Page 80 of And Still Her Voice
“More or less,” he said, chuckling. “But I’m trying to make a difference. I don’t want his death to be in vain.”
“What can you do?”
“By educating people, getting the word out, protesting the war—”
“Going to AA meetings?”
“That, too.” He signaled to turn onto a major highway. “You know an unequal number of Mexicans and Blacks have been killed in Nam. The draft, including the entire social, political, and economical system of the United States of America has been created so that Mexican youth are sent into Vietnam to be killed and to kill innocent men, women, and children. Many more Chicanos are sent to Vietnam, in proportion to the total white population.”
I’d heard this before, but now Freddy’s death made it real. Even if I’d only hung out with him a little bit, he was still my blood.
“I’m also going to miss your dad. Quite a funny character.” Ruben laughed. “Like how even though he’s a gringo, he thought he was the son of Pancho Villa.”
“It’s possible,” I tried to normalize the conversation. I’d heard the same crazy story. “Did he tell you how he used to see the Virgin Mary standing out in the backyard?”
Ruben laughed. “And Juan Diego?”
“No, just Mary.”
“Interesting guy. He knew a lot about the world and the history of this whole area. Stuff they don’t teach in the schools. Like how this land belonged to the Gabrielino Tribes way before the Spanish, way before the Treaty of Hidalgo ended the war between the US and Mexico. He told me how a land grant was given to the Verdugo family, the same land where you all grew up. Supposedly, there’s an oak tree up there where General Pico and General Fremont had some peace talks. I want to go check it out. And then he told me how his stepfather stole property from the Verdugos. I really think it bothered him.”
“Talk about survivor’s guilt,” I said.
“The truth is America is a country built on the mass genocide of tens of millions of my ancestors, slavery, and the theft of an entire hemisphere.”
“True.” I remembered what I’d been told about Dad’s family and stepfather. Still, I wondered how Grandma Phoebe didn’t know. One day your cook and your gardener don’t show up. Wouldn’t your world stop working? Wouldn’t you want to investigate?
“I’m the one who found your father,” Ruben said. “When he didn’t show up at the church to carpool down to the VA Hospital, I drove up to the house. The back door was open. I smelled death before ever stepping in. He must have been gone already about a week.”
I looked out the window as a tear escaped my eye and slipped off my shoulder. Ruben wasn’t Mexican Jesus, after all, or he would have saved my Dad.
We didn’t talk the rest of the ride until we got to Santa Monica where he pulled into a parking lot and turned to me with that smile.
“Thanks for the lift.” I don’t remember having any inkling to do anything, but what happened next seemed like a natural thing to do, as if I’d known him for a long time, after all he knew my father, the good side of him, which might sound sort of weird, but I felt a certain intimacy as if he were more than a friend. I leaned in to kiss him and his eyes widened. He didn’t have a chance to back away, and kissed back, tasting of clove gum, but that was it. No more. No roving hands. No signals to read.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “I just started seeing Teddie. I let her know I was driving you, I thought, to the cemetery.”
Laughing out loud and then starting to cry again, my emotions were all over the place. “That’s great. She’s great. You’re great. Everything’s great. I’m an idiot.”
He reached over and cupped my face, swiping my tears with a thumb. “No, you’re not. You’ve lost your father. You’re confused. You need time.”
The rain stopped and so did my crying. I took off my shoes and then rolled down my pantyhose, stuffing them into my purse. Ruben stared at me, back rigid against his door like he was afraid I might pounce on him again. He could have been right, I needed time to sort through my confusion. Only a small connection to my past, Ruben wouldn’t be able to help me understand my father and he was nothing like him, thank God. I reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the lift.” I opened my door and stepped out. “I’m just going to walk.”
“Would you like me to go with you?”
“No, thanks. I think I just need some time alone. I’ll call Maggie to come get me when I’m ready.”
***
The cold, windy shore welcomed me with a brisk, sandy slap across the face. I made my way down to the water, taking in the smell of the briny salt and sand, bird shit, and everything left of the earth after it’s been washed clean. Dozens of sandpipers skittered back and forth in a synchronized choreography as if they were dancing with the tide. A seagull squawked and I watched it scavenge the shore, taking what he wanted and leaving the rest. That’s all I want. I don’t need much. I don’t ask for much. All I want is to be left alone.
I felt as if I were falling into some sort of trance.Can’t you hear them calling?Grandma said, luringly.Listen tothem.
What? Who? I covered my ears. I won’t listen. I’m tired of standing, jumping and sitting for you. I won’t do it anymore. You’ve made me your lap dog and I’m through. I stripped out of my clothes. Barefoot, I followed the imprints of the seagull’swebbed feet to the water’s edge where they disappeared. I stepped into the frigid water, but couldn’t feel it. Standing knee-deep, the thought of swimming out past the breakers entered my mind, past the waves of no return.
You do hear the call, Grandma said.
And it’s hard not to hear the call of the wild—the music of the untamed. What are you asking me to do? Is this the call Dad heard? Or his half-brother, Leland?
