NEW ON THE JOB
©1999 by Kathryn D. Green
Felipe Cortez sat on the hard, wooden driver's seat next to Padre Bernardo as the priest held the burro's reins. The dark-brown donkey pulled the church's carreta, passing farmers taking their wares to town. A gentle breeze ruffled the little boy's brown hair and caressed his face. The mid-afternoon sun slid in and out from behind a bank of clouds.
Felipe saw the farmers talking as they passed the cart, but he couldn't hear what they were saying. The seven-year-old boy was totally deaf and unable to utter a sound.
What will it be like to live at a hacienda? he wondered silently. What will Don Alejandro be like?
Felipe had been hired by the de la Vegas the day before. The de la Vega family was the wealthiest and most influential in southern California, and one of the wealthiest in the whole territory. As an indentured servant, Felipe was to serve Don Diego and his father as houseboy until he was 25 years old. Three months before, he had lost his parents, his speech, and his hearing in one of the revolution's last battles; three days later, Don Diego and his tutor had found him and brought him to California. After two months of failed efforts to find the boy a home, Don Diego had persuaded his father, Don Alejandro, to hire Felipe as a houseboy. The indentures had been signed the day before. Now, Padre Bernardo was taking the boy to his new job and home, as he had promised.
Felipe felt so nervous, his stomach churned and his palms felt moist. He didn't know what to expect. He had never been inside a hacienda before; in fact, until Don Diego had brought him to California, he had never even seen one. He had known, of course, that caballeros lived in haciendas. His late father, a peon, had worked for a caballero as a field hand during certain parts of the year. But Felipe himself had never seen a hacienda until recently. Now, he was going to live at one, and he didn't have the least idea of what it would be like. He sucked his index finger for a moment and stared at the blue, cloudless sky.
He glanced up at the padre, who looked at him and chuckled. "Nervous, son?" Felipe removed his finger from his mouth and nodded.
"There's no need to be," Padre Bernardo assured him; Felipe fixed his eyes on the priest's face to decipher his words. "The de la Vegas are kind, good people. You will like them, I promise. They will take good care of you, and will not assign hard tasks." Felipe nodded to indicate that he had understood.
Felipe glanced down at the dark-brown, wooden rosary hanging from his neck. His mother had given it to him just before she had died. Ever since he could remember, she had knelt in front of the family altar every night, praying the rosary with great reverence; when Felipe was old enough, she had taught him to do the same thing. Now the rosary was his, and with it came the responsibility to use it faithfully and to leave it to his own children someday. Felipe sighed as he fingered its smooth beads. How he missed his mother!
A tap on the shoulder caught Felipe's attention; he glanced up at the priest. "I don't need to tell you to be a good boy, work hard, and all that sort of thing." Padre Bernardo smiled. "I'm sure you'll do all that anyway. But please remember, Felipe, that you are a ward of the church. And behave accordingly, all right?" Felipe nodded his acquiescence.
"Good boy." A pause. "And don't forget, you're going to have your first communion soon--when I'm satisfied that you're ready for it, that is." Felipe nodded again. "And now--look ahead!"
Felipe glanced ahead. He saw a massive, white, rectangular building in the distance. He stared at it, then gaped back at the padre.
The priest chuckled at the boy's awestruck expression. "Si, Felipe. That is the de la Vega hacienda."
As the two approached the building, Felipe couldn't stop gaping at it. It had a red-tile roof. A white stone fence, taller than Felipe, surrounded the front of the house. Two white picket gates stood in the fence. One of the gates stood in front of the shiny, dark-brown door.
Felipe saw a man wearing a white cotton shirt and a dark-brown vest standing in front of the gate. "That's the butler," the priest explained. "No doubt, he's going to take your things to your quarters."
Felipe looked back at the soft leather bag that contained his possessions. Before their departure, the priest had collected some clothes for Felipe and given the boy his own wooden crucifix.
The priest pulled the reins, and the burro stopped in front of the gate. The door swung open, and Don Diego strode down the porch steps, followed by his father. Diego had donned a bright blue tailcoat over a snow-white, ruffled silk shirt and a navy-blue silk cravat.
The priest climbed off the driver's seat, then lifted Felipe and set him on the ground. The butler leaned over the side, grasped the bag, and carried it around the side of the house.
Don Diego bent down and hugged Felipe. "Hola, amigo," he said; Felipe smiled his greeting. "I'm so glad to see you!"
"So am I." Don Alejandro kissed the boy's cheek. He wore the same grayish-blue frock coat, blue satin vest, white, ruffled linen shirt, and black silk cravat he had worn the day before, when he had met Felipe in the priest's study. Both men, Felipe noticed, had dabbed on some men's cologne; the fragrant smell wafted toward the little boy's nose.
Felipe glanced up at the priest, who smiled and made the sign of the cross over his forehead. "I'll see you at church, Felipe," Padre Bernardo told him.
"Won't you come in for a cup of coffee, Padre?" Don Alejandro clasped his hands behind his back as he spoke.
The priest smiled and shook his head. "That would be nice, Alejandro, but I have to visit the Herreras. One of their children is very sick."
Don Diego frowned in concern. "Please give them our sympathy, would you?"
"I will," Padre Bernardo told him. "Meanwhile, adios." He climbed back onto the cart and drove away.
Felipe watched the cart till it had disappeared over the horizon, then turned back to his new patróns. "Well, Felipe," Don Alejandro said, "suppose we take you on a tour of the house, and then we'll show you the hut where you're going to sleep. You'll start your new duties tomorrow morning, after breakfast." Felipe nodded.
Don Diego put his arm around the boy's shoulder and led him through the gate. Felipe stopped to look around. The grounds inside the gate consisted of bare dirt. A round table, surrounded by chairs and a high-backed bench, stood next to the porch and the front wall. Ivy trailed the front wall; small trees stood against it; and beds of flowers stood on each side of the porch. The flowers swayed in the breeze.
The de la Vegas led Felipe inside. He froze in the entrance hall. His mouth dropped open. Santa Maria! the little boy thought. This is so nice!
The walls were painted a dull yellow. The entrance to each room consisted of straight sides and, at the top, a half-circle. The floors consisted of a smooth, gleaming, whitish rock of some kind. Thick heavy cloths covered some of the floors. Felipe bent over to rub his fingers on the floor. It felt cold and smooth.
Directly in front of Felipe, a long table, covered by a glistening white cloth, spanned the room it stood in. Six massive chairs--one at each end, and two on each side--surrounded it. Two silver figures stood on the table, one at each end; several tall, white candles stood in each one. A vase of flowers stood in the middle of the table.
A big, dark-brown structure lined with shelves stood against the wall behind the long table; shiny plates lay in rows on each shelf. Three pictures hung on the wall: one above the structure and one on each side of it. At each end of the room, a door led into a hallway.
"That's the dining room," Don Diego told Felipe. "That's where my father and I eat. And guests, when we have them. You will eat your meals in the kitchen with the other servants. We'll take you there soon and introduce you to the others." He adjusted his cravat as he spoke.
Felipe stared into the room to his left. A heavy cloth covered most of the floor. A blue, shiny couch stood in the middle; two blue, shiny armchairs framed the couch, one at each end. A structure similar to the one in the dining room stood against the wall; a different kind of wooden structure stood at the end of the room, facing the wall. A chair stood in front of it.
The room to Felipe's right also had a rough cloth spanning the gleaming white floor. A square window opened onto the front grounds; a fireplace stood at the right end of the room. Black shelves were built into the wall across the room from the window; white shelves were built into the wall on each side of the fireplace. Leather-bound books filled the shelves. A couch stood underneath the window.
"The room to your right is the library," Don Diego told him. "That's where my father and I keep our books. The room to your left is the drawing room. That's where we sometimes sit to relax, or have company."
The de la Vegas proceeded to show the boy every room in the house, as well the enclosed patio. Felipe had never seen so many rooms in one house, not in his whole life! In his wildest dreams, he had never imagined that any place would have so many rooms, or such pretty ones.
