Nilda (24 page)

“It's all right, Sylvia,” he said. “Honest, I don't mind walking you; it's big-mouth here.” Sylvia looked the other way, embarrassed. “Nilda,” he said, annoyed, “you are going to make me real late to my meeting.”

“You don't have to walk me back home, you know,” Nilda said. “Just forget it; I'll get back by myself. Big deal!”

“Yeah,” Frankie said, “then tell Mamá and I get it. Tattletale!”

“I'm not gonna say nothing, Frankie!” Nilda yelled.

There was a long pause and Frankie stopped, then continued to walk a few paces ahead of them. Nilda stuck out her tongue and made a face at him.

“Honestly, Nilda, you are making it worse,” Sylvia whispered.

Boy, some friend she is; thanks a lot! Nilda said to herself. They heard a shrill whistle.

“Hey, man, Frankie!” someone shouted. Nilda turned and saw a tall boy, wearing the same kind of jacket that Frankie had, running toward them. Out of breath and wide-eyed, he said,
“Frankie, man, you better split, split fast. Those motherfucker Barons, they raided us, down the basement in the clubhouse. They got Indio and Charley. They stomped the shit out of them. They had knives, sticks and chains. Man, they dragged Mateo out and we don't know if he's alive!”

“When?” Frankie asked.

“Just before, during the meeting. We were planning the rumble and they attacked us—just like those Japs, man—sneaky, behind our backs. ¡Maricones! They ain't no Americans, man; they're Japs!”

Nilda watched as the tall boy spoke. He had the name HECTOR stitched on the front of his jacket. His light brown skin was bright and flushed and his hair was mussed; some blood trickled down his nose and the right side of his mouth.

“A lot of us were able to get out. I fought a few of them and ducked down an alley. You was lucky you wasn't there.”

“I got stuck; I had to walk my sister and her friend. Oh, man, Hector, shit. I wish I coulda been there. I woulda stomped on their asses.”

Hector had managed to stand inside the doorway of a small dry-goods shop that was closed. “Well, just split now, man,” he said. “The Barons are after us and that bastard Pícalo got his knife. I don't know what they did to Mateo or where they took him. Man, I hope he's all right.” With a worried look, Hector stretched and looked up and down the dark street. “But listen, the cops are after us, too. Look, Frankie, get off the streets. You better walk back through the roofs and alleys, man. Get your ass home and keep cool; don't wear the jacket for a while. I'm cutting, man. See you, Frankie,” and he walked away.

Nilda and Sylvia looked at each other and then at Frankie, who stood there confused. “Wait,” he called out. “Man, wait, I'll go with you.” Turning to the two girls, he said, “Look, I better cut.”

“All right,” Nilda interrupted him. “Go ahead, Frankie, split. We'll be okay. I won't say nothing to Mamá. Honest, go on!”

“You better go, Frankie,” Sylvia said.

Frankie ran toward Hector and they both disappeared into a building.

“I told you, Nilda. Remember about the rumble?” Sylvia said.

“Maybe I should have told my brother,” Nilda said, feeling miserable. “I'll walk you to your corner; we are almost there.”

The two girls walked on quietly. “Here we are. Do you want to come up, Nilda? My father could take you back.”

“No thanks, I better not. Else my mother would ask about Frankie. It's okay.”

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Sylvia said.

“Good-bye. Please don't say nothing to nobody, or Frankie will think it's me who snitched. Okay?”

“I won't. I won't say a word,” Sylvia said, and pausing, she asked, “Nilda? Please tell me what happens.”

“Of course,” Nilda said. “So long.” She started back down the avenue, heading for home.

“Nilda!” She heard someone calling her name and stopped to see who it was. It was Chucho, Benji's brother. “Hi, Nilda. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, hi, Chucho. I was walking my friend home.”

“Wait, wait a minute. You going back home now?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Manuel is coming right down. We went to our aunt's house; you know Estelle, my mother's sister. We'll walk you back, Nilda.”

“Sure,” she said. “Will he be long? My mother is expecting me back right away.”

“No, he'll be right back. As a matter of fact, we were outside in the street when Manuel remembered he forgot something and went back up.” Chucho smiled. “Look, there he is. See?” and he
pointed to a young boy who hurried toward them. He was younger than Chucho but almost the same height

“Hi, Nilda. How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Manuel, we'll take Nilda home; it will only be a minute out of our way.”

