Esperanza Rising (17 page)

Ada was quiet and nodded when Marta talked about the strike. Esperanza felt a twinge of envy when she noticed that Marta never let go of her mother's hand.

“There are hundreds of us together at this farm, but thousands around the county and more people join our cause each day. You are new here, but in time, you'll understand what we're trying to change. Turn left,” she said, pointing to a dirt road rutted with tire marks.

Miguel turned down the path bordered in cotton fields. Finally, they reached several acres of land surrounded by chain-link fencing and barbed wire, its single opening guarded by several men wearing armbands.

“
Aquí
. Right here,” said Ada.

“What are the guards for?” asked Esperanza.

“They're for protection,” said Marta. “The farmer who owns the land is sympathetic to us but a lot of people don't like the strikers causing trouble. We've had threats. The men take turns at the entrance.”

Miguel pulled the truck to the side of the road and stopped.

There were only ten wooden toilet stalls for hundreds of people and Esperanza could smell the effects from the truck. Some people lived in tents but others had only burlap bags stretched between poles. Some were living in their cars or old trucks. Mattresses were on the ground, where people and dogs rested. A goat was tied to a tree. There was a long pipe that lay on top of the ground and a line of water spigots sticking up from it. Near each spigot were pots and pans and campfire rings, the makings of outdoor kitchens. In an irrigation ditch, women were washing clothes, and children were bathing at the same time. Clotheslines ran everywhere. It was a great jumble of humanity and confusion.

Esperanza could not stop looking. She felt hypnotized by the squalor but Marta and her mother didn't seem the least bit embarrassed.

“Home, sweet home,” said Marta.

They all climbed out of the truck, but before Marta and Ada could retrieve their groceries, a
campesino
family coming from the opposite direction approached them. The children were dirty and skinny and the mother held an infant, who was crying.

“Do you have food so that I can feed my family?” said the father. “We were thrown out of our camp because I was striking. My family has not eaten in two days. There are too many people coming into the valley each day who will work for pennies. Yesterday I worked all day and made less than fifty cents and I cannot buy food for one day with that. I was hoping that here, with others who have been through the same …”

“You are welcome here,” said Ada.

Esperanza reached into the truck bed and opened the large bag of beans. “Hand me your hat, Señor.”

The man handed over his large sun hat and she filled it with the dried beans, then gave it back to him.

“Gracias, gracias,”
he said.

Esperanza looked at the two older children, their eyes watery and vacant. She lifted the
piñata
and held it out to them. They said nothing but hurried toward her, took it, and ran back to their family.

Marta looked at her. “Are you sure you aren't already on our side?”

Esperanza shook her head. “They were hungry, that's all. Even if I believed in what you are doing, I must take care of my mother.”

Ada put her hand on Esperanza's arm and smiled. “We all do what we have to do. Your mother would be proud of you.”

Miguel handed them their bags, and they walked toward the farmer's field. Before they reached the gate, Marta suddenly turned and said, “I shouldn't be telling you this, but the strikers are more organized than they appear. In a few weeks, during asparagus, things are going to happen all over the county. We're going to shut down everything, the fields, the sheds, the railroad. If you have not joined us by then, be very careful.” Then she hurried to catch up with her mother.

As Miguel and Esperanza rode back to Arvin, neither of them said a word for many miles. Marta's threat and the guilt of having a job weighed heavily on Esperanza's mind. “Do you think they are right?” she asked.

“I don't know,” said Miguel. “What the man said is true. I have heard that there will be ten times the people here looking for jobs in the next few months, from Oklahoma, Arkansas, Texas, and other places, too. And that they are poor people like us, who need to feed their families, too. If so many come and are willing to work for pennies, what will happen to us? But until then, with so many joining the strikes, I might be able to get a job at the railroad.”

Esperanza's mind wrestled with Miguel's words. For him, the strike was an opportunity to work at the job he loved and to make it in this country, but for her, it was a threat to her finances, Abuelita's arrival, and Mama's recuperation. Then there was the matter of her own safety. She thought of Mama and Abuelita, and she knew there was only one thing for her to do.

Esperanza studied her hands a few nights later as she walked toward the cabin and hoped Hortensia had a few more avocados. It was later than usual. She had been weeding asparagus in a far field so she had been on the last truck. When she arrived at the cabin, everyone was crowded around the small table. There were fresh
tortillas
on a plate and Hortensia was stirring a pan of
machaca,
scrambled eggs with shredded meat, onions, and peppers. It was Miguel's favorite but they usually ate it for breakfast.

“What is the occasion?” asked Esperanza.

“I got a job in the machine shop at the railroad.”

“Oh, Miguel! That's good news!”

