Thirteen Senses by Victor Villaseñor
“I don’t know, Salvador,” said Doña Guadalupe, feeling full of guilt and grief. “But it happened so quickly. Maria just came in, saying that she’d had this terrible dream and—oh, I’m so sorry, Salvador! I’m terribly sorry!”
“And that’s how my daughter got the name Maria? Because of Lupe’s sister Maria and her dream? Good God!” he screamed. He wanted to kill, to strangle Lupe’s sister Maria, but he was able to control himself. He turned and got back in his car.
“But don’t you want to see Lupe or the baby?” yelled his mother-in-law after him.
“NO!” he screamed, and he sped away in his grand automobile.
When Lupe awoke and heard that Salvador had come and found out about the baptism and that he’d left in a rage, she had them call the doctor.
“Doctor,” said Lupe, as soon as he arrived, “you must make me well today. I cannot stay here another day. I need to go to my own home and be with my husband.”
The doctor began to argue, but then seeing her determined look, he simply nodded. “All right,” he said, “but I don’t like this.” And he increased her dosage.
WHEN VICTORIANO DROVE Lupe and Maria Hortensia back to their home in Carlsbad the following day, they found the kitchen table broken into pieces but Salvador wasn’t home.
Victoriano wanted to go to the poolhall in the barrio to ask if anyone had seen Salvador, but Lupe said no and asked her brother to please just stay in their little house and wait with her. She wasn’t feeling well. But then, as the day began to darken, Victoriano became nervous.
“Look,” he said, “you stay here. I’m going to go and have a look around for him. Please, I know what I’m doing, Lupe.”
“Okay,” said Lupe. “But please don’t be gone too long.” She was still having problems with the left side of her face. The shots that the doctor had given her had taken away the pain, but had not helped the situation.
“I won’t,” he said, and drove off. He was afraid that maybe Salvador was out on a parranda and might come in all drunk with another woman. Salvador had been fit to be tied, when he’d left the day before. But asking around the barrio, Victoriano found out that no one had seen Salvador for several days.
SALVADOR HAD BEEN KILLING mad the day he’d left Lupe’s parents’ home. He’d been helping Lupe’s familia for months, and then they’d done this to him. He felt like everyone was taking advantage of him right and left. He’d had such big plans for his first child’s baptism. My God, how could Lupe and her family dare do this to him! Then it hit him like a thunderbolt! Carlota must’ve been behind the whole thing. “Yeah, sure,” he said to himself. “That’s what happened! That damn woman hates me and wants to ruin our marriage!”
Getting to Carlsbad, Salvador kicked the kitchen table again and again, then drank down a whole pint bottle of whiskey, grabbed an ax, broke up the table, then went out the door and chopped a fruit tree down, raging and screaming! All his life this had been his dream, to have a huge baptism celebration for his first born! He drank down another bottle, then got in his car and drove up the hill directly over to Palmer’s ranch. He was going to talk to old man Palmer about Domingo’s parole, face-to-face, without having Archie as his damn go-between.
“PALMER!” yelled Salvador, pounding on his back door with his fist. “Open up! I want to talk to you, MAN-to-MAN!”
Salvador’s heart was pounding a million miles an hour. He knew damn well that if he wasn’t drunk and so mad at Lupe’s family, he would never have gotten up the nerve to do this.
All his life, Salvador had known how to handle men with guns and knives, but to speak to authority, especially to educated Anglo authority,
was still a thing so far beyond Salvador, that he was almost pissing in his pants as he pounded on this man’s back door! And he and Chief-Deputy Palmer had drunk whiskey together and they knew each other, and yet Salvador was still frightened down deep inside. After all, this was a gringo!
“Yes!” said Palmer, coming to his back door with huge, pounding steps. He was the only man in all of Carlsbad who was even bigger than Archie. “What the hell do you want?!” he yelled, opening the door. “Oh, it’s you, Sal!”
“Yes, it’s me!” shouted Salvador right into his face, not backing up an inch. “I want to know why you’re charging me two hundred dollars to help me parole my brother out of prison!”
