The Children of Sanchez (74 page)

Marta didn’t like taking care of all the children and found a job in a paper-cup factory. She didn’t tell me she was going to work; on the first day, she left at seven in the morning and didn’t come back until seven at night. I stayed home with the children but worried all day about my sister, not knowing where she was.

I refused to take on the job of looking after the kids. I continued to work and my father hired a woman, who had two little ones of her own, to move in and take care of things. The house was noisier and more crowded than ever. Every night I had to take medicine for my nerves. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I would look around the dim room. The electricity had been cut off again and the candle barely lighted up the table and the children’s pale little faces over their coffee mugs, or my sister, her hair uncombed, her apron dirty and half falling, shouting at Concepción to clean up after Trini. “Hurry, you damned brat, clean your sister, if you know what is good for you!” It drove me out of my mind to see my sad-eyed niece leave her bread and coffee to wipe up the diarrhoeic mess on the floor.

Right after supper, everyone would go to bed. Marta in the big bed with her daughters; Mariquita, Conchita and I on my little bed; Alanes and Domingo and Roberto doubled over with cold on the floor; and now, the maid and her children, also on the floor. Night after night, this was the sad picture before my eyes. I tried to make it better, but by that time, I was almost afraid to speak up. They blamed me for everything, even if the stove wick was slow in lighting. Not only Marta and my father, but even Roberto said that I was the one who had brought the apple of discord into the house. They wanted me to move out but I wouldn’t give up trying to get them to live better. Besides, I was afraid to live alone. People would wonder about me and think the worst, and men would take advantage of my position.

To make matters worse, Mario, and later Jaime, drunk as always, came looking for me. One night, as I was leaving my aunt’s house, I saw Jaime coming toward the Casa Grande. I ran back to our courtyard. He saw me and ran, too, but, thank God, I got to our room before he did and locked myself in. Day after day, Jaime hung around, until I spoke to him and agreed to go out with him. He said he still loved me and wanted to marry me. I didn’t believe him, but took everything passively to avoid trouble, especially when he was drunk. Frankly, I was tired of my home and had not been eating well. He took me to restaurants and to the movies and gave me presents and as a result, I was able to save up some money.

Meanwhile, my brother Roberto advised me to use my money to buy a record player, saying I could make back more than it would cost by renting it out for dances and
fiestas
. And if I ever needed money, I could sell it or pawn it. I loved music and thought how nice it would be to have records of my own. One day, I was ill in bed, when Roberto came and said, “Sis, just think, I met a fellow who wants to sell a very good record player for four hundred
pesos
.”

“Really?” I must confess that I didn’t trust Roberto, but he was my brother and I loved him. I always thought he was the one who had suffered most because we lost our mother. I wanted to show that I had confidence in him, that I believed in his goodness, and that someone, at least, had faith in his character. In short, I gave him the money. He said he would be right back with the record player.

While I waited, my aunt came to be paid for washing my laundry. I told her what I had done and she got angry, saying I shouldn’t have given him a
centavo
, that I was tempting him, that I was a fool.

“But, Auntie, he is my brother. How is it possible that he would …”

Later, when I went crying to her because Roberto had not returned, my aunt and uncle scolded me some more. I told Angélica, my friend, and she, too, said, “
Qué barbaridad
! How could you be so foolish? Why did you hand over so much money?”

“But he is my brother!” I cried, not because of the money, but because he had betrayed my confidence. I found him drinking beer with a friend in a café near the Casa Grande. I was afraid to ask him for the money because I might embarrass him or hurt his feelings and make him angry.

“What happened?” was all I said.

“Nothing,” was all he answered.

I thought it would be better to have my aunt and uncle with me when I asked for the money, so I went to get them. By the time we returned to the café, my brother was gone. He didn’t come home for three days and I had plenty of time to cry. When I next saw him, I didn’t ask for an explanation, but said only, “You will pay it back, little by little.” Yes, he gave me ten or fifteen
pesos
every week, until he had paid about half of it.