The last room the de la Vegas showed him was the kitchen. Stone tiles lined the floor, Felipe noticed. A plump woman stood at the fireplace, stirring something in a huge iron pot; the butler and several other men and women sat at a rough, wooden table or milled around. They all stopped what they were doing to stare at Felipe. An aromatic smell of cornmeal, mixed with a savory smell Felipe couldn't recognize, wafted toward his nose. The little boy sniffed. It smelled delicious.
"Felipe, this is the kitchen. This is the room in which our meals and those of the servants are cooked every day. And this is where you'll eat your meals," Don Alejandro told him. Felipe nodded; Don Alejandro glanced at the other servants and inserted his thumbs into his vest pockets.
"This is our new servant boy, Felipe," Don Alejandro told them. He introduced Felipe to the other servants. With a warm smile, each servant greeted the little boy, who smiled shyly in return.
"Maria, would you be so good as to give Felipe something to eat?" Don Diego asked the cook. She nodded and set on the table a brownish-red clay plate of tamales and a clear glass of milk. Next to the plate of tamales, she laid on the table an object resembling a wooden stick with several pointed sticks at each end. Felipe wondered what it was; he had seen such objects served with his meals at the mission, but he had not used them. "That's a fork," Don Diego told him, seeing his puzzled expression.
Felipe slowly ate the tamales with his fingers, and drank his goat's milk. As soon as he had swallowed the last bite, a man and woman entered the kitchen through the back door. Beads of sweat rolled down their foreheads, and the old familiar smell of hard work emanated from their clothes.
"Ah!" Don Diego gestured. "Felipe, may I present our laundress and one of our gardeners? This is Pablo and Juana Gomez; they live in the hut you'll be sleeping in. Pablo, Juana, this is our new houseboy, Felipe." He turned back to Felipe. "Until I return from Madrid--you'll be 12 or 13, by then--you will sleep with them. Afterwards, you'll sleep in the house for the rest of your indenture."
Felipe nodded and glanced back at the couple. The man had stooped shoulders and gray, thinning hair, and he wore a worn, patched, light-brown cotton shirt and a pair of white cotton trousers. To Felipe's dismay, the man pursed his lips and sighed, while scratching his chest. The woman, who was also gray-haired, wore a green cotton blouse and a gray woolen skirt. Clenching her fists, she shook her head and scowled fiercely at Felipe, then at Don Alejandro.
Felipe winced; evidently, he was not going to be welcome in their hut. Why does she look so mean? Felipe wondered.
"I cannot stand children!" The woman folded her arms across her chest. "I don't want one in my hut! I'm the one who'll be stuck lookin' after him!"
"I don't really want him, either." The man shook his head. "Neither one of us is fond of children."
Felipe glanced at Don Alejandro. The elderly caballero folded his own arms across his chest, pursed his lips, and shook his head at the unfriendly couple. "Pablo, Juana, I'm afraid he will have to sleep in your hut. Until he's 13, anyway." Don Alejandro paused. "There's no other place to put him; all the other huts are too crowded."
"It's only at night, Juana, that you'll be responsible for him." Don Diego clasped his hands behind his back. "And he won't be any trouble to you. Felipe is a well-behaved, obedient boy."
Don Alejandro nodded and squeezed Felipe's shoulder. "I do not ask you to take on this extra job for nothing, Juana. I will pay you both a few pesos extra--if you'll take on the job without complaining!" He shook his finger at them and looked hard at Juana.
With a sigh, the man leaned against the wall. "Juana and I can always use extra pesos." The woman glared at him, but he ignored her. "If you'll promise that the boy'll be no trouble to us, patrón, we'll do our duty by him."
Felipe gulped. He did not relish having to sleep with these people. The woman, especially, looked mean. Felipe sighed and hung his head.
A hand rested on the boy's shoulder; Felipe looked up to see Don Alejandro gazing down at him. "Felipe, the same thing goes for you. You've got no choice, my boy, but to sleep with these people. If, in the future, there's an opening in one of the other huts, I'll move you. Until then, you must sleep with the Gomezes." Reluctantly, Felipe nodded.
"Come." Don Alejandro pointed at the door. "We'll take you out to see the servants' huts and show you the one belonging to Pablo and Juana. Then we'll take you on a tour of the rancho."
The de la Vegas led Felipe outside and took him to a nearby cluster of adobe huts. As they did, Felipe wrinkled his nose as he looked at the empty desert surrounding the huts. He glanced back at Don Diego, who chuckled and rubbed the boy's forehead.
"The desert isn't pretty, I know." Don Diego patted Felipe's shoulder. "It looks bare most of the time. But wait till the rains hit--then it will be in full bloom. With lovely flowers everywhere." Felipe nodded. A cool breeze caressed his cheeks as he gazed at the desert.
The de la Vegas took Felipe to a hut at the right end of the cluster. "Felipe, this will be your hut until you're a few years older," Don Alejandro told him. "But you'll only be out here at night, after supper. The rest of the time, you'll either be with us or in the kitchen--mostly with us."
They grabbed a piece of leather string that hung out of a hole in the door. "This is the latchstring," Don Diego told him. "When you want to open the door, just pull the latchstring and the door opens." He demonstrated as he spoke, and the door swung open. Felipe entered the hut.
Like the hut Felipe and his parents had lived in, this one consisted of one room and had no window. Unlike the other hut, however, this one was made of adobe and had a clay-tile roof and a stone-tile floor. Two rough, wooden benches surrounded the rough, wooden table. A fireplace stood in the wall opposite from the door. Narrow bunk beds, covered with woolen bedcovers, were built into the right wall. Since the only light came through the open doorway at the moment, the hut was dark. There were no lamps or candles. A thick shaft of sunlight shone through the doorway onto the floor and on the table.
This hut sure is nicer than the one Mamá and Papá had, Felipe thought, smiling. The hut he had previously lived in had consisted of wattle-and-daub walls, a straw-thatch roof, and a hard-packed dirt floor. Felipe and his family had sat and slept on reed mats, and his mother had cooked the family's meals on a fire pit, made of stones, arranged in a circle on the floor in a corner of the hut. When there had been food to cook, that is. Sometimes, the crops had failed, and the family had gone hungry. During those times, Felipe's stomach had ached incessantly with hunger.
Don Diego showed Felipe a box that rested in a corner of the room opposite from the bunk beds. Felipe opened it and found four cotton shirts--two white, one blue and white, and one brown--four white cotton trousers, two woolen sashes, four loincloths, and two cotton nightshirts arranged inside. All his new clothes were homespun and unbleached. A wooden crucifix lay on top of the sashes.
On nails overhead, the boy found a small straw sombrero, a woolen serape, and a wool poncho. Two extra pairs of woven leather sandals lay on the floor beneath.
"Come, Felipe." Don Diego grasped his shoulder. "We still have the ranch to show you. We can't show you all of it, today--it's much too big. But we'll show you some portions."
The de la Vegas showed him the fields, the orchards, and the barns and stables. They introduced him to some of the vaqueros who took care of the horses and cattle.
"Miguel, permit me to introduce Felipe, the boy I told you about," Don Alejandro told one of the vaqueros. "Felipe, this is Miguel, the vaqueros' foreman. He has charge of our horses and is in charge of all the other vaqueros; they have to obey him."
"Si." Wiping his sweaty forehead, the man nodded at the boy. "Welcome, Felipe." He did not smile.
Bewildered, Felipe looked up at Don Alejandro, who chuckled. "Don't mind him, amigo. Miguel is rather gruff, but he's an excellent vaquero. The others obey him readily."
Miguel nodded agreement. A hint of a smile crept into his eyes as he gazed at Felipe. "Do you know how to ride, muchacho?" Felipe shook his head.
"Felipe's father had a burro, Miguel. No horses," Don Diego explained.
Miguel nodded. "Whenever you want to teach the boy to ride, patrón, just tell me."
Don Alejandro nodded. "Si. I will."
