Let Their Spirits Dance Page 3

  The Golden Gate Gym is up ahead. The building looks wet in places where the paint is discolored. The door isn’t open yet. I can’t see the ring where Jesse used to box. I remember the sour smell of boxing gloves and tennis shoes.

  “Didn’t those guys ever wash their feet?”

  “Some of them didn’t even have soap to wash them in,” Jesse says, “Oh, by the way, tell Trini I’m gonna kick his butt when I get back. He won’t mess with a sarge!” Then he laughs. “Love that ol’ man. He sure got me some good fights.”

  “What good fights?” Mom asks. “What about that scar from Andres El Animal?”

  “It was a fair fight, Ma.”

  “Can I touch it, Jesse?” Paul asks. “Go ahead.” Paul traces the faint outline over Jesse’s left eyebrow with his finger. El Animal’s handiwork when Jesse was El Gato and boxed featherweight in the Golden Gloves.

  Pete’s Fish ‘n’ Chips is whizzing by, but it’s closed until eleven o’clock. “Gee, and I wanted some fish and chips,” Jesse says.

  “After all those tamales last night?” Priscilla asks.

  “Yeah. Wish I could wrap those tamales and take them with me to Nam, Baby Doll.”

  Priscilla smiles because Jesse still calls her Baby Doll, even though she’s a freshman in high school.

  “I’ll send you some at Christmas, mijito,” Nana says from the front. She keeps looking at Jesse in the back seat through the rearview mirror. Jesse waves to her. “Hi, Nana, Hi! Love that little viejita!” He reaches over and rubs her neck. Mom grabs his hand and kisses it, turning around as far as she can to see him dressed in his Army green. “You look so handsome, mijo. Don’t let those big gabachos run you over. You know how those white guys can be.”

  “Nah, Ma, I got lots of friends in there, besides Chris. We all have the same thing to do so we gotta stick together.”

  “Did Armando get back from Vietnam?” Dad asks.

  “Who, Betty’s son? Quien?” Mom asks.

  “Yeah, he did,” I say. “I talk to his sister at school.”

  “Was he Army?”

  “No,” Jesse says, “Air Force.”

  “Just what I told you, Jesse. The Air Force is the best. That’s how I made it through World War II. We blasted the hell out of ’em before the Army even got there.”

  Jesse sighs. “Yeah Dad, you told me.” I see my dad’s jaw set squarely down. He won’t fight now. I know that. There’s too much in the air, there’s no room.

  “Remember when the people went out to the train station to say good-bye to the men going off to World War II?” Mom asks.

  “They would light fires all night long waiting for the trains to come in,” Nana says. “Everybody hugged everybody and women gave La Oración Del Justo Juez, the prayer of the Just Judge, to the men for protection.”

  “You were there, Alicia,” Dad says, “to say good-bye to me. Remember the song?”

  “What song?” I ask Mom.

  “‘Sentimental Journey,’” Mom says. “We all sang that song. Everybody was sentimental back then, even people who didn’t have men leaving for the war.”

  “Nobody sang it like your mom,” Dad says. “I left with her voice right here.” He points to his heart. Mom looks over at Dad. Nana shrugs her shoulders.

  “Sing it, Mom,” Paul says.

  “Maybe later…later.”

  “When I get back,” Jesse says. He looks at me. “What’s Armando’s sister’s name, Teresa?”

  “You mean Annie?”

  “Yeah, Annie. She’s cute. Tell her to write to me.”

  “Espi’s gonna write to you.”

  “Espi’s your friend. I’ve known her all my life.”

  “Didn’t her brother Ray come back from Vietnam?” Mom asks.

  “He just got back three weeks ago. He’s starting up his band again.”

  “You’re blushing,” Jesse teases.

  “Why? I don’t like Ray. He’s too old!”

  “Yeah, right!”

  “Was he Air Force?” Dad asks.

  “He was Army.”

  “He should have gone Air Force.”

  “Write to us, Jesse,” Mom says, “every day if you can, mijo.” Her voice trembles. Both women start crying.

  “What is this? Both of you quit it!” Jesse puts one hand on Nana’s shoulder and one on Mom’s.

  Nana starts a wail, “Ay mijito…Ay Dios, why didn’t you stay in college? You’re so smart!”

  “Don’t start, Mama,” Mom says.

  “La Oración Del Justo Juez. Do you have it, mijo?” Nana asks.

