The Memories of Ana Calderón Read online

  No one except Doña Carmelita heard these words. In the meantime, Father Gutiérrez and the rest of the group were thinking of what to do. After a long pause, Doña Trinidad spoke up. “The way I see it, we have to get her away from her father; away from this barrio. We have to find a place for her to stay until her baby comes and until she is able to work for the both of them.”

  Everyone, even Father Gutiérrez, nodded in agreement, but no one had a specific idea as to where such a place could be found for Ana. Again no one spoke while each man and woman searched inwardly for the answer to Doña Trinidad’s recommendation.

  The silence was broken by Doña Hiroko who, speaking haltingly, made herself understood with some difficulty. “I have a friend…Mrs. Amy Bast…who supplies my store with the eggs I sell. This lady and her husband have a chicken farm in Whit…Whit…”

  She wasn’t able to pronounce the word. Someone finished it for her, “Whittier.”

  Turning and bowing courteously toward the direction from which the word had come, Hiroko Ogawa continued with a smile on her face. “She will take Ana to her farm and let her stay there until the baby comes, and then…”

  Everyone was sitting straight up in their chairs, bodies pressed forward, eyes riveted on their Japanese neighbor. They were intently trying to understand her heavily accented words.

  “…She can stay or go where she is happier. Amy has already offered to take Ana to her place.”

  “¡Sí! ¡Sí! That’s the answer. ¡Qué bueno! Gracias, Doña Hiroko.”

  The following day it was not Doña Hiroko who took a tray to Ana. It was Mrs. Amy Bast, the farmer from Whittier who had come personally to convince the young woman that she had to gather her energies soon, before she destroyed her health and that of her child.

  She began by saying in a shrill voice, “Young lady, you’re looking at me and I’ll bet that I know what you’re thinking. Yes, siree! You’re thinking, ‘Why, here’s a woman who’s skinnier than me!’ That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

  Amy Bast was seated by the bed, a tray of food on her lap, and she was responding to Ana’s eyes that looked at her with surprise and wonder. Mrs. Bast had an accurate picture of herself because, as Ana’s startled eyes noted, she was a tall, gaunt, angular woman. She had a stretched torso and lanky legs, and the length of her body was accentuated by the worn, faded cotton dress that hung loosely, almost reaching the high-top leather shoes she wore.

  Amy’s main characteristic was a long neck that was graceful and still beautiful despite her fifty-five years. Her face was small and lovely, even though it was creased by several deep wrinkles. Her short, straight nose was emphasized by lips that were thin but soft, strong yet gentle. And Amy had small, blue eyes that sparked when she spoke. Her manner of speaking made her special in the barrio because she talked with a strong Oklahoma accent in a high-pitched and drawled voice.

  “I’m Mrs. Amy Bast, Ana, and I’m from all the way from Oklahoma. Yes, siree! Me and the Mister came out West when the Depression broke out. We lost everything back there…” Her voice trailed, pausing, then she continued, “We were able to set up a couple of hens and a rooster in a coop when we got here, and after a lot of strife and plenty of tears, here we are selling our produce to the good grocers of these here parts. It wasn’t easy, girl, believe me! I been down in the big, black hole just the way you are right now. But I crawled out! And you’re going to do the same thing! So, now, have this delicious meal Hiroko made for you and after that, up and at ‘em! You and me got us a life to live.”

  Ana took the plate that Amy handed her. She picked up the fork and began to put morsels of food into her mouth. As she did this her stomach rejected the food, but she determined that this time she would prevail over her body. Amy’s words had said much to her, but hers was not the only voice to which Ana was listening. The woman’s presence had helped jolt her out of the depression that had gripped her, but so had that of Doña Hiroko, Doña Trinidad, Father Gutiérrez, and the rest of the neighbors who had come to save her from drowning. César’s face, when he had burst into tears, came back to Ana, and that too had helped jar her from the over-whelming desire to die.

