Let Their Spirits Dance (13 page)

I
need a tlachisqui, a bona fide seer, to use Brandon's word. If Don Florencío were alive I'd run and ask him if what's happening now is part of Jesse coming back to us in a new form. What does it mean, this whole mistake, turned inside out. I'm wearing seamed edges on the outside instead of the inside. There's a surface I haven't seen yet, a rough, invisible something coming into focus. Don Florencío would probably nod his head and say, “The soul can't be rushed, mijita. It's not like plunging headlong into a river. It all starts with listening.”

Did the listening start with the explosion in my dream, or with the voices my mother heard at Christmas? Were the voices only the chirping of birds nesting on the pine branches of the evergreens? Not in winter, when all the birds are gone, the sound so close to my mother's ear, it woke her up. And Cholo barking, yet crouching low, afraid. Of what? Does belief start with asking questions? I believe in the hereafter? I believe in Heaven and Hell. I'm a good Catholic daughter, brought up in the tradition of punishment and reward, of chains rattling on the limbs of tattered souls struggling in Purgatory. How do you chain up a soul anyway? How can a soul be destroyed in fire? It has to be symbols, everything is symbolic. We're floating in universal parallels like Michael says, touching other realities we know nothing about. It's standing in my way, whatever it is, eager to show me—what?

My phone call to D.C. is part of it all. It is shocking. Rothberg lives up to his name. He sounds stuffy to me, white-collar all the way, and so does his voice over the phone. I place the call at lunchtime. My mother is sitting on a chair, listening to every word, the letter still in her hand.

“Er, Mrs. Ramirez?”

“No, this is her daughter. I don't think my eighty-year-old mother would be up to answering your questions.”

“Your name, ma'am?”

“Is this an inquisition? It's Teresa Alvarez, soon to be Ramirez again.”

“I see…this is rather difficult to explain, somewhat a bit of a problem…not for you in any way, Ms. Alvarez. It's the U.S. government that's blundered.”

“Wow, that's news!”

“When your mother received the money given to her as part of your brother's death in 1968, she didn't receive the full amount. Perhaps you recall, Ms. Alvarez, that your brother's body was originally sent to an incorrect address?”

“Don't remind me!”

“I'm sorry about that.”

“Yeah, that's what they said back then, too.”

“The family, Ms. Alvarez, of the veteran where the body was initially sent, received half your brother's money, namely five thousand dollars. Amazing, I realize, but it was done. Your brother's name and this other veteran's name were the same except for the middle initial. Your brother's was
A
and his was
R
. We have addressed this issue with the veteran, who is now in one of our hospital facilities, and he states he has no knowledge of the money.”

“Of course he won't admit anything! Why should he? Did the government think Jesse was a twin? The address was different, for God's sake! How could all of you be so stupid?”

“Don't cuss, mija,” Mom says.

“What does all this mean?”

“Are you sitting down, Ms. Alvarez?”

“I wasn't sitting down when we were told my brother was killed. Just give it to me, Mr. Rothberg.”

“The government now owes your mother in excess of ninety thousand dollars. Interest compounded annually brings the exact amount to $92,401.”

The phone drops out of my hand, as if a bolt of lightning had run through it.

“What!” yells my mother. “What is it?” She is on her feet without her cane.

“Mom, how would you like to go to the Wall? You've got the money now! God knows you've got the money, ninety-two thousand dollars!”

“How?” My mother's eyes open wide. She has managed to straighten her back up so she is almost eye-to-eye with me.

“They made a mistake, Mom! Remember when Jesse was sent to the wrong address? They paid that family half the money and didn't give you the ten thousand dollars they owed. Now they owe you five thousand dollars plus all the interest! They've been our bank all these years, and we didn't even know it!”

“El Santo Niño! La Virgen! I told you God would find a way! I'm telling Irene.” She hobbles toward the door.

“Wait, your cane!” I'm holding her cane and grabbing for the phone receiver on the floor.

“Hello…hello?”

“Ms. Alvarez…are you there?”

“Listen, I can't explain, I gotta run after my mom. When will the check come?”

