Let Their Spirits Dance (3 page)

“I see Mauricio at school, Mom, and all the kids make fun of him,” Priscilla says. “Poor Mauricio, he doesn't even fit in his desk.”

“Poor, nothing,” Nana says, “Quien le manda. Nobody forces him to eat like a pig.”

Up ahead we see the sign: SKY HARBOR AIRPORT. My stomach does a Ferris wheel turn. Mom and Nana start the tears again. I hold on to Jesse. He pats my arm. “Relax, sis. It's OK, Teresa.” I watch his every move. I want him to wink. I want him to show me a sign that tells me what he said to me isn't true, but he doesn't. He only smiles. I want to grab his face in my hands and make him look into my eyes and tell me he's coming back. I know he doesn't want me to. I hold on to his hand, Priscilla holds on to the other. Paul wraps his arms around Jesse's neck.

“Didn't know everybody loved me so much,” Jesse croons. “Love, love, love…hey I loves you, too!”

Dad parks the car. For a few seconds, we sit motionless watching
Army men, Marines, a few Navy go by. We listen to Nana and Mom's sobs. Nobody wants to be the first to get out, then Dad opens his door, and all the other doors fly open at the same time. We are wooden figures, stiff-knees forcing ourselves out. Jesse grabs his bags from the back and gives the smaller one to Paul.

Father Ramon, round and red-faced, is already waiting for us with three of the Guadalupanas, Nana's friends, old ladies who look like gray swallows. They are the sisterhood from St. Anthony's Church who venerate the dark virgin, La Virgen de Guadalupe. They look like birds circling to land, swallows chirping out the singsong prayers of the rosary. They know what they have to do. They are here to pray, to make sure Jesse is covered over with God's blessings.

Mom's best friend, Irene from across the alley, didn't come. She's Jesse's godmother, his nina. Her heart is broken, grieving over her son, Faustino, who was killed in Vietnam only last year. It was all she could do to talk to Jesse on the phone before he left. Irene still sleeps with the American flag from her son's coffin under her pillow and a veladora burning for his soul in front of the image of the Sacred Heart.

I look around to see who's staring at the Guadalupanas and see Chris with two other guys. He said good-bye to his parents in Albuquerque then flew into Phoenix so he'd be on the same plane with Jesse. He waves to us. We wave back. Everywhere there are women holding on to their men. We press around Jesse. He lifts both bags onto a loaded flat bed. An army man arranges the bags on top of the stack.

“Are they labeled?”

“Yep.”

“You're set.”

We pass the big bronze sign at the entrance:
WELCOME TO PHOENIX ARIZONA THE VALLEY OF THE SUN
. Women everywhere are crying, or getting ready to cry. The men are mostly standing around looking miserable. White tissues and handkerchiefs wave like miniature banners.

The airport's walls are painted with murals of the colonization of the Southwest. The Spanish conquistador Cortés, in full armor, greets the Aztec emperor, Moctezuma, who is dressed in an elaborate robe and a huge plumed headdress. Another scene shows the ancient Aztec god of war, Huitzilopochtli, luring his victims in for the kill over a sacrificial block atop a pyramid. Waiting at the top of the pyramid is a black-hooded executioner brandishing an obsidian knife. A few yards from the scene is Padre Kino in black robe and sandals holding up a crucifix, blessing an Indian peasant who kneels at his feet. Next to Padre Kino are
rugged pioneers in covered wagons traveling into a distant view of skyscrapers and busy highways. Senators Carl Hayden and Barry Goldwater stare down at us. The background is saguaros, cholla, barrel cactus, a colorful sunset, and a roadrunner fleeing a coyote. Last of all is a painting of the Grand Canyon, the pride of Arizona. The airport is crowded, people are rushing everywhere. I smell breakfast cooking and coffee brewing from the fast-food shops.
THE COPPER STATE SOUVENIR SHOP
boasts copper planters for sale and copper ashtray souvenirs.

Mom is kissing Jesse, stroking his hands one by one, kissing each finger, then the inside of his palms. She leans into his chest to hear his heartbeat, smoothes back the stiff uniform around his shoulders and only lets him go long enough to let my dad hold him tight. I hear the drone of the Guadalupanas, the penitents, making amends for the war, searching out God's ear. “For this one, for this one man. Yes, keep him safe, por favor Virgencita, Justo Juez, Father God. Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen, amen…” The wrinkles around their lips barely move. Their chanting makes the whole place sacred. I can almost smell incense, seeping in through the airconditioning vents, making a fragrant cloud appear to ease God's wartorn spirit and defy the Aztec war god's feathered talons.