Don Diego glanced at the orange sun, now dipping to the horizon. "Father, it'll be dark, soon. Shouldn't we take Felipe back?"
The de la Vegas said good-bye to Miguel, and Felipe waved at him as they left. "It's almost time for supper, Felipe," Don Alejandro said, "so we'll just leave you in the kitchen. When you've eaten, go with Pablo and Juana to their hut and stay there till morning. After breakfast, come to the drawing room I showed you; Diego and I will be there. We'll start teaching you your duties."
The de la Vegas left Felipe in the kitchen and went to the dining room. Jonathan Spencer, Don Diego's tutor, was staying at the tavern for a time, to catch up on his paperwork, so the de la Vegas took their seats at the dining table alone. "Son, would you ask the blessing?" Don Alejandro asked.
The two men bowed their heads. Don Diego prayed, "Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, amen."
"Amen," Don Alejandro echoed. Father and son made the sign of the cross. For a moment, while a maid brought their food, Diego gazed at the glistening white tablecloth, laden with gleaming china dishes, silverware, and crystal goblets.
As the de la Vegas ate dinner, Don Alejandro asked Don Diego to explain to him again how he and Señor Spencer had found Felipe.
Don Diego leaned back and sighed. "It's a long story, Father. Are you sure you want to hear it again?"
His father nodded. "Yes, I do."
"All right." Don Diego took a deep breath. "It all began, only a week after we had left Guadalajara..."
Distant explosions startled Don Diego's horse. The frightened mare reared and whinnied. Jonathan Spencer grabbed the light-brown horse's reins and pulled its head down.
"Easy, girl! Easy," Don Diego said, soothingly, patting the mare's neck. "It's all right, Esperanza. You're safe. Easy." The horse soon calmed down.
The cultured British tutor glanced north. "We'd better stay put, Diego." He looked at his gold timepiece. "Those explosions are coming from cannons. There's a battle going on, north of us." He patted his perspiring forehead with a silk handkerchief as he spoke.
Don Diego nodded, sighing. He didn't like to lose the time; he was eager to get back to Los Angeles. As it was, it would take Señor Spencer, the driver, and himself at least three more weeks to reach California; this battle would only prolong their trip.
We'll just have to stay here and make the best of it, Don Diego thought, as he dismounted. Perhaps, the battle won't last long. He sighed. It's just as well Rafael stayed in Guadalajara. Another cannonball exploded north, followed by a steady stream of gunshots. Don Diego's spurs jingled as he led the mare to a nearby bush. His brown woolen cape hung limply down his back.
Don Diego and his tutor were returning to Los Angeles from Guadalajara, where the two gentlemen and Diego's cousin, Rafael, had attended the funeral of Don Diego's uncle. Don Alejandro had been too sick to accompany his nephew on the journey and say good-bye to his brother, so he had sent Don Diego to do it for him. Diego's uncle had died two weeks before, and Don Diego, his tutor, and Don Rafael had stayed for the funeral and the reading of his uncle's will. His uncle had bequeathed some of his possessions to Don Alejandro and to Don Rafael, who owned a horse ranch in Santa Barbara. Those possessions were now stored in the supply wagon with Don Diego's and Señor Spencer's own things. Both gentlemen wore capes, and Señor Spencer wore a coal-black top hat.
Suddenly, after Don Diego had tied the horse's reins to the bush, a louder explosion shook the ground violently, frightening the horses again. The violent shaking tipped the supply wagon on its side, knocking the driver into the grass. It nearly knocked the other two men off their feet.
"Easy, Esperanza! Easy!" Don Diego patted the mare's neck again. When the horses had calmed down, Diego raced toward his stunned driver, who sat in the grass, rubbing his head.
"Jose! Are you all right?"
The driver nodded, and Don Diego helped him to his feet. "S--si, señor. Just barely." The driver straightened his wool poncho as he spoke.
Don Diego patted the driver's arm and retrieved the man's straw sombrero for him. Don Diego turned toward his tutor. "Santa Maria! That was a close one."
Señor Spencer nodded, his face grim. "So close, it broke one of the wheels off the supply wagon." He inserted his thumbs into his vest pockets as he spoke.
Diego looked at the wagon and caught his breath in dismay. The right front wheel lay flat in the grass, broken in half. Half the crates and trunks had fallen out; they lay scattered in the grass.
Don Diego and the driver strode toward the broken wheel and bent over to examine it. The driver shook his head. "I can't fix it, patrón."
"None of us can." Don Diego turned to Señor Spencer. "It looks as if we're stranded, Señor Spencer."
The tutor nodded. "Si. One of us will have to go to one of the nearby towns, and find a wheelwright to come out here and fix that wheel. When the battle's over, I'll go. It'll take about a day or more to get there, and another day or more to get back." He glanced north; thick clouds of dust from the battle blocked his vision. "I fear there will no one in the pueblo north of us left to help us, when the battle's over."
Don Diego nodded agreement. With a sigh, he trudged toward a nearby tree and leaned against it. Cannonball explosions and constant gunshots rang out nonstop. Don Diego just barely heard shouts and terrified screams.
Who's winning this battle? he wondered. The government troops or the rebel soldiers? He sighed. Whoever wins the battle, it'll be the peasants who lose. They're caught in the middle, and they can't escape. If any of them survive, it'll be a miracle. Diego yanked a fine linen handkerchief out of his inside jacket pocket to wipe the sweat off his face.
Later that day, the battle ended. The explosions and gunshots ceased abruptly. An eerie quiet reined over the Mexican desert, and the clouds of dust gradually dissipated. Suddenly, the pueblo exploded and caught fire. Don Diego gaped in horror at the roaring inferno; it blazed for an hour, then gradually burned itself out. "The government troops must have set it on fire," he muttered.
The three men made camp near the supply wagon. In the morning, Señor Spencer rode east.
Don Diego and the driver stayed with the wagon for the rest of the day and all night. The next morning, Señor Spencer returned with a wheelwright.
The man worked hard for the next several hours, fitting a new wagon wheel to the front, right-hand edge of the supply wagon. That afternoon, Don Diego paid him, and he left.
Jonathan Spencer glanced at his timepiece again. "It's too late to travel any further, today, Diego. We'll spend one more night here, then leave in the morning." Don Diego nodded his acquiescence, glancing at the wall of storm clouds approaching. Rain drenched the three men until sunset.
The following morning, the three men slept late. After a leisurely breakfast cooked over a campfire, they re-packed the wagon. "Let's go." Don Diego patted some men's cologne on his freshly shaved face. "I'm eager to get home." He tied on his cape and mounted Esperanza.
For the next hour, the men traveled without stopping. At Jonathan Spencer's insistence, they skirted the scene of the battle, convinced that no one had survived. Don Diego and his tutor sat straight and tall in their saddles. From time to time, they passed groups of dead soldiers lying sprawled on the ground.
Finally, Don Diego turned to his tutor. "Let's stop a minute. I'm thirsty." The men stopped, and Don Diego wiped his face with the handkerchief.
The driver climbed down and reached into the wagon to get a canteen. Don Diego opened it and took a large swallow, then handed it to his tutor to drink. Señor Spencer gulped a mouthful.
After the driver had drunk the remainder, he dropped it into the wagon, and Don Diego mounted his horse, his spurs jingling. For a moment, he just sat astride Esperanza, wondering how he should describe his uncle's death to his father. A breeze arose, ruffling his coal-black hair. He glanced down at his yellowish-beige charro jacket and his white broadcloth trousers.
"Patrón!" The driver startled Don Diego out of his reverie.
Don Diego nearly jumped out of his skin. He stared at the driver. "What is it, Jose? You startled me! Is something wrong?"
"Si, Don Diego. Look!" The driver pointed to their left.
Don Diego swiveled his head toward the spot the driver had pointed at, and froze. Another group of dead soldiers lay sprawled in the grass, close to a tree. Underneath the tree, a little peasant boy sat with his knees bent upward. He was resting his head on his knees.