  “Yep.”

  “Keep it in your pocket. Don’t forget the prayer. God will protect you. Your enemies won’t even see you. Porque la guerra? I don’t even know any Vietnamese. Why do you have to go there?”

  “I’m patriotic, Nana…listen, Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light…” Jesse sings the first line of the “Star Spangled Banner.” “This is one Chicano they’ll remember, you’ll see. I’ll make up for all those guys who’ve been blown away.”

  Mom and Nana cry louder.

  “Bad timing,” I tell him.

  “It’ll be OK, Mom,” Jesse says, trying to raise his voice above the crying. “Look, there’s Herrera School.”

  “Ya, mujer, quit it, will you?” Dad says to Mom. “I met him—Sylvestre Herrera himself. He won the Medal of Honor in World War II. A great man.”

  “Their baseball team was good, but ours was better,” Jesse says. “We beat them so many times in baseball, remember, Teresa? Chris went there when he first came to Phoenix, then he got some sense into his head and went to Lowell with us. Knucklehead. It took him a while. Remember that game I pitched, a no-hitter, those escamones were terrified. They had never seen such lightning hands.”

  Jesse grabs Paul in a bear hug, and they both laugh.

  “Chris wanted to dance with you last night, Teresa, but you acted all pesetuda, like you didn’t give a damn about him. I told him, Ah she’s just a snotty cheerleader, thinks she’s got enough guys to throw up in the air.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “Chris drinks too much,” Mom says, blowing her nose on a tissue.

  “Just last night, Ma. You know how that goes. The vato’s cool.”

  “You don’t like him, Teresa?”

  “Maybe I do and maybe I don’t.”

  “He wants you to write to him.”

  “I’ll think about it. He’s too good-looking for his own good. Every girl wants him.”

  “I wish I had that curse,” Jesse says, laughing. Then he leans over to me and whispers, “I don’t think I’m coming back, Teresa. Take care of Mom.”

  I feel as if someone just plunged a needle into my arm.

  “What?”

  “What’s wrong, Teresa?” Nana asks. She catches a glimpse of my face in the rearview mirror. “You look like you just saw the devil.”

  “Nothing,” I answer. My hands turn cold.

  Jesse wrestles with Paul as if he didn’t say a thing to me, both of them laughing. He puts one finger up to his lips for me to see.

  “Hey, guess what, everybody,” he says out loud. “Someday I’m gonna be famous. You’re gonna read about me in a book. I’m gonna make history!”

  “Really, mijo?” Mom asks. The crying turns to sniffles.

  I pull Jesse’s sleeve. “You’ll be back!” I whisper, trying not to attract Nana’s attention. He whispers back, “I don’t think so, play it by ear.” I want to scream, Dad, stop the car and let me out, NOW. I can’t take this anymore. I press Jesse’s hand into mine. “Yes, you will.” I insist. I know what he wants. This is a secret I have to keep.

  “Your hand is cold.” He squeezes my hand, warming it up in his own.

  “Yeah, Ma, I’ll be famous, you just watch.”

  We all laugh because nothing is real. We don’t even know what the inside of the airport looks like. We’ve never been there. Everybody we know lives in Arizona. We’re on our way to St. Anthon
y’s, or to the Japanese Gardens to get my mother some sweet peas.

  “How far is Vietnam?” Paul asks.

  “On the other side of the world, what do you think?” Jesse says. “The people walk upside down. That’s why they wear those cone hats, to keep themselves balanced!” We all laugh, like it’s the funniest joke in the world, even Dad.

  We’re passing the Smitty’s Jesse and I rode our bikes to on Sundays just to get a Coke from the machine. The Black Canyon Freeway loops to the south of the store, just a few feet away from Food City, the cheapest place in town to buy food. It’s seven o’clock in the morning; traffic is picking up. The sun is climbing over the freeway, making the day come alive.

  My dad brakes at the stoplight, and we see Tortuga crossing the street.

  “Roll the window down, Teresa. I gotta say bye to Tortuga.” Jesse shouts through the open window, “Hey, hey Tortuga, don’t you know me ese?”

  Tortuga is wearing a fatigue jacket over a pair of Levi’s. He looks every bit a turtle with his neck sunk into the collar of his jacket. The green jacket looks like a shell over his scrawny back. He’s got on army boots with no shoelaces. He walks up to the window and looks in. Tortuga’s face is inches away from mine. His breath smells like a stopped-up sink.