“So many railroad workers have joined the strikers. I know it might be temporary but if I do a good job, maybe they will keep me.”

“That is right,” said Alfonso. “You do good work. They will see it. They will keep you.”

Esperanza sat down and listened to Miguel tell the others about the job, but she wasn't hearing his words. She was seeing his eyes, dancing like Papa's when he used to talk about the land. She watched Miguel's animated face, thinking that at last, his dream was coming true.

M
arta was right. The strikers were more organized than ever. They handed out flyers in front of every store. They painted the sides of old barns with their slogans and held big meetings at the farm. For those who continued to work, there were still jobs, but Esperanza could hear the tightness and worry in her neighbors' voices. She worried, too, about what would happen if she didn't have a job.

Asparagus would be a long season, sometimes up to ten weeks. But it had to be picked before the high temperatures touched the valley in June. The strikers knew that if they could slow down the workers, it would affect the growers, so when the tender stalks were ready, the strikers were ready, too.

Esperanza got on the flatbed truck with Hortensia and Josefina for the first day of packing. The company had sent a man with a gun to ride on the truck with them, for protection they said, but the gun frightened Esperanza.

When they arrived at the sheds, a crowd of women erupted into shouting and booing. They carried signs that said, “
¡Huelga!
Strike!” Among them were Marta and her friends. And they were yelling.

“Help us feed our children!”

“We must all join together if we are all to eat!”

“Save your countrymen from starving!”

When Esperanza saw their menacing faces, she wanted to run back to the safety of the camp, do laundry, clean diapers, anything but this. She wanted to tell them that her mother was sick. That she had to pay the bills. She wanted to explain to them about Abuelita and how she had to find a way to get some money to her so she could travel. Then maybe they'd understand why she needed her job. She wanted to tell them that she did not want anyone's children to starve. But she knew it would not matter. The strikers only listened if you agreed with them.

She reached for Hortensia's hand and pulled her close. Josefina marched toward the shed, looking straight ahead. Hortensia and Esperanza stayed close behind, never letting go of each other.

One of the women from their camp called out. “We make less money packing asparagus than you do when you pick cotton. Leave us alone. Our children are hungry, too.”

When the guard wasn't looking, one of the strikers picked up a rock and threw it at the woman, barely missing her head, and the workers all hurried toward the shed.

The strikers stayed near the road, but Esperanza's heart was still beating wildly as she and the women took their places to pack the asparagus. All day, as she sorted and bundled the delicate spears, she heard their chanting and their threats.

That night at dinner Alfonso and Juan told how they had the same problems in the fields. Strikers waited for them and they had to cross picket lines to get to work. Once in the fields, they were safe, protected by guards the company had sent. But the lugs of asparagus that were sent back to the sheds had to be taken across the picket lines and the strikers often slipped surprises beneath the harvest.

The strike continued for days. One afternoon, as Josefina took a handful of asparagus from a crate, a large rat jumped out at her. A few days later, Esperanza heard a terrible scream from one of the women and several writhing gopher snakes slithered out of a crate. They found razor blades and shards of glass in the field bins and the women, usually efficient and quick to unpack the asparagus, slowed down and were hesitant to grab the vegetables from their boxes. When several of them heard a rattling from beneath a pile of stalks, the supervisors took the entire crate out to the yard, dumped it, and found an angry rattlesnake inside.

“It was a miracle that no one was bitten by that snake,” said Hortensia that night at dinner. They were all gathered in one cabin, eating
caldo de albóndigas,
meatball soup.

“Did you see it?” asked Isabel.

“Yes,” said Esperanza. “We all saw it. It was frightening but the supervisor cut its head off with the hoe.”

Isabel cringed.

“Can't they do anything to the strikers?” asked Hortensia.

“It's a free country,” said Miguel. “Besides, the strikers are careful. As long as they stay near the road and the guards don't actually see them do anything aggressive, then no, there's not much anyone can do. It's the same at the railroad. I pass the picket lines every day, and listen to the yelling and the insults.”

“It's the yelling all day long that bothers me,” said Hortensia.

“Remember, do not respond to them,” said Alfonso. “Things will get better.”

“Papa,” said Miguel. “Things will get worse. Have you seen the cars and trucks coming through the pass in the mountains? Every day, more and more people. Some of them say they will pick cotton for five and six cents a pound, and will pick produce for less. People cannot survive on such low wages.”

“Where will it end?” said Josefina. “Everyone will starve if people work for less and less money.”

“That is the strikers' point,” said Esperanza.

No one said anything. Forks clinked on the plates. Pepe, who was sitting in Esperanza's lap, dropped a meatball on the floor.

“Are we going to starve?” asked Isabel.

“No,
mija,
” said Josefina. “How could anyone starve here with so much food around us?”