We are a funeral procession, walking, hoping not to get to the place where we will have to say good-bye. Jesse is crying now. He brushes his tears away with the back of his hand. Mom is still holding on to him for dear life. I hear a wail beginning to sound from Nana. She sways to and fro as if she's rocking Jesse to sleep.

“Keep the prayer close to your heart, mijito. La Oración Del Justo Juez. Don't forget how much we love you. Ay Dios mio! Ay mijito!” She makes little crosses in the air with her thumb, blessing Jesse over and over again. Jesse holds me tight one more time. I take a deep breath to inhale the scent of my brother forever, to hold his spirit deep inside.

“Don't forget what I told you,” he whispers. “Take care of Mom.” I nod. My hair gets caught in one of the buttons of his jacket. We laugh.

“I love you.” We say it at the same time.

He looks into my eyes. “It's just something I feel, OK, maybe I'm wrong.” He smoothes back my hair. “Don't worry, things will be all right.”

I want to argue with him, convince him. “Jesse, please come back…” He turns around to kiss Mom, then goes down on one knee to hug Paul. Paul hides his face in Jesse's shoulder. Jesse takes his cap out of his back pocket and puts it on Paul. “See, you're a big guy now. It's OK, tough guy. Just remember, take care of the little guys and help Mom.” He
gets Paul to do a little sparring with him. “Yeah, you got the right stuff! Talk to Trini about Paul, Mom, he'll be a good boxer, too.”

Priscilla and Nana hang on to Jesse as he stands up. “Don't cry, Baby Doll,” he says to Priscilla.

“Don't go,” Priscilla sobs.

“I have to, but you know I love you. I gotta have a letter from you every chance you get! And keep playing sports, maybe you can even get Teresa to throw a ball around every once in a while.”

Jesse turns to Nana. She's holding her handkerchief up to her nose. She's not wearing her glasses.

“Nana, where are your glasses?” Jesse asks.

“In my pocket, mijito. I don't need them. All I want is to see you come back home again! Every second I will pray for you, always. Keep La Oración Del Justo Juez close to you. I gave the prayer to Chris, too.”

“Ay que mi, Nana, don't cry so much! I don't want to cause you any more white hair!”

I reach for Jesse before he goes back to Mom and Dad. “Jesse, you'll be all right?”

He looks at me. “Yeah, you bet!” He smiles big. His smile makes me feel good and I smile back.

Now he's in Mom's arms again. “Mom, Mom…God, Mom, stop crying so much! Everything will be fine. I love you…you're the best Mom a guy could ever have. Mom…” he kisses her forehead.

“Ay mijito, my son…you're my world. Ay mijito, you have to come back to me! The war doesn't matter. It's you I want back in my arms! It's your voice I want to hear again!”

“You will, Mom, I promise you, you will.”

Now Dad is holding Jesse, patting both shoulders gruffly. “Grow eyes in the back of your head, mijo. Don't depend on anyone to look out for you. Run like hell if you have to. I don't want no war hero, I want my son.”

“Yeah, Dad…OK, take care of everybody, especially Mom.” He looks into Dad's eyes, and Dad knows Jesse wants him to stay away from Consuelo.

“Yes, mijo. Seguro, sure. I'll be there for your mom.” They both smile at the same time. It's the first time I've seen them look at each other eye to eye and separate as friends.

We start walking again, Mom and Dad on either side of Jesse, me next to Mom. Two women walk by dressed in identical flowered pantsuits. They're saying good-bye to a Navy man. We pass them
by. Jesse, Mom, Dad, Nana, Priscilla, Paul, the Guadalupanas, Father Ramon, all of us walking together until we have to let Jesse go. Father Ramon steps ahead of us and raises his hand over Jesse's forehead to give him the official church blessing. He draws a big cross in the air. Father Ramon looks like Padre Kino blessing a convert. I look around to see if anybody's staring at us. Everyone is busy with their own good-byes. Girlfriends and wives are hanging on to their men. Jesse wanted Mary Ann to come to the airport, but she didn't want to. He tried so hard to have a girlfriend, but never did.

Outside the huge windows, I see the plane waiting:
US AIRBORNE
. It is a commercial airplane, and will make two stops before heading for Vietnam. The Black Canyon Freeway stretches out in the distance, bordered by the purple ridge of the South Mountains. Chris walks up to me and gives me a big hug. He is tall and I have to reach up to put my arms around his neck. His face is fair, his features chiseled to perfection.