“Two hundred dollars!” shouted Chief-Deputy Palmer, rubbing his eyes. It looked like he’d been asleep. “What the hell are you talking about?! I told Archie two cases of whiskey and that I had to speak to you, because, well,” he said, yawning and rubbing his eyes again, “I talked to my cousin Jeffrey up in San Quentin, and the only way we can parole your brother early is for me to say he’s an agriculture specialist—you know, one of these modern damn avocado doctors—and say that we need him down here for the avocado industry right now. I never said anything about two hundred dollars, Sal.”
“I’ll be damned,” said Salvador, “my brother an avocado doctor!” He almost laughed, but his mind was still reeling in a liquor-kind-of-swirl.
Then instantly, he saw Archie in a whole new light. Why, that son-of-a-bitch half-breed had been hustling him, trying to do him out of two hundred dollars to put in his own pocket. And Archie was his friend, damnit, his best friend, and was always so ready to help his fellow Mejicanos and Indios. The dirty, double-dealing bastard was really a thief with a badge, just like Salvador had jokingly told him the other day.
“So what is it?!” said Palmer. “Did Archie tell you that I’d asked for two hundred dollars?”
It took all of Salvador’s power to stop his thinking and look at old man Palmer in the eye. And, in this next millionth of a second, Salvador made a very important, far-reaching decision; a decision that would eventually help him become one of the most powerful businessmen in the whole area. “No,” he lied. “I guess, well, I just got it all mixed up.”
“Are you sure?” asked Palmer. The big man was really concerned.
Salvador took a deep breath, looked at Palmer right in the eye again, and he lied again, “Yeah, I’m sure, Palmer, it was my mistake.”
And why Salvador said this wasn’t because he was a good guy and wanted to protect Archie; no, it was because he’d seen it in this big lawman’s eyes—that even though he truly wanted to get down to the bottom of this situation—there was also fear in his eyes of finding out the truth.
And truth, his old mother had told him time and again, scared most good people even more than death.
“Okay, good,” now said Palmer, exhaling deeply and rubbing his eyes once more, “then Archie didn’t ask you for two hundred dollars?”
“No, he didn’t,” lied Salvador for the third time. “You see,” Salvador added, “my wife, Lupe, and I just had our first baby, and, well, the doctor says that she’s having a little trouble, and so I’m just upset.”
“Oh, I see,” said the huge chief-deputy, looking even more relieved. After all, Archie was one of his main deputies and so he didn’t want to think that he had a double-dealing deputy under his command. “Sorry to hear about Lupe,” he added, looking all relaxed now. “Come on in, Sal,” he said, opening the door wide open. “My wife, Mildred, is gone up to see her family in San Francisco, so the house is a mess, but if you don’t mind that, then come on in and we’ll have a drink to your baby. Is it a boy or a girl?”
“A beautiful little girl!” said Salvador proudly. “Looks all nice and wrinkled, just like my mother!”
“Girls are great,” said Palmer. “They hug and kiss you much more than boys. I got one of each. I’m sorry that Lupe is having trouble. I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“Oh, no, the doctor said she’ll be fine.”
“Good,” said Palmer.
They went into the kitchen. It was a big, expansive kitchen with a beautiful view all the way past downtown Carlsbad to the ocean. Salvador had never been inside a rich Anglo’s home before. He now knew that he’d done the right thing to gi
“Mi hijito,” Salvador’s mother had told him more than a thousand times, “ever since the loss of the Garden people all over the Earth need to believe in something. Politicians in politics. Lawmen in law. Doctors in medicine. Soldiers in war. Businessmen in business. Men of the church in a church. And rich people in money. No one, and especially men, can stand naked without some belief that they are willing to even die for. So always give to Cesar that which is of Cesar’s and here, from this Sacred Place of Giving, is where we, the people, can then perform miracles as well as Jesus Christ, Our Savior.
“This is the place where I was when I went to get your brother Jose released from prison in the middle of the Revolution. I had nothing but rags on these old bones, but to each—even our enemy—I gave them what they wanted, and they then opened their hearts wide for me, maneuvering doors open that otherwise would have been closed to a poor old Indian woman.”
