Ana of California (6 page)

“Not really. I mean, my abuela used to speak it to me, but that was forever ago.”

“You from L.A.?” he asked.

“I am.”

“I have family down there. Came from San Ysidro myself, but spent some time in L.A. Couldn't take all those cars. The clean air up in these trees is worth all that it takes to get up here, so enjoy it. And don't worry about Emmett, okay? He's
serious out here and he's gonna be the boss because that's his job. We work hard and with respect. Not just for each other, but the land,” Manny said, patting his jacket over his heart. “Something tells me you can handle it. I recognize the look. So, listen. Everyone gets a break in the morning, but if you need another, you come find me. I'll give you some water to carry along while you work. Drink it,
mija
, okay? Even if you're not thirsty.”

Ana couldn't help it. The tears were there, pushing at the edges.
Mija
was what her abuela used to call her.

“You're gonna pick blackberries and fill these cans. If you focus and try not to think about it, time will pass like that.” He snapped his fingers and smiled again before offering a homemade contraption of an old belt with two oversize coffee cans attached to it. “
Café
?” he asked in a silly voice, assuming the stance of a daffy waiter. Ana couldn't help but smile, the workers nearby laughing along with him. “Pick the ripe berries carefully but firmly, and fill these—not all the way to the top or the weight will squish the ones at the bottom. Fill 'em a little more than halfway, okay? And then come see me at the station out in the field. We'll sort 'em then pack before sending you back out. Oh, and we pay per container. You'll be getting the same as everybody.”

“I'm getting paid?” Ana asked, which seemed like a joke.

“Of course! You sixteen?”

“No, sir, but I will be soon.”

“Well, let me know, because we'll save your wages and pay you then. Something to look forward to.”

“You're serious?”

“You're working for us, right?”

“Yes . . .”

“Well, then you're getting paid!”

“Is this what I'll be doing every day?”

“
Más o menos
, yes and no. We'll try a few different crops this week and see how it goes, okay? Not to worry,” he added with encouragement. “You'll be with Victor and Roberto, but you can call them Vic and Rolo. The bushes are just past the hoops near the woods.”

“So I'll be out there with just the two of them?”

“Yep. Emmett will check on you, and I'm just over there,” he said, pointing to a large truck and a series of tables in the fields along the road. “There's nothing to worry about, just keep busy. We're all out here together.”

 • • • 

A
na Cortez didn't need anyone to explain it to her; she understood the rhythm of repetitive work, knew all about aligning oneself to the synergy of tedium. She was aware of all of the orphan clichés—the Pips, Pollyannas, and Ponyboys whose optimism triumphed over difficult circumstances. She'd read all the books. That's why standing in a thicket of tall bushes, with rolled-up sleeves, she found it easy to get lost in the process of plucking berries the way Manny instructed.

She'd labored in laundry rooms, served time in backyards littered in animal feces. She was good with a sponge, and good with a brush too, be it for scrubbing, cleaning, or detangling—teeth or hair, hers or otherwise. And if the labor ever became rough, in that way where a bandage wouldn't do, every inch of her, inside and out, knew the right way to callus, the secrets to hiding a bruise.

If there was anything Ana had learned in all of the years she'd been put to work, it was—as Manny alluded to—to
focus and keep her thoughts to herself. Why this seemed a punishment for adults to dole out to young people continually confused her. Why wouldn't anyone want to luxuriate in his or her own imagination all day?

The first few hours flew as she softened her eyes and zeroed in on the dark berries, carefully pulling them from the branches, layering them delicately one by one into the cans around her waist. But it took everything not to pop one or two into her mouth. She watched as the man called Vic—the slimmer of the two—took care with his pickings in a similar way, how his thumb and forefinger reached up and pulled delicately from underneath the bush. Rolo plucked with rapid abandon, picking and holding a few in his hand before tossing them into his rusted cans. His eyes met hers from time to time, so she returned to her daydreams. Ana couldn't believe how she had escaped the streets of L.A., literally, just the day before, how she'd ended up in Mrs. Saucedo's office, then the airport, and now here, on the edge of a Northern California redwood forest with her fingers periodically squashing blackberries. “Wild,” she thought to herself. “Literally.”

