Breathing deeply, Salvador glanced up at his old mother who’d come outside to water her plants. Oh, how he loved this old bag of Indian bones. He smiled. Sunlight was coming down all about her as she went from plant to plant, humming and giving love to each.
Watching his mother, it truly angered Salvador how these two snakes from Los Angeles had no respect for love or family, and they’d come in, trying to take away his livelihood once they’d seen that he was getting married.
But, still, if he killed them both, then it turned out that they were, indeed, part of that big outfit out of Fresno, he’d be in big trouble. His heart began pounding. He’d have to be very careful.
After all, he was now really a married man, and so he couldn’t just take the chances that he’d taken as a single man.
He breathed. Either way, his mother was right, this was the perfect opportunity to catch those two guys by surprise, because nobody but nobody figured that a man on his honeymoon would have murder in his heart.
STRETCHING, waking up the day after her wedding in her parents’ house in Santa Ana, California, Lupe realized that she felt a lot better than she’d felt the night before when she’d run away from Salvador. But she now wondered if she’d really done the right thing to let her mother talk her out of going on her honeymoon.
Because, yesterday when he’d been holding her in his arms—it had felt like heaven with all those little hot-flashes shooting through her body. Lupe continued stretching as she awoke. Oh, she’d slept so well. All night long she’d dreamed of holding Salvador in her arms, hugging him and kissing him and smelling of him so warm and close.
She wondered how Salvador had spent his night. Had he also dreamed of making love to her all night long? She hoped so. And she wondered if her truelove was right now, at this very moment, thinking of her, too.
AND, INDEED, at that very instant, Salvador was thinking of Lupe, too. He was thinking of how he’d awoken in bed this morning with a mangy old dog instead of his bride. But he now put all his thoughts of Lupe and the dog out of his mind and he started to figure a plan of how to get these two guys from the City of the Angels who thought that he’d become easy pickings because he’d gotten married.
Salvador finished off his third cup of coffee with some hair of the dog. had a little breakfast, then he quickly got dressed in his old, worn-out work clothes and was out the door. He was ready.
It was late afternoon. Somehow, the day had just slipped away. The Father Sun, the blanket of the poor, was now only five fists off the distant horizon in the west, and so he had to move quickly.
“And where are you going in such a big hurry?” asked his old mother, Doña Margarita, who was coming in after having run Luisa’s chickens out of her garden. “Eh? Tell me. I want to know.”
“Look, I’m busy, mama,” said Juan Salvador. Hell, he’d already visited with his old mother nearly half a day, then they’d had breakfast with his sister Luisa and her two sons Jose and Pedro in the front house. He was in a big hurry. “I got to go. I’ll explain things to you when I get back tonight.”
He had his jacket and his snubnose .38 Special Smith and Wesson in hand and headed for his truck. He wouldn’t be taking his Moon automobile for this job.
“I’m going with you,” said the old woman, seeing his jacket and gun.
“Mama, damnit, I’m twenty-five years old and a married man, surely I can go out on my own for the afternoon,” he said. “I’m sorry to talk to you in this way, but I’m in a hurry, and I don’t have time to have you tagging along with me today! Maybe tomorrow you can come with me, okay, mama?”
“No, it’s not okay!” shouted the old, toothless woman. “I’m getting my shawl and rosary and I’m going with you right now, and that’s that!”
She set her hoe by the front door and hurried inside her tiny one-room shack, got her shawl and rosary and was out the door. Salvador rolled his eyes to the heavens. But there was just no arguing with this stubborn, old Indian woman when she got like this.
Luisa’s two older boys Jose and Pedro were in a rocky field beyond their two houses, playing baseball with the other neighborhood kids. At thirteen years old Jose Leon—who’d been named after Luisa’s first husband Jose-Luis—was a big, strong kid who was already taller than Salvador. But Pedro, on the other hand, at eleven years old was small and cute like Luisa’s second husband Epitacio, whom Luisa now lived with in the run-down, four-room house in front.
