Casa Andrade, an extension of Saint Turibius Parish, was a mix of immigrants and refugees who had made their way to the United Stated from Mexico and Central America. The house was many things: temporary home, town hall, and information center. Neither Luz nor Arturo had ever experienced such an amalgam of people. Both of them listened intently to their new companions as they jabbered in different accents telling how they had arrived in Los Angeles. At the end of each story almost all of them spoke of the rumors they had heard about life in Los Angeles, about the city’s massiveness and the difficulties of living there.
Luz gradually began to understand the vastness of the place into which she and Arturo had ventured, and she saw that even if Bernabé were in the city, the probability of her ever seeing him was unlikely. The weight of this thought bore down on Luz, saddening her. Her dejection was intensified by her new surroundings. She had never lived under the same roof with so many people, some of them crowded into rooms according to families, age or sex. Even though she spoke the same language and shared many of their experiences, Luz felt that she was a stranger. She also felt awkward because even though the staff was kind, she knew that the food and shelter she was receiving was charity. Luz had always worked for her keep, and she found her stay at Casa Andrade difficult to accept.
She tried to compensate by helping out in the kitchen or by watching children who had no one to care for them or by cleaning the house. But nothing helped to dispel her feeling of dependency. Luz also struggled with a nagging sense of floundering, of hanging in suspension, of waiting for something to happen, yet not knowing, when or what it would be. She missed her home city, and as the days drifted by, her heart seemed to sink into numbness.
Events at Casa Andrade, however, were teeming with similar disappointments and disillusionments. Luz was dismayed to see that she was not the only one who had lost her son. Letters and notes were posted daily. They told of children, wives, husbands and friends who had disappeared in the upheaval taking place in El Salvador. In the evening, one or two people would meet with Luz for a cup of coffee. They would discuss how matters back home were becoming worse by the day. To return to that country, they affirmed, would mean certain punishment, maybe even death.
Luz turned to Arturo to see what was on his mind, but she soon realized that he was not experiencing her shakiness. Instead she found that he had gained confidence during their few days at Casa Andrade.
“Doña Luz, I haven’t changed my mind” he said. “I’m going ahead with my plan. I’m staying. One of the compañeros here told me that he’s found a job, and that maybe there’s a place for me. After that I’ll be able to pay rent for a place to live.”
She mulled over her situation for several days as she went about her chores. Luz had worked in Mexico City, and she had saved money. She had made new acquaintances there, and she had not been unhappy. Why shouldn’t she expect the same thing to happen in Los Angeles? Maybe she and Arturo could share a place again.
Luz was thinking about her recent past, as the shelter began to buzz with news. The son of Doña Elena Marín, a refugee housed in Casa Andrade, had just been killed by government soldiers in El Salvador. What made this latest death exceptional was that the young man had been a volunteer worker at the shelter. Gilberto Marín had arrived in Los Angeles years before his mother, and had distinguished himself among the staff by his dedication to the refugees who stayed at the house. Shortly after Doña Elena arrived at the sanctuary, the young man volunteered to return to El Salvador to help others escape to Los Angeles. And now one of the house workers had heard that he had been killed while attempting to escape the country.
The staff members of Casa Andrade were stunned by the loss of their companion. In a place where news of losses and deaths was almost a daily occurrence, the murder of a co-worker, nonetheless, was shocking. The entire staff, as well as the parish priests, met for a long session behind closed doors. Even though the refugees did not know what had been discussed, the grief of each member of the staff was evident when they came out of the meeting.
The day after the community of Casa Andrade and the parish congregation had been told about the death of Gilberto, they all attended a memorial mass for him. A silent grief engulfed the church. Hardly anyone wept, but there was profound sorrow stamped on the face of those men and women. Several priests approached Doña Elena during the service, reassuring her and speaking in praise of her son’s generosity and dedication. Finally, at the end of the mass, as part of the homage, the name of the shelter was changed to Casa Gilberto, in memory of the young man.
After that night, Luz stayed close to Doña Elena, barely speaking to her but showing how earnestly she identified with her. The mother’s grief clung to Luz, penetrating her, becoming part of her, and as the days passed, she reflected with even more intensity on her own situation, and the whereabouts of Bernabé.
Luz was in the midst of this personal turmoil when the community was stunned by further news regarding Gilberto. To everyone’s confusion, a rumor spread from person to person saying that the initial report of the young man’s death had been a mistake. He was alive, and on his way to Los Angeles.
This turn of events disconcerted the people of the shelter. Some thought it was a joke. Others said that someone was trying to give Doña Elena a new, but false hope. Casa Gilberto buzzed with doubting voices. No one knew what to make of what they had heard. Finally, one of the priests convened everyone in the church hall and calmly relayed the report that the news of Gilberto’s death had been based on mistaken information. The young man was alive.
The priest’s words were followed by an initial gasp from the crowd. Then, someone began to clap, and finally they gave each other back slaps and hugs as they cheered loudly. When they turned to look at Doña Elena, however, they saw that she was so shocked she was almost passing out. Several men and women reached out to her, propping her against one of the pillars until she was helped to her room by other women.
Luz didn’t know how to react. Her hands had grown cold and her heart was beating so fast that her breath came in spurts. She felt pulled in different directions, relieved that Gilberto was alive after all, but filled with frustration and outrage on behalf of his mother who had lived through the pain of thinking she had lost her son. Luz felt an irresistible urge to confront the priest who had given them the news in such a matter-of-fact manner. She yearned to slap his face or to insult the members of the staff who were standing by, foolishly gawking. She wanted to lash out in indignation. Gilberto’s mother had suffered unspeakably, and all because of a blunder committed by one of them.
Realizing that she was losing a grip on herself, Luz went to the room where she sat in the dark for a long while. A few hours later she went to the woman’s room. Luz found her ashen-faced, but in control of herself.
“Doña Elena, I don’t know what to say to you. How cruel….”
“Please don’t feel sorry for me,” the woman quickly responded. “He’s alive. That is all that matters.”
Luz didn’t speak any more. She couldn’t. Instead she sat next to Doña Elena for a long time, grappling with the rage she was still feeling. What was happening to them all, she wondered. Would she be able to continue to live in such a state of uncertainty? Would she be able to survive a life that had left her so shattered and confused?
During the days that followed, her anger subsided and for several nights Luz meditated on Doña Elena’s words. Putting herself in her place, she thought of the joy she would feel if Bernabé were to enter her life again. Yes, her pain and anxieties would be erased. Everything else would be forgotten if only he were to return. Luz again yearned to renew the search for her son, but she remained calm. Finally, she realized how unlikely it was that she would find him.
Coming to terms with this realization made it easier for her to approach Arturo once more. “Hijo, what if you and I find a place to live? I’ll work. I’m still strong.”
He didn’t hesitate this time and appeared relieved. Putting his arm around her shoulders, Arturo drew Luz close to him. “We have to stay here for the time being,” he reassured her. “Here we’ll be safe.”