Thirteen Senses by Victor Villaseñor
Quickly, Lupe dressed and was ready to go out the door with Salvador. She’d never been like Carlota and Maria, who took hours to make themselves ready to go out the door. All of her life, Lupe would be ready to go at just a moment’s notice, like any man or her older sister Sophia. After all, she never wore any makeup. This was just her natural good looks, even her beautiful, reddish lips.
But then, going out the door, was when she saw it in Salvador’s face.
“You don’t want me to go with you, do you?” she said.
He breathed. “No, I don’t,” he said.
“But Salvador, you’ve been coming and going ever since we came down here to Carlsbad,” she said, with tears coming to her eyes, “and I’ve just been here locked up inside of the house.”
He nodded. “I know, I know, and under normal circumstances, I’d love for you to come, but like I said—”
“Then take me to my parents’ house and drop me off,” she said, “and afterward, you can get me when you’re ready.”
“But that’s a couple of hours out of the way, Lupe.”
She didn’t say one single word. No, she just gave him such a look with her left eye, that he knew there was no more talking.
“I’ll get the can of money,” she said.
“Oh, good thinking,” he said. My God, he hadn’t thought of the money. “But hurry! I’m going to be driving fast!”
“In Kenny’s truck?”
He smiled as he watched her go back inside to get their money. He hadn’t thought of that either, that his Moon was still at Kenny’s. My God, this bride of his was really a very fast learner.
“We’ll stop by Kenny’s,” he said to her when she returned with the money. “Maybe the Moon is ready.”
ALL HIS LIFE Domingo had heard the very Mexican saying, “Que unos nacen con estrella y otros estrellados,” that some are born with a star leading them through life while others are born crushed by a star from the start.
And now at this moment, Domingo felt the full impact of this very Mexican statement. For he knew damned well that he was the biggest and most capable fighter of all the Mexicans here in San Quentin, and so he wanted to be the one to take on the big, powerful Animal Alemán—as the Mejicanos had nicknamed this giant white guy, the German Animal. But the dark little twins from Guanajuato said no, taking Domingo aside so they could speak to him in private.
“Look, Domingo,” said the first little twin, “as we’ve told you before, hermanito, we both know that you have heart and that you’re with us, and we’re family, but please, understand: this fight was coming between us and these gringos way before you got here to San Quentin, and it will be going on long after you are gone. My brother and I are in for life, not just five little years, and so we got to take care of it ourselves . . . not you. Do you understand?”
But Domingo didn’t understand. Because this whole thing had gotten started because of him. Hell, one day, Domingo had refused to clean the toilets if the Whites didn’t do it, too. But he’d just done it mostly for fun. He’d never expected it to blow up into a whole race riot thing.
And now because of that, it was these little twins who were planning to do battle with the monstrous White Enforcer. Why, Domingo, himself, was just about six feet tall, but this Animal Alemán towered over him and outweighed Domingo by at least sixty pounds, too.
And the man wasn’t fat, either. He was a mountain of power! Only two nights before, he’d killed a “nigger” with his bare hands, just as he’d killed six other men since he’d been here in prison. In Domingo’s opinion, one of these little twins had no more chance of beating this huge White in a fight than a flea had the chance of impregnating a mad dog!
But what could Domingo do? The Mexican council had voted, and these twins had been elected as their leaders, and so their word was final.
“Okay,” said Domingo, “but I’ll tell you the truth, I’ve fought many men in my life, but this one, my God, I think he’s the first cabrón hombre that I fear! He’s mad! Didn’t you see his mouth foaming like he had a mouth full of baboso-snails when we refused to clean the toilet for him?”
Domingo was absolutely right. When los Mejicanos had gotten together and announced that they would no longer do any job in the prison that Whites did not also do, White prisoners had gone mad, completely raging insane with hate, killing three Mexicans and two Blacks in the first two days and trying to intimidate anyone else who wasn’t all white and blue-eyed.