A boy! Don Diego thought, stricken. A little boy! He gaped at the child. His parents must have been killed in the battle, three days ago. No doubt, they were caught in the crossfire. Don Diego swallowed, as sorrow and compassion surged in him. Poor boy, he's lost! We must help him. It's a miracle he's alive!
Out loud, he called, "Little boy, are you lost? Where are your parents?"
The boy did not answer. He did not even raise his head. There was no sign that he had heard the caballero.
"Little boy!" Don Diego shouted. "Muchacho! Where are your parents?"
"Answer us, amigo!" Señor Spencer shouted.
Still no answer.
An earsplitting gunshot behind Don Diego's head startled him and made him wince; he had to pull hard on Esperanza's reins to keep the mare from rearing up and throwing him. When Don Diego had calmed Esperanza, he whirled around to glare at Señor Spencer, who held his horse's reins in one hand and a smoking pistol in the other. "Señor! What did you do that for?!"
Señor Spencer nodded toward the boy. Don Diego turned around. The boy sat in the same exact position as he had before the gunshot. He did not even stir.
"The boy cannot hear us," Señor Spencer explained. "He's stone-deaf."
Don Diego's stomach tightened as the news sank in. A deaf boy--possibly a deaf-mute boy--orphaned three days before, and lost on the desert! Pain for the child settled in his stomach like a heavy stone.
Don Diego dismounted and handed the reins to his tutor. "Here." To Jose, he said, "Unpack the food crate. The child is probably hungry and thirsty."
"Si, patrón."
Don Diego slowly approached the little boy, his spurs jingling in the breeze. The child still did not move. His right hand lay on his knee, palm up, and he rested his face on it. Don Diego did not look at the dead soldiers he stepped around. His full attention was fixed on the little boy.
When Don Diego reached him, he stood in front of the boy, deep sadness surging up. How frightened the child must be, and what a cruel ordeal he had been through! And what grief he must be fighting.
Slowly, the boy raised his head and wiped a trail of tears off his dirt-smudged face. He gazed up at Don Diego, deep pain and terror etched on his elfin face. The knees of his white, homespun cotton trousers were smudged, as was the front of his blue-and-white-striped, homespun cotton shirt. His expressive eyes were brown, and so was his hair. A sweaty stink emanated from his clothes and his skin; Diego steeled himself to ignore it.
He can't be any older than seven, Don Diego thought, bending down. He gently picked the boy up and lifted him upward toward his own chest. As Don Diego clasped the child against himself and straightened up, the boy wrapped his arms around Don Diego's neck and rested his chin on the caballero's shoulder. Patting the boy's back, Don Diego carried him toward the supply wagon and his waiting companions. There, he found the driver opening the food crate and Señor Spencer making a campfire.
"I can feel his ribs," Don Diego told his tutor. "This boy hasn't eaten in three days. Before we can do anything else, we've got to feed him. Then let's find out if he can speak or read lips. We've got to find out what his name is and what's happened to his parents." The other men nodded agreement.
"I'll heat some chicken broth for the boy," Señor Spencer said.
Don Diego nodded his thanks, then smiled at the boy. "Don't worry, amigo. You're not lost any more; you're safe, now. You're with us, and we're going to take good care of you. Everything's going to be all right."
The boy just gazed at him with a blank expression. Don Diego furrowed his eyebrows. "Can you speak, muchacho? Can you understand anything I'm saying?"
The boy did not answer. He just gazed at Don Diego with a bewildered, uncomprehending expression. He opened his mouth to say something, but even though he tried so hard that his face turned red in the effort, nothing came out. Don Diego's stomach tightened, and the other men shook their heads.
With a sigh, Don Diego set the boy down in the wagon. The boy sat with his knees scrunched upward and sucked his index finger. "I was afraid of that," Don Diego said. "He can't speak, and he can't read lips. For all we know, he may not know any words."
He shook his head sadly and climbed into the wagon. As he crouched next to the boy, the driver handed Don Diego a tortilla. Don Diego gave it to the boy, who crammed part of it into his mouth...
Don Diego leaned against the chair to catch his breath. Deep sadness etched Don Alejandro's face as he stared down at his gleaming china plate.
"Poor boy." The elderly caballero shook his head. "To be caught in the crossfire of a battle and barely escape with his life; to lose his parents in the same battle; to be lost on the desert for three days, without food or water, unable to hear or to scream for help; not knowing if he would be found, let alone survive--" Don Alejandro sighed and looked at Don Diego. "I agree, my son; his survival is a miracle. The good Lord has saved him for some purpose."
Don Diego nodded. "The good Lord has also chosen you and me to raise him, Father. I mean to do a good job."
"You will, son." Don Alejandro smiled at his son. "We will both do our very best for Felipe. He will never be unloved as long as we live." Don Diego nodded and smiled.
"Father, with your permission, I'd like to take Felipe to Dr. Hernandez. Maybe there's a cure for his deafness."
Don Alejandro nodded. "We'll take him tomorrow or the next day. But don't be disappointed, son, if the doctor tells us there isn't."
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Felipe sat on an unyielding pine bench and ate a bowl of chicken soup. As he swallowed a mouthful of the delicious broth, he decided to be very good. Maybe, if he was very polite and friendly, Juana Gomez might soften toward him. Somehow, he wasn't so worried about her husband, Pablo. Staring down into the brownish-red clay bowl, he silently prayed that the Gomezes would like him.
After supper, he followed Pablo and Juana to their hut. Darkness covered the sky, and clusters of stars glittered. A cool breeze brushed the boy's cheeks.
As soon as they had entered the hut, the man lit the candles and threw some wood into the fireplace. Felipe stood in a corner and watched. When the couple sat down at the pine table, Felipe approached them and wrapped his arms around the woman's chest in a hug.
"Go away!" The woman gripped Felipe's shoulders and shoved him toward the bunk beds. "If I want to be hugged, boy, I'll ask for it! Just leave me alone!"
Felipe sighed. He sensed the woman meant it. He approached the man, who shook his head irritably. "All right, Felipe, don't bother me!" He pointed at a straw mat that lay rolled on the floor, across the room from the bunk beds. You'll sleep on that mat. Roll it out, now, and stay there." The gardener sat slumped on the bench and stared down at the table.
Sighing, Felipe nodded and trudged toward the straw mat. As he squatted, he pressed his hands on the stone-tile floor for balance; it felt cold and hard to his hands. He unrolled the mat and sat down on it, Indian-style. At the table, the man poured a liquid into a clay cup. Grasping the cup, he gulped its contents. Felipe suspected it was pulque. The woman, meanwhile, folded her arms on the table and scowled.
Felipe pulled his rosary out of his trousers and gazed down at it. Remembering his mother's injunction, he prayed, silently examining his conscience while doing so, as his late mother had taught him. As he approached the last decade on the rosary, he thought about his mother, Consuela, and how she used to pray with the same rosary.
I miss Mommy, Felipe thought. She was the best mamá in the world. Why'd she have to die? It's not fair!
Thick, choking, heavy grief settled on the boy and rose to his throat. Being hated by Juana and disliked by Pablo made him feel lonely for his mother, who had always been kind and gentle, yet firm, with him. He laid the rosary on the floor, scrunched up his legs, and rested his head on his knees. Convulsive, yet silent, sobs forced their way out of his throat. He cried and cried. Tears streamed down his face.
A hand rested on his shoulder; Felipe raised his tear-stained face to find Pablo squatting in front of him. Pablo wrapped the boy in his arms and patted his back as the boy sobbed. The sweaty smell of hard work, so reminiscent of his parents and godparents, filled the little boy's nose. Felipe felt comforted.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Pablo handed him a cotton handkerchief; sniffling, Felipe wiped the tears off his face and blew his nose. He gave Pablo a look that thanked him, as he handed the gardener his handkerchief.
Without a word, the stoop-shouldered gardener patted Felipe's shoulder and rose to his feet. As he trudged back toward the table, Juana glared at him. "I might have known you'd let that muchacho wrap you around his little finger!" she hissed as her husband plopped down on his bench. With a shake of her head, she scowled at the little boy, who sat on the mat with his legs scrunched upward, sucking his index finger. He winced.
