Delia's Crossing

  Ignacio was right behind me as I left the school building. At the moment, I didn’t want to talk to him, either. I was sure he would be asking me more questions, too. I just wanted to get back to the hacienda and lose myself in the housework. Maybe if I worked very hard and got myself very tired, I would sleep better that night.

  On the way to the bus station, however, Ignacio caught up with me.

  “You didn’t do so well today,” he said. “I know Señorita Holt thinks you’re the best student in her class.”

  “No, I’m not the best.”

  “I think you’re the best,” he insisted. “Just listening to you, I learn a lot.”

  I shook my head. Why now, why was everyone trying to give me compliments? The evil eye didn’t just have eyes; it had ears. As if to prove it, the ojo malvado ordered its vengeance to continue.

  I heard him call my name.

  Both Ignacio and I stopped to look at Bradley in his sports car. He had pulled up to the curb.

  “Get in,” he ordered.

  I shook my head.

  “Who’s that?” Ignacio asked.

  “You caused trouble between me and Sophia!” Bradley shouted. “My father heard about it through my stepmother already. Get in,” he demanded again.

  I still hesitated. I felt Ignacio move up beside me protectively.

  “Go away,” he told Bradley.

  “You keep out of this, José, or I’ll sic the INS on you.”

  “My name is not José and I’m not afraid of the INS. I am legally here.”

  “Yeah, right. Delia, either you get in, or I’m driving over to speak with your aunt right now. Well?”

  “What does he say? Who is this boy?” Ignacio asked me. I shook my head.

  “It’s all right,” I said.

  “I don’t think so,” Ignacio replied quickly, and glared at Bradley.

  I took a deep breath, lowered my head, and went to his car.

  “Now you’re being smart,” Bradley said.

  I got in and almost didn’t get the door closed before he shot off, throwing me back in the seat. I turned and looked at Ignacio, who was standing there looking confused, angry, and troubled.

  See, Delia, I told myself, anyone you touch gets wounded.

  11

  One Grief Cures Another

  “Okay, what exactly did you tell Sophia, huh? No lies, either, because I can easily find out the truth. Speak!” he shouted.

  “She saw you drive me to the house and called me names. All I told them was that you told me to get into your car, and I did not ask you to give me a ride.”

  “Edward wasn’t too friendly today. Are you sure that’s all you told them?”

  “Yes, that’s all,” I said.

  He relaxed and nodded. “Okay, then, Sophia’s lying. She said you said I wanted to be your boyfriend, which doesn’t surprise me.” He smiled. “Your aunt’s not too happy with you, huh? There’s a lot of trouble between her and Edward because of you. Isn’t that true?”

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  He smiled. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Maybe I’ll fix things up for you,” he said. “I can do that, you know. I’ll tell them we just went for a harmless little ride, and you were very polite and sweet. I’ll tell them nothing happened. It’s what I told Sophia. She wouldn’t believe me, but what she believes doesn’t matter as much as what your aunt believes, and she’ll believe me. Would you like me to do that, help you out?”

  I looked at him to see if he was really sincere.

  “I’m not lying to you. It’s not a good situation for me, either, to have Edward angry at me,” he continued. “I’d like to hear you say, ‘Please help me.’”

  I was silent. I could feel his anger.

  “Do you or don’t you want me to help you with your aunt, Delia? I don’t have to do anything.”

  He smiled at my continued silence, but I was afraid to do anything, say anything anymore.

  “Okay, I’ll just go to your aunt and cry and complain about how you tried to get me to be your lover,” he threatened. “I’ll get my father to come along, and your aunt will have no choice but to send you back in disgrace. Maybe it will be in the newspapers, too. Hell, you made a lot of trouble for me. I should be very angry.”

  I started to cry.

  “Lucky for you, however, I’m not so angry,” he added. “You just do what I ask, and we’ll get along fine, and everything will go back to the way it was.”

  “What do you ask?”

  He smiled. “Nothing much, no big deal. Not for you,” he said, and slowed down to pull up beside another car in which two boys sat smoking. The driver leaned out of his window as soon as we stopped.

  “Hey, Bradley.”

  “This is Jack and our friend Reuben,” Bradley said. “Say hello.”

  I stared out at them.

  “Yeah, hi, Maria,” the driver said.

  “Her name’s Delia, not Maria, Jack.”

  “Oh, yeah, right. Delia. What’s the deal, Delia?” he asked, and they laughed.

  “These are good friends of mine,” Bradley said. “Say hi. Be nice.”

  “Hi,” I said, and looked away quickly.

  “I’d like you to do a little more than that, Delia,” Bradley said. “It’s what I ask in return for helping you.”

  “What?” I glanced at them and then back at him. “What do you mean, a little more?”

  “All you have to do is go for a ride with them, and things will be just fine between us. I’ll fix everything with your aunt,” Bradley said. “Go on. Get into the backseat of their car,” he ordered.

  I shook my head. The terror that shot through me sizzled like a bolt of lightning.

