It’s Isidro Peralta’s turn at bat. The survivor of identical twins; an electrician by trade; their father, also an electrician, lives in one of the only three houses on that triple lot. The other houses belong to Eugenio Peralta’s widow and to the informant. The families share one common mail box, and this calls for an explanation:
Eugenio, dead these four years now, left two surviving sons: Eugenio Jr., 20, and Isidro II, 18. For his part, Isidro also has two sons: Isidro Jr., 20, and Eugenio, 18.
The Star Route drivers who deliver the mail threw their hands in the air years ago, and hence the common rural mail box.
The listener called ahead and after the usual mix-up of names of sons and cousins, the listener made an appointment with the surviving twin.
Yep, if my brother Eugenio were alive today, he’d be forty-years-old, same age as me; we was twins. Got killed by a brick thrown by God Himself, yessir. That brick fell from heaven itself, wasn’t a man-thrown brick at all.
He and I was working on an electrical job for Viola Barragán in that office building of hers. Started off with two and then she went on and added two more floors to make it four.
Well, it was right there where the Silva brothers, and Chago Leal, and the two of us won the first big contract to wire up the rest of that office building, and we all made a profit, you bet.
Doña Viola doesn’t want shit—that’s cheap wire and cheaper labor—on her property. What I’m saying is she wanted copper, not aluminum wiring. Aluminum is good and cheap but treacherous. Won’t last. Copper will, though. Copper’ll go through Hell itself. You can’t beat copper.
The Doña is exigente. Always the best ’cause it’s also the cheapest, as she sees it. And that damned brick was the best, too. That’s Double-duty Fire-Up—you with me? First quality goods and made here, on this side of the Rio Grande.
Now, you’re going to find a lot of Texas Anglos in the construction trades who use Mexican brick—and it’s good, too—but here in Belken County, all over the Valley, there are Texas mexicanos who know how to make brick; best there is. The Munguilla brothers for starters. Or the Morales family—the ones with the funeral house and the kilns—what do you say to that?
And I do miss my bro. But he always had bad luck, you know. Born but with one testicle, just like me, a ciclán, as we say. Oh, well ….
As for Jehu, we’ve known him … well, it’s only me now, but I’ve known him since school. He was raised, protected by the Buenrostro family. They’re kin, and he and Rafe Buenrostro are close, tight, always have been. You fought one, you had to fight the other, been that way since school.
Rafe’s father was don Jesús Buenrostro, El Quieto. I didn’t know the man, he was a grown-up, see? But he took in Jehu Malacara. What I’m telling you is what I got from my father. Yeah … knew don Quieto, I mean, don Jesús. And my dad, he knew the brother, too, don Julián, the father of Melchor who God keeps etcetera …
About Jehu—God’s truth—he’s always treated me fairly and more than fair sometimes. I’ve never been in the position of doing him a favor, but I’m ready whenever and whatever.
Sometime back, once, can’t remember where or when, but once, someone told me that Jehu had bedded down Rebecca Escobar. What I’m saying here is rumor, okay? You asked and all I’m only saying is what I know or heard ….
Anyway. That he grabbed her by the ears and let’s head for the open Gulf, the breeze is up and all that. But do I know this for a fact? For a fact? No.
But if the subject was Sammie Jo Perkins, that’s a different matter. And I wasn’t the only one who knew? Get me?
As for Olivia San Esteban, that was a sad piece of business. Serious, too. Here, in this case, Jehu went about it serious, formal. As my dad says: he settled down, he grew up, asentó cabeza, you know? Now, Jehu didn’t quit going to the Blue Bar or over to Dirty Barrón’s Aquí Me Quedo Bar, but he cut the rest of the stuff, the running around. Like a bullfighter, he cut off his pony tail, or like a boxer who hangs ’em up.
Got serious for once and then for what? So that some dumb pinche drunken bolillo come and broadside her? So he can kill her in a second, just about? Son-of-a-bitch run a red light out at the Military turn off, and him on one of those goddam outsized pickups. Shit.
