And saying this, Lupe pursed her lips together and gave that special, little look of hers, looking so cute, and yet, determined.
Salvador took a deep breath, loving her calm, respectful style. He took her in his arms and kissed her, and oh, just the taste of her was Heaven! She began to kiss him back, too. Then suddenly they were both so hungry for each other that they were BURNING once again.
THAT NIGHT, they went to the Montana Café to eat dinner. Kenny White—who’d been eating by himself—came over to their table to say hello. With a grand feeling of abundance, Salvador asked him to join them. Little by little, Lupe got to know the white-haired, old man and appreciate his humor. Then, when they’d finished eating, Helen brought them a freshly baked apple pie that she’d just taken out of the oven.
“This pie you take home with you,” she said. “It’s your honeymoon present from Hans and me.” And saying this, the big German woman then drew in close to Lupe, kissing her on the cheek. “I’d thought you were so beautiful at your wedding, Lupe, like all brides are, but oh, I never expected to see an angel when you’re in just your regular street clothes. You were blessed by God, my dear!”
Lupe blushed. All her life she’d heard words like this and she’d never known what to say, because as far as she was concerned, every person was equally blessed by God and so her good looks had never really meant much to her. “Thank you,” she simply said.
“And you make sure that he takes good care of you,” added Helen. “You two have a good, happy life together. Hans and me, that’s what we always make sure we do for ourselves, no matter how hard we work, we also make sure to have a good life together.” Then smiling, she turned and patted Salvador’s hand. “And, Sal, no bill tonight. Hans, he told me, so no argument, because he’s the boss!” she added with pride.
Salvador waved to Hans behind the counter and Hans waved back with a big, grand smile. Hans was also a drinking man. In fact, he and Helen drank together on their day off. Salvador would stop by later, in a couple of days, and give Hans and Helen a bottle of his 12-year-old.
Going home that night to their casita in the orchard, Lupe kept going over Helen’s words inside of her head. “Have a good, happy life together,” she’d said. “That’s what Hans and I always make sure we do for ourselves, no matter how hard we work.”
Lupe had never heard of such a thing in all her life.
No, all her life she’d only heard about needing to work, needing to be strong, needing to be careful, needing to have faith in God, but she’d never heard anyone ever say anything about having a good, happy life.
And not just a little happiness here and there, where chance might happen to give it to you; no, this German woman had actually said that she and her husband made sure to have a good life together, no matter how hard they worked.
Well, then, what did this mean, that happiness could actually be planned for ahead of time like one planned for work? And a celebration didn’t just happen because there was a death in the family or it was some religious holiday.
Lupe’s whole head was spinning as she held the warm apple pie on her lap and they drove home to their casita. Also, Helen had said “we make sure to have a good life together,” as if implying that a man and a woman could be together in having a good time, and not the man just going off with the men and the woman with the women.
[ 107
A whole new world was opening up for Lupe, and she was now feeling more at home here in Carlsbad than she’d ever felt in any community in all the years that she and her family had been living in the United States.
Why, tonight she’d felt welcomed and at home with Kenny and Hans and Helen, people who had roots in their community, people who weren’t just passing migrants searching for work.
For the first time in all of her life, Lupe had a sense, a feeling that maybe this country of the United States could really be her homeland, after all.
THAT NIGHT, after eating a slice of warm apple pie in the kitchen of their little casita, Salvador pulled out the roll of money that Carlitos Chico had paid him.
“What’s that?” asked Lupe, never having seen such a large roll of money in all her life.
“The money the man owed me,” he said. “Would you count it for me? I know you’re good at numbers.”
“Well, yes, of course,” said Lupe, licking her lips with a sudden nervousness. And she didn’t know why, but she actually felt like she was seeing a rattlesnake lying alongside the uneaten portion of apple pie as she now looked at this roll of money on their kitchen table.
Salvador saw her look. “Querida, it won’t hurt you,” he said.
“I know that,” said Lupe. “But it’s so much. I mean, I’ve never seen that much money in all my life. How could this be? Did he owe you for a whole year or something?”
“No, not exactly,” said Salvador. “You see, I do favors for people now and then, too.”
“What kind of favors?” she asked.
He took a deep breath. Once again he’d put his foot in his mouth. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to lose her. “Why don’t you just count the money first,” he said, “so we can put it safely away, then we can talk, okay?”
“Well, all right, but my God, Salvador, my family is working all the time, and they never bring home money like this.”
He nodded. “Yes, I know. My family, too. Just count it, Lupe, so you can put it away in a safe place for us.”
“Me?” she said. “Me, put it away?”
“Yes,” he said. “You.”
She swallowed. She’d never been given such responsibility. Why, in most Mexican homes, the woman wasn’t even allowed to touch the money. In fact, this was one of the points that her mother and father had constantly argued about in their home, until their father had finally left.
“All right,” said Lupe, reaching across the table and taking hold of the big roll of money.
She unrolled it, smoothed out the pile of green bills, and began to count, putting the ones in one pile, the fives in another pile, and the tens in a third pile. Twenties, they were unheard of back in these days. And a fifty or a hundred-dollar bill, these were only tales that the working people heard of that maybe existed among the rich.