“Sure, good,” Manuel said.

The three young people walked silently for a while. It was windy and cold out; they all walked quickly, trying to stay warm.

“Nilda,” Chucho said, “we hardly see you anymore. You don't come to services very often now, do you?” He added, “You're missed.”

Oh, man, thought Nilda, annoyed. They're gonna start that business again. “Well, I been busy, you know. Now that Mami is working every day, I have to help out a lot,” she said.

“This weekend, Nilda, try to come,” Chucho said. “It's something special. We'll have our meeting right on the corner of 116th Street and Lexington Avenue. You know, right by the subway station? The musicians will play and we'll set up a platform and amplifiers. We would like you to come and be with us, Nilda.”

“I'll try,” she said timidly. She hated those street meetings and she knew Benji hated them. She remembered the last time she had been out in the street with them and how embarrassed she had been; she had wanted to cry. Everyone pointed and looked at you, she thought. The kids who recognized her had made fun of her, shouting remarks and making faces. She recalled how she had tried to leave but couldn't, because her group had been right in the middle where everyone could see them.

“Have you been reading the Bible we gave you and the word of Jesus?” Chucho asked.

“Yes,” she said. I wish he'd stop preaching all the time, Nilda said to herself. Chucho was the most religious and the oldest of Benji's brothers.

Nilda heard a siren and saw a police car speeding down the avenue. It passed them, stopped abruptly and backed up. A police officer yelled out of the car window. “Hey, you! Wait a minute!” He stepped out of the car and ran across the avenue toward Nilda and the two boys. As he approached them, the patrol car made a U-turn and stopped in front of them. “Where you going?” the policeman asked. “What the hell are you doing hanging around the streets at night?”

Nilda, for a moment, could not believe that he was talking to them. Shocked and frightened, she looked at the large policeman as he spoke to Chucho. “Where do you live?” the policeman asked, and looked angrily at Chucho and Manuel, a nightstick grasped in his hand. As Chucho answered, the other policeman got out of the car and walked toward them. “That's quite a few blocks from here. What the hell are you doing way up here, God damn it!” the first cop said.

“We went to visit our aunt who lives two blocks up,” Manuel answered.

“Shut your ass. I'm talking to him,” he said, angrily pointing to Chucho.

“Yes, that's right, officer,” Chucho said. “We just came to visit my aunt, that's all.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“And you?” the cop asked Manuel.

“Fourteen.”

“Who is this girl?”

“She's a friend and we are walking her home,” Chucho said.

The two policemen stared at the boys for a while. Then the first policeman asked, “Where's the rest of you guys?”

Chucho looked, bewildered, at Manuel, who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“Come on, cut the shit. We know all about the rumble between the Lightnings and the Barons.” Nilda felt her insides begin to sink.

“We do not know, sir, who they are. We don't belong to any gangs,” Chucho said.

Nilda did not know when or how it happened, but the first policeman held Chucho by the collar and up against the side of the building. “Look!” he shouted into Chucho's face. “Don't give me any shit, spic. I'm tired of this trouble. Now, either you tell me where you punks are, and quit lying, or I'm gonna smash your face.”

“Officer, we don't know!” interrupted Manuel. He rushed to his brother, shouting, “We're of the Pentecostal faith. We do not believe …”

The policeman released his grip and let go of Chucho. He picked up his nightstick and swung hard at Manuel. Nilda heard a thud and saw blood coming down the side of Manuel's face as he reeled over.

“Stop! Stop!” Chucho shouted. “He's only a kid. Please, please.” The policeman kept swinging his nightstick at Manuel.

“Hey, leave me alone. Stop, hey!” Manuel cried out, trying to duck the blows of the nightstick.

The second policeman leaped toward the first policeman and grabbed the nightstick. “Ned! Take it easy, for God's sake, Ned!” he shouted. “Hold it! Christ! Come on, hold it now.”

“Manuel! Manuel!” Chucho yelled and grabbed his brother, who was crying and wiping his face. His eyes, nose, mouth and hair were full of blood. Manuel coughed and cried, clinging to Chucho.