“
¡
Ándale, chiquita!
” Rolo shouted.

“
Cállate
,” Vic responded, his back turned to both of them as he plucked the highest part of the bush.

Ana began to pick faster per Rolo's not so subtle suggestion, but she was glad Vic had told him to shut his mouth. The two men mumbled to each other in Spanish. It had been a while, but Ana understood parts of what they were saying. Some words or phrases were more audible than others, but there were certain ones she'd heard again and again over the years, especially the ones uttered bemusedly
by Rolo—“
ay, ay, ay
”—which she wasn't sure was said in jest or if his part of the blackberry bush had thorns. Vic remained quiet, chiming in every now and then, telling them to get back to work, said in English for Ana's benefit.

“
¿
Listos?
” Rolo asked, walking over to Vic to see if he was finished.

Vic threw a few more berries into his own modest haul before turning to Ana.

“Done?” he asked from under the brim of an old straw cowboy hat.

“I think so. I mean, they're a little more than half full like Manny said, but that's what I'm supposed to do right?”

“
No sé, bebe,
” Rolo said, his face contorting into something that reminded Ana of a hippopotamus clown, cherubic and inflated with a wide grin full of tiny teeth. “You good,
chiquita.
”

“
Vamos,
let's go,” Vic said.

Ana followed a few steps behind them through the fields, the morning's sunshine beginning to warm her shoulders. Her stomach somersaulted at the thought of lunch and, even though she was still desperate to sample a few of the blackberries strapped to her waist, she took a swig from the water bottle instead. Rolo continued to antagonize Vic, taunting him in Spanish, mock inspecting his coffee cans, and taking a tone of voice she imagined was his version of Manny. They reminded her of a cartoon comedy duo, much like the one she used to watch as a child that featured a skinny Chihuahua and a fat cat who got into all kinds of outrageous mischief. She wondered where these men came from, how long they'd been working on the farm, and if they had families of their own. Her mind flitted to even more comedy
duos, Bert and Ernie, Tom and Jerry, Cheech and Chong, who had been her parents' favorite, and she decided that Vic and Rolo were worthy of their own show set on a farm and starring a squealing pig and eye-rolling chicken.

Manny waved as they approached the packing station.

“How'd it go?” he asked, though Ana was unsure to whom he was speaking.

“Fine, I think,” she said as Rolo hoisted his cans onto the table with a heavy thud.

Manny gave Rolo a look before scolding him in Spanish, his voice light yet stern.

“This is a lesson in what not to do,” Manny said. “Nothing but a show-off.”

Rolo smirked as Manny and Vic patted his back, picking on him in Spanish. He seemed to blush, she noticed, and then gave a thumbs-up to what he deemed a perfectly unblemished batch of berries, even though he'd picked too many. Another man, older than the rest and dressed in an oddly formal buttoned-up shirt, sorted through Vic's berries. It was the same man who had rescued Abbie's gardening hat. He caught her staring.

“
Hola,
” he said. “
Me llamo René.
”

“Ana,” she responded. “
Mucho gusto y gracias.
” The gardening hat slid down her forehead as she tipped it toward him. She watched as he put all of the perfect blackberries into multiple plastic containers, packing and closing them with a delicate hand. Manny tossed the empty coffee cans back to Rolo and Vic, who slung them over their shoulders and walked over to the wooden fence to lean up against it, Rolo resting one hand on his rotund belly in triumphant satisfaction.

“Ana, let's take a look,” Manny said, beckoning her over.
He and René went through her berries, removing quite a few of them. “Not bad, especially for your first batch.”

“Why are you separating so many?”

“Well, we're going to have to toss a few, but this is a good start. Come over here.” He motioned for her to join him on the other side of the table. “See how these over here are dark black and yours are more red and purple?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we want the black ones, not the others. And these over here have a little bit of fuzz on them? No good.”

“Oh. I didn't know.”

“It's okay. It's your first time out.”