“Teresa, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen!” he whispers. “Write to me—yes?”

“I will.” I answer without thinking. Chris flashes me a smile that gives me goosebumps. Priscilla gives me the look that says “I knew you liked him!”

“Sorry about last night,” I say.

“Sorry for what?” We both laugh and he kisses me good-bye, a simple kiss, the kind you can give in front of your parents.

Father Ramon stands next to Mom as Jesse and Chris walk away. Chris turns back, waves to me, blows a kiss. Everybody waves back at the same time. I blow a kiss. It's so natural. Everybody's doing it. Jesse waves to all of us, smiling, walking backward like he's balancing on a tightrope. Then they both disappear into a group of civilians and a scattering of green uniforms, mute figures, prey for the god of war. I can't tell which one is Jesse anymore.

Everybody rushes over to the windows to see the men board the plane. We can pick out Jesse from the others now, because they're walking in a line, and he's shorter than most of the other guys. I see dark clouds moving in from the east and worry that the plane will get caught in a thunderstorm. The plane's flattened wings lie dormant. It looks unreal, a grounded paper airplane with black slots for windows. The plane's red lights are blinking. Jesse climbs up the steps and turns one last time to wave toward the windows. He can't see us but he knows we're there.

“Ay mijito, my son, my son…oh God, my son!” Mom is chanting her own lament.

She stops abruptly and starts digging into her purse, She grabs my arm, “Run, Teresa!” she yells. “I forgot to give Jesse el cochito.” Jesse's favorite cookie is wrapped in a paper napkin, gingerbread in the shape of a little pig.

“The plane's leaving, Mom. They won't let me give it to him.” I can't imagine trying to explain el cochito to the pilot.

“Try, mija, try!” My mother is crying, pleading. There's nothing left to do but hold tight to el cochito and do a zigzag run up to the man standing at the gate. By the time I get there, everybody's staring at me.

I'm catching my breath in gulps. “I have to give something to my brother! He's on the plane to Vietnam!”

“I'm sorry, but they've already boarded the plane.” The man gives me a big smile.

“You have to give this to my brother. My mom's going crazy!” I hold the cookie up to him.

“What is it?”

“A little pig.”

“A what?”

“A little pig…like a gingerbread man…except it's a pig. It's my brother's favorite cookie. He's on his way to Vietnam.” I'm talking so fast I can hardly say the words.

The man looks at me like I've lost my mind. “I'll try,” he says. I hear him on the two-way radio. “I've got something for one of the men headed for Nam. Ah, can you send someone out to get it?…Over.”

He opens the paper napkin and stares at el cochito.

“Roger. What is it? Over.”

“A pig. Over.”

“A what? Over.”

“I mean it's in the shape of a little pig. It's a cookie, Ralph, for crying out loud! Ever hear the story of the Gingerbread Man?” I see him smile again. “Anyway, his mom wants him to have it real bad. Over.”

“Who's the guy? Over.”

“Sergeant Jesse Ramirez,” I say.

“A Sergeant Ramirez. Over,” repeats the man.

“Roger, sure for a sarge, I'll do it. Over and out.”

We wait a few minutes. My mother is frozen in position, my dad at her side. I can almost hear a drumroll sounding as we wait for an airline stewardess to appear. People are staring at us. The man hands the little pig to the stewardess.

“A little pig,” she says, “How cute!”

I smile back. “Thank you.”

The stewardess turns and walks away. A hush falls over the crowd gathered at the windows. We wait until the stewardess boards the airplane and the plane taxis down the runway, lifting itself up into the darkening sky. I hear sobs starting again and people talking. We're actors on stage, and nobody knows what to do next. Slowly, people start moving away from the windows. I look over at Mom. Her knees bend suddenly, as if she just sat down in a place where there should have been a chair. For the first time in my life, I see my dad pick my mom up in his arms like she's a little girl.

 

• L
ATER THAT DAY
we laughed because Jesse stalled the plane to Vietnam. If we had known any better, we would have kidnapped the pilot and turned him into a real pig. Instead, we went home and turned on the evening news that told us the war was escalating with no end in sight. I bit off my fingernails. I was trapped between a raging war and Jesse's words. I put his words away and told myself it wasn't true. It couldn't be true. He was just saying that just in case. I couldn't see the end of Jesse. I had watched him from my cradle, tracing his features in my mind before I learned to talk.