“You'll receive it within a week.”

Mom is heading down the alley yelling for Irene. I run after her and put her cane in her hand. I race up to Irene's back door while my mother is still calling for her at the top of her lungs.

Irene opens the door slowly, then throws it open all the way, fear coming over her face as she sees my mother walking down the alley yelling, “Irene, Irene, comadre!”

“What's wrong with your Mom, Teresa? Did somebody die?”

“Yeah, years ago.” I'm smiling, and Irene is totally confused.

“El gobierno, Irene, el gobierno made a mistake on my mijito's money. They owe us…tell her, Teresa…tell her how much!” My mother is out of breath, gasping.

“Ninety-two thousand dollars!”

“Dios mio!”

“Cree lo,” I say, using Irene's own words. “Believe it!”

“Ay mi Virgencita.” She reaches for the medallion on its gold chain and kisses the image.

“Let's go pack, mija,” says Mom. “See? El Santo Niño told me the truth at Christmas.”

 

• I
SWEAR
I
'LL NEVER
doubt El Santo Niño or lifting up San Francisco's head in Magdalena, or marching behind the banner of La Virgen with its magical image of roses, or anything that has to do with crazy things I don't understand. I say this to myself, then start forgetting all about it as reality hits and the trip to D.C. starts to take shape. Mom wants Jesse's friends to go, Willy, Gates, and Chris. She wants Manuel to go so he can take care of the money. Who could do it better? She doesn't trust Paul with the money, and none of us would be able to get past him to get our hands on it anyway. She wants everything to be figured out all at once, and us to be on the road. Irene, of course, is coming. I try to explain to her about my job and that I have one more week at school, the divorce is pending, the sale of the house is on my back, and if that's not enough, there's a court date for the assault charges in five days.

“Mom, I can't go right now,” I tell her. “In three weeks…yes, wait three weeks, everything should be clear.”

“No!” Mom is unmovable. There's a feverish energy that takes over her, a scurrying I've never seen before.

“Mom, what are you in a hurry for?”

“I have to get there, mija…la manda. I don't want to end up like the Robles brother.”

“Three weeks, Mom. That's nothing!”

“I'll be dead in three weeks!”

“No, you won't! Don't threaten me with that. You're so selfish! People can't put everything on hold just for you.”

“Stay then, Teresa,” she says coolly. “Stay if that will make you feel better. Priscilla and Paul can go with me, Jesse's friends, Manuel, Irene.”

“They'll put a warrant out for my arrest if I don't show up in court!”

“They will do nothing to you! Do you think God is blind? This is His plan. Sandra will drop the charges.”

“Sandra hates me.” I'm watching Mom rummaging through her dresser, pulling out underwear she'll take on the trip. She pauses for a second.

“Let her hate you, just don't hate her back,” she says, then goes back to picking out underwear.

 

• I
RENE'S KIDS BUY LUGGAGE
for her at Wal-Mart. I buy Mom's luggage at Dillard's. Why not? She's got the money for the expensive stuff. Neither of the ladies has ever traveled. The only things they've ever
packed are plastic clothes baskets with their family's laundry. Blue, green, maroon luggage, we have a choice. I call Irene's kids to make sure we don't all buy the same color and mix the ladies up on a grand scale. Manuel is looking into car rentals—two vans, one for him, me, Mom, Irene, Lisa, and Lilly and another for Paul, Donna, Priscilla, Michael, Angelo, and Cisco. Elsa's staying at Mom's house with her husband Julio and my granddaughter, Marisol. She's upset over the divorce, and says she'll stay behind to make sure her dad has a square meal once in a while. Ray's got Elsa convinced that Sandra's the one who's after him, and he's tried to get away from her for the longest time. I went crazy, he says, for no reason. I'm full of bad memories. I've got screws loose. Why should he have to suffer for what my father did to my mother? Elsa listens, something I would have never done, and that's how Ray holds on to her.

Willy and his wife Susie will ride in a car with Gates. We'll pick up Chris in Albuquerque, and he'll get in wherever he can find room. My mother's crazy energy is enveloping us all.