  As I forced myself to eat, an image inside of me took shape. It wasn’t cracked and disjointed anymore. Now the pieces were finding their place, showing me what to do. The picture showed my father’s face, but I wasn’t afraid of him, or of the curse. Behind that face and its evil wishes was Octavio’s, and I didn’t fear him either.

  I felt a weightlessness taking hold of me. I realized that my father hated me because I had ruined the way for my brothers. Yet, I knew that people had fought so that I could live, and the meaning of their struggle came to me. I understood that in their eyes I had value, and knowing this filled me with a desire to live.

  Ana clumsily stepped off the running board of Amy’s Model-T Ford; her body was heavy with advanced pregnancy. It was December, and a cold wind that skidded off the northern foothills cut through her sweater and thin cotton dress. The trip from the barrio had taken Amy almost an hour. She drove from Floral Drive over to Whittier Boulevard, and then had gone eastbound until reaching the dirt road that led to the egg ranch. After leaving the paved road, the bumps, holes, and pools of mud made driving even slower and more difficult.

  It took Ana a few moments to regain her balance while she stood with her legs and feet spread apart on the soggy soil. As she looked around her, she saw that the Bast chicken ranch was a bleak place. It was a five-acre spread covered almost entirely by long chicken coops. In the center of the property stood a house with a low roof and a short chimney stack from which wisps of gray smoke spiraled. Ana craned her neck and saw that behind the structure was the outhouse.

  Amy Bast was cheery as she showed her new boarder the way in. Once in the kitchen, she turned to Ana. “It’s not luxurious, but it’s home. Over here will be your room. Come on in.”

  Ana followed her into a small room which had a narrow bed, a chest of drawers, and a small nightstand next to the bed. There was a window fringed by cheerfully colored curtains on the western side of the room. Under the window was a kitchen chair.

  She liked the room. It was warm and comfortable, and for the second time in her life, she would have a bed to herself. She had grown to enjoy this while at Doña Hiroko’s, and Ana was glad that she would be able to continue sleeping alone. As she picked up the small bag that contained her belongings, she turned to Amy and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Bast. This is very nice.”

  “Now, you just call me Amy. We’re going to be friends. Mr. Bast—Franklin, that is—should be coming ‘round in a while. He knows all about you and that you’ll be with us for a spell. You’ll like him, Ana, just you wait and see.”

  Ana found Amy’s drawl interesting; she especially liked the way she pronounced her name. She had never heard it said in that tone, not even by Miss Nugent.

  That evening Ana, Amy and her husband Franklin sat at the kitchen table finishing dinner. Amy spoke first. “Ana, you understand that both Franklin and I are very happy to have you. We never had children of our own, so you are very welcome. It’ll be kind of like having a daughter. We know also that you’re a hard-working young woman, and that you look on this whole thing just like you would a job. But we also understand that you’ll have to wait until after your baby comes, so that you can really start helping us around here.”

  Ana listened politely. She looked at Franklin from time to time and saw that he, too, was paying close attention to what Amy was saying. She was impressed by his appearance; he looked, she thought, just like Amy. He was tall, lanky, blue-eyed and he, too, had a very long neck. The only difference that she could see was that he was bald. Her attention was suddenly drawn back to Amy when she paused, evidently to see if Ana had anything to say. When the young woman remained silent, Amy said, “I do declare, I think I talk too much.”

  “Yes, dear.” Franklin spoke for the first time in an hour.

  After that, Amy said th
at for that night they would retire immediately. Ana slept soundly except for a few minutes when she woke up sometime during the night. The silence of the ranch caused her to listen intently, as if expecting to hear someone calling out her name. She turned over and thought of the baby that was inside of her. Octavio’s face flashed in her mind, and to dispel his appearance she forced herself to think of César, of her sisters, even of Alejandra. In her mind she pictured them asleep. She even thought she heard their deep breathing. But then she changed her position, and drifted off to sleep.