He never apologized for what he did. He just explained that the record player wasn’t good and that he intended to give me back the money … he still had it in his pocket when I saw him in the café … but then some of his friends came along and he invited them all out to drink. “But I’ll pay you back, sister, don’t worry.”

I had such hopes that my brother would change! I thought that with advice and more support, with study … if only he would finish primary school! If only he would try! When I saw the reality of things it frightened me. I didn’t want to believe that he would never change.

The next blow came only two days after I got up from my sickbed, as thin as a toothpick. Marta and I were already asleep when
Señora
Luz, who sold
tacos
in the gateway of the Casa Grande, banged on the door and said the police were beating up Roberto. How terrible it is to be awakened that way! We jumped out of bed. Marta slept in her dress but I had to put on my old blue bathrobe, trembling and full of fear because I well knew what the police were capable of doing. I got the fright of my life to see Roberto stretched out on the ground with two policemen standing over him beating him barbarously. Their blows had made him vomit. He was bleeding from the nose and yelling curses at them, which only made them beat him harder.

I shouted, “No, Roberto, no, little brother, shut up, for you are making it worse.”

“Let him alone,” Marta said to the police. “Don’t be mean. Can’t you see he’s drunk?”

“Well, tell the bastard to be quiet or else …” and they kept beating him with their clubs. My God, I felt so helpless! I turned desperately, looking for help, screaming, “They are killing him! Stop them!”

Three of Roberto’s friends tried to interfere; the crowd that had gathered also threatened to join in, but the policemen took out their guns and chased them away. When they saw that my brother couldn’t move any more, they ran. Marta and I were crying. People advised us to take Roberto to the Police Station to accuse the two policemen, so Marta went to get Trinidad, who was still nursing, and I got my coat. I took fifty
pesos
I had hidden away and went to look for a taxi. An ambulance arrived to take my brother and two of his friends who went along as witnesses, to the Police Station.

When we arrived, Roberto was in the infirmary, crying and complaining of terrible pains in his head, stomach and legs. He kept shouting insults at the police, making matters worse. I held my hand over his mouth … The doctor sent him to the hospital, and just as the ambulance was leaving, Manuel arrived, full of indignation at what had happened. He accompanied Roberto, while Marta and I stayed to try to get justice. Justice! We stayed there until five o’clock in the morning, accomplishing nothing and only wasting our time.

I was in despair. I had gotten nowhere with Marta, had spent my few
centavos
on Roberto, my father took the children back to Delila … I felt I would get ill if I didn’t escape his mean looks and hard words, his daily threats to throw me and Roberto into the street. I couldn’t stand it any more and decided to move.

My boss’s aunt,
Señora
Andrea, had an empty bedroom that she rented to me after I had told her my situation, with certain reservations, of course. She lived almost at the opposite edge of the city and I thought I could flee from those who were troubling me.

But Jaime found me there. At first he behaved himself and I began to depend on him. Then another blow! “I don’t want anybody in my house to know I am seeing you. My mother forbade it. If my father finds out, there will be a big fight. But if you want, I’ll set up a house for you.” Instead of marriage, Jaime was now offering to make me his mistress.

I received such offers from several men, some from whom I least expected it. A friend of the family, a man I had always considered like an uncle, said to me, “If you want to, you can work; if not, you don’t have to. I’ll set you up a house.” After that it was my brother-in-law: “If you want, I’ll set up a house for you somewhere else, in Veracruz or Guadalajara.” I stopped talking to him, too. Then Elida’s husband, whom I thought of as a friend, proposed to “take care of me.”

My mind became bewildered. “My God,” I asked myself, “do I represent only an instrument of pleasure?” I wanted to get away from all evil and like a curse it followed me. I began to be afraid of everyone. Then one night, Jaime came, drunk and yelling, insulting me and kicking on
Señora
Andrea’s door. Waking up and hearing his scandalous noise in that respectable house came as a shock, and I fainted.

At that time I didn’t eat properly, sometimes because of not having money, or because I wasn’t hungry or had to catch the bus. The daily rages at my job had also undermined my health. I was as thin as when they called me “tubercular.” I began to lose control of my nerves. I had crying fits and became dull. My way of speaking was like that of an idiot or a drunkard. I don’t have to say I made innumerable mistakes at work.