Pablo sighed and looked at Felipe. "The boy's in grief, Juana. He cries because he misses his parents. And being pushed away by us must make it worse."
"That boy's goin' to be nothin' but trouble!"
"The de la Vegas don't think so."
"Then why would no one else take him? Don Diego took him all over the territory!"
Pablo pursed his lips. "Because he's deaf, Juana! That scared everyone away. But he's a good boy. I sense it." Juana snorted.
Pablo looked at Felipe and rose to his feet. "Bedtime." He approached the wooden box, opened it, and took out one of the nightshirts. He tossed it to Felipe. "Put it on and go to bed. Use your serape for cover."
Felipe removed his clothes and put on one of the homespun cotton nightshirts. Draping the woolen serape over himself, he lay facedown on the straw mat and folded his arms under his head.
For a long time, Felipe lay still, thinking about the events of that day. Pieces of straw dug into his hands and arms, and tickled his nose. Finally, he rolled onto his side, facing the wall, and silently said his bedtime prayers. He then sucked his index finger.
Felipe thought about the battle that had killed his parents. He thought about the three days he had wandered the desert following the battle. He had been terrified...he had eaten nothing...he had drunk some water only once, during a rainstorm...he had wept repeatedly, terrified and grief-stricken. And the nightmares--the horrible nightmares! They had plagued him for three months, now; every night, Don Diego had had to wake him up and hold him tightly until the terror had passed.
Recently, it seemed as if he was having those nightmares even when he was awake. He might see a soldier, a gun, or some desert plant--and suddenly, in his mind, he experienced that battle again. He could almost hear the cannonblasts, the gunshots, the shouts, and the screams--and then he would scream, too. In his mind, he could hear his own voice as he screamed shrilly for help. Gradually, he would become aware of arms around him--arms enfolding him, clasping him to a chest--hands patting his back. He would then become aware of a rocking sensation. He would press his nose into Don Diego's linen shirt as the caballero rocked him in an effort to bring Felipe back to the here and now. The same thing had happened at the mission, more than once; there, it was Padre Bernardo who soothed him as he relived the battle.
Felipe fervently hoped he would not dream about the battle, now! He prayed silently that he wouldn't, and tried to go to sleep. Gradually, he felt sleepy. He yawned.
Suddenly, a deafening cannon blast startled him. Felipe shot up on his mat to stare wildly around.
He was not in the hut with the Gomezes. It had disappeared, and so had they. He was back in Mexico; the soldiers were fighting. Thick clouds of dust drifted everywhere, choking the boy and blocking his vision. Another cannonblast made him jump.
"Felipe!" a shrill female voice screamed. Felipe whirled around. His mother and father stood on a hill quite a distance from him. They gestured wildly toward their son.
"Felipe, come on! Get over here before you die!" Consuela screamed.
"Felipe! Get yourself over here, right now!" Juan roared.
Felipe gulped and raced toward them. As he approached the hill, his parents began to fade. "Don't go!" Felipe screamed. "Please don't go! Don't leave me here!"
"Felipe! Get over here!" Consuela looked transparent; Felipe could see the trees and rocks through her.
"Mommy!" Felipe's breath came in gasps. "Wait for me!"
It was no use; Juan and Consuela were fading away. As Felipe reached the hill, they disappeared from sight. "Mommy!" Felipe screamed. "Mommy! Come back! Mommy!"
Felipe shot up again. Mommy! he screamed soundlessly. He pressed his back against the cold adobe wall and stared wildly around the dark room surrounding him. Mommy! The air felt frigid. He shivered uncontrollably. Only glowing embers remained of the fire that had blazed earlier.
Sobbing, he jumped to his feet and raced toward the bunk beds. The nightmare had terrified Felipe; he needed comforting. His mother had always comforted him after a nightmare.
"What is it?" Pablo, who slept on the bottom bunk, gazed sleepily at the little boy. "Oh--bad dream, huh?" Felipe nodded.
Juana peeked over the edge of her bunk to glare at Felipe; her lips moved. He couldn't tell what she was saying in the dark, but it sure wasn't anything that would make him feel better. Clearly, she was annoyed at him for waking her up.
Pablo, meanwhile, rose to his feet. He lifted Felipe in his arms and carried him back to the mat. He hung the serape back on its nail, then picked up a folded woolen blanket lying on a shelf. He laid it across the boy, then returned to his bunk.
He paused to frown at his wife, who was saying something Felipe couldn't decipher; he then said something to her. Though Felipe couldn't make out their words, he sensed that the woman was saying something nasty and that the man was saying something in Felipe's defense. Felipe laid his head down and closed his eyes. Slowly, he felt sleepy again. With the blanket covering him, Felipe felt warm.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes. It was morning. Pablo was shaking his shoulder. "Get up!" Pablo ordered. "Time to get dressed and have breakfast."
Felipe yawned and rose to his feet. While Señora Gomez folded the blanket, the little boy put on a white cotton shirt and a pair of white cotton trousers. After he had put on his woven-leather sandals, he left the hut and raced to the hacienda kitchen, followed by the Gomezes.
The servants bowed their heads to ask the blessing on the food. Since Felipe couldn't hear it being said, he asked his own blessing. Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord, the boy prayed silently. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, amen. A tap on his shoulder prompted him to raise his head.
"Felipe," Maria said, as she set a brownish-red clay plate before the boy, "yesterday, you ate your tamales with your hands and your soup with a tortilla. Is that how you and your parents ate in Mexico?" Felipe nodded.
"Si, I thought so." Maria sat down in front of him. "You see this spoon and fork?" She held them up in front of Felipe. "Here in this house, you must use these to eat your food with. It's the custom." She demonstrated by sticking the prongs of the wooden fork into the food on her plate and tearing off a chunk. As Felipe watched, she inserted the chunk into her mouth.
Felipe felt resentful. What difference did it make how he ate his food? His parents used to eat in the same way; he had learned it from them. There's nothin' wrong with usin' a tortilla! he thought, pursing his lips. Why do I have to use this stuff?!
"Something is wrong?" Maria looked at him, an amused smile tracing her face.
Felipe told her, with gestures, that everyone he knew at home ate with tortillas.
Maria nodded. She rose to her feet and circled the table to join him. "There's those here that do that, too. On farms and other places. But in a gentleman's house, you have to be able to use forks and spoons, as well as tortillas. The de la Vegas want you to learn how, Felipe; they told us, this morning. Surely, you'll do it to please them, won't you?" She laid a hand on Felipe's shoulder and looked at him beseechingly.
Felipe sighed out his surrender. He resented the rule just given him; it seemed so unnecessary. Still, he knew he must obey this rule and any other given him, no matter what he thought. He nodded sullenly and picked up his fork with a clenched fist. He jammed the prongs into the food and tore off a chunk, then ate it; Maria nodded approvingly. Bit by bit, he ate the rest of the food in the same way.
I still don't see what's wrong with usin' tortillas, he thought, as he ate. It's so stupid!
After breakfast, the servants bowed their heads again. Silently, Felipe prayed, We give Thee thanks, Almighty God, for these and all Thy gifts, which we have received from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Felipe stood up and went to the drawing room. As he approached the entrance, he saw the de la Vegas standing near what he now knew to be the polished desk at the other end of the room, holding crystal goblets of wine they were evidently drinking. The boy paused. Don Alejandro leaned against the desk, and glanced down at his gold timepiece. Don Diego set down his wine goblet to adjust his cravat.
As Felipe watched his patróns sip their wine, he remembered how his late father would squat on the hard-packed dirt floor of the hut, drinking his pulque. Only, he didn't sip it--he would gulp it down. Juan would grasp the clay jar his pulque was kept in...with a grunt, he would pour some into his clay cup. He would gulp it down, then pour some more. As he drank, he would start talking loudly, accusing his wife of not cleaning the house properly or of failing to do something else well enough to please him. Then he would accuse Felipe of not obeying him quickly enough, of not doing his chores quickly enough or well enough, of being disrespectful. His voice would become slurred, and his hands would become clumsy. All the while, Felipe would sit quietly in the corner, saying nothing, because to do or say anything at such times was to invite attack. Juan was more likely to become violent then than at any other time, though he could--and did--become violent any time for any reason.