Epitacio worked part-time for Salvador.
Salvador had trained Epitacio Leon in the art of making liquor, but Epitacio had nothing to do with the selling of the whiskey. Epitacio, Salvador had found out to his surprise, was a good, solid, hardworking man who didn’t complain about the long hours of the distillery process, which often had to go around the clock for seventy-two hours at a time. But for the sales of the bootleg whiskey, Epitacio didn’t want anything to do with it. He hated guns and violence and also Luisa didn’t want him to have anything to do with it.
Luisa had already lost her first husband to violence, and so she didn’t want to lose her second. Plus, Epitacio Leon also just wasn’t that brave when it came to weapons and strong-arm competitors—even though his last name was lion.
Juan Salvador now waved to Luisa and Epitacio, who were out in the back working on their chicken coop, because—not only were their chickens getting into Doña Margarita’s garden—but lately the coyotes were also killing their chickens. Salvador helped his old mother get in his Model T truck and they were off.
When Salvador made deliveries, he never used his beautiful, ivory-white Moon automobile or his fancy suits. No, that kind of showy stuff was only for the movies as far as he was concerned. For deliveries, Salvador liked to look like what he was, a worker, a deliveryman, and so he dressed in his oldest, dirtiest clothes and covered his barrels of whiskey with horse manure so no one would ever suspect what it was that he really did.
Cowshit, he’d found out the hard way, was too wet and didn’t wash off the barrels very well. Chickenshit smelled too strong. And why chicken-shit was so strong was because birds—chickens, hawks, turkeys, all birds—didn’t pee separately, so when they crapped they were also peeing at the same time, making it a very strong manure.
Horseshit was best, Salvador had found out, and not just for hauling whiskey, but for his mother’s plants, too. It was a weaker shit. Horses didn’t have two stomachs and rechew their food like cows or goats—all split-hoof animals, except the pig family—and they, also, pissed separately. Knowing your shit could really help a man or woman in more ways than one, Salvador’s mother had told him all of his life, and he could see that she was absolutely right. A person’s shit told you not just what that person was eating, but if they were relaxed and taking the time to chew their food. Farts, pedos, these were also a very telling story.
Getting on the highway, Salvador headed southeast into the hill country between Corona and Lake Elsinore. There he turned off the road into some oak trees, got out, walked around, made sure they weren’t being followed, then he took some brush and brushed out the tracks of his Model T truck and headed downstream, driving alongside the dry riverbed.
Parking in some thick brush, his mother got out and stretched her legs and Salvador went down into the dry riverbed with a shovel and dug up a stash of six ten-gallon barrels of whiskey.
Salvador had been running-in-panic for the last six weeks. His ex-partner Julio, a good man, had gotten himself killed, along with his crazy, arrogant, foul-mouth wife, then Salvador’s older brother, Domingo, had gone to prison just days before the wedding.
La bootlegada was no joke. Bootlegging was a dangerous business. Salvador had had to lie to Lupe a few days before they’d married about all his businesses. Lupe and her family really had no idea what it was that he did for a living. They all thought that he was an honest manure hauler, who worked moving fertilizer for the different ranches in the area.
In fact, just before their wedding, Lupe had finally straight-o
ut asked Salvador if the rumors were true that he was a bootlegger, and he’d looked at her right in her face and said no.
Having loaded the six barrels, Salvador was unable to turn the Model T around in the loose, sandy soil. He let a little air out of the rear tires, then getting better traction, he was now able to turn the truck around and get back on the two-lane dirt highway.
Just this side of Riverside, Salvador pulled off the two-lane highway into a horse ranch where he knew the Mexican ranch-hands very well. But coming up to the barn, he saw that there was a group of young Anglo cowboys moving cattle into the corrals where he normally stopped to get his load of horse manure to cover his whiskey barrels.
“Damnit!” said Salvador, hitting the steering wheel.
