Let Their Spirits Dance (28 page)

It was May by the time I got Jesse's letter. I was finishing up my junior year at Palo Verde High. Reading his letter made me laugh and cry. Laugh because Don Florencío was dressed like a woman, cry because Jesse was embracing the other world. He was right, it was the last thing he had to do. After that, his letters stopped.

A
t Topeka it's all I can do to keep myself from running into Chris's room to find out what he knows about Jesse. I want to switch the lights off in the room for us so the night can get inky black again. We're at another TraveLodge built close to the freeway.

Cisco tells me Chris went out with Willy, Gates, and Yellowhair and said he'd be back in a couple of hours.

“They went over to the Highlander Lounge, wherever that is,” Cisco says.

“He didn't tell me he was going out.”

“Mom, he doesn't have to tell you everything. He can do what he wants. Right?” Cisco looks closely at me. “Mom?”

“Yeah, you're right, of course he can.” Cisco's not convinced I mean what I say. “I guess the veterans want their own night out.”

Paul says we should go to the lounge next door for a drink. Donna, Susie, Priscilla, and Manuel decide to go with him. They invite me and I tell them maybe I'll go down a little later. Sarah, Yellowhair's mother, is asleep in her room. Lisa and Lilly have a room to themselves tonight. They say they want to watch movies and call their friends back home. Cisco's decided he can take care of the two boys and they don't need to room in with anybody else. I know Michael will be busy for hours on the laptop, answering e-mails. He says the Vietnamese man from Little
Saigon is telling him all about the real Saigon in Vietnam. He says his family lived in Saigon during the war.

I've just settled the Guadalupanas in their room. They were saying the rosary the last I heard of them. They set up two veladoras on the dresser and put up photos of Jesse and Faustino. The photos now have plastic gold-colored frames around them. Mom seems like she got over her cough and looks stronger than she has in months. For some reason, the fight with the Kansas State Police has energized us, made us jovial, like we won at a picket line, or finished doing a sit-in and got what we wanted. There's power in facing something together, a sense that everybody did the right thing at the right time.

I'm in a room by myself and call Elsa to find out how they're doing. She was asleep, and I could barely hear her tell me everything is fine. I dial Espi's number and her answering machine goes on. I have so much to tell her, I don't say anything. I know she'll know it was me.

A restlessness is taking over me. Maybe I should go to the lounge next door. I decide that's not what I want. I want to find Chris, but there's no way I'll hunt for him in Topeka. He has the nerve to leave when he knows I want to know what happened to Jesse. Maybe that's why he's gone. Men! Why did I think I'd hear the truth from one of them? I reach for the phone and dial the front desk. A man answers, and I ask him for the address of the Highlander Lounge. He gives me directions, then tells me he's gotten two calls from news stations in Topeka asking questions about us. He asks me if I want their numbers and I tell him no. I repeat our web site address and tell him to have them send us e-mails.

The name Highlander makes me think of a country-western place. I take a shower and dress up in black Levi's, short black boots, and a red silk tank top. I drive no more than a mile before I get to a bar that is probably one step above Penny's Pool Hall in Phoenix. It's got strings of white Christmas lights shaping an arc around the entrance. A bronze statute of a cowboy stands on a man-made hill in front of the place. The bar is built to look like a huge log cabin. I'm surprised it's packed on a Tuesday. I make my way around rows and rows of cars in the parking lot, and finally find an empty spot in the last row. I walk as fast as I can. Two guys whistle. “Hey, baby. Don't go in there. I'm over here!”

I'm relieved when I spot a broad-shouldered security guy walking toward me. He's wearing a T-shirt with huge orange letters:
HIGHLANDER SECURITY
. A woman at the front counter, dressed in western clothes and hat, tells me there's a $10.00 cover charge. She explains that it's a $10.00
charge tonight because the Bronco Brothers, Billy and his brother Buster, are playing. They're famous all over Kansas, she says, that's why the place is so packed. Billy and Buster are jamming away on their guitars as I walk in. There's a woman with them on stage, playing an electronic keyboard. I take a few seconds to adjust to the dim light. Several men are looking at me. One of them almost falls off his bar stool and has to rearrange himself on the seat. I feel like running out, but there's nowhere to go except back to the motel. I spot Chris and the others at one of the tables. There's a woman talking to Chris, a brunette with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She's wearing a tank top that reveals her midriff, and the smooth, ample curve of her breasts. Chris sees me and motions me to come over. They've got drinks on the table.

