The Children of Sanchez (40 page)

We got on a bus with only two or three passengers and we sat down in the back. I felt like smoking, like I always do when I drink; I’m like a chimney, I just smoke and smoke and smoke. Well, I asked the Tiger and Hermilio for a cigarette. They didn’t have one, and I didn’t mind getting up and asking those in the bus if they wouldn’t do me a favor and sell me a cigarette. The first one said to me, “Look, I don’t have any. If I did, I wouldn’t sell you one, I’d give it to you.”

“Thank you very much,” and I left him. And that’s the way it was,
I left and didn’t say a thing, nor did I have any reason to insult him. When I got back to my friends, the Tiger said, “Those god-damned sons-of-whores.” And I said, “Yes, they don’t care if a fellow is dying. Let’s get off here and buy some cigarettes.”

But when we began swearing, a passenger got insulted and said to me, “Who are you swearing at, you bastard? After coming around like a bunch of deadbeats, you have the nerve to swear at us!”

“No, sir, I didn’t swear at anybody at all. Actually I was just talking with my friends, but if you felt you were insulted then go ahead and feel insulted.”

“No you don’t, you son-of-a-whore,” and he started toward me. When I saw him coming I tried to stand up, but he knocked me back on the seat with a punch. When he hit me in the face I got angry and hit him back. Hermilio and the Tiger tried to separate us, but the man became even more stubborn. So I knocked him down. His glasses smashed to smithereens and, it seems, I broke his nose.

Well, the bus stopped and all the other passengers got off. The driver got up and said, “O.K., you so-and-so’s, the three of you ganging up on this man!” The driver’s son was sitting right next to him. So he said to his boy, “Open up the tool box and hand me the gun in there.”

Just hearing somebody mention a weapon when I’m in a fight makes me mad, awfully mad. I just go crazy. So I said to him, “Go ahead, you bloody son-of-a-whore! If you take out that thing I’ll kill you right on the spot,” and I pretended I was going to pull out a knife. I didn’t have any, I just wanted to see what he’d do. A lot of them talk big but if you pull out a knife or pistol, they back up.

But he called my bluff and took us to the Police Station No. 5 and they locked us up. It was then about ten or eleven at night. The judge called us in, one at a time, to get our story. They took down our statements, but locked up Hermilio and me. I was glad the Tiger got out, but it seemed strange to me that they should only let him go free. We told him to notify our boss to come and pay the fine, but he went home to sleep.

The next day some people came over, with pencil and paper, shouting and asking whether anyone wanted a message taken to his house. If a person is arrested and doesn’t have time to notify his family, these people do it, but they take advantage when they get to the house and ask for any amount they want. When our boss finally arrived at the Precinct, we were already going to be sent to El Carmen. It was impossible
for him to pay the fine immediately and we ended up in the Penitentiary.

Never in my life had I been in jail … not even to visit a friend. They accused me of bodily injury, on account of the bloody nose, and property damage, on account of the glasses. That’s why they sent Hermilio and me up for three days. Well, it was tough in prison. You have to be a real jailbird, a brave man, not to be cowed by that place. Every prisoner is fingerprinted and an information sheet on him is filled out. That’s the first step; the second is when they search you for marijuana, cocaine, a knife or something like that. They make you take all your clothes off in the courtyard.

As soon as they shoved us in, they immediately began to rob us, beginning with the guards. You can’t imagine the expressions of greed on their faces as they look you over. One of them shouted as we came in, “The lioness just gave birth!” which meant a new batch of suckers had arrived. Unfortunately, we had put on our best clothes for the party.

The guard told us to undress, he insisted that we had to be searched … that we were in a court of justice … justice! As we began to dress, one of them said, “Let’s see that shirt.” Then, “I like this undershirt. Hand it over.”

“No,
amigo
!”

“Hand it over!”

And whether I was willing or not, they took my shirt and trousers, and gave me some old rags to put on.

The third step is when you go into the bull pen, where all those accused of a crime stay for seventy-two hours, until it is decided whether they have to serve a term or whether they can go free or out on bail.

