Oh man!” Orlando growled when Ernesto called him Saturday morning. “This is almost too much. The old diablo strikes again.”
“I hear you, dude,” Ernesto sympathized. “But your mom and Naomi really want to see you. You shoulda seen your mom’s face when I told her you’d be in town. Maybe you could see your way clear to just carve out a little time for us to meet you somewhere near Hortencia’s. You could just, you know, spend a little time with Naomi and your mom. It’d mean the world to them.”
“Ernesto Sandoval, you know what?” Orlando declared. “You told me once you thought you’d be a teacher like your dad. Scratch that, man. You need to be a politician. You can twist a guy’s arm and get him to do anything. That’s a talent a politician really needs to get things done. You’re something else, Ernie. Okay, you win. We’re due in around six on Friday, and the benefit starts at eight. I’ll ask Oscar to drop me from the bus at . . . how about La Abeja? That still in business?”
“Yeah, it is,” Ernesto replied. “That’d be perfect.”
“Okay, meet me there,” Orlando directed. “Then, after we grab a bite, you can drive me over to Hortencia’s. Then we’re back to business. Is that good?” “Great, man,” Ernesto said. “I’ll be there with Naomi and your mom.”
“You’re a good guy, Ernie,” Orlando told him. “A real good guy. I’m glad you and my sister are hanging out.”
Next, Ernesto called Naomi and described the arrangement.
“Ernie!” she cried. He could see her smiling at the other end of the line. He could see her. He was only a few blocks from her house, and he could feel her joy.
Right after school on the next Friday, Naomi climbed into Ernesto’s Volvo, and they drove home to get her mother.
As they got out of the car, Ernesto saw Brutus and tossed a ball for him. Then he went in the Martinez house. Felix was sitting in front of the television set, cursing at a newscaster for putting the wrong spin on something.
“You’re full of it, lady!” he yelled, grabbing the remote and changing the station.
“Well, Felix,” Linda Martinez told him, “Ernie is driving me over to see my sister now. I should be home around seven, seven thirty. I made dinner. You just need to reheat it.”
“Yeah, okay!” Felix Martinez snarled. “It tastes so bad, it don’t matter if it’s hot or cold anyway.”
Ernesto winced. But Mrs. Martinez was just happy to be going to see her son. The slur on her cooking didn’t even hurt.
Ernesto parked at La Abeja. Orlando had said to look for a big red and green bus carrying the Oscar Perez band. It would be turning at the intersection at the corner where the restaurant was. Sure enough, the bus came into view, and Orlando hopped down from it. He trotted toward the Volvo, where Ernesto waited with Mrs. Martinez and Naomi.
Mrs. Martinez couldn’t restrain herself. She jumped from the car and ran to meet her son. As she sprinted toward the handsome young man, she didn’t seem like a woman in her late forties. She seemed like a teenager.
Orlando took his mother in his arms. From a distance, they looked like a big man embracing a child. She was so small in comparison to her son. Like his father, Orlando was well over six feet tall, whereas his mother was barely five feet two inches. Naomi caught up to them, and Orlando hugged his sister too. The three of them walked together into La Abeja. They chattered happily as Ernesto brought up the rear.
When they were seated, Mrs. Martinez looked lovingly at her son. “Oh Orlando, you look so wonderful, so handsome!” Linda Martinez gushed. “Mi hijo! Mi hijo!” Then she said, “How is Manny? Is Manny doing better?”
“Yeah, Mama,” Orlando assured her. “He had to stay in LA to work on the equipment for our Vegas gig. But he’ll be coming down to the barrio pretty soon. He’s put on a lot of weight since he’s eating regular again. He told me to give you his love.”
The son leaned back in his chair and looked directly at his mother. “So Mama, he hasn’t changed, huh?”
Linda Martinez’s smile faded. “You mean, your father?” she asked.
“Yeah, who else?” Orlando replied with disgust.
“He doesn’t change, Orlando,” Mrs. Martinez answered sadly, nodding her head. “Right now he’s very upset that Mr. Ibarra is challenging his cousin, Monte Esposito, for the city council. Last time Monte ran, there was no opposition. It looked like he had everything wrapped up this time too, but they found a candidate with the courage to challenge him. Monte has some friends with bad character. Many people didn’t want to cross him. But Emilio Ibarra is a very courageous man. And when Monte went to the Bahamas and spent so much money, people were angry. They got fed up.”