“Hey!” Chris says. “What a surprise!” He kisses my cheek. His breath smells like whiskey. The brunette is watching.

“Did Cisco tell you?”

“How do you think I got here?”

“What? I can't hear you, the music's too loud.”

“Yes, he told me!” I'm almost shouting.

“Are you mad at me?”

“You told me we were gonna talk about Jesse. Don't you remember? It's not like we have all the time in the world.” Chris ignores me.

“Hey, Pamela, this is my friend from Arizona. This is Teresa.”

“The famous Teresa Ramirez?” Pamela's got one hand looped over Chris's neck. She takes a sip of her drink.

“None other.” Chris looks at me. “Everybody's buying us drinks, right, guys?” He looks at Willy, Gates, and Yellowhair. They're talking and laughing. Gates has a small, blond woman sitting on his lap.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“Order a drink, Teresa,” Willy says. He calls the waitress over. I order a margarita.

“Loosen up, Teresa. Let's have some fun,” Chris says.

Pamela stands up. Her skirt shoots up to her panty hose line. “Well, excu—ooose me! Don't want to get into anybody else's action.” She puts out her cigarette in the ashtray, then looks at me and laughs.

“What action?” I ask her.

“Oh, no, honey. You got the word
fight
written all over you! I ain't been laid in weeks, and I need some—if you know what I mean?” She laughs and walks away.

“Bitch!”

“Loosen up, Teresa. Can't you take a joke?”

“A joke? I'm not in the mood for jokes.”

“What?”

“I said, I'm not…never mind!”

“Come on!” Chris grabs my hand and we start dancing a country-western polka. “You feel good, girl.” People are waving at us, smiling. I start smiling back. “That's it!” Chris says.

Drinks keep coming to the table, compliments of the guests. I take a couple of drinks, and get dizzy right away. Next time the waitress comes around, I ask her for a Seven-Up. I dance with Willy and Yellowhair. Gates is dancing with the blonde. Pretty soon we're all sweating, and the management sets up huge fans to cool the place down. Yellowhair does a jitterbug with a woman to “Rock Around the Clock,” and wins first place. People are clapping, hooting, and whistling. Yellowhair wins a bottle of tequila.

“I'm getting out of here,” I tell Chris. “It's almost midnight. Aren't you driving tomorrow, Chris? Remember, the trip?”

“All that's under control,” Chris says. He's got a stupid grin on his face. “Stay, maybe tonight? What about tonight?”

“You're in love with Margie.”

“That was yesterday,” he says.

“You're sick! I'm getting out of here.”

I walk out expecting Chris to follow me, but he stays behind. I wonder if Pamela will end up back at his table. As I drive up to our motel, Susie comes out of her room.

“Where's Willy?”

“They're down at the Highlander Lounge.” I don't tell Susie anything about the Bronco Brothers, Pamela, and the blonde on Gates's lap.

“Boys' night out! This shit isn't gonna work with me.”

“He'll be right back.”

“He better be!” Headlights turn into the parking lot, and it's Willy.

“It's about time!” Susie yells at him. “What the hell are you thinking? You're not in the Marines anymore, buddy.”

“Sorry, babe, I just got a little carried away.”

“Where's everybody else?” I ask him.

“Oh, they're still going strong.” Susie and Willy start arguing as they walk to their room.

I check up on Mom before I go up to my room. She's sitting up in bed, propped up on pillows. She's draped one of her flowered shawls around her shoulders. Irene is on another bed sound asleep.

“What time is it?” she asks me.

“One in the morning.”

“And why are you up?”

“Why are you?”

“You're not fighting in bars again, are you?”

“No, I'm not fighting in bars! What do you think I am?”

“Don't talk so loud, you'll wake up Irene. Ay, that woman snores!”

“I don't hear her snoring.”

“She'll start any minute. Now, there, you hear that?” Irene starts making a noise that sounds like she's gurgling water in her throat.

“Don't listen to her. Lie down, Mom. Try to sleep.”

“I have too much to think about.” She looks at Jesse's photograph on the dresser. “I don't know what Jesse wants to tell me. There's something he wants to say, I know it.”