Olivia San Esteban didn’t live those ten days in the hospital; she was in a coma. And Jehu? From his house to work and then to the hospital. Yessir. He was serious. When Olivia died and was buried, Jehu had to go on living; no choice. But he had his health. And he’d changed, no doubt about that.
Oh, he dated La Chacha—Irene Paredes—the one that does things with science; something. Well, she works there at the Court House, where Rafe works, you know: Jehu’s cousin.
But as for Irene, Jehu didn’t go out much or long either. A year? And then, de repente, just like that, he marries Rebecca Escobar, living together, making or keeping a family. Why, that was like heat thunder to me, flat out of the blue and bam!
It was too fast for me to follow, I’ll tell you that. La Escobar set Mr. Commissioner adrift like a shrimp trawler with no nets to drag …. I hear she chucked him out of the house. That’s tough, right? That’s what people say.
I don’t know those people, the Escobars. They belong to another class of people, I’d say. But if you’re talking social classes, that cuts little to no ice with Jehu. For him, one standard, everyone’s the same, in or out of the Bank; he’s a fair one that Jehu, you got to say that for him.
Now, it can’t be more than two years ago, I don’t think—talking about the San Esteban girl’s death. La Escobar boots her husband right in the ass, and begins her life with the kids in that house of theirs. I think Chago Leal, maybe Arnold Tucker, got the wiring contract for that one.
One thing for sure: Rebecca Escobar isn’t going to starve to death, and then, all of a sudden, you just didn’t see her pictures in the Enterprise-News. Yeah. And she used to be in it, a lot, with the Women’s this and the Women’s that, you know.
Well, on a Palm Sunday morning I think it was, there’s this car parked in front of her house. And that’s a No Parking zone, too. To back up just a bit, she’d got me to install two air-conditioning units, one for the kitchen and one for the glassed-in porch. I drove up that Sunday morning after Mass, and there was the car. Up front. You know what I’m saying here?
Well, it was Jehu’s car. A Bank car, yeah. Can you beat that? Well, here I was, rewiring the two rooms, replacing hot plugs with a ground on ’em, one-day job. Top.
And Jehu? In shirt sleeves. Happy as a cat in a barn full of mice. That cabrón … No! That’s just an expression; Jehu is not a cabrón. Oh no, he’s far from being an asshole. No, no. That would be the last word for Jehu Malacara.
But there he was: at home. He spotted me working in the kitchen, nodded and that was it. No malice in that nod, no winking of the eye either. It was a greeting. Well, that wasn’t none of my business. I mean, what did I have to do with any of that? My old man did not set out to raise idiots. Jehu was there and Jehu was there, and he sure didn’t ask permission from Isidro Peralta, master electrician.
’Cause that’s what I am, a master electrician, and I was hired for that, and I did the work on time. A clean house, the kids happy and laughing with their Mom, all the time I was there, and if Rebecca wasn’t bothered by my comings and goings, well, I ask you: Why should I be bothered, or care?
So it’s got to be two years ’cause that’s when Ira was made secretary, manager, something like that, over to Klail Savings. And then, some six months after that, the same job over to Jonesville—the Escobars are originally from Jonesville. They’re not from Klail. Rebecca is a Cogwell, something like that. Her father was a soldier; Anglo, and married to a monied woman, one with property. She was a Narváez or a Navarro. No, no, no, no not either one at all. She’s a Navarrete; yeah. Old don Julio’s daughter, ’cause there was money there …
Later, Chago Leal told me this was so. Years and years ago, Chago was an apprentice for an old alky named Willis here in Klail who owned another shop in Jonesville. Well, according to Chago, the Navarrete’s decided to re-wire the entire house, top to bottom, north to south, okay? Takes money for that. Old Parr Willis got the contract, and that’s how Chago Leal got inside that house. A house-and-a-half is what Chago used to say.
So, this Rebecca is part of that family. And, between you and me, I didn’t know a pharmacist could make that kind of money …. Maybe they do, but old don Celso Villalón used to say that anything is possible, and that contraband is easier than working for a living.
