The Children of Sanchez (76 page)

But the economic situation of the family became worse. Money stopped coming from Cuba, the husband had no job, Lucy had trouble with her
novio
, some of the roomers moved out. Emita decided to transfer the house to a new tenant, who would pay her a few thousand
pesos
for it. Nancy went to live with her married brother, who was a lawyer, but I couldn’t find another place quickly and had to stay on with the new family, whom I did not like as well. After looking for a room, one day I returned to find my bed and clothing in the middle of the parlor because it had occurred to the landlord to paint my room before I left. I was coming down with bronchitis and had to spend the next few days sleeping in the parlor.

I found a room on Sonora Street in an apartment in a nice building. The rent was high, 250
pesos
, but the neighborhood was the nicest I had ever lived in. My new landlady, Juanita, lived alone with a servant and I was the only roomer. She gave me permission to use her record player and television set (I had bought myself a little radio by this time), and to bring Mariquita or another one of my nieces and nephews to spend Sunday with me. On that day, I washed my hair, bathed, and rested.

Up to a certain point, Juanita was a good landlady, although at times she frightened me. She insulted her servant very harshly, laughed in an uncontrolled manner and told me a lot of lies about herself. She said she was from an aristocratic family but she used some of the worst language I had ever heard. I didn’t care about her private life but it annoyed me when she told me that her husband was a doctor who came home only twice a week. In between, she sometimes had long visits from her “uncle” or some other male “relative.”

I paid no attention to her goings on, but she tried to influence me to
take the same path. She wanted to introduce me to her visitors, saying, “Come on, Consuelo, don’t be a fool. You are so young. Who is there to stop you? I’ve had three husbands and I know that all men are the same cheats. You have to learn how to take advantage of them. Life is for those who know how to live! Tell me, what’s stopping you?”

“No, Juanita. I couldn’t, even though I wanted to. I would like to be able to do such things without worrying, but my conscience would bother me.”

“Conscience! None of that now! The Church talks about conscience because it suits them, but in reality, what is it? Tell me, who in this world is not human? Live while you can, before you are too old. Put aside your scruples. What good are they, except to make fools of us. There are many men who are not happy at home and if they find a woman who knows how to satisfy them, naturally they will be generous to her. Because it is a need, something mechanical that the body asks for, so why not take advantage of opportunities.”

“Yes, but …”

“But nothing! Stop this foolishness. Life isn’t such that you can consider everything. Man! Do what I say and in the end you will find someone who will marry you and give you a nice home. Why not?”

Juanita showed me her watch and bracelets and rings. “See this diamond ring? One of my
novios
gave it to me. I pawn it whenever I need money. See how pretty it is?”

I felt a kind of admiration and respect for Juanita. She seemed so mature, so sure of herself. She had everything, a beautiful apartment, a servant, all the money she wanted. Beside her, I felt insignificant. I felt she was probably right. I was killing myself to earn a few miserable
pesos
. But still I looked down at her and couldn’t think of leading her life. I wasn’t born for that. I thought, “Better to do it my way and hold my head high. It is true she has many things, but must she also not feel shame? No, if I want a dress, I’ll buy it. If I have no money, I’ll wait. I couldn’t use anything I had paid for with my body. And if my brothers or the children should find out? No, a thousand times no! You may have a lot now, Juanita, but someday you will repent.”

Carmelita, a girl who worked in my office, was living in the same world as Juanita, She was very pretty and for a while I liked her. She also spoke to me frankly. “Don’t be a jerk! Get all the money you can out of men. All you have to do is put on a sad face and right away they will give you something. Take Honorato, for example, do you believe
I go with that fat slob because I like him? No, man! I’ve had better ones than that!”

“Yes? And why do you accept him then?”

“Man! How can you be such a jerk? Because I get money out of him, of course. He comes around saying, ‘
Ay, mamacita
!’ Do you think I don’t make him pay for it? Don’t think I am not worth anything. I say, ‘Come on,
papacito
, anything you want.’ But later I gather in the wool.”

“But he is married.”

“Married, but not castrated. Who tells his old woman not to know how to watch him? Listen, I’ll introduce you to León. The old goat has lots of
pesos
.”

