Love a Foot Above the Ground Page 6

  “Yes, niña, a story with a sad happy ending is pretty close. But the happiness is so much greater than the sadness it’s what ‘happily ever after’ truly means. I’ll try to explain. First, why don’t I fix us some ice cream? Trouble is always a little easier to share over a bowl of ice cream, yes?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. Up to that point, however, the trouble I shared over ice cream had been skinned knees, frustration at not finding the outfit I wanted for an important event, or a bad grade on an assignment. To me, at the time, that was a “B” since I was already exhibiting signs of perfectionism. All were small, superficial things that bothered the shallow, spoiled child I was then. To my credit, those are the kind of troubles children face when they grow up among the solidly middle class, or like my family, even more prosperous. Of course, in the1960s in Mexico, Bernadette and Guillermo were quite privileged—perhaps even members of the one percent in their worlds. In small towns populated by thousands, rather than cities, like LA, Juarez or Tijuana, inhabited by millions, their concerns might seem shallow to some. Making love work is never a shallow undertaking.

  What touched me then, and still impresses me, is the depth of understanding that flowed beneath Bernadette’s narrative of her love, as well as the trials and tribulations that followed. The love she described was more than a teenage crush or a fairy tale romance; something deep and abiding. I sensed that then, in my nine-year-old heart, not my mind.

  It would take me years longer than it took the fifteen-year-old Bernadette to begin to comprehend the transformative potential of love. Of course, she would need every bit of that awareness to sustain her. My beloved, every-day saint, Bernadette, grew up far too fast. It was not just the custom of marriage at such a young age that loomed, but the realization that love makes us vulnerable to loss.

  Our spoons poised over a bowl of cookie-dough, chocolate chip ice cream, I traveled back in time with Bernadette. Back to the months that followed that lovely evening of her quinceañera.

  “Sweethearts always feel the tug of the earth below,” Bernadette said as she picked up her story. “Love lifts us up, but it can’t always keep us soaring a foot above the ground, Jessica.”

  ****

  The tug of the earth below was strong after that night of light and love revealed. Daily demands of life weighed us down; grounded us in mundane, day-to-day matters. In Guillermo’s case that still meant keeping his head above water, even with his feet planted firmly on the ground, as he learned the ways of the sea and acquired the skills of a commercial fisherman.

  Word spread, quickly, that Guillermo and I had become engaged that night, even though we made no formal announcement. For my very traditional, modern man, that could not happen until he had secured the blessing of his own parents. Then, he and his father would make his intentions clear to my parents. As if those intentions were not already clear to everyone in my family. I honored his sense of duty to our families and waited to discuss what might happen next.

  There were a lot of questions to answer, of course. If we were never to spend another Christmas apart then, where would we be married and when? Once we were married where would we live? Certainly not in San Felipe, but with Guillermo in Mexicali or back home in Chihuahua? How could that happen, unless he abandoned his dreams of college and returned home for good with his new bride?

  In the days leading up to Christmas there was little time to talk about such matters. With the fishing fleet out, in full force, to meet the great demand for shrimp in Mexico and the U.S., the men were gone. Sometimes for two or even three days at a time. On shorter trips they rose early, set out before dawn and returned home late. As the season wore on, they were more and more exhausted, using free time to catch up on much needed sleep. At sea they got little rest, and on shore there was still plenty to do. The hours were always short.

  Those of us who stayed on land were always busy too. The younger children were still in school, and with the men less available, many of their household chores fell to us. Christmas was coming with all of the social and religious events that went with the celebration. I didn’t mind. There was comfort in fulfilling small duties to my family, while waiting to hear what Guillermo learned fulfilling the duty to his family before announcing our engagement. Keeping busy was a way not to seek answers to questions, that I had not even let myself ask yet. At night I continued to practice my English. I had even begun to write a little in English—keeping a diary of my daily life as a way to improve.

  Guillermo continued to visit when he could. I coveted every moment of his time, not wanting to share it with my family. I did though, since he had already become a part of their lives, too. He was quiet, a lot of the time, and for two weeks did not speak further of marriage. Nor did he say more about his plans to go to college. He was both tired and restless, so I worried that he was troubled, and not just about the challenge of learning to be a decent fisherman. But the love in his eyes, or, on occasion, in his touch, reassured me that even earthbound, our bond remained strong.

  That first Christmas with Guillermo, came and went, but not uneventfully. Advent is a time filled with such anticipation and joy that it can barely be contained. My younger brother and sisters were especially excited as we set out the advent candles, made galletas de navidad, and other good things that went with the season. My mother, Theresa, and I worked each night on gifts for the younger children, after they had been put to bed. Others gifts, too, that we would take to family and friends. The cantina had placed an order for cakes and bread—more than usual since the small hotel in town was fully booked for the holidays. Friends and neighbors had placed orders for holiday treats, including Rosca de Reyes, the Three Kings Bread eaten after Christmas, on Epiphany. My mother’s was the very best.