“It’s about time the bum is kicked out,” Orlando stated hotly. “Ibarra is a great candidate. He cares about people. He’s always involved in stuff like the Thanks-giving baskets and Christmas presents for the poor kids. We haven’t had a good person in that council seat since Mr. Maynard, years ago.”
They ordered chicken burritos and Mayan hot chocolates. Orlando looked at his mother and asked, “Mama, do you have any fun? I would like to take you somewhere where you could have a real vacation, like maybe to Hawaii. Where would you like to go, Mama? I have some money now, and I will pay for everything.”
Linda Martinez looked wistful. Orlando may as well have been asking her to visit a distant planet in another galaxy. There was as good a chance of going to outer space as going anywhere. She could not leave her husband and go somewhere for even a week. Felix Martinez didn’t believe in vacations.
Still, Orlando’s offer brought a look of almost forlorn delight to the woman’s face, as if just fantasizing about a trip was enjoyable. She imagined herself boarding a plane for Hawaii and getting off on a tropical island. Then someone would put a fragrant lei her shoulders in welcome. But going anywhere was out of the question. A trip would never happen.
Linda Martinez forced a smile to her lips and spoke to her son. “It is so sweet of you to offer me a vacation, Orlando. But I have a good life. I have a nice home and some wonderful friends at church. We sometimes go to breakfast after mass. I enjoy watching movies on television. We have a nice big television set now. I rent a lot of movies too. I like the older ones that came out when I was young.”
“Well Mama, maybe sometime . . . maybe sometime I can take you to Hawaii,” Orlando said resignedly.
When they finished their meal, Ernesto took Orlando to Hortencia’s, where a big crowd was gathering. The Perez bus was already parked there, and red, white, and blue balloons were everywhere. Ernesto could hear the music as the band was tuning up. Orlando, sitting in the front seat with Ernesto, turned to him and stuck out his hand.
“Thanks for making my visit with Mom and Naomi happen, dude,” he told Ernesto, shaking hands. Then, turning to the back seat, he said, “Bye Mama! Bye little sister!” He hopped out and ran into Hortencia’s to join the concert.
Ernesto drove Naomi and her mother home. He would have loved to stay at Hortencia’s with Naomi and enjoy the evening. He always liked being around Tía Hortencia. He wished they could all have stayed for the music and the good food and the fun. But it couldn’t be.
When Ernesto got home, Katalina and Juanita were getting ready for bed. Abuela was sitting in the living room, knitting.
“Hello Ernesto,” Abuela greeted him. “Your mama and papa went to Hortencia’s for the benefit concert. They said they’d be home around ten thirty or eleven.” Ernesto knew Mom and Dad were going to the concert. They didn’t talk much about it because they knew the election was a problem area for Ernesto. Luis Sandoval had been a close friend of Emilio Ibarra since they both were boys. They played together in Little League. They were both boy scouts. There was never a question about Ernesto’s father supporting Ibarra’s candidacy.
Ernesto sat down in the living room and confided in his grandmother. “Abuela, you know I’m going with Naomi Martinez. Her father is the cousin of Councilman Esposito.”
The older woman nodded. “I know, Ernesto. It makes it hard for Naomi and for you. Naomi is such a nice girl. I remember when she was born. Such a beautiful child. Their first daughter. The other three were sons. Linda was afraid she would never have a daughter. I used to see Linda in church with little Naomi in her pink ribbons and fluffy dresses. Like a little doll. Linda was so happy to have her little niña. When Naomi made her first communion, she looked like an angel in her white veil and dress.” Abuela continued to knit but smiled at the memory.
Ernesto smiled too. He was with his family in Los Angeles when Naomi was a little girl growing up in the barrio. He was barely six when they moved, and he had no memories of the Martinez family. But, considering what Naomi looked like now, Ernesto could imagine what a lovely child she must have been.
Abuela held up the portion of the little sweater that was finished. She looked at it approvingly.
“You make such beautiful stuff,” Ernesto commented.
Abuela was still thinking of the Martinez family, and she looked serious. “I remember when Felix and Linda were young parents, Ernesto. Even then Felix was the ruler of the house. It was not that way in my house. Your grandfather was a strong man, but I was a strong woman too. We decided on things together. My husband was proud of me for being strong. ‘I do not want a servant,’ he said. ‘I want a partner.’ And that is what we were—partners. We had five children, and it was a struggle. We had to both be strong. I think that’s better. Luis and your mama are like that too. All our children were raised to be strong, the girls as well as the boys.”