  He leaned toward me. “I’m not kidding about this. I’ll drive over to your aunt’s house right now, and I’ll tell her a story that will make her eyes bulge out. She might even have you arrested or something. You’ll be in jail with other undocumented Mexicans. They keep the men and women in jail together sometimes, too. They’ll ship you back in a cage.”

  “C’mon for a ride with us, Delia,” Jack said. “We’re nicer than Bradley.”

  “Well?” Bradley said.

  I opened the car door slowly. The boy named Reuben opened his door at the same time and came around to open the rear door of their car for me. I gazed into it and then back at Bradley, who was waving me on. I looked at Reuben, whose smile reminded me of a coyote pulling back its lips to reveal its teeth, and then I turned and ran as hard as I could down the street, back toward the school. I didn’t look behind me, but I heard Bradley curse and then the squeal of tires as he made a sharp U-turn and sped after me. He passed me, waited for some traffic to go by, and turned around again to pull up to the curb and get out of his car to face me.

  I stopped running, holding my hand against my side, gasping for breath.

  “You’re embarrassing me, Delia,” he said. “I promised those guys you’d go for a ride with them.”

  He started toward me. My eyes were so clouded with tears I could barely see. Before he reached me, I heard him cry out and looked up to see Ignacio spinning him around. Both boys were about the same height. Bradley looked broader in the shoulders, but Ignacio had strength more subtle and deep, because when Bradley pushed back on him, Ignacio seized his wrist and turned his arm so easily and hard, Bradley fell to one knee.

  “Stop, or I’ll break your arm,” Ignacio told him, and pulled him toward his car before releasing him.

  Bradley looked up at him and then at me. “You’ll be sorry, you bitch!” he cried, pointing at me.

  Ignacio stepped toward him, and Bradley practically leaped into his car. He cursed at Ignacio and then drove off, nearly running me down.

  As soon as he was gone, Ignacio came to me. “Are you all right? What did he do to you?” he asked. “Who is he?”

  I shook my head and started to cry again. Ignacio put his arm around my shoulders and led me back to the sidewalk. Some other drivers looked our way
as they passed, and some of the students heading toward the bus station who had seen everything stood watching us.

  Ignacio led me to a bench in a small park and sat me down. He stood waiting for me to catch my breath and stop crying.

  “So, who is he?” he asked.

  “He is my cousin Sophia’s boyfriend,” I told him. “His name is Bradley Whitfield.”

  “If he is your cousin’s boyfriend, why is he after you? What did he say to make you get into his car, and why were you running away from him?”

  “He wanted me to get into another car with other boys.”

  “What?”

  “He wanted me to go for a ride with them.”

  Ignacio gazed off in the direction Bradley had fled. He looked as if he would tear off after them in a rage.

  “Just because you are Mexican, he thinks he can take advantage of you.”

  I looked away. I was far too ashamed and embarrassed to tell him the rest of it.

  “Yes,” I said. “I think you are right.”

  “Such things have happened to other Mexican girls I know, some much younger than you, but because their parents might not be here legally, they don’t do much about it,” he told me.

  “He’s very angry, I’m sure. I’m afraid of what will happen now if he goes and tells my aunt stories.”

  “You must tell your aunt everything first. Tell her how he offered you to his friends.”

  “She won’t believe me,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated…my family history. She doesn’t want to believe me,” I added.

  “What do you mean by your family history?” he asked, suspicious.

  “No one brought shame on our family name.”

  “Then what do you mean by family history?”

  “She and my grandparents never got along. My grandfather disowned her when she married Señor Dallas. He was much older. She ran off and married him. My parents, my grandmother, none have had much to do with her or she with us until now.”

  “Then why does she want you here? Why did she send for you and pay for you to come?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  He shook his head with confusion. “You should speak with my mother and father. They will know what to do. Come to my house.”

  “I can’t. I have to go home to do my work, or she will get even more angry.”

  “You will come to my house on Saturday, then. I’ll get my father to let me use the truck and pick you up. We are celebrating my sister Rosalind’s birthday. She will be seven years old. We’ll have a wonderful fiesta.”

  “I’ll try,” I said, wiping the tears from my face.

  “Good. C’mon, I’ll walk you to the station. We have not missed the bus yet, but we must walk quickly, okay?”

  I nodded.

  He took my hand, and we started down the sidewalk. I was very nervous, anticipating Bradley returning with his friends, perhaps, but they didn’t come, and we got to the station a few minutes before the bus arrived. When the bus reached my station, Ignacio wanted to get out and walk me to my aunt’s hacienda.

  “It’s all right,” I said, seeing Edward waiting in his car. “That’s my cousin Edward. He is nice to me. I’m okay now.”

  Ignacio looked out suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Remember Saturday,” he said.

  “Thank you, Ignacio.” I leaned over after I stood up and kissed him on the cheek.

  Then I hurried out of the bus and to Edward waiting in his car.

  Edward didn’t start the car and drive off when I got in. Instead, he looked hard at me and glanced back at the bus.

  “Who is that boy you kissed?” he asked me.

  I was surprised that he had seen me kiss Ignacio.

  Before I could respond, he added, “You made a boyfriend quickly.”

  “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Then why did you kiss him?” Edward asked. His eyes now resembled his mother’s, dark, suspicious. They made me feel guilty of something bad, even though I wasn’t.