  My sister, Theresa, and I helped Mother plan and organize. We would have a lot of supplies to gather when we made our upcoming, annual trip, to Mexicali. One weekend, about two weeks before Christmas, we made that visit. This year I did not have to travel in the back of my father’s truck. Guillermo went with us using the truck owned by Aunt Juanita and Uncle Carlos. He had a list of items to purchase for them in Mexicali and would run a couple other errands in exchange for the loan of the truck.

  The most exciting thing for me, and for my brothers, was the chance to see where Guillermo lived in Mexicali and where he went to school. In addition to learning more about Guillermo, I hoped we might have a few words about whether this was a place he would bring a bride. I had made up my mind that even if he did not say anything, I would.

  That Saturday morning, like so many mornings, we were up before dawn. I did not even have to wake my younger brother and sisters. Antonia and Pedro were bouncing up and down on the beds, they were so excited about the big trip. At least part of the reason for this adventure was to pick out presents—store bought presents.

  My parents had a special surprise this year for Antonia and Pedro—bicycles; for Rosa and Maria, too. The older girls would supervise the younger children as they all used them to ride to school each morning. The bikes would also come in handy to run errands, like delivering my mother’s baked goods and other products she sold around town. We had all ridden on bikes before, but never had members of our family had bikes of their own.

  My parents were always thinking about how to blend the joyous and the practical. I could already imagine the look of amazement on the faces of my little brother and sister when they saw those gifts—gifts beyond their wildest dreams. Rosa and Maria would be delighted too. They were old enough to understand the blessings of practical and useful items, but also young enough to get joy from the pleasure of riding like the wind on a bicycle.

  Guillermo had agreed to put the boxes containing the bicycles in the back of his truck. We could hide them under a tarp, and set them along the side of the house, until Christmas. They would all have to be put together once we got them home, but my brothers, Paolo and Tomàs would help Father do that.

  We each had a small allowance that we could
use to buy gifts. What we call “stocking stuffers,” nowadays. My mother had even given me a few extra pesos, this year, so that I could buy a gift for Guillermo. I would buy books for my younger brother and my sister so they could continue to learn English. That meant coloring books with crayons, for Antonia and Pedro, but real books for my other sisters. Guillermo had suggested titles they might like and that I could afford. Nancy Drew mystery books for Rosa and Maria. Cherry Ames: Student Nurse for Theresa, who had surprised me recently when one night I told her a little about Guillermo’s big dreams. She said she understood, and revealed a dream of her own. Someday, she wanted to become a nurse, like those who visited our town a few times each year.

  It would be a long, busy day in Mexicali to get everything done. Paolo, who sat next to me, as my chaperone, kept up a steady stream of conversation. Tomàs was with us too, huddled in the back of the truck. Paolo and Guillermo began talking about what a successful shrimping season they were having.

  “Your Guillermo is learning quickly how to be a commercial fisherman. Carlos had better watch out or Guillermo will soon be running the crew on his trawler.” I wasn’t sure what to say because I knew that was not part of Guillermo’s dream. After a moment’s hesitation I figured out a reply.

  “That is good news, Paolo. I have no doubt that if Guillermo chooses a life at sea he will be good at it—like you and Papa.” That made Paolo smile broadly. Guillermo smiled too as he commented.

  “How can I stand such praise from both of you without getting a big head? Carlos has no need to worry, though. My father would never let me rest if I chose a life at sea. As he reminded me again, recently, I have many responsibilities back home at our ranch.” I said nothing, trying to read between the lines. I gathered, from those words, that he and his father must have spoken, again, about his plans. From the set of Guillermo’s jaw, I did not think his mind had been changed about school, but how did I know for sure? Did the latest discussion with his father involve me? I didn’t know that yet either. I felt my feet twitch just a little as I sat in that truck between Guillermo and Paolo.

  “You haven’t told me nearly enough about your ranch, Guillermo. Someday I would like to see it for myself.”

  “Paolo, you must do that. Perhaps you and your family can find a way to make a visit, soon.” Guillermo glanced at me and winked. I tried not to let out a rush of air or to suck one in, either. My heart danced. I took so much reassurance from that wink that a smile spread across my face. Paolo seemed not to notice and continued the conversation.

  “Guillermo, we are not much for travel, in my family, but maybe. What is it like?” For the rest of the trip they talked about Guillermo’s family and the ranch. Mostly Guillermo spoke about things he had already told me, but this time I heard more of what was in his heart as well as in his mind. He spoke with great respect for his family, and for their holdings. There was also serious concern in his voice as he spoke of the challenges they faced in Chihuahua, from other ranchers, politics, and the land itself.

  To my surprise, Paolo spoke of some of the concerns he and my father shared about their lot as fishermen. He did not go so far as to say that the sea would run dry of fish, but they were concerned about competition from too many trawlers that reduced their catch. There was concern, too, about water being diverted for agriculture changing the saltiness of the sea in the Gulf of California. Negotiations by the fishermen’s co-op were underway about sea rights, the price for their products, and dangers to their way of life as fishermen. I felt privileged to share in this discussion—to learn about things generally regarded as exclusive to men. I asked questions, trying to understand the issues they raised.