The policeman had stopped using his nightstick and both men stood by, motionless, watching the two boys. Nilda had heard loud screams; only now, as she cried quietly, feeling the
hoarseness in her throat, did she realize that it was she who had been screaming.

People started to appear; windows opened and some cars stopped to see what was going on. They gathered by the two boys and the policemen, asking questions. “What's happening? Look at that boy! He's bleeding.” “¿Qué pasa aquí?” “Must be a fight. Officer? What happened?” “Look at those young kids in trouble.”

“All right. Keep moving. Get outta here. Break it up,” the policemen shouted at the onlookers. “Okay now, we said beat it.”

The policemen went up to the two boys. Manuel jumped back and whimpered. He clung to Chucho, who held him and wiped the wounds with a white handkerchief. “My brother's hurt,” he said. “We need a doctor. Look,” and he stepped back as if to show them Manuel. Manuel continued to cry, burying his face in Chucho's chest. Both policemen looked at each other but said nothing. Chucho continued to speak. “We are members of the Pentecostal Church on Lexington Avenue and 102nd Street, La Roca de San Sebastián. We don't believe in violence. Please,” he pleaded, “take us to the hospital; my brother's hurt.”

Nilda watched Manuel, who cried in pain, “Ay, man, … qué dolor … it hurts, Chucho … it hurts too much help me.” Some of the blood was drying and Manuel's face began to swell and puff up. The wind blew his soft dark hair, which was covered with red blotches.

“All right, we'll drive you down to the emergency room at Flower Fifth, but next time stay off the streets or it will be worse. Now, we won't press charges, but we don't want any crap from you. Okay?” the first policeman said.

“Please, sir!” Chucho said. “Just take us to a hospital. We don't want no trouble.”

The second policeman looked at Nilda. “You get back home; a young girl like you should be off the streets. Where do you live?” he asked.

Nilda stared at him. “Not far; I can walk. It's only down a few blocks, that's all.”

“All right, now get the hell off the streets and right home before we take you in.”

“Yes,” she said, frightened, “I'll go right home.”

The policemen went to the patrol car and opened the back door. “Get in,” the second policeman said, and looked at the brothers. “Go on, get in back; we'll drive you down to the hospital.”

Nilda watched as Chucho almost carried Manuel to the back of the patrol car. Manuel breathed heavily and couldn't stop crying. “Don't worry, Manuel, we're going to the emergency room, man, to the hospital; hold on.” The two boys disappeared into the car.

“Shit, Ned!” the second policeman said. “You oughta watch that temper.”

“Bunch of bastards anyway. Spic got what he deserved,” the first policeman said.

Most of the people had left, but a few still remained. “Hey, girlie,” a man asked, “what happened? Are they friends of yours? Did they have a fight or something?”

Nilda looked at the man. “No,” she said.

Several other persons gathered around her. “Was that kid shot?” “Was there a holdup? Hey, kid, what happened?” “Mira, nena, ¿qué pasó?” Nilda watched the patrol car as it sped downtown and out of sight, and began to walk away, heading home. “Hey, kid!” someone called out to her. She quickened her pace, not looking back, and started to run until the voices faded and she couldn't hear anyone. She turned once to make sure that there was no one around to ask her anything, and stopped running.

As she walked briskly, she felt the blood flowing back into her limbs and had a sense of herself once more. Her legs felt ice cold, and she shivered. Reaching down, she touched her long wool stockings and realized they were wet; her panties were wet.
Did I pee? she asked herself. Oh, man, I don't remember peeing, she thought, and reached down, touching her wet stockings. Then putting her hand to her nose, she inhaled. It was cold and she couldn't tell if it really smelled like urine. What else could it be? she reasoned, and a feeling of embarrassment and helplessness overcame her. Nilda began to cry again. What shall I tell Mamá? And what about Frankie? Where is he? Mamá will know he didn't walk me, and Benji's family will know. They will tell Mamá anyway, she thought, feeling wretched. This was all my stupid idea to go and walk Sylvia, she thought, angry with herself. It was dark out and each time she saw someone, she prayed silently that it be no one she knew. Let me make it home, God, please, to my building, then I'll think of something. Nilda reached her stoop and hurried inside to the warm hallway, and over to the stairway.