That aside, that house was a well-made house. Solid. And that’s why the wiring took time. No sheet rock there, no sir. Chago Leal says that after that job, that big a contract, he wasn’t scared of any job, anywhere.
He earned his journeyman badge right there.
It should be pointed out that Isidro Peralta received three phone calls, gave out two estimates, and wrote a message on a pink pad. Later, one of his sons brought the mail, already sorted, no doubt.
At that time, Rebecca must’ve been in college, the university. Here in the state, yeah, but Up North somewhere. Near Dallas.
As for Klail City, she and Ira Escobar landed here some nine-ten years ago. Oh! About the time he became a politician real sudden like … well, it was about that time that Jehu was a good friend to Noddy Perkins’s daughter … and she married for a second time, too.
I’m telling you, that Jehu was a piece of work. But there he is, married to Rebecca by a judge, so what do I know? One thing’s sure, they sure as hell don’t have to give me an accounting for their life together. Everyone has their one life to lead, right?
But this I got to say: there, where you see Jehu, and he’s a good person, too, well anyway, like that, quiet, peaceful like, just like his cousin, Rafe. I wouldn’t want to tangle with either one. Not bigmouths, either one. Goodness, when do they ever act tough? But I’d pass on some advice to anyone who doesn’t know Jehu, that it’s best not to crowd him.
Easy going, playful, name it, but it’s like the Anglos say, “He’s always holding back. Something in reserve.”
And then, he doesn’t hold grudges either. No grudges to hold when you don’t take shit from anyone. And like I said, one standard, in or out of the Bank, and everyone’s equal.
Weeeeelll, living with or married, don’t matter to me which, Rebecca Escobar—or Malacara maybe—she’s a person, and good at business. She runs some of Viola Barragán’s Business, and I’m a witness. And Viola won’t cheat you either and Rebecca’s the same. Yessir.
Piece work, a big job, big contractor, little contractor—everyone gets respect. Viola’s not like some—like a lot, and raza, too—that only gives the big jobs to the Anglos—Klail Electric, Belken & Co—and the little jobs to us, as if we didn’t know as much as anyone. Bunch-a raza shits.
Tell you what I also like about doña Viola Barragán. She works with attorneys—contracts, deadlines, bonuses, everything. Take me, I can buy on credit or she’ll give it to me: whatever I need and it’s “Call me if you need anything.” You listening?
I didn’t mean to veer off here, but it also has to do with Jehu: If you go to the Bank on business, it doesn’t matter how you’re dressed. That’s right. You go in there, sit in his office, explain to him what you’d like to do, and he listens. He knows how to ask questions, hard questions. Then he starts with the figures. He advises you. Yeah. That cabrón, he … I mean, he knows his business.
And he doesn’t give a good goddammit if your name’s Juan Lanas, Pepe Cabras, or Bruno Shafter of Belken & Co. or even Junior Mc-Queen from Klail Electric. All treated the same: courtesy, seriousness, and if you know what you’re talking about, the loan is as good as yours. Right there, dammit. Right then. The man has confidence in you, yeah. And he handles big deals, yessir.
Let me tell you this. Chago Leal and I went into a temporary partnership, limited, eh? We partnered on an estimate for a job with doña Viola. Rebecca Escobar was there too.
I’m going to stop here to tell you that La Escobar is a very beautiful woman. Not bonita, pretty, but linda. Bella, even. Beautiful. And, to work with doña Viola, she’s got to be sharp as good vinegar. But she better be intelligent, too, since doña Viola isn’t selling newspapers on some street corner; there’s money in that company. Rebecca Escobar’s got to be a good one.
And you can’t take her looks away, she’s got ’em. You know what else? Olivia San Esteban was a beauty. And yet, they didn’t look alike, did they? I mean, Rebecca Escobar’s eyes are brown1, biggish somewhat, and round. The nose is a bit small for me, and kind-a pale, too, but that coal-tar hair helps. Her … her figure, ah, nice, real nice.