  Did my mother know about these things? Did my father seek her counsel, or at least keep her informed about grave matters with so much potential to impact the future of our family? I grew up a little more that day, and felt more of the responsibility that faced me as a wife and mother, whether married to a man of the sea or the land. So engrossed was I in the conversation that I was surprised when we reached Mexicali. The two hours had flown by.

  The traffic in Mexicali was startling, compared to San Felipe, which had almost none in those days. There was little on the road between San Felipe and Mexicali, but once we reached the outskirts of the city, cars and trucks appeared as if from nowhere. We had arrived early, before most of the shops opened, but already the streets were bustling with honking cars and trucks. We went first to the boarding house where Guillermo lived. His room was in a large house, in a part of town known as Chinesca—China Town.

  Early in the history of Mexicali, when the irrigation systems were being built for the Imperial Valley, there were many more Chinese than Mexicans in the area. Although no longer the largest group in Mexicali, there were still many Chinese citizens, and China Town thrived. It was interesting to me that my traditional Mexican, modern man, had chosen to live in China Town. When I wondered about it aloud, Guillermo had a thoughtful response.

  “This is a good location for me, Bernadette. I can walk to most of the places I need to go. The other boarders here are Chinese students who are quiet and very studious. They and their families place great value, not only on going to college, but doing well in school. We have laughed about the pressure they feel to attend school and the pressure I feel to abandon it.” I could see how Guillermo found the situation both practical and fascinating at the same time. A perfect setting for my curious and ambitious Guillermo who, it seemed, lived pretty much like a monk.

  The room in which Guillermo stayed was comfortable, with a bed, a desk and a chair where he sat to do his studies. His desk was in front of a window that looked out over the street below. The streets here were paved, unlike those in San Felipe where leaving the window open would have let in clouds of dust. The room, up on a second floor of the house, would have been stuffy and warm without the breeze coming from the window.

  I was glad, for his sake, that this side street was mostly residential, so there was less traffic and more quiet for my studious Guillermo. I’m not sure my brothers were too impressed by what we saw. Still, a room of your own was certainly a luxury none of us had ever experienced. My three brothers shared a room, each with a bed that was much smaller than the one in Guillermo’s room. My sisters and I shared two beds in our room. What astounded me was a large bookshelf against one wall that was bulging with books, thick books, most of them written in English.

  “Did you read all of these, Guillermo?” I asked with awe in my voice.

  “Claro que sì, Bernadette,” he said. Leaning in, he whispered, “I told you your Guillermo is a thinking man.” He went over to the shelf and described for me many of the books on all those shelves. Some were text books, but others were books that I now know were classics of literature, history, science and biography. Some of the terms he mentioned were not completely unfamiliar because I had learned them in school,. but most of the things he spoke about were new. My head was filled with unfamiliar words, some of them quite large and with no easy translation into Spanish.

  “Many of my thoughts come from those books, and others, from my school, or in a library of books.”

  “More books than these?” I asked, my eyes wide with surprise.

  “Yes, it takes a lot of books to read English well enough. Not just to graduate from secondary school, but to pass the exams to gain admission to college.”

  “You must speak English to go to college?” I asked.

  “In California, yes, Bernadette,” he said, in a matter of fact way, as though it was nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps that was true for my Guillermo, but I found it astounding. Here was another surprise from this modern man of mine. The idea had never entered my mind. I had assumed that he would continue his studies in Mexicali, or perhaps, in Chihuahua City closer to his home. I had one of those moments when I thought the blood rushing through my body might push me over. I sat down on the foot of his bed which was covered in a simple brown woven bedspread.

  “Califor
nia?” My brothers asked, almost in unison. They had been looking at a phonograph sitting on another table in Guillermo’s room while going through a stack of record albums—big round vinyl records in colorful cardboard containers. They found them far more fascinating than the books and had hardly been listening to Guillermo talking to me about them. They were paying attention now.

  “Yes, in San Diego or Los Angeles, I hope. I’m still waiting for word about the applications I sent in right before I left here for San Felipe. I think one or more schools will accept me because my scores on entrance exams were good. What would help me make my case with my father, though, would be the honor of being awarded a scholarship.” He continued to talk about scholarships and grants and things like that. My mind was too rattled to make sense of details about rules for those who came from Mexico to attend schools in the United States.

  My brothers were throwing questions at him, like they were in a boxing match or a wrestling ring, two on one. When we returned to the truck, Tomàs climbed into the back. With only me, and Paolo, sitting in the cab it now seemed quiet—too quiet. I was still stunned as we drove to the school nearby where Guillermo had taken courses to earn a high school diploma. That diploma was displayed on a wall next to the window above his desk. I felt proud of his accomplishment but, as far as I was concerned, he had a lot explaining to do. California? Why had I not heard of this before? I was steaming mad, about to boil over.

  Guillermo knew it, too. Not just because I was so quiet, but I think my anger caused the cabin of that truck to heat up about ten degrees. As Guillermo drove, he kept glancing at me from the corner of his eye. My brother Paolo was questioning him, now, about schools in San Diego and Los Angeles. Yes, he had visited both places, each city had multiple colleges and universities. Some of the campuses were amazingly beautiful places, with buildings that were like cathedrals to learning.