My papá always scared me, Felipe thought, remembering. He shuddered at the memory.
Don Diego set his goblet on the desk and glanced at Felipe. "Felipe!" He smiled and strode toward the boy. "Did you have a good night's sleep?"
When Felipe didn't answer, Don Diego looked sad. "Another nightmare?" Felipe nodded.
Don Diego knelt and hugged the boy gently. The clean, spicy scent emanating from the don's clothes, combined with the frangrant scent of men's cologne, wafted toward Felipe's nose. "Well, let's just see if we can drive away those bad dreams." He kissed Felipe's cheek and smiled kindly.
Don Alejandro smiled at the boy and clasped his hands behind his back. "You couldn't be in better hands, Felipe. My son, Diego, is a kind young man, and he loves children."
"So do you," Don Diego told him. To Felipe, he added, "My father cares about people." Don Alejandro smiled and nodded his thanks for the compliment.
Don Diego knelt again. "Your tasks will not be hard. As you get older, you'll start to receive man-size jobs to do, but for now, they will be easy to learn and easy to perform." He paused. "One thing you must always remember. When one of us is in the room, stand up unless we tell you to sit down. It's a rule for all servants, amigo, not just you. The same rule holds if we have a visitor in the house. You must stand in their presence."
Felipe nodded, though inwardly, he felt displeased. He wished he were back with his mother and father, who had never forbidden him to sit in their presence. Without thinking, he inserted his index finger into his mouth. Don Diego grasped his hand and gently pulled it, shaking his head at Felipe. Reluctantly, Felipe removed his finger and sighed.
"Another rule of this house, amigo: big boys act like big boys. Not like babies." Don Diego brushed the boy's hair out of his eyes. Don Alejandro nodded agreement, looking amused.
With a chuckle, Don Alejandro drew a folded piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket. "Right now, Felipe, I need a big boy to run this errand for me, and you're elected. I want you to take this message to Miguel for me--he's the vaquero foreman you met yesterday. He's working pretty close to the house, so you shouldn't have any trouble finding him. If you do, find another ranch hand and tell him you have a message for Miguel."
Felipe nodded and left the room. He went down the hall and out the back door. Behind the house was the stable. Inside the stable, he saw Miguel grooming one of the horses.
Felipe raced toward the vaquero and handed Miguel the note. Miguel read it, then nodded at Felipe. "Tell Don Alejandro I will do as he says."
Felipe waved good-bye and raced inside. Back in the drawing room, he told Don Alejandro, via gestures, that he had delivered the message.
"Bravo, Felipe; good boy! Gracias." Don Alejandro hugged him. "I must go to town, so I'll leave you here with Diego. This afternoon, Diego and I are going to take you to see Dr. Hernandez." Felipe stared at him. "We're going to have him look at you, to find out if your deafness--your inability to hear--can be cured." He left the room.
I hope it can, Felipe thought. I wish Señora Gomez liked me. Maybe if I wasn't deaf, she would. Felipe sighed as he thought of the events of the previous evening. Why is she so mean?
Don Diego lifted the boy in his arms. "Felipe, would you like to sit in my lap for a while?" Felipe nodded.
Don Diego carried him to the pretty blue couch and sat down. Felipe asked, via gestures, why Juana didn't like him.
Don Diego sighed. "It's not you, specifically, Felipe, whom she doesn't like. She just doesn't like children, period. Some grown-ups are like that." He sighed. "Just try to get along with her as well as you can. You can't change her, Felipe; she's too set in her ways. When you're with her, just do as you're told, and stay out of her way as much as possible."
Felipe nodded. He wished he didn't have to spend nights with Señora Gomez, but he knew he had no choice. Don Diego chucked his chin and smiled. "Felipe, my father and I like you very much. We'll be kind to you, if Señora Gomez won't. And you'll spend far more time with us than you'll ever spend with her."
Felipe nodded again, and Don Diego kissed him. The little boy nestled against the caballero's side, as Diego laid the side of his head against Felipe's scalp. A feeling of peace and contentment oozed through the boy's soul. It felt so good to sit in the patrón's lap.
For the rest of the morning, Felipe stayed at Don Diego's side. Don Diego told him stories and played with him. That afternoon, after siesta, the boy accompanied the de la Vegas to Dr. Hernandez's house. He rode in the driver's seat of the carriage with the driver; when the driver stopped in front of the place, Felipe climbed down and opened the carriage door, as he had done when the four had left the hacienda. Because Felipe was too short to climb onto the driver's seat, the butler had lifted him on it.
"Gracias." Don Alejandro stepped to the ground and smiled. Felipe smiled back, bashfully.
Inside, a silver-haired gentleman greeted them. He was the village doctor. He wore a snow-white, ruffled linen shirt, a coal-black frockcoat and matching trousers, a snow-white silk cravat, and a pair of quality polished boots greeted them. As the de la Vegas watched, Dr. Hernandez examined the little boy carefully. When he had pronounced Felipe's general health good, except for malnutrition, he examined the boy's ears and conducted some hearing tests.
At last, the silver-haired doctor sighed. "The boy is totally deaf, Alejandro." He squeezed Felipe's shoulder. "He cannot hear the slightest particle of sound."
"Can anything be done about it?" Don Diego asked.
Dr. Hernandez shook his head. "Nothing that I'm aware of. Perhaps, some other doctor does. If you wish to take him to some of my colleagues in the surrounding pueblos, I won't say no. In the meantime, keep the boy on a healthy diet, and let him have lots of fresh air and exercise. He's much too thin; he needs to gain some weight and become strong." The de la Vegas nodded acquiescence.
The doctor coaxed a shy smile out of the little boy. "He's an appealing child, gentlemen." He patted Felipe's shoulder. "I'll see you again, Felipe; in the meantime, be a good boy." Felipe nodded.
The de la Vegas said good-bye to Dr. Hernandez and left. They went to town, where they stopped at the tavern for some refreshments.
In the tavern, Felipe sat with his patróns at a table. Victoria Escalante, the young owner, approached them. "Hola, Don Alejandro! Don Diego!" She smiled. "Hola, Felipe." She ruffled the boy's hair and bent down to kiss his soft cheek. "I'm so glad you came to see me." Felipe smiled at her.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Some lemonade for Diego, Felipe, and myself," Don Alejandro said. Don Diego nodded.
A few minutes later, Victoria served them some lemonade. After Felipe had finished his glass, the de la Vegas took him across the plaza to meet the alcalde. The elderly gentleman took Felipe on a tour of the cuartel and introduced him to some of the soldiers on duty. When the de la Vegas left the alcalde's office, they took Felipe to the church, where they visited Padre Bernardo. The priest took Felipe into his office, where he talked with Felipe for a long time, asking him questions to make sure he understood what he needed to know, to receive communion.
"Bring Felipe back tomorrow," he told the de la Vegas, "so I can talk to him some more. I think he's ready for his first communion, but I have to be sure." The de la Vegas agreed to do so.
A half-hour later, as the group returned to the hacienda, gray storm clouds built up in the distance. Felipe gazed at them, then glanced back at Don Diego. "We're going to get some rain," Don Diego said. Felipe nodded.
Shortly after the de la Vegas had entered the house, Felipe glanced out the window and saw a bolt of lightning streak across the sky; an instant later, the ground shook.
War! Felipe thought. Soldiers! He whimpered. Those awful cannons! They're going to kill us! He leaned against the dull-yellow wall and covered his face with his hands.