It scared Lupe to handle all this money, but, also, in a strange way, it felt exciting.
Salvador never once took his eyes off of her, watching her every move. His young bride didn’t know it, but she’d been completely right, when she’d said that money did crazy things to people’s minds.
He continued watching her. He well knew that he was being the lead horse in their marriage right now, guiding them through a needle’s eye where there would be no return.
The die was cast.
The Devil had, indeed, been welcomed into their Garden, but Salvador had no fear. After all, it was he who’d opened their door wide for el Diablo.
The monies Lupe counted that night came to $137, including the money Salvador had had in his pocket before he’d collected his money from Carlitos. Salvador thanked Lupe for counting it, then he told her to give him twenty for himself, take what she needed for groceries and housekeeping, then to put the rest away for safekeeping.
At first Lupe didn’t know what to do. Never in her life had she ever heard of a husband asking his wife to do this.
“Go on, Lupe,” said Salvador, “give me the twenty I need and take what you need.”
“But I don’t know how much I need,” she said.
“What did our groceries cost the other day? Almost a dollar, right?” he said.
She nodded in agreement.
“Well, then, Lupe, take ten dollars,” he said, “and keep it in your purse.”
“Ten dollars!” she said. “Salvador, that’s what my parents pay for a whole month’s rent!”
“It’s okay, Lupe,” said Salvador calmly. “Money doesn’t spoil like tomatoes or get smelly like meat going bad. Money is paper, just paper, so it keeps very well. Take ten,” he repeated, giving her a li
ttle wink of the eye for reassurance.
She saw his wink and breathed. “Okay,” she said, taking five ones, then a five dollar bill. She put them in her purse. “But now what will we do with the rest?” she asked.
“You figure it out, querida,” he said, giving her lots of free rein so she could find her head. After all, a good lead horse didn’t want the horses that followed him to have no mind of their own, especially if the terrain was as rocky and broken as the ground Lupe and he were traveling. “Remember, this is your casa,” he added.
Hearing this, Lupe’s whole chest swelled up with pride. “Casa,” the word had never sounded so good to her! Why, she could now see that a woman’s home was so much more than she’d ever dreamed. It wasn’t just a private place for a young couple to make love, it was also a place that took thinking and planning, a place in which their dreams could take root and grow to . . . the Heavens!
Lupe got up, glanced around, then went over to the cupboards below the kitchen sink to search for a place to put away their money.
Salvador watched, never taking his eyes off of her. His mother had well explained to him—time and again—that on a honeymoon, it wasn’t just a time for a man and woman to make love, but to give each other wings!
Finding an empty can under the sink, Lupe washed the can, dried it, then put the money in the can and covered the can with a dry dishrag.
Salvador smiled. Yes, Lupe was innocent, but she was also very, very brave. Everything was going to work out, if he just kept calm and let his good friend, the Devil, do his work.
After all, fear of the unknown was always very scary ... at first.
Part Four
SUNTALKING
September 1929
6
And so their mothers had, indeed, taught them both about Love and God, but it was now Life, la Vida, that was to teach them the lessons of el Diablo!
THE WHEELS WERE TURNING. The huge iron wheels of the train were turning slower and slower, and Juan Salvador was staring at the huge iron wheels and trying to figure out what to do.
He was in Mexicali, Mexico, just across the border from Calexico, California, and it was early morning, still dark, but already it was hot and muggy—completely different from the cool, ocean air of Carlsbad, over the mountains to the west, where he’d left Lupe the day before.
Yesterday, Salvador had driven up to Lake Elsinore for just a few hours to check on his distillery . . . which his brother-in-law Epitacio was attending to while he, Salvador, was on his honeymoon. When he got there, Epitacio had told him that his mother, Doña Margarita, needed to see him immediately, that it was urgent!
Driving up to Corona, Salvador’s old mother had told him that she’d had a terrible dream of Domingo in prison, and then sure enough, here had come this Chinese man from Hanford, California, needing to see Salvador right now, pronto; something about if Salvador could help them, then they, in turn, would help him with his brother, Domingo, in prison.
Hearing this, Salvador had immediately driven over to San Bernardino, just a few miles east of Corona, to see the Chinese man from Hanford, California.
This Chinese man and Salvador had spent time in jail together and knew each other very well. The man had quickly explained to Salvador that some problems were cooking up in San Quentin, but for him not to worry, for they handled the laundry in the prison like they did in most prisons in all of California, so they could help him with these upcoming problemas if he, Salvador, brought this Chinese doctor for them across the border from Mexicali.
“You deliver this doctor for us to Hanford right now, tomorrow, for this emergency we got,” said the Chinese restaurant owner, “and we’ll pay you five hundred dollars in cash when you deliver him alive and well.”
Salvador’s whole heart leaped into his mouth. My God, five hundred dollars was a fortune! And this restaurant owner’s word was as good as gold. When they’d done their time together in the Tulare jail, it had been this Chinaman who managed to get the supplies into the jail, so Al Cappola could give Salvador his final lesson on how to make fine liquor. Why, the guards themselves had gotten drunk with them. Every business dealing that Salvador had ever done with the Chinese people had been nothing but straight-up dependable and honest.