“Mrs. Martinez is afraid of her hus-band,” Ernesto said. He was nervously weaving his fingers in and out of each other in his lap. He loved Naomi with all his heart, but the situation in her home bothered him. It was like a dark cloud hanging over everything, waiting to grow even darker and explode with thunder and rain.
“I know,” Abuela agreed, shaking her head softly.
Ernesto felt uncomfortable discussing the topic further with his grandmother. So he let out a big yawn. “Abuela, I think Katalina and Juanita have the right idea about getting to bed. It’s been such a long week.”
“Okay, mi hijo, but if you need to talk more, I am here to listen,” she said.
When Maria and Luis Sandoval came home at eleven o’clock, Ernesto had gone to bed but was awake. Abuela was still knitting in the living room. She had insomnia sometimes, and she knitted into the night—knitted and prayed. Ernesto heard his father’s voice, filled with excitement. “It was wonderful, Mama. Such a big crowd. I’ve never seen people in the barrio so excited about a local race. Emilio was there for most of the evening. That big, booming voice, that big laugh. He danced with Conchita, and he danced with Carmen.”
“He danced with me too, Mama,” Maria Sandoval giggled.
“I wished Ernie could have been there,” Dad said. “I know he would have gotten a big kick out of it.”
“Julio Avila and his father were there,” Dad added. “Julio and the kids in the Zapatista club are anxious to help. They said they’d make telephone calls and get out there going door to door for Emilio.”
Ernesto lay in bed, wide awake. The barrio needed Emilio Zapata Ibarra. The campaign was like a wonderful parade getting underway. Drums were pounding, and horns were tooting. Excited, dedicated people were setting out to change the world, at least this part of the world. And Ernesto refused to march.
As Ernesto drifted off to sleep, his thoughts were about how the barrio needed a new leader. Emilio Ibarra was old enough to understand the local problems. And he was young enough to have the energy and enthusiasm to solve them. He was about the same age as Ernesto’s father. Monte Esposito was in his midfifties, and he looked much older. He was a heavyset man, and his body language conveyed weariness and boredom. He might have had some good ideas when he was elected ten years ago. But he never implemented them. Now he probably didn’t even care about them anymore.
When Ernesto got to school on Monday, the first person he saw was Naomi. She had biked in. And she looked as though she had been crying. Ernesto rushed over to her and asked, “What’s the matter? You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Naomi replied, locking her bike in the rack. “But last night at our house was so awful. One of Dad’s drinking buddies saw the big crowd at Hortencia’s on Friday. So he went over to investigate. He recognized Orlando performing. He knew it was my dad’s son. This guy, he couldn’t wait to call Dad up. He just had to let him know his son was at a campaign rally for Emilio Ibarra. This guy, he really enjoyed rubbing it in. Dad went ballistic.”
“Oh man!” Ernesto groaned, as they walked slowly toward their first class.
“Yeah,” Naomi went on, “Dad was raging around the house like a wild bull. He was saying such terrible things about Orlando. Oh Ernie, I’ve been hoping that, little by little, Dad might soften up on Orlando and Manny. Maybe our family could be healed. But now it’s worse than ever. Dad was saying Orlando is a traitor to the family. He better never show his face around the Martinez house. He’ll get the thrashing of his life. Then poor Mom started crying, and that made Dad even madder.”
Naomi shook her head. “Then Dad starts in on Mom, saying she’s weak and she’s an idiot. If she hadn’t coddled Orlando and Manny, they wouldn’t have grown up to be such creeps. He said it was all her fault. The boys went bad because she was too easy on them. He started bringing up every little thing Orlando did. He should’ve been whipped because he stole a peach from the open air market. But, no, Mom wouldn’t let Dad whip him . . .”
“I’m sorry, Naomi,” Ernesto sympathized. “It must have been hard on you.”
“Dad said he’s going to work really hard on his cousin’s campaign now to make sure Ibarra loses,” Naomi went on. “He ordered me and Zack. We’ve got to pass out flyers and go door to door, telling people why they should reelect Esposito. We’re supposed to tell everybody what a rotten person Mr. Ibarra is. By this time, Dad’s breathing so hard, I’m afraid he’s going to have a heart attack. He’s telling me and Zack that we’re his only loyal kids left. We have to do double duty to make up for those traitors, Orlando and Manny.”