I laughed at what she said, and I let her teach me how to put on make-up. She had nice clothes, though they were not so expensive as Juanita’s. I kept going out with Carmela, although my boss and others warned me not to. I liked the way she laughed and joked with everyone, especially the men, and I envied her when she rode off in their beautiful cars. She invited me to go with her, but I never accepted. The truth is, I felt inferior to her, and to everyone else. When I saw their luxurious cars and good clothes, I did not feel up to them. In spite of everything, ever since I was a girl, I didn’t know how to take advantage of others. I knew nothing about evil, hypocrisy, astuteness, and I wanted to learn. I wanted to get out of the fog I lived in.

Meanwhile, I kept looking for a better job and finally, with much work and many letters of recommendation, I got a job in a government office. I worked from 8:30
A.M.
to 2:30
P.M.
for 540
pesos
a month. Many times I had to work after hours without pay “to have a good record,” my chief told me. I enrolled in an English course in the evening and, at last, began to study a foreign language. What is more, I applied for an apartment in a government housing project for civil service employees. I had a good chance to get one because my friend’s
novio
worked in the housing department and promised to put in a good word for me. I was coming closer and closer to building a new life for me and, God willing, for my “children,” my dear little nieces and nephews.

My chief cause of worry was still my family, but the emotion and anxiety I felt before, had lessened. Away from them, I realized they formed a united circle, or rather, a net, in which they were enmeshed together. I was the only one out of it. Being near them only made me feel more alone. It had always been like that, but I hadn’t had the courage to face it. I knew I should not mix into their lives, that I should struggle for myself alone.

Had I lived only for myself, I would have gone away. But my love for my family, that strong Mexican love, was like a powerful coiled spring pulling me back, pulling me under. I wanted to advance, but it wouldn’t let me. They didn’t understand that I wanted to clear a path for them. The terrible thing about me was that I felt obliged to extend my hand to them, not because they were beggars … not at all! They were braver than I, to face life, to face hunger, humiliation, bad treatment, day after day. They faced it and I couldn’t. I was too cowardly.

How I wanted to pack my things and go far away! I dreamed of going to the border, to California. Perhaps I would marry a
gringo
, who would be more understanding than Mexican men. My character was too dry … I couldn’t be sweet or submissive enough to please the men here. The
macho
Mexican, in his pride and vanity, considered women inferior and enjoyed humiliating them. Only
he
is right and only
his
feelings count. In a discussion, he is not interested in learning the truth, but only in outtalking the others. If a man in a Nash is overtaken by a Chrysler, he will speed to pass it, to show that he is superior, after all. A woman cannot walk alone, without some virile man asserting his “rights” over her. All the men I knew, my father, my brothers, my
novios
and my fellow employees, believed it was their place to give the orders and to be obeyed.

I could never get along with a dominating, imperious man. I didn’t like crushing authority, I didn’t want to feel inferior. I even fought my father on that score. A thing was not right just because he said it! Men were stronger physically (but not morally), and behind all their “superiority” was force! That was why I had no confidence in Latin men and could never, never, get along with them. I wanted to be independent, to make my own way, to find the right environment.

I made brave dreams for myself, but when I went to the Casa Grande and saw the situation there, I faltered. It would be cowardly to abandon those four motherless children. Delila had a quarrel with my father and sent the children back to Marta. Again, every evening, instead of studying English, I went to the Casa Grande to give them their supper and put them to bed.

I will never forgive my father and that woman of his for the way they used those defenseless children for their own purposes, first, as a pretext to marry, and then, to threaten each other. To be sure, Manuel was a bad parent, but why hadn’t my father obliged him from the start to take care of his own children? My
papá
did nothing more than complain and scold, with the same words: “How could he be such a lazy
bastard? It is unbelievable! He sleeps till noon, while I break my back working. I don’t know what to do with that tramp. He doesn’t even work for himself!”

It hurt my heart to think that the children did not have a better tomorrow to look forward to. Were they condemned to have no home, to receive blows from this one and that, to lack clothing, toys, even a bed? It enraged me to see Manuel regularly “forget” to leave money for their food. He and María lived in Gilberto’s café and didn’t even trouble to visit the kids. My protests were like a cry in the desert; I felt the hot flames of the sun burning me and those four little trees.