The cells are small, three by two meters, steel walls and cement floors, a solid steel door with a little opening in it. The personnel there is all militarized, from the guards down to the last prisoner. Everyone here has some special rank. Military discipline is enforced and that is why they use the titles: majors, which is the highest rank, captains, and all the ranks there are in the army. They ask, “Are you going to pay for the
talacha
?” which means the cleanup, as there are brigades going around constantly, cleaning up. Either “you enter by the door,” that is, you pay right away, or if you have no money, they say, “We
can wait until some visitor comes to see you.” If later you don’t give the money, they make life very difficult for you.

If, from the beginning, you are not going to pay, you go right to the baths and they fumigate your clothes and make you go under the ice-cold water. After that, they put you in the steam-room. We went through it, but we didn’t do the
talacha
after all as our families later paid ten
pesos
for us.

On the third day, they called us to the court to give us our cards as permanent prisoners. Hermilio wanted to throw himself over the railing to kill himself. I felt like doing the same thing but lacked the courage. I had to keep an eye on him constantly because if I didn’t he would have thrown himself overboard.

We were plenty scared. I felt I was absolutely lost. I was not very religious but I had faith in the grace of God and the Virgin of Guadalupe. I vowed that if I got out, I would walk barefoot all the way from the “peni” to the Villa of Guadalupe; I promised to give away my shoes to one of the prisoners as a sacrifice. I also vowed to go to Chalma.

Well, at the very last minute, just before we were to go into the cell block, Consuelo arrived with some papers to sign. I didn’t even read them, you know what I mean? She worked for lawyers and got them to take care of our case. At six o’clock, they set us free, provisionally, under bond. We had to sign in every week.

I gave away my shoes and went out barefoot. Hermilio’s family was outside waiting for him. Nobody came for me, but that didn’t matter. I walked all the way to the Villa, begging alms to give to the priest. I didn’t collect much but it was a great satisfaction to turn it all in.

When I enter a church, I feel I’m carrying a heavy load, especially on my conscience. I always stay in the last row, just inside the door, and although it is crowded with worshipers, I feel alone with my thoughts and prayers. As far as I am concerned, only God and I are in the church. And when I leave, I feel relieved. Even my clothes weigh less. That’s why if I don’t go to Mass every week, I don’t feel right.

Back home, I was ashamed to go out into the courtyard. The whole
vecindad
knew what had happened. I may have been a hero to some, but to most I was a disgrace. One evening, I stood outside our door for a breath of fresh air.
Señor
Teobaldo, the butcher who lived in No. 67, came by. He and all the other butchers and their wives were fighters and most of us kept out of their way. Teobaldo’s brother-in-law,
who lived in the third court, was a real criminal with a long prison record. One look from him and he made people’s hair stand on end. He even frightened me!

But I wasn’t scared of Teobaldo, although he fancied himself a scrapper. He had once shot at me and the boys with grapeshot, and whenever he was drunk he made a big scandal, kicking at doors and cursing. If anyone threw him a dirty look, that person was as good as dead.

The evening he passed by me, he was drunk.

“Good evening,
Negro
,” he said.

“Good evening,
Señor
Teobaldo.”

“What crooked thing are you doing now?”

“Nothing. Just taking some air.”

“Fuck you! You have something crooked up your sleeve, but let me tell you, you bum, if you ever have anything to do with my family, or if you ever enter my house, you will die on the spot.”

“Look,
Señor
Teobaldo, I have always respected your family and you have respected mine. You’re a bit drunk, otherwise you wouldn’t dare speak to me like this. You better go lie down. If you want to insult me when you are sober, go ahead, but then I will be able to answer you.”

“I don’t give a damn. You may be the boss of this courtyard, but I’m going to let you have it. You may be one of the worst, you have been to the ‘peni’ and may have killed two or three guys, but that doesn’t mean a thing to me. For me, you are worth a pure and celestial fuck, you filthy ass-lover!”

Then he pulled a knife on me. That, and his offensive words, were too much and I took out the automatic .38 I happened to be carrying. If his wife hadn’t appeared I don’t believe I would have stood any more from him. From behind his back she signaled to me that he was crazy, so I let her grab him and pull him inside.