I began to have many vivid dreams. One of my dreams, or rather nightmares, started with me on a beach. I swam until I came to an island, where I noticed a small cave. I went to see what it was like inside, when suddenly the earth moved under my feet. I fell into a whirlpool. I struggled with all my strength to come to the surface, but the water of that whirlpool sucked me under. I thought I would die. I fell and fell. When I reached the bottom, the whirlpool threw me into a kind of room made of earth, divided into two areas by a platform. At one side was a wooden ladder of the sort the Indians sell. The water ran along one side of the room but did not come into it. My clothing was torn to shreds. My hair was dry, but it was very long and straggly. My feet were covered with the earth of the floor. The curious thing is that there was a lighted electric-light bulb hanging from one of the beams which supported the platform. I began to climb the ladder. Suddenly a man appeared. I could see his clothing but not his face; he was dressed like a pirate. He pulled a cord, and dirt began to fall on me, tons of sandy, whitish dirt. I continued climbing, and to my surprise, on the platform there was another lake of blue water. But then, without knowing how I got there, I was in a sailboat. Some men in it had saved me, but I kept telling them to let me go. They did not want to.

The little boat capsized. I fell back into the whirlpool and was swallowed up again in the water and sand. I fought, I struggled with all my strength and escaped again to the cave. The water of the whirlpool covered me completely except for my head, which was covered with an oilcloth cap. The water was a very dark green. A board came floating toward me and I started toward it. When I reached it, somebody gave me a hand and pulled me up on the plank. I couldn’t see the person’s face, just the arm which reached out to help me. I lay exhausted on the board, but still inside the whirlpool. I no longer had the strength to swim, but lay there face down on the board, which kept spinning around and around.

My condition became worse. One night on the way home, I fainted and fell on the highway. I don’t know how long I remained there until I got up and went home.
Señora
Andrea thought I was drunk and gave me lots of advice. I finally fell into bed. I was afraid of the dark, of people, of the noise of the cars. I couldn’t work any more.

My father moved me to Lupita’s house. I don’t remember anything about the first two days. I just remember that I looked at everybody and talked, I don’t know about what. Then, suddenly, I wouldn’t recognize them. Things looked enormous and seemed as though they were going to fall on top of me. Voices sounded strange and far away. A very strong pain in my head didn’t leave me in peace. At night they would put alcohol on my head. Everything looked far away, the furniture so small and so far from me. Faces, when they laughed, almost made me faint—I couldn’t tell exactly who they were. I knew Lupita was there, I guessed it, something told me she was helping me. When I began to get better, I couldn’t talk right and stuttered a lot.

The first time I went out alone to go to the doctor’s office, I remained standing in the street. I had forgotten the place. Suddenly everything had changed. I began to tremble and cry. A woman came and asked me if she could help me get there.

“Get there? Where?” I asked.

“To your house, of course.”

“My house?” I couldn’t remember it. After a while, I pulled myself together and went into his office and told Dr. Ramón about it. He said I ought not to go out alone. My father came for me. When I arrived home, my bed looked so small it seemed impossible I could fit into it. I looked at it from very high up. I fell into it and went to sleep, I don’t know for how long.

Out of the emptiness within me, I tried to solve my problems. I felt
alone, hearing the jibes of others when I tried to raise myself up. I felt submerged and whirling in a spiral of events, of scenes dancing by, of things I could not understand. I thought people were full of hate and deprecation, wanting to hurt me, to see me go under. I didn’t know why things happened and there was no one to help me. I came to conclusions without understanding the situation but I had no way to correct my errors. I felt fear, I didn’t know of what, except that I was certain it was not fear of death, which had always seemed inviting to me. I trembled and my hands perspired when I went out into the street. Whenever I saw a lot of people, I wanted to run. When I crossed the streets, I felt like throwing myself in the path of a car. I was very ill; only my faith in God kept me going. Somehow I got better.