“What is it?” asked his old mother.
“Well, usually there’s no one around this time of the day, so I was figuring I could just pull in and get the horse manure I needed to cover my barrels. But now, I see that I don’t know all these cowboys, except for that one Moreno brother, so I can’t have all these gringos see my barrels in the truck, and—oh, if only I would’ve gotten the manure first like I usually do, but I was in a hurry so I thought that I’d save time by getting the barrels first, then this way I would’ve had to unload the manure, load the barrels, then put the manure back on the barrels.”
Doña Margarita laughed. “What have I told you a thousand times, mi hijito? There are no ‘ifs’ in life. For if my aunt had balls, she’d be my uncle! And laziness, remember, is always the first step to letting the Devil near.”
“No more, mama, please,” said Salvador, gripping his forehead. “Not now.” He quickly put the truck in reverse and got back on the highway “Also, I didn’t know how many barrels I’d find in that riverbed. That damn Julio and his stupid, greedy wife stole so many barrels from me, that I really don’t know what I have or don’t have.”
“May God bless their souls,” added his mother, making the sign of the cross over herself, “and forgive you for speaking of the dead without any compassion. Lack of compassion, this is the next step after laziness to letting the Devil near.”
Salvador just shook his head, truly wishing that his mother hadn’t come along. This was all she ever talked about, the Devil this and the Devil that, and God this and God that, and all these lessons that we mortals had to learn from life or we’d get the shit kicked out of us.
Then, they were just coming into downtown Riverside, when a police car suddenly came up behind them, signaling for Salvador to pull over.
Salvador’s whole heart leaped into his mouth!
He thought of going for his gun and shooting the cop. But no, absolutely no! There was other traffic on the highway, and he had no fight with the cops. He was a businessman, after all, performing the service of selling quality merchandise to people who were adults and wanted his whiskey of their own freewill!
And that’s when he saw it.
That was when he saw that his old mother had her rosary in hand and she was in a trance praying.
“He will not see the barrels,” she was saying. “Do You hear me, God? He will not see the barrels! My son just got married and he’s starting a new life so he needs Your help right now! Not tomorrow, not next week, but right now, and so You will help him now, God, and that’s that! He will not see the barrels!”
Salvador pulled the truck to a stop off the side of the road by a huge old tree.
“Do You hear me, God?” continued Doña Margarita with her eyes closed in concentration. “You owe me one, God, and so You will help us now, or I swear You will have me to answer to when I get to Heaven, and we both know that Maria is on my side, and so You better pay close attention to me right now! He will not see the barrels! He will not see the barrels! Do You understand, Papito Dios? You owe me one, and so he will not see the barrels!
“You just stay calm,” she said, opening her eyes and turning to Salvador. “You stay calm and everything is fine and he will not see the barrels, con el favor de Dios!” she added, kissing the crucifix of her rosary. “Do you understand me, mi hijito, God owes me one, and so you just stay calm and everything will be as it is already; perfect!”
“Yes, mama,” said Salvador, taking a deep breath. But oh, his heart was going a million miles an hour! In his rearview mirror, he now saw the huge cop climb out of his car, adjust his gun belt, and walk toward them with a slow, easy gait.
Salvador thought of his .38 snubnose again.
“No!” she said. “You will not have any such thoughts! Do you understand? You will just keep calm like I said. God and I are handling this one for you, but from now on, as a married man, you will need to start making your own daily miracles!”
Salvador nodded and was saying, “Yes, mama,” when the cop came up to their truck, and he glanced into the bed.
“Well,” said the cop, looking puzzled, “I pulled you over because your rear tires look pretty low, so I figured you had quite a load, but I can see that you’re not hauling anything, so I guess you just need to put some air in your tires.” And, saying this, he tipped his hat. “Drive carefully, and get some air in those tires at the next station.”
Salvador couldn’t speak. All he could do was nod, and so he nodded again and again, then finally blared out, “Thank you, officer!”