In his imagination, Felipe was whisked back to the battle. The ground shook again; a cannonball had just landed not too far from Felipe. As he squatted in his father's pushcart, his parents shoved it with all their might, trying to get their son and themselves to safety. Thick clouds of dust from the cannonblasts blocked Felipe's vision of the surrounding countryside and choked him. As the little boy clutched the bars of the cart's side and stared straight ahead, cannonblasts, rifle shots, and terrified screams echoed in his ears. He gulped down a convulsive sob; he just knew they were going to die! He shook violently and uncontrollably.
Hands suddenly lifted him up and carried him; was he being whisked from the pushcart? Were those his mother's arms enfolding him and patting his back? Felipe squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into her bosom.
The arms that clasped him began to rock him. The rocking motion soothed him; gradually, his terror eased. A light, spicy scent wafted toward the little boy's nose. That was definitely not his mother's smell! Don Alejandro, he thought. He's holdin' me.
A long time later, he opened his eyes and looked up at the face smiling comfortingly down on him. Don Alejandro kissed his forehead and hugged him tightly for a moment.
"There, there," Don Alejandro said. "I'm here, amigo. You're safe, now. It's all over, Felipe. You're safe." He patted Felipe's shoulder as he rocked the boy and spoke. Felipe nestled against the aged don's shoulder and closed his eyes.
A while later, Felipe gazed at him again. Don Alejandro chuckled. "That must have been a very vivid and terrifying memory, Felipe." He brushed the boy's brown bangs out of his eyes. Felipe nestled against him and closed his eyes again.
Later, after supper, Felipe crouched on his sleeping mat in the hut. He didn't even try to talk to Juana or Pablo, who in turn ignored him. He simply said his prayers, toyed with his rosary, sucked his index finger, and waited for bedtime to come. As he waited, he thought about his new patróns. Even with the silly rules he now had to obey, he liked Don Diego, especially, much more than he had liked his own father.
Don Diego was so different from Felipe's late father--so much nicer. Juan had frightened his son; in fact, one of the first lessons Felipe had learned was to stay out of his father's way as much as possible, and to instantly obey him without asking any questions. He had feared his father too much to do otherwise.
But with Don Diego, he could relax. While he was sure that neither de la Vega would tolerate deliberate naughtiness, Felipe knew that Don Diego's temper would not flare into violence as Juan's used to. And Don Diego would be far more likely to listen to Felipe. In every way, Don Diego was so much easier to like. And so was Don Alejandro.
When Pablo pointed at the box, Felipe nodded and put on his nightshirt. He lay down on the mat and silently said his bedtime prayers. Pablo draped the rough woolen blanket over Felipe's body.
He had another nightmare as he slept. This time, soldiers were chasing Felipe, aiming their rifles at him. "We will kill everyone!" he heard a soldier shout. "Every rebel, every peasant! That little boy, too! Kill them all!"
Felipe screamed in terror as he tried to outrun them. "No!" he screamed at them. "Por favor, don't kill me! I'll be good! Please, don't kill me!"
Felipe shot up on his mat; Pablo and Juana were still sitting at the table, and the fire was dying down. Rage fixed Juana's face as she leaped to her feet and strode toward the cowering boy. She grabbed his shoulders, digging her nails in until they hurt; she jerked Felipe to his feet. She slapped him hard; pain exploded in his face.
The terror-stricken boy darted out the door; sheets of rain pounded his head as he ran. He didn't even think. If he thought at all, it was only of escaping that hateful Señora Gomez. She frightened him to death!
Help me! he thought, as he ran. Help!
Minutes later, he saw one of the great barns up ahead. He raced toward it and darted inside. He fell in a heap onto a pile of hay and curled himself, trying to stop shaking. He lay on his side and sobbed. His face throbbed incessantly from the slaps. Gradually, he cried himself to sleep. Mercifully, for once, he suffered no nightmares. Pieces of hay dug into his arms, legs, and face. Water dripped off his hair, face, and clothes onto the hay.
A hand shook him awake; Felipe opened his eyes to find Don Diego kneeling above him, eyebrows furrowed with worry. Don Alejandro stood next to his son and bent over the boy.
Beams of sunlight shone through the entrance behind the de la Vegas. It was morning, and the rain had stopped.
"Felipe!" Don Diego helped him to his feet, then knelt before him. "What on earth are you doing in this barn? We've been looking for you for the past hour!"
Felipe threw his arms around Don Diego, who hugged him tightly for a long moment while the boy cried. He then gently removed Felipe's arms from around his chest, wiped the tears off his face, and asked him again what he was doing in the barn.
Sniffling, Felipe explained, through gestures, about his nightmare, and how Señora Gomez had scolded him and slapped him, the night before. He explained how, in his panic, he had fled the hut, not daring to stay with her a minute longer.
Don Alejandro knelt before him and handed him a handkerchief. The boy blew his nose and gave the handkerchief back to the elderly caballero, who inserted it into his inside jacket pocket and grasped Felipe's shoulder. "Felipe, listen to me. I'll have a talk with Señora Gomez myself; we'll see if we can't straighten this out. In the meantime, amigo, your nightshirt is still damp, so let's get you back to the hacienda so you can put on some dry clothes." Felipe looked down at his damp cotton nightshirt.
As Felipe followed the two caballeros outside, the blazing sun hurt his eyes for a moment, forcing him to squeeze them shut. When he opened them again, he froze. He could not believe what he saw. Flowers bloomed on every desert plant in glorious colors. The air still had its early-morning freshness; it felt cool.
Don Diego chuckled at the boy's dumbstruck delight. He knelt down before Felipe. "What did I tell you?" he said. "I told you the desert blossoms with flowers after a rain." Felipe nodded. It sure did.
Felipe followed the de la Vegas to the hacienda kitchen, where he put on a blue-and-white-checked shirt and a pair of white cotton trousers. He perched on a hard, unyielding bench and leaned against the table. As he ate his breakfast, using the wooden spoon and fork as he'd been taught, Don Alejandro had a long talk with Juana.
"I'll not have Felipe or any child abused on my property!" he told her sternly. "Discipline him when he misbehaves, but do not abuse him! Having a nightmare does not constitute bad behavior, señora! Abuse him again, and your pay will be docked!"
"Si, patrón." Juana leaned against the table and sighed.
"Señora, Felipe will probably be having these nightmares for some time to come." Don Diego folded his arms across his chest. "When he does, he needs someone to comfort him."
"I will," Pablo promised him, scratching his chest. He glanced at his wife. "I'm afraid Juana can't bring herself to."
"No, I sure can't!" Juana pursed her lips together.
The rest of the day passed more quietly. Felipe ran several errands for the de la Vegas. At mid-morning, Don Diego took Felipe to the church, where Padre Bernardo quizzed Felipe for over an hour.
Once, Victoria came to the hacienda to visit. She spent a hour with Felipe, playing with him and telling him stories. "I'll be back soon, to see you again," she promised him, when she left.
After siesta, a gentleman came to call; Don Alejandro sent Felipe outside to open the visitor's carriage door. The caballero, Don Alfonso de la Calderon, smiled at Felipe approvingly when he left, a while later. "You've got yourself a good servant boy, Alejandro," he said.
Shyly, Felipe smiled back. It's been three whole days since I came here. It's been six days since I came to Los Angeles.
As Felipe watched the man depart, he saw several soldiers riding in the distance. He shook violently; he couldn't stop. He squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn't shut out the memory that had suddenly sprung before him. Cannonballs landed everywhere and exploded.
Arms lifted him up and held him tightly; Felipe wrapped his arms around the neck his own face pressed against. He felt himself being carried, then rocked.
When the memory finally died down, he found himself in the drawing room, resting in Don Alejandro's arms. The aged don smiled in relief. Felipe burrowed his face into Don Alejandro's chest and tried valiantly to stop shaking. Don Alejandro patted his back.
"Felipe, I'm going to tell you something that may help," the elderly caballero told the boy as he rocked him. "When I was in the army, years ago, some of the men were so traumatized by what they saw and heard on the battlefield that, later, they relived them again and again. Both when they were asleep and when they were awake. When they slept, they would have nightmares; when they were awake, they would have flashbacks."