And it wasn’t just the prisoners who’d done the beatings and killings. No, it was well known that the White guards had joined forces with the White prisoners to put all the non-Whites back in their place of doing the subservient jobs within the prison system.
And now, with a death total of over ten people in less than three days, a truce had been drawn between the opposing sides, and an agreement had been reached. Los Mejicanos would come forward with one champion to fight on their behalf, and the Whites would come forth with their own champion— who, of course, everyone knew would be Max, the mad-dog Alemán, who had never been beaten in a fight during his eight years in prison.
Why, the man was indestructible!
A God-given brute of pure muscle!
The guards, of course, were all behind Max. Because for years it was well known that Max was the warden’s special man who did for the warden what he legally couldn’t do for himself.
Regularly, the warden and the guards used Max to enforce their ways, and they gave him special treatment and special food—including beer—so that they could keep him strong.
Max, the enforcer, was a second-generation German from upstate New York. His father had had a dairy, and Max had milked fifty cows for the first sixteen years of his life until he’d killed his own father in a mad rage over his father’s young, new wife. And Max’s hands were so huge and thick and powerful—from milking cows morning and night—that it was said that he could break a man’s neck with just one mighty snap alone!
The guards adored Max, and he and his group of White prisoners were the real authority of the prison. They ran the prison for the guards and the warden with absolute control.
It was the same with every prison throughout the country. The White prisoners ran the prisons, and this was the way it was supposed to be. And the wardens and guards didn’t care if the Mexicans, Indians, and Black prisoners outnumbered the White prisoners in Texas, Arizona, and California by ten to one; the White prisoners were their people and they could trust their own and so, of course, it was out of the question for these slimy, little, tricky, bastard, greasy Mexicans to now say that they refused to do the dirty “nigger” work of the prison system unless the Whites did it, too.
“Look,” said Domingo to the twins, “I’m not challenging the vote, but I warn you that you should think on it again. My God, if the one of you who fights him fails, then we’ll all be worse off than before!”
The second little twin now spoke up.
Each twin was exactly five feet five and weighed about 135 pounds. And they were strong and fast and very capable, but they were certainly no match for Max, in Domingo’s opinion.
“Whichever one of us goes,” said this twin calmly, “we will not fail. I promise you, Domingo, we will not fail.”
“God, I hope not,” said Domingo, towering over the twins by half a foot and outweighing each by fifty pounds. “Look, I’m good, I tell you! I think I can maybe even take the Animal Alemán!”
The twins glanced at each other, realizing Domingo just didn’t understand.
“Look, we know you’re good, Domingo,” now spoke the first twin again. “We’ve seen you fight. But understand, you’re too White-looking and too big. So if you do win, then the gringos will just say that you won because you’re really White and not un Mejicano, and they’ll still have no respect for us as a people. That’s why one of us—who’s short and small and dark and puro Indio—must do it. So the gringos will have respect for all of our people, no matter how small or dark we are.
“Yes, I understand what you’re saying, but good God, that Alemán, Jesus Christ, he’s a MONSTER!”
And so, Domingo watched as the twins stripped to the waist and lit candles and burned yerbitas and prayed to Papito Dios. And he felt so helpless, because if they lost this fight, then they were all going to end up being slaves to these White guards and prisoners forever!
Estrellados! Crushed by a star!
AT KENNY’S, Salvador and Lupe found their Moon automobile ready. Kenny was very happy to see them. Lupe decided to walk down the street to the grocery store as Salvador gassed-up their car. Carlsbad was just a little town two blocks long back in these days. Everyone knew everyone. People didn’t even take their keys out of their cars at night.
HAVING RUN THE DEVIL out of her home, Doña Margarita decided to go back to the Stone Church and thank the Virgin Mary.
“Thank you very much, my dear Lady,” said Doña Margarita to the Mother of Jesus, “but I think the time has come for us to do something about the Devil on a more permanent basis. We can’t just keep fighting tooth and nail every day. Look, ever since the arrival of these Europeans, You’ve been asking for us to rise up and show these lost strangers the way back to their hearts and souls, but we can’t keep doing it alone, do You hear me, my Lady, we need help. And now!