“How do you know?”

“How does any mother know about her child? A mother just knows. Words aren't the only way we talk. How many more days, mija?”

“Three, if nothing goes wrong. We should be there by Friday. Why? Are you feeling bad?”

“I'm always feeling bad. What does it matter? I wonder if El Santo Niño walks around these places.”

“Mom, how, can you believe in that?”

“Don't talk so loud. If Irene wakes up, she'll never shut up. God is everywhere.”

“Walking around as a child, in little shoes? Mom, that's a joke.”

“You don't understand, Teresa. El Niño is a symbol. Everything is a symbol of something else. Un símbolo. El Niño teaches us the humility of God, a God who would walk through all kinds of danger to find His people. A God who would wear out His shoes, searching for those He loves. He teaches us. Learn, Teresa, learn, to see more than what you see.”

“I don't know how.”

“Listen, that's all you have to do. Your soul will do the rest.” Mom takes a drink of water from a glass on the nightstand. “Sleep now, mija. We have to leave here in the morning.”

“Mom, do you think you're strong enough to—” She doesn't let me finish.

“Who cares who's strong or weak? What does it matter?”

Irene wakes up and rolls over. “Who's weak?”

“Never mind, Irene. Everybody's weak. Go back to sleep.”

Walking to my room, I notice the moon over Topeka is silver-gray.
There's a halo around it. The night is warm. I hear crickets in a thicket of hedges nearby. The rush of cars whizzing across the freeway is constant. A loud honk sounds from one of the diesels.

I notice Chris standing by the motel office.

“Hey,” he says. “Don't they sell any coffee around here?”

“They're closed. What are you trying to do, sober up?”

“Still mad at me, huh?” He walks up to me and puts his hands on my shoulders.

“Where's Pamela?” I ask him.

“How should I know?”

“You smell like a brewery.”

“Let's talk. Your room or mine?”

“Mine.”

We walk into my room. I close the door and darkness takes over us.

“Don't turn the lights on,” Chris says.

“I wasn't planning to.” Chris sits on a couch. I take off my boots and sit on the edge of the bed. There's a sliver of light shining in through a crack between the drapes. I can make out the white oval of Chris's face and the outline of his body.

“Why did you run away?”

“I'm here.”

“But you ran before you got here.”

“You don't understand. You people who didn't go, just don't understand! You were back here in the world taking it easy!”

“And you people who went just don't understand how we felt either!”

“OK…where…do…you want me to start?”

“The beginning would make sense.”

“I feel like I'm in a confessional. Fond memories for the son of a penitente, I can tell you!” Chris says. He shifts around in his seat. I can't see him in the dark, but I figure he's crossing his legs and leaning heavily on the back of the couch. He pauses, then begins. “Anyway, here goes. There was this one night in Saigon just before Jesse was killed. I want to tell you about it, because the guy Jesse fought with that night was the same guy he saved before he died. Can you imagine the kind of man your brother was?

“We were in this hole in the ground. It was a dive. It didn't even look like a real bar, it looked like somebody's house with tables and chairs in it. All kinds of guys were there, mostly Army. We were together, a bunch of Chicanos from all over the States. Frankie from Denver, Pete
from Long Beach, and a bunch of others. Most of the Chicanos weren't bookworms like your brother. They couldn't get no deferment for going to school. We hung out together, you know, 'cause we were all los vatos, los camaradas trying to get through the war, looking at los pinches gringos, knowing they had it made. The whites covered up for each other all the time. Lots of them were freaks, stoners, right down to the officers, y los negros, the Blacks, they were in the same boat with us. But you know, when we were out on the hills, nobody cared what color you were. Some of the Chicanos were marijuanos, I admit that, but we didn't go out of our way to beat up on the Vietnamese. How could we? Some of us came from migrant familias. We saw them out on their little plots of land, and so help me God, they looked like our nanas and tatas. Some of us had come from the cotton fields to the foxholes of Nam, there was nothing in between. I got to hate some of the Vietnamese after a while, just because we lost so many men. Some of them were sneaky. We couldn't tell nothin' in their faces. They could have a bomb down their pants and be smiling and bowing. I hated like hell to hurt them, though, especially when there were kids around.