The Memories of Ana Calderón (16 page)

“Yes! Yes! I know! But what are you doing about it? Do any of you go over there, across that narrow street, and tell Rodolfo Calderón that his daughter is in danger of dying?”

“Look, Padre, we all know that you did, and begging your forgiveness, what did you get out of it? I don't mean to be disrespectful, but we all know that you came out with nothing. And if that happened to you, a priest, what do you think will result if one of us tries to intervene?”

Father Gutiérrez was forced to accept Reyes Soto's words as being true. He pressed ahead, however, this time in a more subdued manner. “Forgive me. Ana's condition has frightened me, and her father's coldness has terrified me. I don't mean to be offensive with any of you. I called you here, not to insult you but to see if all of us together can think of what to do for Ana.”

Doña Carmelita spoke up; the tone of her voice was prophetic.
“Es la maldición, Padre.”

Instantly, voices shot out from different sides of the room.
“¡Ridículo!” “¡Absurdo!” “¡Qué estupidez!”

Intimidated and humiliated, Doña Carmelita slouched back in her chair, sulking. Soon, from behind her, came someone's comforting hand which patted her on the shoulder. “Don't listen to them, Doña Carmelita,” the voice whispered. “We all believe that a father's curse does terrible damage. They're just trying to pretend that they're modern people. Worse, they're trying to be like the
gringos
who don't believe
in anything.”

No one except Doña Carmelita heard these words. In the meantime, Father Gutiérrez and the rest of the group were thinking of what to do. After a long pause, Doña Trinidad spoke up. “The way I see it, we have to get her away from her father; away from this barrio. We have to find a place for her to stay until her baby comes and until she is able to work for the both of them.”

Everyone, even Father Gutiérrez, nodded in agreement, but no one had a specific idea as to where such a place could be found for Ana. Again no one spoke while each man and woman searched inwardly for the answer to Doña Trinidad's recommendation.

The silence was broken by Doña Hiroko who, speaking haltingly, made herself understood with some difficulty. “I have a friend…Mrs. Amy Bast…who supplies my store with the eggs I sell. This lady and her husband have a chicken farm in Whit…Whit…”

She wasn't able to pronounce the word. Someone finished it for her, “Whittier.”

Turning and bowing courteously toward the direction from which the word had come, Hiroko Ogawa continued with a smile on her face. “She will take Ana to her farm and let her stay there until the baby comes, and then…”

Everyone was sitting straight up in their chairs, bodies pressed forward, eyes riveted on their Japanese neighbor. They were intently trying to understand her heavily accented words.

“…She can stay or go where she is happier. Amy has already offered to take Ana to her place.”

“¡Sí! ¡Sí!
That's the answer.
¡Qué bueno! Gracias,
Doña Hiroko.”

The following day it was not Doña Hiroko who took a tray to Ana. It was Mrs. Amy Bast, the farmer from Whittier who had come personally to convince the young woman that she had to gather her energies soon, before she destroyed her health and that of her child.

She began by saying in a shrill voice, “Young lady, you're looking at me and I'll bet that I know what you're thinking. Yes, siree! You're thinking, ‘Why, here's a woman who's skinnier than me!' That's what you're thinking, isn't it?”

Amy Bast was seated by the bed, a tray of food on her lap,
and she was responding to Ana's eyes that looked at her with surprise and wonder. Mrs. Bast had an accurate picture of herself because, as Ana's startled eyes noted, she was a tall, gaunt, angular woman. She had a stretched torso and lanky legs, and the length of her body was accentuated by the worn, faded cotton dress that hung loosely, almost reaching the high-top leather shoes she wore.

Amy's main characteristic was a long neck that was graceful and still beautiful despite her fifty-five years. Her face was small and lovely, even though it was creased by several deep wrinkles. Her short, straight nose was emphasized by lips that were thin but soft, strong yet gentle. And Amy had small, blue eyes that sparked when she spoke. Her manner of speaking made her special in the barrio because she talked with a strong Oklahoma accent in a high-pitched and drawled voice.

“I'm Mrs. Amy Bast, Ana, and I'm from all the way from Oklahoma. Yes, siree! Me and the Mister came out West when the Depression broke out. We lost everything back there…” Her voice trailed, pausing, then she continued, “We were able to set up a couple of hens and a rooster in a coop when we got here, and after a lot of strife and plenty of tears, here we are selling our produce to the good grocers of these here parts. It wasn't easy, girl, believe me! I been down in the big, black hole just the way you are right now. But I crawled out! And you're going to do the same thing! So, now, have this delicious meal Hiroko made for you and after that, up and at ‘em! You and me got us a life to live.”

Ana took the plate that Amy handed her. She picked up the fork and began to put morsels of food into her mouth. As she did this her stomach rejected the food, but she determined that this time she would prevail over her body. Amy's words had said much to her, but hers was not the only voice to which Ana was listening. The woman's presence had helped jolt her out of the depression that had gripped her, but so had that of Doña Hiroko, Doña Trinidad, Father Gutiérrez, and the rest of the neighbors who had come to save her from drowning. César's face, when he had burst into tears, came back to Ana, and that too had helped jar her from the
over-whelming desire to die.