  “Buenos dias! Look at this, the whole Ramirez family! How’s everybody today?”

  “What’s with the fatigue jacket, Tortuga?” Jesse asks. “I’m the one going to Nam.”

  “Orale, Jesse, you really headed for Nam?”

  “Check out my rags. Where’d you get your jacket?”

  “My nephew, you know Leo, he’s over there. He sent it to me.”

  “You mean Leito? The little kid? I thought he was only seventeen.”

  “Naw, Jesse, he turned eighteen and enlisted.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “Hey, Jesse, do me a favor. Tell him his mom is going to pieces over here watching the news. He better come home quick before she does herself in…. You got a couple of dollars on you, Jesse? My ol’ lady threw me out on the streets last night, esa vieja pinche!”

  “Don’t cuss at your wife, Tortuga,” Nana says. “She’s a good woman.”

  “She’s a little devil, Abuela, you don’t know her.”

  “Here.” Jesse pulls a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket. “Take it, buy some food for Mauricio.”

  “Muchos thank-yous Jesse, you were always the best! Hey, man, don’t forget El Cielito, OK? Come back to us, hermanito.” Tortuga’s eyes fill with tears. He walks around the car and starts running down the sidewalk.

  “Can’t wait to get his bottle of wine,” Dad says.

  “Pobre,” Mom says. “His son Mauricio must cost him a fortune. He weighs about 200 pounds! Can you imagine? Tortuga drinks his life away, and his son eats himself to death! What a pair!”

  “I see Mauricio at school, Mom, and all the kids make fun of him,” Priscilla says. “Poor Mauricio, he doesn’t even fit in his desk.”

  “Poor, nothing,” Nana says, “Quien le manda. Nobody forces him to eat like a pig.”

  Up ahead we see the sign: SKY HARBOR AIRPORT. My stomach does a Ferris wheel turn. Mom and Nana start the tears again. I hold on to Jesse. He pats my arm. “Relax, sis. It’s OK, Teresa.” I watch his every move. I want him to wink. I want him to show me a sign that tells me what he said to me isn’t true, but he doesn’t. He only smiles. I want to grab his face in my hands and make him look into my eyes and tell me he’s coming back. I know he doesn’t want me to. I hold on to his hand, Priscilla holds on to the other. Paul wraps his arms around Jesse’s neck.

  “Didn’t know everybody loved me so much,” Jesse croons. “Love, love, love…hey I loves you, too!”

  Dad parks the car. For a few seconds, we sit motionless watching Army men, Marines, a few Navy go by. We listen to Nana and Mom’s sobs. Nobody wants to be the first to get out, then Dad opens his door, and all the other doors fly open at the same time. We are wooden figures, stiff-knees forcing ourselves out. Jesse grabs his bags from the back and gives the smaller one to Paul.

  Father Ramon, round and red-faced, is already waiting for us with three of the Guadalupanas, Nana’s friends, old ladies who look like gray swallows. They are the sisterhood from St. Anthony’s Church who venerate the dark virgin, La Virgen de Guadalupe. They look like birds circling to land, swallows chirping out the singsong prayers of the rosary. They know what they have to do. They are here to pray, to make sure Jesse is covered over with God’s blessings.

  Mom’s best friend, Irene from across the alley, didn’t come. She’s Jesse’s godmother, his nina. Her heart is broken, grieving over her son, Faustino, who was killed in Vietnam only last year. It was all she could do to talk to Jesse on the phone before he left. Irene still sleeps with the American flag from her son’s coffin under her pillow and a veladora burning for his soul in front of the image of the Sacred Heart.

  I look around to see who’s staring at the Guadalupanas and see Chris with two other guys. He said good-bye to his parents in Albuquerque then flew into Phoenix so he’d be on the same plane with Jesse. He waves to us. We wave back. Everywhere there are women holding on to their men. We press around Jesse. He lifts both bags onto a loaded flat bed. An army man arranges the bags on top of the stack.

  “Are they labeled?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re set.”

  We pass the big bronze sign at the entrance: WELCOME TO PHOENIX ARIZONA THE VALLEY OF THE SUN. Women everywhere are crying, or getting ready to cry. The men are mostly standing around looking miserable. White tissues and handkerchiefs wave like miniature banners.