The day after the money arrives, Channel 5 News descends on the house. They spoke to a family member by phone, they said, who gave them permission to conduct an interview with Mom. We later found out it was Michael who called the station and alerted the news media to the mistake the U.S. government had made.

In between stories of natural disasters and graduation parties gone awry, the news people decide the story has merit. Neighbors are standing outside on the sidewalk next to the van with the letters
CHANNEL
5
NEWS
on it. I'm in the house with Paul, Donna, and Michael.

“Nice touch, Einstein,” Paul tells Michael. “What were you thinking about? Trying to make your nana nervous with all this shit?”

“Nothing wrong with a little publicity. People will follow us all the way to the Wall. I'm working on a web page for Nana. I'm putting her on the Internet. You've heard about the web sites, haven't you?”

Michael is working on a laptop computer he's been given to use over the summer by the gifted program at school. They also gave him a cellular phone so he could connect with the Internet.

“Michael, why are you doing this?” I ask him.

“Publicity, Tía! Nana is now www.jramirez68.com. There are people out there who know Tío Jesse. Watch, they'll be in touch with us.”

“In touch with you, wise guy,” says Paul.

“Leave him alone. He's right. A little publicity is just what we need. A Chicano soldier from el barrio, unknown just like all our guys who went over there and were never appreciated. They emptied the barrios
during the Vietnam War, and you're complaining about some recognition?”

One photographer and a redheaded reporter walk in to interview Mom. Mom sits in her rocker wearing her best blouse, a blue one with huge white buttons and a pair of navy blue slacks, two sizes too big. She's at ease talking to the woman, a redhead with long legs who sits on the couch with a small yellow pad and pencil. She's trying to look official, then her cellular phone rings.

“I can't talk right now, call me later…. No, I never said that, you took it wrong.” She looks at Mom. “Excuse me.” She rushes out to the front porch and talks heatedly to somebody.

“Probably her boyfriend,” Paul says. “But I'm free. Hey redhead, I'm free.” Donna gives Paul a dirty look. “Just kidding, babe.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Ramirez.” The redhead is back, and I notice the light on her cellular phone is out. Her face looks flushed.

“Don't worry about men,” Mom says. “They make trouble, but they can't live without women.”

The redhead smiles. “I think you're right about that.” She signals the camera to start rolling. “Now, what about this money you received from the government, Mrs. Ramirez? Ninety-two thousand dollars, my goodness! Was it a shock?”

“No. I was expecting to get some money. I knew God would send it to me. I need it to get to Washington, D.C.”

“You mean to see our capital and the president?”

“No, to get to the Vietnam Wall to touch my son's name. I promised to do it before I die.”

“Promised your family?”

“I promised God. That's why I got the money.”

The redhead shuffles her long legs, uncrosses them, then crosses them again.

“So, you believe in supernatural intervention?”

“In what?”

“In super…”

“Never mind about all that,” I tell her. “Mom has lots of faith and believes we are meant to go to the Vietnam Wall.”

“Tell them, Teresa, about the voices and El Santo Niño.”

“What voices?” The redhead looks confused.

“A dream Mom had.”

“No! It wasn't a dream, it was my son and his friends talking to me.”

The redhead is curious. “What did they say?”

“I don't know. That's why I tell my daughter here, that El Santo Niño will let us know.”

“Who is El San…to Ni…no?” She signals the cameraman to stop.

“God,” my mother says.

“It's her faith in God,” I say.

The redhead looks at me. “Do you believe this?” Her blue eyes are boring into mine.

“I don't know what to believe…my brother, Jesse, the Vietnam vet, told her she'd hear his voice someday, and he told us we'd read about him in a book, and…” I stop myself before I announce to her he told me he'd never come back.

Paul looks at me. “You don't have to tell her anything.”

The redhead purses her lips. “I'm not trying to pry, I'm really interested.”

“In what?” Paul asks. “In a story for the six o'clock news? My brother's body was sent to the wrong address, the sons-of-bitches couldn't even get that part right! Why don't you put that in your story, Miss Six O'Clock News.”