The San Esteban girl? Different. Pretty and a lot. But like the old days somehow. You know what I mean? I remember her eyes, sort of washed out: gray? The mouth a bit wide, but a great smile. I fell for her at Klail High, but she never knew … No one knew, not even my brother, I want you to know. My twin! I never told him, he never knew.
Olivia’s hair was as black as Rebecca’s, but longer, shiny, and then that face. That skin, like a smooth, skinned almond. Yeah. That Ollie San Esteban was special. A little on the thin side for me, but not bony, no. There’s a better word for it, but what do I know?
Well, the thing was our contract—Chago Leal’s and mine with doña Viola—brought us to Rebecca Escobar. She already knew who I was and said hi and shook my hand and all. Like I said, she’s got to be a sharp one to work for someone like doña Viola. Well, right away she told us to leave the pick ups where they were, and she got us in her car.
And how long was the job going to take, she asked. The hot plugs this and the tubing that, the lighting and the wattage, what carpenter would we recommend; just like the owner of any other shop or store. She carried the two little green books, just like ours: how much, where, and there she’d go with that hand calculator just like Chago and me. Business, yessir.
A rosebud is what she is. And we’re talking a big job here when she said right out, “Well, what do you figure you need to start? How much money are we talking about?”
Yeah. A line of credit.
Well, first off, she was going to open a special account for us at the Bank. We could draw from it, just sign for the materials. A big, fat contract all drawn up. And all the time, cool, nice, and then guess what? I realized I had my mouth hanging open …
And here I always thought she was a pushover you know. I mean, I’d had a few dealings with Ira Escobar at the Bank. He was like a flat tire, no air to him.
I don’t know what happens north of the Valley, like up in Austin or China and Europe, but when it comes to my craft, I can tell you chapter and verse about what I do. Ira? I never got the impression he was all there. Kind of goofy. Silly. A waste of time to talk to that guy, because I’d wind up talking to Noddy or Jehu, one. First with Noddy and then with Jehu or straight to Jehu.
Man, if I ran my shop like that, I’d’ve closed up by now or worse than that, my dad would’ve taken a stick to me, make that a BIG stick, for being so dumb.
And the guy’s a county commissioner? That guy? Man, if they’re all like that up at the Court House, they better change the wiring, quick.
But back to Rebecca. She wasn’t out to make a big deal out of this. If there was something she didn’t know, she’d pop a question. Say she’d see something different from the way we’d see it, she’s say something. But not like she was trying to show you up, not like some others.
It was negocio, man. Business.
And the way she trusted you, too, and her own ways of doing, saying things … I think that’s why she and Jehu get along so well. Got to be.
But as I’ve been saying all along, I don’t swim in those waters, at all. Now I’ll see Jehu at the Blue Bar, like I said, ’cause he is the way he is, a natural. He doesn’t claim to know everything, and you’ll see him sitting and talking and listening to the old men, los viejitos. Men like Chago Leal’s dad, or Garrido, or Dirty Barron himself, and old Echevarría when he used to hold court there. And sometimes he drops in with Rafe, hellos all around, one or the other will stand a round, but that’s plain old friendship. We’re not talking of acting like a big shot or buying rounds like politicians.
At other times, you won’t see him there for weeks at a time. But he shows up, sticks around.
So he and Rebecca they both got their jobs … Like that one we did for doña Viola, where we came out just fine: we finished that office building, the city inspector passed on it, and then the county guy, Solís, I think his name is, he signed away on it too. It was a good job, and we guaranteed it, every time. Well, when we worked on one of the old stores and on one of the new ones, which we finished ten days ahead of schedule, and both inspectors gave their okays again, doña Viola drove up to my shop, parked her car and in she comes, handing me a five-hundred dollar check! Had one for Chago, too. So how do you think we felt? Right! And know what we did then? Passed some of the bonus money to the two apprentices. Made me feel pretty good too.
It was good business, I know that, and Rebecca Escobar—and I guess I better start calling her Rebecca Malacara, right? Anyway, she was there with doña Viola a little while later and shook our hands. Business.
Sure, good business.