The Memories of Ana Calderón (5 page)

The crying woman scared me so much that I felt my heart pound, and I looked over to Tía Olga who, as if reading my mind, said, “She is a sinner.” I looked again at the woman, wondering what sin could be so great to cause such sadness. When we returned to the store, I asked Tía Olga about sin and why it had made the woman cry so much. But all she said to me was, “Life will give you the answer.”

When it was time for us to leave Mexico City, my Tía Olga packed us a basket filled with food and fruit for the trip which we were to make, this time on a train. Although I was excited
about our trip, I felt sorry to leave my aunt and uncle. They were good and they seemed to like us. The rest of the girls wanted to stay, but Alejandra and Tavo could hardly wait to know what it felt like to get on a train.

We said goodbye and walked to the station, again holding hands to make sure no one got lost. After my father bought our tickets, someone showed us the part of the train where we were to travel. I remember that my heart started beating when I saw that it wasn't just one train as I had imagined. It was several trains, or coaches, as I found out later when I was growing up. It was so long that I couldn't begin to understand how we would be able to get from one end of the train to the other. Each section seemed to come to an end where it was joined to the next car by a big chain.

Once inside the coach, we saw that the only place to sit was on a long bench attached to each of the sides. By the time we got in, all those places were taken, so our family had to sit on the wooden floor of the car, even 'Apá. That's how we traveled all the way to a city none of us had ever heard of. Its name is Hermosillo, in northern Mexico.

It was hard sitting and sleeping for so many days on that floor. The hardest part was that the car didn't have a toilet, so we had to wait until we reached the next stop. The girls cried, and César did it in his pants. I remember hurting a lot, but I tried to forget my pain by remembering that at the end of the trip would be the place where I could get dancing lessons, and that soon after that I would become a famous dancer.

At night as we crossed mountains and flat plains, the wheels of the train whirled, grinding against the rails, and the sound lulled me to sleep until I could see myself in a dress of white lace. In my dreams I danced and pirouetted in the center of a large stage where an elegant audience looked at me with admiration. Several times, though, this dream was interrupted by the image of the woman I had seen crying at the Shrine, and in that dream I asked her what she had done that was so bad. Each time, the woman would turn to me and say, “You, too, will commit my sin. You, too, will do what has been forbidden.” Her words filled me with so much fear that I would wake up, and because César slept in my arms, I would cradle him until the woman's flushed, tearful face disappeared.

When we finally arrived in Hermosillo, we were all disappointed.
It was hot and dusty, and no one paid attention to us. 'Apá looked worried, but again he seemed to know what to do next. Later on he told us that Tío Sempronio had told him where he would find the trucks that took campesinos out to the fields for the harvesting that was going on. And so, although we were all exhausted and hurting, my father put us aboard a big truck, where we were squeezed in with dozens of men, women and children, all heading for the fields to work.

“¡A la pisca!
To the harvest!”

Truck drivers competed with one another, each trying to out-shout the next in an attempt to get as many people to climb aboard his truck. The dilapidated Ford flatbeds were there to transport as many workers as possible to the fields where the tomato harvest was at its peak.

People milled around trucks and drivers, trying to get the best fare. Men, whose weathered faces reflected a lifetime spent in fields, clung to bundles and boxes packed with meager possessions. Women of all ages stayed close to husbands and children; many of those women were pregnant, others where carrying babies only a few months old.

The shouting grew in intensity as men and women became more anxious with each minute. Many of them had migrated from as far south as Yucatán and now, when so close to the place that promised the opportunity to work, they feared being left behind. They pushed and tugged, forcing others to do the same. As their shuffling feet ground into the powdery desert sand, clouds of dust lifted, making children sneeze and cough.

Rodolfo, with César clinging to his back, held on to the twins, one in each hand. He had to raise his voice to be heard. “Ana! Aleja! Tavo! Each one of you take hold of one of the girls, and don't let go of her no matter what! Follow me!”

The older children did as they were told, but as the family clustered together, they were pushed back and forth. Jasmín yelped in pain when someone stepped on her foot; she began to cry. Ana kept her eyes on César and saw that he wasn't scared. He seemed to be enjoying the rocking and bouncing as
his father struggled to keep his balance. Rodolfo finally made his way to one of the drivers.

“We're ten. How much?”

“Ten cents a piece.”

Rodolfo didn't have time to barter or complain because when he looked behind him, he saw anxious people waiting for him and his group to either jump aboard the truck or get out of the way. He turned to the driver and nodded in acceptance. The driver helped lift the girls onto the flatbed while Octavio climbed up the side of the truck. Rodolfo rapidly reached into his pocket and pulled out the one peso bill that would pay his and the children's fare to the camp.

They felt relieved and safe once on the truck, but soon they realized that the driver, anxious to get as much money as possible out of his load, kept packing more passengers aboard. Rodolfo had to lift the twins onto his shoulders in order to protect them from the squeeze. They hung there, twisted grotesquely, side by side with César. Because they too were tiny, Rosalva, Zulma and Jasmín clung to the three older children, trying to keep their feet and chests from being squashed.

People shouted at the driver to stop, but he seemed oblivious to their screaming. Most of the men and many of the women, too, were forced to perch children on their necks and shoulders. The pregnant women, especially, screamed and pleaded for those nearest to them to give them just a little space. Ana looked up to her father's face and saw that it was dirty and streaked with sweat. Her view was partially blocked by squashed sombreros and wrenched arms and necks, but she could see that the muscles of his jaw were quivering nervously. Ana turned to look at Octavio and she saw that his face was so caked with dust that only the whites of his eyes seemed to be clean. She realized that she, too, was so dirty that she must have looked like a monkey.