“What emergency is this?” asked Salvador.
“My people are dying in Chinatown,” said the restaurant owner.
“I see,” said Salvador, remembering how the influenza had hit the people in the barrios of Arizona, Texas, and California a few years back and the American doctors wouldn’t come to see them. It had been his own mother, Doña Margarita, who’d thrown open the windows, gotten the people out of their blankets, and had them drink the special herbs that she’d picked in the fields of God’s Garden. “And you’ll be able to help me with my brother?”
The man nodded. “No problem. But we need this doctor quick. My own daughter, she’s sick,” said the man, his face suddenly twisting with fear. “And my wife, she already died.”
Hearing this, Salvador nodded. “I’ll do it, what the hell!”
So throwing caution to the wind, ignoring everything that Archie and his attorney, Fred Noon, had told him about needing to be careful and lay low because this FBI agent Wessely was still in the area and gunning for him, Salvador said yes, that he’d do it. But what really bothered him wasn’t the law or the dangers of the job; no, what really hurt him here in his heart-corazón was that he wouldn’t be able to go home to Carlsbad and tell Lupe, his truelove, that he’d be gone for a couple of days and nights.
And poor Lupe, why, he’d simply told her—when he’d left home yesterday morning—that he’d only be gone a few hours.
Salvador now quit watching the huge, iron wheels of the different boxcars going slower and slower as they came in to be loaded with fresh produce. He got back in his Moon automobile. He and the big doctor looked very out of place at the railroad yard in their fine suits and grand car, but Salvador didn’t care. He was in a hurry to get this Chinese doctor across the border so he could collect his money and get home to Lupe, but also ... he had to be very careful, or he could end up going to prison again.
“Okay,” he said to the big, tall Chinese doctor, whom he’d picked up in Mexicali’s Chinatown the night before, “we’ll go back to the border stop and take one more look around, but if it still doesn’t look good, then we’re coming back to this train yard and figure things out one way or another, a lo chingon!”
“Okay, a lo chignon, however you speak,” said the big doctor.
This was the first Chinaman who spoke any English that Salvador had ever smuggled into the United States. He was also the biggest, tallest, strongest-looking Chinaman that Salvador had ever seen.
Starting the motor of his Moon automobile, Salvador turned on his headlights and gave it the gas. Ever since Salvador had first started buying cars, he’d always made sure to get vehicles that had plenty of horsepower, so that they could really move in case he ran into any problemas.
Approaching the little border stop in Mexicali, Salvador could see that there were still several American guards at the crossing station. Driving by, he headed west, staying on the Mexican side of the border, thinking that maybe he’d just drive out across the desert and circle the whole town.
But then, getting to the first little group of hills west of town—there was some color in the Father Sky of the approaching day—and Salvador could just begin to make out the towering black mountains in the distance, the mountains that separated the California deserts from the coast.
He lit up a cigar, smoking leisurely, and ahead he could also begin to see the huge, flat, dried-up salton sea just this side of the black, towering mountains. Salvador turned to the right, and in much closer to himself, maybe only a half a mile away, he saw the dark outline of a car parked on top of a little hill. A man was standing tall alongside the vehicle, silhouetted against the night sky.
“Damnit!” said Salvador, tossing his cigar out his window. “The Bor
der Patrol! I guess we’re going to have to do this a lo chingon!”
“A lo chingon!” repeated the big, tall, dignified-looking man, once again repeating Salvador’s words with such a terrible mispronunciation that this time Salvador burst out laughing.
Salvador turned the Moon around, driving into a little arroyo, and here, in the wash, he cut his headlights. Now, they were completely out of sight, and the first light of day was just starting to break in the east, but already it was so damn hot that Salvador was pouring with sweat. He’d hoped to get this job done last night, but all night the border had been swarming with officers, as if they were expecting something special.
“All right,” he said to the big Chinese doctor, getting out of the Moon. “Get out quick! Quick! I need to put you in the trunk of the car!”
The big doctor got out and came around the back and looked at the little trunk of the Moon. He shook his head. “Oh, no, I don’t think I like this a lo chingon,” he said, mispronouncing the words again. “I’m too long, too big for the back of this car.”
“Look,” said Salvador, taking off his suit jacket and throwing it inside the Moon, “just get your damn feet in there, and I’ll cram you down with the lid.”
“Oh, no!” said the doctor. “It too hot and I can’t breathe in here!”
“Damnit,” said Salvador, pulling out his .45 automatic, which he always carried for big jobs, “we don’t have much time! Just get your ass in there, now!” And he jumped up with the .45, hitting the doctor on the head as hard as he could, wanting to knock him out, but the man was so strong that he didn’t go down.
“No!” protested the doctor, rubbing his head as if he’d just been bit by a mosquito. “They don’t pay you to hit me on head! I’m going to be indebted for twenty years!” He began to cry. “I die, if I get in here. And I have wife and kids, and little, little baby boy,” he added, crying all the more.