  The airport’s walls are painted with murals of the colonization of the Southwest. The Spanish conquistador Cortés, in full armor, greets the Aztec emperor, Moctezuma, who is dressed in an elaborate robe and a huge plumed headdress. Another scene shows the ancient Aztec god of war, Huitzilopochtli, luring his victims in for the kill over a sacrificial block atop a pyramid. Waiting at the top of the pyramid is a black-hooded executioner brandishing an obsidian knife. A few yards from the scene is Padre Kino in black robe and sandals holding up a crucifix, blessing an Indian peasant who kneels at his feet. Next to Padre Kino are rugged pioneers in covered wagons traveling into a distant view of skyscrapers and busy highways. Senators Carl Hayden and Barry Goldwater stare down at us. The background is saguaros, cholla, barrel cactus, a colorful sunset, and a roadrunner fleeing a coyote. Last of all is a painting of the Grand Canyon, the pride of Arizona. The airport is crowded, people are rushing everywhere. I smell breakfast cooking and coffee brewing from the fast-food shops. THE COPPER STATE SOUVENIR SHOP boasts copper planters for sale and copper ashtray souvenirs.

  Mom is kissing Jesse, stroking his hands one by one, kissing each finger, then the inside of his palms. She leans into his chest to hear his heartbeat, smoothes back the stiff uniform around his shoulders and only lets him go long enough to let my dad hold him tight. I hear the drone of the Guadalupanas, the penitents, making amends for the war, searching out God’s ear. “For this one, for this one man. Yes, keep him safe, por favor Virgencita, Justo Juez, Father God. Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen, amen…” The wrinkles around their lips barely move. Their chanting makes the whole place sacred. I can almost smell incense, seeping in through the airconditioning vents, making a fragrant cloud appear to ease God’s wartorn spirit and defy the Aztec war god’s feathered talons.

  We are a funeral procession, walking, hoping not to get to the place where we will have to say good-bye. Jesse is crying now. He brushes his tears away with the back of his hand. Mom is still holding on to him for dear life. I hear a wail beginning to sound from Nana. She sways to and fro as if she’s rocking Jesse to sleep.

  “Keep the prayer close to your heart, mijito. La Oración Del Justo Juez. Don’t forget how much we love you. Ay Dios mio! Ay mijito!” She makes little crosses in the air with her thumb, blessing Jesse over and ov
er again. Jesse holds me tight one more time. I take a deep breath to inhale the scent of my brother forever, to hold his spirit deep inside.

  “Don’t forget what I told you,” he whispers. “Take care of Mom.” I nod. My hair gets caught in one of the buttons of his jacket. We laugh.

  “I love you.” We say it at the same time.

  He looks into my eyes. “It’s just something I feel, OK, maybe I’m wrong.” He smoothes back my hair. “Don’t worry, things will be all right.”

  I want to argue with him, convince him. “Jesse, please come back…” He turns around to kiss Mom, then goes down on one knee to hug Paul. Paul hides his face in Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse takes his cap out of his back pocket and puts it on Paul. “See, you’re a big guy now. It’s OK, tough guy. Just remember, take care of the little guys and help Mom.” He gets Paul to do a little sparring with him. “Yeah, you got the right stuff! Talk to Trini about Paul, Mom, he’ll be a good boxer, too.”

  Priscilla and Nana hang on to Jesse as he stands up. “Don’t cry, Baby Doll,” he says to Priscilla.

  “Don’t go,” Priscilla sobs.

  “I have to, but you know I love you. I gotta have a letter from you every chance you get! And keep playing sports, maybe you can even get Teresa to throw a ball around every once in a while.”

  Jesse turns to Nana. She’s holding her handkerchief up to her nose. She’s not wearing her glasses.

  “Nana, where are your glasses?” Jesse asks.

  “In my pocket, mijito. I don’t need them. All I want is to see you come back home again! Every second I will pray for you, always. Keep La Oración Del Justo Juez close to you. I gave the prayer to Chris, too.”

  “Ay que mi, Nana, don’t cry so much! I don’t want to cause you any more white hair!”

  I reach for Jesse before he goes back to Mom and Dad. “Jesse, you’ll be all right?”

  He looks at me. “Yeah, you bet!” He smiles big. His smile makes me feel good and I smile back.

  Now he’s in Mom’s arms again. “Mom, Mom…God, Mom, stop crying so much! Everything will be fine. I love you…you’re the best Mom a guy could ever have. Mom…” he kisses her forehead.