Rolo shouted something Ana was sure was meant for her as Manny, René, and Vic all shushed him. He continued in Spanish, adopting a female voice and batting his eyelashes. Ana wasn't sure, but she thought he mentioned something about her hair, something about the curls, and the back of her neck. Instinctively, she checked to make sure it was covered, not realizing that at some point while she worked, she must have swept her hair up into her hat in the sun's heat. She pulled her ponytail back down again; covering the area she was sure he had seen. He made an ooh sound, and without hesitation, she turned toward him.

“
Cállate
, Roly-Poly!”

There was a silence before Manny, Vic, and the rest of the workers who had since gathered along the fence all erupted into laughter as Emmett approached.

“What's going on here?”

“Ana's reminding Rolo to watch his mouth,” Manny chuckled. “And his gut.”

“Roly-Poly!” one of the men along the fence shouted, to another round of laughter.

“Good advice,” Emmett said. “How'd she do?”

“How'd you do?” Manny asked, deflecting Emmett's attention in Ana's direction.

Ana looked at the ground.

“She did just fine,” Manny assured him. “Kept a good pace.”

“Well, it wouldn't hurt everyone to kick it up.”

 • • • 

T
he rest of the morning consisted of picking more berries, some sprouts, and a row of carrots. Ana was baffled that the carrots she yanked from the earth were sometimes yellow or purple and misshapen, unlike the perfect orange ones in grocery stores. She stood at the end of a long row and stretched her back, surprised at the exhaustion setting in. A bell rang out over the fields. She followed the rest of the workers to the sorting station, bunches of carrots in hand.

“Lunch break, boys,” Emmett said as they approached, “and, um, girl.”

Some of the workers headed over to Emmett's pickup truck with Manny, bringing back peaches, water, and sandwiches made by Abbie. Ana knew they had come from her kitchen, judging by the white parchment wrapping tied together with red string. She joined Vic and a few others leaning against the fence and inhaled the roasted vegetable pesto sandwich. Emmett stayed in the driver's seat of his truck to eat alone.

“Boss doesn't eat with us?” she leaned over and whispered to Vic.

“Boss eats with boss.”

She watched as Emmett fiddled with the stereo, the faint sounds of Neil echoing across the farmland.

“
He's a perfect stranger, like a cross of himself and a fox.
”

Ana wasn't sure if it was the food, the lulling background music, or if she was hallucinating, but she did a double take as a giant purple caterpillar suddenly made its way up the road.

“
¡
Órale!
” the workers hooped and hollered as Emmett honked the truck's horn.

Ana wondered if this is what sunstroke felt like, because behind the caterpillar there was a spider, a metallic dragon, and a winking chicken lumbering along in stride. The creatures rounded the bend near the entrance of Garber Farm, coming closer into view, and Ana realized they were part of a parade of elaborate floats fashioned out of bicycles. There were single bikes and tandems powered by two or three people smiling and waving in hats that matched the theme of their vehicle. Everything from fire ants, snapping turtles, and even a man in a clown costume on a unicycle ambled along the road to cheers from the workers.

“What's this?” Ana asked Vic, who was also staring in awe.

He shrugged in response.

“Kinetic Sculpture Race,” Manny said as he took off his hat and waved it toward the road. “Happens every year all along the coast. People spend months building these crazy things. Fun, no?”

The people powering the dragon pulled a lever and the makeshift beast roared to life, shooting a plume of fire out of its mouth that made everyone cheer. It was unlike anything Ana had ever seen before, and she couldn't help but cheer along too. She'd been to the Pasadena Rose Bowl parade once, when she was living with the Fergusons, but had caught only a glimpse of the floats through the legs of the crowd. A lobster with working claws, followed by three guys peddling a shoe the size of a car, passed by. Manny
seemed to know a few people and tipped his hat every now and then, earning him hoots and honks.

Ana finished her lunch, as did the others, and they all watched the end of the parade. Her back ached and her eyes were heavy, so she shook herself up as the last bikes approached. They were louder than the others and unadorned. It took a moment before she realized they were motorcycles of various colors and shapes; their only embellishments were the riders themselves, who wore costumes like silver disco suits, cowboy outfits, and more than a couple roughed-up versions of Elvis. They weren't as lively as the homemade sculptures, but they'd dressed up for the event and revved as they passed the farm.