Flashback? Felipe wondered silently. What's a flashback?
"A flashback is like a memory, only stronger," Don Alejandro told him. "You don't just remember the event; you don't even just hurt inside as you remember. You actually find yourself reliving the terrifying event that traumatized you so. The memory is so vivid that you feel as if it's happening all over again; you're not even aware of the people around you, or your surroundings."
Felipe nodded. What Don Alejandro had just said made sense to him.
"I promise you this, Felipe." Don Alejandro smiled. "As time passes, the nightmares and flashbacks will get fewer and fewer. Eventually, they'll stop altogether. In the meantime, the next time you feel a flashback coming on, amigo, come to Diego or me, and we'll hold you and comfort you. Just as I'm doing now. We'll do it as often as we have to, to get you through this rough period."
Felipe nodded acquiescence. He felt reassured that the flashbacks would pass. At least, he would not have them forever.
Don Alejandro hugged him. "In the meantime, we need to visit the padre. It's Saturday, and it's time to go to confession. I'll have you take a note to one of the grooms, asking him to get the carriage ready." Felipe obeyed; within a half-hour, he and the de la Vegas were on their way to town.
The trip to the church lasted an hour. To Felipe's joy, the padre gave Felipe his first confession, and promised him that he would have his first communion in that church the very next day. "You're going to be one of my altar boys, too, remember," Padre Bernardo told him.
At choretime that evening, Don Alejandro required his son and Felipe to feed and groom a horse and a donkey in one of the stables. While Don Diego took care of the horse, Felipe took care of the donkey. Felipe learned that Diego had always been required to perform a regular farm chore for two hours on Saturdays, and that he himself would have to do the same, alongside Don Diego. A few hours later, in the hut, Felipe grasped the Gomezes' clay water jug and poured himself a clay cup of water. As he set aside the clay jug, his elbow brushed against his cup; it tipped over. Water ran all over the table and dripped onto the floor.
Pain exploded in his ear as a hand grabbed it; Felipe winced. Juana let go of his ear, only to grab him by the shoulder and shake him violently. "You little clumsy!" She slapped his face, hard. He covered his throbbing face and backed away. She grabbed his arms and dug in her fingernails; he winced in pain. "You little clumsy!" she said, again, her face contorted with rage.
You little clumsy!
In his mind's eye, he saw his father shouting those very words at him after he had accidentally spilled a clay cup of goat's milk. "You little clumsy; you stupid, careless idiot! Can't you do nothin' right?!"
Felipe cowered in fear as his father shouted. He knew full well what to expect next: a slap, a thrashing, or both. Convulsive sobs of terror rose in his throat. He managed to choke them down.
Flashback! The thought slammed into Felipe's head. Must get--Don Alejandro!
He jerked loose of the laundress' grip and stumbled toward the door. He jerked it open and raced outside. In the distance, near the kitchen door, he saw three men milling around.
Before Felipe could run toward them, hands grabbed him from behind and carried him back inside. Juana dragged him toward the fireplace and grabbed a wooden handle. "You're goin' to get it!" she warned, raising the handle above her head. Felipe cowered.
You're goin' to get it!
"You come here!" his father hollered. "Right this minute, boy!"
Felipe jumped up and froze. He looked beseechingly at his father; in response, his father simply pointed at the ground at his feet. "You're goin' to get it!" he shouted. "How dare you let the goats out of the barn without askin' me first! A big boy, five years old, is old enough to do as he's told!"
Felipe slowly approached his father, dragging his feet. He knew he was going to be thrashed. As he came close, he threw his arms over his face.
Juan grabbed him by the ear. "Ow!" Felipe cried, as his father's fingernails dug into his ear lobe. Why did I forget and leave the barn door open? he thought. Out loud, he cried, "I'm sorry, Papá. I didn't mean to do it. I forgot!"
Juan did not answer. He simply dragged his son by the ear toward the barn, Felipe whimpering. His father jerked him across the threshold. Shouting at Felipe nonstop, Juan slapped the boy's face so hard that Felipe saw an explosion of stars after each slap. The pain following each slap was excruciating; all the while, his ear lobe throbbed.
With trembling hands, Juan finally picked up the leather strap he kept for such occasions. Felipe backed against the wall and started screaming. His father marched toward him, left hand clenched, right hand gripping the strap, and fury fixed on his now-purple face. Felipe covered his throbbing face with his hands; as the belt flew toward his body, he screamed in terror...
To his relief, the end of the belt never landed on his back. Instead, arms picked him up and held him tightly. The comforting arms rocked him back and forth as he wept. Gradually, the terror eased.
Finally, he opened his eyes to find Don Alejandro gazing down at him in concern. "Are you all right, amigo?" the elderly caballero asked. Felipe nodded. Don Alejandro rubbed the tears off the boy's face with his index finger. Don Diego stood next to his father, concern etched on his kind face.
Don Diego leaned over and handed Felipe a linen handkerchief. Felipe blew his nose, then handed it back. He then explained what had happened, with gestures. The de la Vegas watched him attentively as he did.
When Felipe had finished, Don Alejandro looked sadly at Juana. "I'm sorry, Juana, but I'm going to have to dock your salary this month." Juana nodded, looking sullen.
Don Alejandro patted Felipe's back. "Felipe was obeying me when he raced out the door. I told him to come to Diego or myself if he had another flashback." He explained about Felipe's nightmares and flashbacks. Pablo leaned against the wall as he and his wife listened.
Felipe asked Don Alejandro, via gestures, how he had known.
"One of the kitchen hands saw you and told us." Don Alejandro brushed Felipe's hair out of his eyes. "We came just as fast as we could."
Felipe smiled his thanks. He felt better. Now, somehow, he must work things out with Juana. Maybe, with the de la Vegas in the room, he would be able to do it.
He slid off Don Alejandro's lap and cautiously approached Juana. Silently, via gestures, he asked her why she hated him.
Juana sighed. "I don't, Felipe. Not really." She gazed down at the table for a long moment and folded her arms on the table. "I don't like children, Felipe. Any children. I never had any, and I never wanted any."
Felipe touched her arm and stared at her beseechingly. Juana sighed again. "I know what you're tryin' to say. You're askin' me to try to like you." Felipe nodded. "I can't promise that, Felipe, but I will make a greater effort to meet your needs. I can't comfort you, though, when you have a nightmare or flashback. You'll have to go to my husband or the de la Vegas for that."
Felipe smiled gratefully. He kissed her face, then leaned against her chest. She patted his back, stiffly.
Felipe turned around and approached the de la Vegas. Don Alejandro smiled as he held a brown-and-white stuffed dog up in his arms. Felipe stared at it, then at Don Alejandro.
Don Alejandro chuckled and inserted his left thumb into one of his vest pockets. "Felipe, my mother gave me this stuffed toy when I was a little boy, younger than you. When Diego was just a child, I gave it to him. We slept with it as children; it chased our bad dreams away."
Don Alejandro handed the toy to Felipe. He held it and admired it. It felt soft and squishy in his hands.
"My father and I have decided to give the stuffed dog to you, Felipe," Don Diego told him, clasping his hands behind his back. "Sleep with it tonight, and see if it doesn't chase those scary nightmares away."
Felipe smiled his thanks. He wasn't at all sure that a toy could make the nightmares stop, but it would be so nice to have a toy to sleep with.
Don Alejandro rose to his feet. "All right, Felipe, it's time for bed. I want you to get a good night's sleep, all right? Because tomorrow, after breakfast, we're all going to attend church. You, all the other servants, Diego, and me. And during mass, tomorrow, you're going to partake of communion and take your turn serving at the church altar. As one of Padre Bernardo's altar boys."
Felipe nodded. The de la Vegas kissed him goodnight, one after the other, and left the hut. Felipe put on his nightshirt, then lay down on his sleeping mat with the stuffed dog. As he held it, he smiled. Maybe, life would be good after all. He started to insert his finger into his mouth, then withdrew it.
THE END