The driver and another man finally closed off the rear of the flatbed with wooden panels. Mud-smeared, frightened faces looked at one another. Most of them were embarrassed to be squeezed in so close to an unknown man or woman. As the truck bounced onto the dirt road that led to the crops, the swerving and bumping became intensely painful. Most of the smaller children were crying out loud. Their bawling mingled with the mumbled obscenities of some people, and with the
groans and incoherent prayers babbled out loud by a few others.

Ana, who had been pressed into one of the corners of the flatbed, managed to twist her body so that she was finally facing the outside. Her cheek was mashed against the frame when she was forced to put her face against it, but she didn't mind because she was able to look out at the passing landscape. The side of her face hurt, but she was grateful, knowing that others smaller than she were trapped. She imagined that all they saw and smelled were the rumps and thighs of those pushed up against them.

The sun was beginning to decline, and Ana gazed at the long, dark shadow cast by the truck. Her eyes became fastened onto that black form that seemed to wiggle before her eyes like a worm crawling along the reddish, sandy earth. Then, feeling an intense desire to be away from the pressing flesh that was nauseating her, she slowly maneuvered one of her arms away from her body and stuck it out between the railings. She felt the rush of fresh, desert air flow through her outspread fingers, making its way up her arm and funnelling through her thin cotton blouse. The wind's coolness curled into her armpit, making her feel free.

The trip took only two hours, but at its end all the passengers were numbed and hurt; their cracked lips showed extreme thirst and nausea. Some of the children had fainted and were passed from hand to hand in order to get them off the truck. Everyone showed signs of being frightened at what lay ahead.

Rodolfo pounced down onto the ground from the high flatbed in a single leap, his three smallest children still clinging to him. When he finally clustered all of them around him, he paused for a long time before saying or doing anything. Then the questions began.

“'Apá, where are we?”

“When are we going to eat? I'm hungry.”

“Where's the toilet, 'Apá?”

Rodolfo's chest was heaving with anxiety. He rolled his eyes in every direction, as if looking for a door through which he and his children could escape. He tried to ask others what to do next, but everyone was just as terrified as he was. They either yanked away or just shrugged shoulders; no one could pay attention to the misery of others. This went on for some time before a man dressed in khaki pants, a plaid shirt, and
high leather boots spoke out. He had a bull horn placed to his mouth to assure that he could be heard.

“
¡Bienvenidos al Rancho la Concepción!
If you want work, this is where you'll find it. We pay five
centavos
for each bucket of tomatoes you pick, except if they're bruised or damaged. Over there to the right you'll find toilets and water. To the left of that is a store where you can buy the goods you need. You can find the buckets right there, too. And back there is the space where you can set up your tents to live in. Work begins at four in the morning and ends when the sun sets. In the meantime, I want you to know that I'm the main foreman, and standing here to my right and left are my associates, Señor Donato Sánchez and Señor Evaristo Mendoza. They will deal with paying you as well as with any act of disorderliness. If anyone doesn't like it here, you can walk back to Hermosillo. It's in that direction.”

The man pointed in a westerly direction, and without waiting to answer questions or give any further information, he turned abruptly and walked away from the stunned crowd. He then drove off in a dusty Packard that had been waiting for him.

There was silence for a few moments before everyone realized that hardly any of them had blankets, much less tents in which to take shelter. A minute passed. Then the stillness was broken by a spontaneous outburst as all realized that the space pointed out by the foreman was limited, and that a family could be left without a place to sleep.

The impact of this possibility made everyone panic. At first, they shuffled from side to side, uncertain of what to do next. Then one man broke away from the crowd, and as if a signal had been given, the rest stampeded like disoriented cattle in every direction. Men, cursing and spitting out insults, pushed and wrestled with one another over a few feet of dirt. Women, too, were using their fists, teeth, fingernails and feet to throttle, shove, grab until they could lay claim to at least a bit of space. All of this happened amid the din of screaming adults and squalling children. Dust churned by trampling feet rose high above, enveloping men and women and children. All the while the foremen looked on, evidently accustomed to what they were witnessing.

Ana and Octavio were the first to reach a small patch of ground where they threw themselves down, spread eagle,
instinctively understanding that this would signal possession. Seconds later, Rodolfo reached the same place and together with the rest of the girls fanned out in a circle, claiming the area. They dug their bundles into the soft dirt, as if they had been fence posts lashed together by invisible barbed wire. The Calderóns had taken hold of that spot of dusty earth and laid claim to it against any intruder who might dare to trespass.

When Rodolfo and his children were finally able to flop down to catch their breath, all of them, except César, were gasping for air as their lungs returned to normal breathing. Their bodies were encrusted with dust and sweat that had turned into blobs of mud. Their lips were chapped and dry, and each one of them was starving.

“'Apá, let's go to the store. I heard the man say that we could buy things there. We're all so hungry.”

Alejandra had finally caught her breath and her voice was filled with pain. No one else spoke, but most of them nodded their heads in support of what she was saying. Rodolfo, too, agreed as his hand reached deep into his side pocket.

“Ana, you and Aleja stay here with the little ones. Tavo, you come with me.”

As Rodolfo and Octavio groped their way around knots of people, some of which had already started fires out of twigs and leaves, they saw expressions they had never seen before. The boy began to feel fear for the first time since they had left Puerto Real. Doubt began to creep into Rodolfo's heart as he looked around at faces overwhelmed by sadness and fear. Many were weeping, even men. The stench of sweat and urine was beginning to foul the air, and the crying of babies told of desperate hunger which a mother or a father was powerless to relieve.