“My son Jose rose up in Your Most Holy Name, only to be captured and tortured just like Prince Cuauhtemoc, himself. You know what I’m talking about, Maria, You lost Your Son to torture and crucifixion, but I have lost eleven. You hear me, ELEVEN! And yes, I know Your Son was Jesus Christ, Himself, but show me a mother who doesn’t believe her own child to be a Holy Gift from the Almighty.
“There in the desert of Sonora with war and killing and death, and starvation, You appeared to me one Holy Night after my children were all asleep. Do You remember, I was down, I was ready to give up and let my old bones die. But You came and said ‘Margarita,’ using my first name, ‘the Father and I have spoken, and We’re not ready for you to come home to Us yet. No, Margarita, We need for you to go north, to help build a great nation for all of the world to see what la gente del pueblo can do when they arise as one people from all over the world and open their hearts and souls to the Second Coming del amor de Dios!’
“And that Holy Night, there amid war and destruction, I said to You, ‘But, Maria, I’ve already given eleven children in this struggle of trying to awaken the Soul of Humanity and I’m old and weak and tired, so I can’t continue helping You and Your Husband alone. I need help, I told You, I can’t continue alone!’
“Remember, eh, Maria, and I reminded You that to nineteen I gave birth, baptizing each in Your Most Holy Husband’s Name, but these last three, I said to You,” said the old, dried-up Indian woman with tears streaming down her face, “I would not allow You to take from me.
“Eh, do You remember, this was our agreement, Maria, woman-to-woman. And I didn’t ask anything for myself, but for my children; that not another be taken. For since it appears that You have, indeed, chosen us to be like the Jews of old, leading humanity back around in the full circle to Your love once more, then we must survive, too, just like the Jews, and so You agreed that my last three would not be taken—remember?
“Eh, DO YOU HEAR ME!” yelled Doña Margarita suddenly standing up in her pew there inside of the Stone Church and shouting! “And I don’t care if one is on his voyage of milk and honey, and the other is in prison, it’s all the same to me—prison or honeymoon—I will not allow You to break Your word and take one more of my children! DO YOU HEAR ME? Not one more, Maria! NOT ONE MORE!
“And yes, I fully realize that in old age, we mortals are supposed to become more and more patient, more and more tolerant, and leave matters to You and Your two Husbands, but to be perfectly frank, my Great Lady, the truth is that the closer I get to my proper age of passing over, I get MORE IMPATIENT!
“So please forgive my outburst, but, well, I am talking to YOU! We cannot continue this struggle alone! I need ten thousand Angels, and I need them NOW! Not tomorrow! Not next week! But right now! A full legion, DO YOU HEAR ME? No Burning Bush this time! No Parting the Sea! But ten thousand ANGELS! And now! PRONTO! For el caldo esta muy calientito horita—DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
AND WHY, Domingo had no idea, but he, five hundred miles to the north, suddenly felt something like a great hand grip him and put him on his knees. Quickly, Domingo then made the sign of the cross over himself, and he began to pray. And he hadn’t prayed in years!
Not since he’d left their beloved mountains of los Altos de Jalisco and he’d gone north in search of their father, hoping to surprise him, work with him, so that then they could both come home with money and be able to help the family.
But in Texas, those son-of-a-bitch, tricky Rinche-Ranger bastards had tricked him and sent him to Chicago with a boxcar full of other ignorant Mejicanos to be strike breakers in the steel mills—he now prayed!
He now prayed as he watched the little Indian twins prepare to do battle with the huge White Enforcer.
He now prayed as a handful of Black prisoners joined them, and then the two Chinese men joined them, too. But the White prisoners only laughed at them, calling them superstitious fools, as the other Mejicanos made the sign of the cross over themselves and joined Domingo, and now they all prayed together.
