the one that killed Narciso. Really, once she was upstairs, she couldn’t even bear the thought of coming back down. What a barbarity!

The apartment, with its glass and carpeting and knickknacks and froufrou, made her feel ill, with an inexplicable urge to pick up a chair and send everything smashing. The tufted cushions, the fringe, the brocade
draperies, the spotless glass and mirrors and gleaming kitchen, it was unbearable. The Grandmother blamed her daughter-in-law. Ninfa never talked to you without doing twenty things at the same time. Loading up the washer, rinsing a glass, wiping off a counter, spraying a mirror with glass cleaner. All this while trailing a violet plume of cigarette smoke. Ninfa was as skittish as a cat. The Grandmother was convinced Ninfa’s intent was to slowly drive her crazy.

To cure her homesickness, the Grandmother tried to make her borrowed room look like the one she had left behind on Destiny Street. She covered the bed with her Mexican pillows with their Mexican
cariños
. But it was no use. It was still Amor’s room with the chartreuse bedspread and hot-pink shag rug, the tape marks from where the black-light posters came down still sticky on the daisy wallpaper, the white wicker bedroom set from when Amor was a child, the pink-and-green faux Tiffany petal lamp dangling like a rosary from its gold swag chain, the plastic Boston fern in its fuzzy macramé plant hanger still dusty as ever, the princess vanity table cluttered with all of Amor’s things—electric hair rollers, a lighted makeup mirror, and two wigs, a copper pageboy and a blond shag. Amor left the Leonard Whiting and Olivia Hussey/
Romeo and Juliet
poster, but the Jackson Five had to go to make room for the Grandmother, who couldn’t understand why anyone would want pictures of
negros
.