|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Chapter 27: The family doubles it's sizeSuffering cousins find `la familia' at last
When Mama's sister Florencia died, my cousin Raúl was 11 years old. Irene was 9; Jaime, 4; and Richard, 3. Richard was at Comstock Children's Hospital in isolation because he had been born with tuberculosis.
Their father, Manuel, remarried soon after Florencia died, but the children continued to suffer.
He and his new wife neglected them. The cousins were often alone at the house on Michigan Street.
La familia: The family
Tía: Aunt
Tío: Uncle
Santos: Saints, or images of saints, Jesus and Mary
Sometimes there was no electricity, heat or running water. Sometimes, no food or clean clothes. And sometimes Raúl was beaten by his father.
The family was relieved when Manuel took three of his children to live with Grandma Dolores, who had moved to Clifton.
There, my cousins finally discovered la familia.
``My grandmother was very strict, but she was a good person,'' says Raúl.
``We had to go to Mass every morning, seven days a week.
``Little by little, I started understanding the word of God and about saying my prayers at night. I learned more from my grandmother than anyone about prayer.
``And every evening on bended knee, it was time to pray the rosary. I really never could figure out what the intention was,'' he says, laughing.
After morning Mass, Grandma made her grandchildren a good, hot breakfast. She paid a neighbor to take them to school and bring them home.
When not in school, Irene spent her time learning to knit, crochet and embroider. ``Grandma did not believe in idle hands. We always had to be doing something,'' says Irene.
Raúl became close to our Tía Gumesinda, my Mama's oldest sister, who had stayed in nearby Morenci with her second husband, Tío Bernardo Vega, and their younger children.
``On the weekends, I would go stay with them up on the hill in Morenci,'' says Raúl.
``My Tío Benny was a great person. He was a person who never laid a hand on his kids. He would make them cry just by consulting with them, talking to them and telling them what they did wrong. It was worse than getting whipped,'' says Raúl.
Raúl, Irene and Jaime stayed for just one school year in Clifton. Their father, Manuel, came to take them back.
Grandma Dolores knew what was in store for her grandchildren. She left Clifton again and moved to a one-bedroom rental on West President Street, just south of West Ajo Way.
Soon enough, the Department of Public Welfare brought all four children to her.
By then, Richard had been released from Comstock Hospital.
He had been tied down to a bed for much of his first three years. He was quiet and withdrawn. He did not know his brothers, sister or grandma. La familia signified nothing. He would learn.
Dolores nourished the four and also baby-sat Raymond and me when we got older.
Mama had returned to the fields and did not like taking us with her in the winter.
It was in March 1961 that Manuel went to Grandma's house and terrorized her and his children once more.
He came at midnight. ``He was yelling that he wanted me back,'' says Raúl. ``Grandma got real sick from pure anger. I think that led to a lot of her health problems.
``I remember our neighbor, Mr. Rodríguez, came outside and told him to get the hell out of there.'' Oscar Rodriguez was a good neighbor. It was not the first time he had come to the rescue.
Soon after that, Grandma died.
I remember when it happened.
Mama was ironing and I was sitting nearby, feeling warm and safe as Mama pressed shirt after shirt.
There was a knock on the door, and my cousin Richard stood in the doorway with Oscar Rodríguez's sister-in-law, Rebecca. She had come to tell Mama that Grandma was very sick and calling for her.
Mama unplugged the iron, and we all walked to Grandma's house. Grandma was lying on the couch moaning and moaning.
She was taken to the county hospital where they operated on her. She suffered from kidney stones, and her intestines were blocked. Mama was with Grandma when she took her last, deep breath at the age of 72.
During the wake at Carrillo's Tucson Mortuary downtown, Grandma was dressed the way she had requested.
Tía Angela sewed her a replica of the white gown and blue robe worn in the statues that venerate Mary as the Immaculate Conception. Grandma was buried at Holy Hope Cemetery, not far from Florencia.
After the funeral, Tía Gumesinda stayed at Grandma's house with Raúl, Irene, Jaime and Richard.
Raymond and I stayed with Uncle Johnny and Nina Eleanor. Mama's strength had been waning. She thought she was pregnant again, but doctors had diagnosed a tumor shortly before Grandma died.
Mama went to Tucson Medical Center where she was prepared for surgery.
When Mama said goodbye to go to the hospital, she tried to look happy, but I felt something was wrong. I was scared that night, and Nina Eleanor hugged and comforted me while I cried myself to sleep.
God and the santos were with Mama once more. Doctor Hausmann removed a 9-pound benign tumor.
I was so happy when we returned to Grandma's house, which we would now rent. It was only one bedroom, but it had indoor plumbing. Tía Gumesinda stayed with us for a while to help care for Mama.
Mama recovered quickly, and for a reason: She had decided that Florencia's four children would become her responsibility.
She did not want my cousins separated. My father said no. It would be impossible, financially. Mama stood her ground.
``They are my blood,'' Mama told him. ``You are not. If you don't like it, you can leave.''
|
Ch. 1: Field of death
Ch. 18: The New Deal
Ch. 24: Cotton pickers and copper miners Ch. 27: The family doubles its size
|