Salvador could now see that this was exactly what he’d just done. He’d had the cunning to give this rich powerful Anglo what it was that he’d wanted, and it had then turned out just as his mother had said. Here he was now inside of a powerful gringo’s home and this big lawman was washing his face with cold water at the kitchen sink as if they were best old friends.
Salvador couldn’t stop smiling. Every day he lived, he came to realize how smart his old She-Fox mama really was. He’d come over here to this man’s house in a wild drunken stupor, not giving a good shit about nada, and he’d ended up performing his first “official miracle” as a married man!
Having washed his face with cold water from the sink, Palmer took a hand towel and dried off. He looked much better. Salvador now very clearly understood what it was that rich, powerful people wanted above all else: peace and quiet. Palmer really hadn’t wanted to hear that there were any problemas going on between him and Archie.
The big lawman now brought out a half-empty quart bottle of whiskey and served them each a good-sized shot. It was Salvador’s product. For years, Palmer had been one of Salvador’s steadfast customers.
“Here’s to you and your wife and baby,” said Palmer.
“Thank you,” said Salvador.
They finished off the quart, and Salvador went out to his Moon and brought in a fresh quart, and they drank long into the night. Palmer told Salvador he and his wife were originally from San Francisco, that his wife’s family had money and were highly educated. His wife didn’t like it down in Southern California, saying it was a cultural desert and that San Francisco was the only really civilized city in all the western hemisphere except, of course, for Mexico City, where they’d gone to visit college friends on their honeymoon.
Palmer spoke Spanish fluently and he asked Salvador if he’d ever been to Mexico City.
“No,” said Salvador, “I was born in a little village in the mountains of Jalisco not too far out of Guadalajara. Then came the war, and we migrated to the United States along with lots of other poor people. My mother and father knew Mexico City and Guadalajara, but not us kids.”
“So then you only know Mexico through war?” asked Palmer.
Salvador nodded. He’d never thought of it like this. “Yeah,” he said, “my wife and I, that’s almost all we’ve ever seen.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” said Palmer, “you should visit Mexico someday as a tourist. It’s a beautiful country, Sal!”
Palmer then began telling Salvador about Guadalajara and Mexico City, comparing both of these fine cities to San Francisco. He explained to Salvador how his wife had gone to a private school in San Francisco with the daughters of some of the finest families from all over Mexico. Salvador had never heard such talk and was very fascinated. He absolutely knew nothing of how the wealthy of Mexico lived.
“You know,” said Palmer, “we, gringos, did a very stupid thing in this country when we put up the border between Mexico and the United States. These two countries belong together more than the eastern and western U.S. Hell, I get along better with the Mexican people than I do with all those damned easterners, who think everything west of the Mississippi is still a wilderness.”
They talked until the early hours of the morning, and Salvador didn’t go home that night. He just rolled up with a blanket that Palmer gave him on the couch in the living room and went to sleep. And down deep inside, Salvador well knew that if he’d told Palmer the truth, that Archie had lied and tried to trick him, Palmer would never have invited him into his home and gotten so friendly. Salvador’s instincts for survival had been correct, when he’d told this big lawman what it was that he’d wanted to hear.
Sleeping that night on the couch, Salvador knew he’d passed through a very important needle’s eye. He was sleeping in the home of his enemy, a gringo—and a lawman to boot—and he was an outlaw who’d come knocking with rage and vengeance on the back door.
Salvador started laughing with carcajadas because he could now see so clearly that if Maria hadn’t taken their newborn to be baptized, then he, Salvador, would have never gotten so raging angry that he’d come home, broken the table, downed two pints, chopped down a tree, and had the nerve to come knocking on Palmer’s back door!
SALVADOR AWOKE WITH A START.
He glanced around, at first not remembering where he was. Then remembering, that he was at old man Palmer’s house, he gripped his forehead. What had ever possessed him to think that he could just come knocking on a rich gringo’s door? He hoped to God, Palmer wouldn’t have him arrested. He sat up, holding his head. Mano, did he have a hangover!