The first signs of daylight were now coming up over the mountains to the east of San Quentin, giving light to the great, flat sea waters of the Bay of San Francisco; glistening, smiling at the coming new, glorious day— another Holy Gift straight from God!
IN CORONA, CALIFORNIA, Doña Margarita was still praying.
In San Diego, Fred Noon was on the phone, calling here and calling there, but no one would tell him anything. Every contact that had always been open with him in the past—but off the record, of course—was now clammed shut.
Quickly, Noon decided to drive up and see Salvador. Something really big was going on in San Quentin, but he had no idea what.
At this very moment, Salvador was dropping Lupe off at her parents’ home in Santa Ana, so he could then drive over to Corona to see his mama.
THE TWINS WERE FACING toward the east, giving thanks as they bathed themselves in the coming light of the new day, rubbing the salty ocean breeze into their bodies.
It was cold and they shivered, feeling alive! They chewed the cactus hearts that the curandero had given them to thicken their blood, and they drank the tea that one of the Chinese prisoners had brewed for them to numb them deep inside so when the deep cuts came, they could keep their strength.
One twin’s name was Jesus-Maria, and the other twin’s name was Maria de Jesus. They were both almost-pretty boys, they were so darkly handsome and delicately made. Their mother had had them at fifteen years of age and she’d never married, and so in time she’d come to believe that they were Holy Gifts from the Almighty!
Domingo watched their calmness, and he remembered how they’d told him that at the age of nine—when the Revolution came to their valley— they’d helped kill the son of the hacendado who’d sexually abused dozens of young, poor Indian girls, including their own mother.
Domingo watched them eat their cactus hearts and sip their tea. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore! They were such small, delicately-made men.
“You can’t fight that MONSTRUO!” he yelled. “Look at you two! You’re nothing but little angels! You don’t have a chance! I’ll fight! I’m the only one who has a chance!”
The twins glanced at each other, and then Maria de Jesus took Domingo aside once again and spoke to him. Calming down, Domingo wiped the tears from his eyes and he embraced the little twin with all his heart, and then kissed him. They were MEJICANOS! They were hombres of the Mexican Revolution!
Then it was time, and the curandero led them in song, then they all made the sign of the cross over themselves. The rest of the prisoners were already in the central yard. Everyone knew that this was it, the showd
Max and his group of white friends were over on the west side of the prison yard. They were talking and laughing, acting very confident, as if this was no big deal, as if this was just a normal day and it would all be over in a few minutes—done, finished—and then the business of American life could go on as it had always been going on for as long as they could remember.
The Mexicans, on the other hand, were gathered over on the east side of the yard, and were very quiet. For this was not a normal time for them. No, their entire existence depended on the results of what happened in the next few minutes.
In the middle of the people, the twins were stripped to the waist, and they were ready to draw straws. Everyone was anxious to see which Jesus would draw the shortest straw. The one with the shortest straw won and, therefore, would be the one who got to do the fight.
The twins loved each other more than life itself, and so each had prayed all night long that he would be the one to do battle so that his beloved brother could then live on for both of them and, maybe, someday could then get out of prison and marry and have children for both of them.
Opening their hands, Jesus-Maria drew the shortest straw.
“STRETCH US IF YOU MUST, dear LORD!” yelled Doña Margarita inside the little Stone Church with her eyes closed as she stood tall, here on the left-hand side, two pews back from the front row; palms up, arms spread out. “This I give You, I GIFT YOU, dear GOD, from my LOINS! STRETCH my blood, my flesh, my children ... to do Your most Holy Work for You here on this TIERR-RRRA FIRME! But do not take Your living Holy Breath away from my sons even for one second! This, I will NOT PERMIT!
“STRETCH THEM! We are your instruments of LOVE! To help You with this ongoing Creation of Light into Darkness! Do you HEAR ME! I AM SPEAKING! We are Your INSTRUMENTS, and so use us! USE US, but do not take Your Blessed Breath from Us!”