“You’re welcome,” said the cop, and he looked into the truck bed once more, then returned to his vehicle.
Salvador said nothing, thought nothing, until the policemen had driven off. Then he got out of the truck, looked in the bed of the Model T, saw the six barrels sitting there in plain sight, and he rubbed his forehead, and paced back and forth by the side of the vehicle.
‘‘Mama,” he said, finally stopping and staring at her, “how do you do this? My God, in the Revolution, bullets were flying all about us, splattering in the rock and dirt, and I was sure we were going to die, but then you’d have us kneel on the ground and pray to God and—poof, those bullets wouldn’t hit us and we’d be safe.”
She nodded. “Exactly, mi hijito, you quiet the heart here inside of yourself with prayer, this is the first step in all miracle making.”
“And you say that now that I’m a married man, I’m going to have to learn how to make my own daily miracles?”
“Exactly,” she said. “To enter into the World of Creation is exactly what every married man and woman must know how to do.
“Why do you think the institution of marriage was created in the first place? It was created, mi hijito,” she said, closing her eyes in concentration, “to give each man and woman the foundation for the understanding of the powers of God here on earth. A man alone can never realize the full power of the Almighty any more than a woman alone. You just watch, mi hijito, in the next three years you and Lupe are going to travel to places that you two never dreamed of before. I know, believe me, your father and his high-feeling, arrogant, European ways forced me into a world of forgiveness and compassion that I never dreamed of traveling.” She smiled, making the sign of the cross over herself. “You’re on your way now, mi hijito, this is the last miracle that God and I are doing for you. It’s all up to you and Lupe now, con el favor de Dios,” she added.
“Oh, mama,” said Salvador, starting to pace once again. “Oh, mama, mama! All of my life you’ve been our everything for us children. I don’t know anything about making my own miracles! That cop, I swear, I was so scared and confused that if you hadn’t been with me, I might have shot him.”
“No, you would not have shot him.”
“How do you know?”
“Because,” she said, closing her eyes in concentration once more, “I raised you to have love, here in your center, and it takes the power of love to have the guts to not go around shooting people to settle matters.”
“But I thought of doing it, mama.”
“Of course, you’re a man, mi hijito. But to think is not to do. To think is small potatoes compared to doing. And here inside of you, you are strong in knowing this difference
. No, you would not have killed in cold blood,” she added.
He nodded. “And you knew that a cop was going to pull me over, and that’s why you insisted to come with me?” asked Salvador.
“Oh, no, I’m not God,” she said, laughing. “I didn’t know what was going to happen to you in complete detail, but as a mother, as a woman of substance, I did have the feeling here in my heart,” she said, breathing deeply, “that you were going to need my help, and so that’s why I insisted on coming with you.”
“Oh, mama, you are such a mystery to me,” he said, pacing back and forth under the huge, old tree by the side of the road. “I’ll never forget as long as I live, we were crossing the desert on our way north to the Texas border, and it was getting dark when we finally got to the water hole. But the hole was completely dry, and we were all dying of thirst. And yet you and all these old women didn’t panic. No, you all just got together and had us children kneel down and begin to pray as the last sunlight disappeared. And miracle of miracles, fresh water began seeping out of the ground that night, filling the hole with water by daybreak. How do you do it, eh? I was so scared when the cop came up and yet you were so calm and my God, he really didn’t see those barrels!”
“Easy,” said Doña Margarita, “when I pray, I just give myself over to God, completely, and He then gives of Himself to me. And God can do anything, so then can I.”
Standing under the great old tree, Salvador nodded. “I see, simple as that, eh?”
“Yes, simple as that,” she said, nodding to the tree. “Once we give up the ghost.”
“Ghost?”
“Yes, la ilusión that we really have any separation whatsoever between us and Holy Creation,” she said, kissing the crucifix of her rosary.
“Mama,” he said, “my God, who are you to know so much?”