  “He helped me,” I said.

  “Helped you? How?”

  Before I could answer, my tears came pouring down my cheeks. His looks of accusation and suspicion evaporated.

  “What happened, Delia? You look terrible, now that I think about it,” he said. “You look enferma. Are you sick?”

  I nodded. Sick seemed to be the right way to describe me and all that had happened.

  “Bradley vino a mi escuela,” I said.

  “He came to your school? When?”

  “Today.”

  “Today? Why? Por qué?”

  How was I to explain this in my elementary English to someone who knew very little Spanish?

  “He take me to other boys.”

  “For what?”

  I stared at him. There was no need for any words in any language to get the answer across to him. His eyes widened.

  “That bastard,” he said.

  He started the car. Then he stared ahead a moment and turned off the engine. My heart had started thumping even before he turned back to me, his eyes now showing more than anger. They looked fearful.

  “Bradley,” he said. “Yesterday. Did he take you right home? Did you go straight to mi hacienda?” he asked, gesturing ahead.

  I knew what he meant but hesitated, pretending not to understand, so I could think about what I should say.

  “He didn’t, did he?” he answered for me. “Where did he take you?” he asked. “What did he do?”

  I started to cry.

  Edward’s eyes widened. He nodded and sat back, staring. Without saying another word, he started the engine again and drove. He didn’t say another word or ask any more questions until we arrived at the hacienda.

  “Don’t worry,” he told me. “He won’t bother you anymore. Bradley, no más.”

  I said nothing. He did not get out with me. Instead, as soon as I was out, he drove off again. I watched his car speed down the driveway and turn the corner so sharply the tires screamed. A sense of dread came over me. It was as if heavy clouds had moved over the sun. It was still a nearly perfect sky, but I felt shadows pouring down over and around me nevertheless, shadows that followed me into the house.

  My sadness and anxiety were driven away the moment my eyes spotted the letter from mi abuela Anabela waiting for me on the marble table just inside the entryway. I recognized her handwriting immediately and practically lunged forward to seize the envelope. I hurried upstairs to read it in the privacy of my room.

  I placed the envelope on my bed and gazed down at it as if it were some very precious jewel to be admired and not touched. The stamp, the paper, and her handwriting sent me flying back over miles and time to my little village.

  Once again, I was walking to school with my girlfriends, waving to store owners opening shops and cantinas, seeing the farm workers seated in the backs of trucks heading out to the fields, some of the younger men calling out to us and making us giggle. The village made its own music, music we heard just listening to the sounds of our people as they woke and dressed and ate breakfast to prepare for their day. Back home, my grandmother was preparing her tortillas and listening to the radio.

  In the distance, I could see the sun spread its light like butter on bread across the mountains, exciting the birds. On mornings like this, life opened around us like the blossoms of beautiful flowers. As children, we trusted the future, looked forward to fiestas and holidays and the pending excitement of our own maturing. Our dolls would give way to real babies, our make-believe weddings would evolve into real weddings, with our families celebrating, our mothers crying with both joy and sadness over losing their little girls, and all of our fantasies would settle like light rain and glisten into modest ambitions. It all seemed so simple and true. We weren’t even aware of how poor we were and how unhappy we should be. Was it all one great lie?

  I sat on the bed and opened th
e envelope. Before I read the letter, I brought the empty envelope to my nostrils and smelled it to see if I could catch some wonderful aroma I associated with our small casa, mi abuela’s cooking, or simply the scent of wildflowers behind the house, anything that would bring me home for an instant. There was nothing. I sighed and began to read.

  My dearest Delia. You must forgive my spelling and grammar.

  I have read your letters with such happiness in my heart. To learn about the wonderful hacienda you are in, the warm way your cousins have welcomed you, and to think your aunt had already thought of a private tutor to help you with English…how wonderful.

  I read and reread each of your letters every night. Everyone asks about you, of course, and now I have things to tell them, to read to them. I can see how impressed they are. I know when you return, you will already be a real lady, educated and even more beautiful than when you left.

  You must not worry about me. I am fine. I have some new mole customers, and occasionally, I bake something for Señor Lopez, who insists on paying me. So I am fine.

  I know you are busy with your new life, but whenever you can, write to me. Having your letters is the next-best thing to having you here.

  I am in church daily praying for you, and Father Martinez has written special prayers for you as well.

  I am sure that your parents would be proud of you and what you accomplish in your new life.

  Remember you are loved.

  Abuela Anabela

  My heart felt so heavy under my breast that I was certain it would simply explode with sadness and I would die on this bed. No one here would shed all that many tears for me, if anyone shed any. Since I had come, I had brought only trouble. It didn’t matter whose fault it was. None of it would have happened had I not come.

  But it was Tía Isabela who had brought me here. I was still confused about why she wanted me. She didn’t need another house servant, and when she looked at me, all I did was remind her of her unhappy days back in Mexico. There had to be a good part of her, something inside her that was strong enough to overcome her anger and her hate. Surely, there was a part of her that wanted her family back, and perhaps that was why I was brought here.