“Bathroom’s down the hallway,” said Palmer, coming into the room. He looked washed and shaven and ready to go. “I’ll make us breakfast, compadre!”
Hearing this word “compadre,” Salvador felt a rush of feelings go shooting up and down his spine! My God, Palmer was calling him family, like last night they’d really celebrated his child’s baptism, and so now he, Palmer, was Hortensia’s Godfather.
Salvador got up and went to the bathroom. Palmer was in the kitchen, cooking bacon and eggs. It smelled wonderful! The bathroom was the biggest bathroom Salvador had ever seen. It, too, had a beautiful view all the way down the hill to the sea. Never had he ever thought of a kitchen or a bathroom being built to have a view. This was a new world for Salvador. Maybe he and Lupe could also someday build a house on a hill with a view from every room.
He washed his face with cold water, used the smallest towel he could find, then he took a long, loud piss. He was glad that the big chief-deputy was whistling as he cooked. All this felt so strange to Salvador. Never in his wildest dreams would he have ever dreamed that someday a gringo would call him “godfather,” and then he’d be cooking breakfast for him, too!
“Come and get it!” yelled Palmer.
“You bet!” said Salvador, yelling back.
“Sit your ass right down, compadre!” said Palmer with gusto!
“You got it, amigo,” said Salvador. He was all excited, but still felt a little too self-conscious to use the word “compadre” himself.
And so they had a fine breakfast together with plenty of eggs and thick cuts of freshly cured bacon and plenty of hot, black coffee. Then Palmer took Salvador outside to his avocado orchard to show him how to “doctor” the trees. As the huge old man spoke to him, Salvador truly felt as if they’d entered into paradise.
Hell, his own father had never treated him this well!
Salvador no longer saw Palmer as a gringo, or even a lawman. No, he now simply saw the huge man as a fellow human being! For the first time Salvador very clearly saw that this country of the United States could now also be his home as much as los Altos de Jalisco, or anywhere else.
“You see, Sal,” Palmer was saying, “you’re going to have to explain all this grafting business to your brother, Domingo, that I’m showing you, so if anyone asks him anything, he won’t look completely ignorant.”
“Okay,” said
“To begin with,” said Palmer, “we graft these trees because the original avocado trees produce a fruit with too big of a seed inside and also the skin isn’t thick enough so we can ship east. But when we cut these old trees back to a stump, then graft on this other variety of avocado, we get a lot more meat on the fruit and the type of tough, thick skin that we need for shipping.”
“Oh, I see,” said Salvador. “Very good!”
Old man Palmer and Salvador worked side by side in the hot Sun, and as they worked, the lawman-farmer kept talking, and Salvador found out a lot more about his family and that his children didn’t come by to see him very often, or at least not as often as he would like.
Around noontime, Hans, who also owned avocado trees, came by with a basket full of food and some of his homemade beer—which was terrible but cold—and they ate and drank together in the shade of a big eucalyptus tree.
Salvador couldn’t remember having had such a wonderful time in all his life—not since he and his familia had had to flee from their beloved homeland de Jalisco.
LATE THAT SAME AFTERNOON, Salvador went to his car and got a bottle of his best whiskey, and he and Hans and Fred Palmer shot down a couple of good-sized drinks, and kept right on working. And work they did, fast and hard, learning this new trade of “avocado doctors”—and not as hired hands—but as amigos, compadres, FREE MEN!
Oh, Salvador had never had such an experience in all of his life! Why, work could be fun! Sweating could feel good! This was Paradise when you were a free human being working on your friend’s place with your own two GOD-GIVEN HANDS!
“You know,” said Hans, when they finally went in for the day, “a lot of my friends and relatives back in New Jersey still aren’t liking these avocados that I ship to them.”
“Hell, that’s just because they don’t know how to eat them,” said Palmer. “Avocados are delicious! George Thompson’s dad was a damn genius to have brought in these babies from Mexico! In not too long, avocados are going to be the number-one crop in this whole area!”