He was the only neighbor in our courtyard who ever tried to provoke me into a fight. And a fight with him meant death for one of us. He did it a few times and even went so far as to accuse me of stealing some hens from his sister-in-law, but I managed to avoid getting involved.

I did not forget my vow to go to Chalma and made preparations for the pilgrimage. I finally went with Manuel; Paula and her two babies; Delila and her son, Geofredo; Paula’s mother Cuquita; Cuquita’s
husband; Paula’s brother Faustino; and I don’t remember who else. Something strange happened on that trip. We were walking with other pilgrims at night. It was very dark and the only one who had a lamp was a man at the head of the line. We kept following him because he was the only one who could see. We listened to the “voice of the people,” telling us which way to turn, what to watch out for, and so on.

We took a detour and found ourselves in a bean field. “No, this is not the way,” some people said, and they decided to stop. Then we noticed that the man with the lamp had disappeared. He was gone. So, the people began crossing themselves and saying it was a very bad sign, that he must have really been a witch who was trying to mislead us, because children had come along on the pilgrimage. The parents were very scared and a circle was formed and the women with children were put in the middle to protect them.

I was still in uniform and a lot of people began to turn to me for advice. So we began to take over the leadership, my brother and I. We said no one should move until dawn, so that we could explore a bit. The truth of the matter was, I did not remember the road at all because I hadn’t gone to Chalma since my mother died. She used to drag all of us kids with her each year, but I couldn’t remember much.

As it got lighter, Manuel and I collected firewood to make a fire because it was very cold for the women and children. Then I noticed that there was a cliff just fifty meters ahead of us and if we had kept walking during the night we would have gone over it. The people were more convinced than ever that a witch had been guiding us.

I remember one time, when I went with my mother, they really got hold of a witch. The people caught her and yelled, “Burn her! Burn her!” They said she had sucked the blood of two children who had been found dead next to the river. They accused this woman and burned her with green wood, right there in the plaza in Chalma. I saw the big bonfire but then they wouldn’t let me look any more. I heard cries, terrible screams, and they told me it was because they were burning a witch. There was a lot of savagery in those days. Maybe she was innocent, but that was the way they did justice.

Another bad thing happened on that trip. When we got to Chalma, we couldn’t find a place to sleep. There, you even have to pay to sleep around the outside walls, where there are a lot of poisonous
scorpions. My brother and I made a kind of lean-to with a sheet, up against the wall of a house, and we all went to sleep. I don’t know why it happened, there was no reason for it, but a scorpion came and stung my brother Manuel. We were all scared because within a matter of five minutes, if a man is not treated quickly, he is dead. Manuel was already beginning to clench his jaws.

Paula, who was pregnant, put some saliva on the sting because it is believed that the saliva of a pregnant woman is more poisonous than a scorpion and would counteract it. But I kept saying, “What do I do now? My God!” I was afraid he would die on me.

Someone said, “Make him run. Run him to the mill.” It was the only place they sold medicine against scorpion stings. The miller mixes this potion and only he knows what it is made of. The people drink it and get well and aren’t even curious enough to ask what goes in it. Well, I wouldn’t let Manuel run, because the poison would spread faster, so Faustino and I carried him to the mill. He said the potion was as bitter as gall, but he drank it and got well, though he still felt dizzy.

We were all happy when he was able to speak again and his jaws were not sticking together any more. Lots of people have died of scorpion bites because they couldn’t get to the mill in time. We had plenty to give thanks for when we got to the Sanctuary.

I walked from the outer door to the altar on my knees. At first I felt tired and burdened down, depressed, but as I walked on my knees, praying with all my heart, I felt a great sense of relief. At the end of each prayer I felt like crying. When I reached the altar, the foot of the altar of the Lord, I bent my head and cried. I wasn’t tired or sad any more. I lighted a candle, left a little silver heart and a few
centavos
there and I was happy to have kept my promise. I don’t believe it is God who needs those
centavos
, but it was a very big satisfaction for me to leave them for some mortal who needed them more than I.