As I forced myself to eat, an image inside of me took shape. It wasn't cracked and disjointed anymore. Now the pieces were finding their place, showing me what to do. The picture showed my father's face, but I wasn't afraid of him, or of the curse. Behind that face and its evil wishes was Octavio's, and I didn't fear him either.

I felt a weightlessness taking hold of me. I realized that my father hated me because I had ruined the way for my brothers. Yet, I knew that people had fought so that I could live, and the meaning of their struggle came to me. I understood that in their eyes I had value, and knowing this filled me with a desire to live.

Ana clumsily stepped off the running board of Amy's Model-T Ford; her body was heavy with advanced pregnancy. It was December, and a cold wind that skidded off the northern foothills cut through her sweater and thin cotton dress. The trip from the barrio had taken Amy almost an hour. She drove from Floral Drive over to Whittier Boulevard, and then had gone eastbound until reaching the dirt road that led to the egg ranch. After leaving the paved road, the bumps, holes, and pools of mud made driving even slower and more difficult.

It took Ana a few moments to regain her balance while she stood with her legs and feet spread apart on the soggy soil. As she looked around her, she saw that the Bast chicken ranch was a bleak place. It was a five-acre spread covered almost entirely by long chicken coops. In the center of the property stood a house with a low roof and a short chimney stack from which wisps of gray smoke spiraled. Ana craned her neck and saw that behind the structure was the outhouse.

Amy Bast was cheery as she showed her new boarder the
way in. Once in the kitchen, she turned to Ana. “It's not luxurious, but it's home. Over here will be your room. Come on in.”

Ana followed her into a small room which had a narrow bed, a chest of drawers, and a small nightstand next to the bed. There was a window fringed by cheerfully colored curtains on the western side of the room. Under the window was a kitchen chair.

She liked the room. It was warm and comfortable, and for the second time in her life, she would have a bed to herself. She had grown to enjoy this while at Doña Hiroko's, and Ana was glad that she would be able to continue sleeping alone. As she picked up the small bag that contained her belongings, she turned to Amy and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Bast. This is very nice.”

“Now, you just call me Amy. We're going to be friends. Mr. Bast—Franklin, that is—should be coming ‘round in a while. He knows all about you and that you'll be with us for a spell. You'll like him, Ana, just you wait and see.”

Ana found Amy's drawl interesting; she especially liked the way she pronounced her name. She had never heard it said in that tone, not even by Miss Nugent.

That evening Ana, Amy and her husband Franklin sat at the kitchen table finishing dinner. Amy spoke first. “Ana, you understand that both Franklin and I are very happy to have you. We never had children of our own, so you are very welcome. It'll be kind of like having a daughter. We know also that you're a hard-working young woman, and that you look on this whole thing just like you would a job. But we also understand that you'll have to wait until after your baby comes, so that you can really start helping us around here.”

Ana listened politely. She looked at Franklin from time to time and saw that he, too, was paying close attention to what Amy was saying. She was impressed by his appearance; he looked, she thought, just like Amy. He was tall, lanky, blue-eyed and he, too, had a very long neck. The only difference that she could see was that he was bald. Her attention was suddenly drawn back to Amy when she paused, evidently to see if Ana had anything to say. When the young woman remained silent, Amy said, “I do declare, I think I talk too much.”

“Yes, dear.” Franklin spoke for the first time in an hour.

After that, Amy said that for that night they would retire
immediately. Ana slept soundly except for a few minutes when she woke up sometime during the night. The silence of the ranch caused her to listen intently, as if expecting to hear someone calling out her name. She turned over and thought of the baby that was inside of her. Octavio's face flashed in her mind, and to dispel his appearance she forced herself to think of César, of her sisters, even of Alejandra. In her mind she pictured them asleep. She even thought she heard their deep breathing. But then she changed her position, and drifted off to sleep.

The next day was gray and drizzling, but Amy didn't allow the weather to interfere with what had to be done, so she went right to work.

“Ana, even though you're feeling uncomfortable, you've got to keep busy, otherwise you'll get bored, then homesick, and then just plain sick all over again.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She took Ana to the room where the feed was kept, then through the coops, showing her the light cords that had to be pulled so that the chickens would think it was daytime and lay more eggs. Amy prattled, indicating where Ana was to look for eggs and where to place them. Then she showed her the pile of crates destined to carry the product into town and finally into the hands of the grocers.

Ana was content. The hours had passed by so quickly that she was surprised when she realized that it would soon be dinner time. She had liked her first day on the ranch and had appreciated how Amy made sure that she took rest periods during the day, so that she would recuperate faster.

After dinner, the three of them joined in the kitchen clean-up. Ana was amused and startled to see Franklin washing dishes and pans. She had never seen a man with soapsuds on his hands, especially when washing plates, forks, and knives. She was astounded to see how cheerful he was, and that he whistled softly through his teeth as he wiped down the table with a large rag.

When they were finished, Amy dried her hands and looked at Ana. “Come on over and join me and Franklin here.” She patted the table top. Ana saw that Amy had placed a large book with black covers in front of her. This was to be her first experience with a Bast tradition: reading from the Old Testament every evening after dinner. The ritual began
with Amy saying, “Now, let's see what the good Lord has to say to us at the end of this day.” She would then insert her index finger deep into the pages and open the text. Her eyes momentarily scanned the page until she decided what she would read. Sometimes Amy read long excerpts. At other times they were short chapters, or even random verses.