Naomi was staring straight ahead as she walked, her books clutched in front of her. “Zack said he’d do it. You know Zack. He’ll do anything to please Dad. But I just can’t. I didn’t tell him I can’t, not in the mood he was in. But the thing is, I don’t think Esposito is any good. I think Mr. Ibarra would be good for the barrio. I can stay out of the whole thing, even though I’d like to help Ibarra. But no way am I going to work for Esposito. No way.”
Ernesto sighed deeply. He didn’t know what to say. Then he remembered something his friend, Abel Ruiz, had shared with him. He started telling Naomi Abel’s story. “Abel, he’s got this really smart brother, Tomás. For years now, Abel’s parents have been saying Tomás is the smart one, and Abel is the dumb loser. Well, Abel always got along with his dad ’cause he’s kinda weak, and he doesn’t say much. But Abel’s mom is real strong. She kinda always discouraged Abel from trying anything because she said he’d just screw it up.”
Ernesto glanced at Naomi, to make sure she was listening. She was. “Abel was really cowed by her attitude. It got so he didn’t have the courage to do anything. But then one day he just stood up to her. He wanted to do something she was dead set against. She like told him, ‘You are not doing it.’And Abel goes, ‘I’m doing it, and you can’t stop me. That’s the way it is.’ Well, Abel figured the whole world might flip upside down in that moment. That’s because he’d never stood up to his mom like that before. But Abel’s strong, domineering mom backed down. Now things are much better for Abel.”
Ernesto then said what he’d been leading up to. He stopped walking and turned to Naomi, who now faced him. “So, Naomi, if push comes to shove, you need to tell your father how you feel in a calm, respectful way. You got to let him know you’re not working on Esposito’s campaign because you don’t believe in it. And that’s that.”
Naomi’s eyes became very wide, and she stared at Ernesto. “I’ve never stood up to him like that,” she said.
“Naomi, he loves you,” Ernesto assured her. “You’re his daughter, and he loves you. He hasn’t ever hit you or anything, has he?”
“Oh no, never,” Naomi responded. “We’ve always gotten along good. But I’ve never defied him before, not in a big way. When we got Brutus—the pit bull—I knew it would drive Mom crazy. I felt so sorry for Mom because she lived in terror of that dog. I knew I should go to my father. I knew I should demand he get rid of the dog and get a nice little dog that Mom wouldn’t be afraid of. But I never did. I watched Mom suffer in terror, and I just kept my mouth shut. I was ashamed of myself for that. It all turned out okay in the end, sure. And Brutus turned out to be a nice dog. Now Mom likes him too. But still I was a coward or I would have stood by Mom.”
“Naomi, that was then. This is now.” Ernesto said. “You can do it. You can be very quiet and very firm. Don’t get mad. You don’t have to remind your father of all the creepy things he’s done to keep the family in line. You don’t have to say that you’re a Zapatista. You don’t have to say that you’ll be running around the neighborhood handing out flyers for Emilio. You don’t have to go that far. That would be too much for him to swallow. But just tell him that you are not getting involved in Esposito’s campaign, not now, not ever.”
“I don’t know,” Naomi objected. “Like I say, I’ve never stood up to him before. I want to. It’s like when I was with Clay. Sometimes he was so rude, he made me mad. He’d yell at me for some silly thing, and I’d stand there and take it. I’d feel like a fool, but I wouldn’t stand up to him.”
Ernesto took hold of Naomi’s shoulders and looked directly into her amazing violet eyes. “Babe, you did stand up to Clay. A lot of girls and women out there have been hit by a boyfriend, and they made up with the guy afterward. But you didn’t. You had the courage to end it. I know you cared a lot for Clay. There had to have been times when you wanted to forgive him and get back with him. But you stuck to your guns. You knew what he did was wrong. and you didn’t want any part of it anymore.”
Ernesto waited a couple of seconds to let his words sink in. Then he spoke again. “That took a lot of courage. I was so proud of you, Naomi. Yeah, I wanted for us to get together. But even if that had never happened, I would have still been proud of you for what you did. You can stand up to your father too. You can be respectful to him and still stand up to him. Just tell him that you love him, but you are not campaigning for Esposito . . .”
“I guess I could try,” Naomi acceded.
“No, don’t say that,” Ernesto commanded. “When people say they’ll try to do something, they end up not doing it.”
The morning was cool, and Ernesto was wearing a hoodie. When he embraced Naomi, she was lost in his arms, and the two of them looked like one.