I decided that if force were used, Manuel would take his obligations more seriously. One night, I told my father I would speak to the lawyer,
Señor
Marroquín, who had helped get Roberto out of jail. My father hesitated, but agreed. Before I knew it, I was in the Social Service Department, accusing my brother of irresponsibility. He ignored the first two summonses, but I sent a policeman to the café with the third. Manuel turned pale when he was handed that summons and he showed up at the office the next day.

I had brought the four children to the Social Service office in the morning, though I wasn’t at all certain Manuel would come. I went in and out of the front entrance to look for him. At about ten o’clock, I spied him standing at the foot of the stairs. I confess I was afraid to face him, but because he might have left without going in, I went to him and said, “My
papá
is waiting for you inside.”

Manuel looked at me with anger and hatred. “What are you up to? What are those snakes bothering me for?” Unwillingly, and muttering to himself, he went into the office. I followed, my heart in my mouth.

He was amazed to see his children.

“What are they doing here?”

Alanes hid behind me. Mariquita said, “Don’t worry,
papá
. They won’t do anything to you. My aunt only wants you to buy us shoes and clothes and give us money for food.” I stood on the other side of the desk, well away from my brother. The social worker,
Señorita
Olga, said, “Are you the father of these children?”

“Yes,
señorita
, at your service.”

“Young man, your father has accused you of neglecting your children. They are flesh of your flesh and blood of your blood and yet you do not support them. What is it, don’t you love them?” She lectured him for a long time. All through it, Manuel listened coldly, his arms crossed,
now and then giving her answers. “Yes, I love them. No, naturally not … No, I don’t want anything bad to happen to them …”

When
Señorita
Olga was through, Manuel said, “Look, miss, my children were not abandoned. They were well off with their grandfather. It is not true that they are hit or mistreated. My sister has always exaggerated. If you give a child a little slap, she calls it a beating. That’s completely false! Delila is a saint. I wish all women were like her. My children lack nothing. My sister wants them to live like Americans. I don’t earn enough for that. It is not that I don’t want to support my children, it is that I don’t have a regular income.”

It made me angry to hear his excuses. “What a barbarian! Is it living like an American to eat three times a day? to sleep in a bed and have a coat to cover you? You earn enough to play cards and the horses and dominoes and to bet on boxers! If you spent that money on the home, the children would have what they need.”

Then Manuel made the mistake of putting out his hand and asking me for money. He said, “Go on, give me. I don’t want advice. What I want is money to buy them things. If it hurts you to see them without, then hand over some money.”

Then and there, while his hand was still outstretched, the social worker accused him of refusing to support his children and said they would be sent to an orphan asylum and he to jail if he did not leave fifteen
pesos
a day for them at the office. My brother swallowed hard but had to sign the papers. I also signed and agreed to collect the money from the office once a week and turn it over to whomever was taking care of the children.

I don’t know how Manuel felt when he left. It must have been a mixture of anger, shame and a wish to beat me. The children and I were afraid to leave the office though they were already talking excitedly about the things they wanted to buy. As it turned out, my brother never went to the office to leave money, but he did give expense money into the house after that, and he or María went to the Casa Grande to see the children every day.

One morning, on Ash Wednesday, I arrived before the children left for school. Conchita, Manuel’s youngest girl, came over to tell me that Marta had bathed them in cold water. It was very cold that day and naturally it made me angry, although I said nothing for fear of a quarrel. I told Concha not to worry, but to put on her sweater. Marta was in the kitchen and without further ado, she began to scream at me.
“And what business is it of yours, you daughter-of-a-whore!” She called me a rotting slut, a public whore, and things I cannot repeat. Then she wanted to hit me and, not being a saint, I defended myself. I didn’t want to fight but she was out of her mind, kicking and scratching and yelling insults. I still cannot explain why my sister has always hated me so. In the presence of the children, she said I slept with a different man every night. I couldn’t stand it and went crying to Roberto’s factory to tell him, then to my aunt, and then to my father, who scolded my sister and told her to leave her children with Delila and go to work. Marta got angry and that very night she disappeared with the girls. We believed she had gone back to Crispín, the father of her children.