  The next day was gray and drizzling, but Amy didn’t allow the weather to interfere with what had to be done, so she went right to work.

  “Ana, even though you’re feeling uncomfortable, you’ve got to keep busy, otherwise you’ll get bored, then homesick, and then just plain sick all over again.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She took Ana to the room where the feed was kept, then through the coops, showing her the light cords that had to be pulled so that the chickens would think it was daytime and lay more eggs. Amy prattled, indicating where Ana was to look for eggs and where to place them. Then she showed her the pile of crates destined to carry the product into town and finally into the hands of the grocers.

  Ana was content. The hours had passed by so quickly that she was surprised when she realized that it would soon be dinner time. She had liked her first day on the ranch and had appreciated how Amy made sure that she took rest periods during the day, so that she would recuperate faster.

  After dinner, the three of them joined in the kitchen clean-up. Ana was amused and startled to see Franklin washing dishes and pans. She had never seen a man with soapsuds on his hands, especially when washing plates, forks, and knives. She was astounded to see how cheerful he was, and that he whistled softly through his teeth as he wiped down the table with a large rag.

  When they were finished, Amy dried her hands and looked at Ana. “Come on over and join me and Franklin here.” She patted the table top. Ana saw that Amy had placed a large book with black covers in front of her. This was to be her first experience with a Bast tradition: reading from the Old Testament every evening after dinner. The ritual began with Amy saying, “Now, let’s see what the good Lord has to say to us at the end of this day.” She would then insert her index finger deep into the pages and open the text. Her eyes momentarily scanned the page until she decided what she would read. Sometimes Amy read long excerpts. At other times they were short chapters, or even random verses.

  When Ana joined the Basts, her acquaintance with the Bible was scarce. She knew about Adam and Eve, but the extent of her knowledge was what she had learned as a girl when she and the other village children squatted on the sand to listen to the priest from Puerto Real. The few details about the Scriptures that she remembered were also what she had learned during Sunday mass. Bits and disjointed parts now drifted back to her: Jesus was born in Bethlehem and his mother was Mary. Saint Joseph was his father, but not really his father, and she recalled a few things about twelve men called the Apostles. She, however, had to admit that what Amy Bast read evening after evening was new for her, and very interesting.

  As the weeks passed and Ana’s pregnancy drew to its end, the evening readings became the highlight of her day. After finishing the reading, it was Amy’s custom to ask Franklin and Ana what lesson they had drawn from what God communicated to them through the written words. One evening she looked at Franklin.

  “Now, Franklin, here we have Moses coming down from the mountain after seeing God Almighty with his very own eyes of flesh, and what does he find? He finds all his folks partying and depraving themselves over some old statue of a calf. What do you make of such behavior?”

  “Hmm. Well, dear, I think the meaning of it all is buried deep in my heart, where it’ll have to stay for the time being.”

  Looking exasperated, Amy turned to Ana. “What about you? What do you think of such goings on?”

  Ana was sitting with her hands folded over her swollen abdomen, and she giggled nervously, explaining that she did not know how to express what it meant.

  The readings, however, occupied Ana’s thoughts sometimes well into the night as she reflected on what she had heard. Ana was captivated, amazed and often puzzled by the stories that Amy conveyed with so much drama and warmth. She had not imagined that such a world of kings and prophets and shepherds had existed, and that those people had actually been in contact with God. She saw, however, that even though they communicated with God, they nonetheless murdered and warred and cheated on husbands and wives. The story of Bathsheba especially intrigued Ana, and she told herself that surely the woman must have known what the king had done to her husband.

  Ana was fascinated to see how the songs and poems of those people were centered on God, and how, whenever one of them was in trouble—whether king or slave girl—from a bush, or a rock, or a spring of water a mysterious voice or an angel came to save them.

  One evening, Amy’s voice took on a special tone as she proclaimed her selection. Turning first to Franklin, and then to Ana, she said, “Tonight the good Lord will be speaking to us from the Book of Genesis, chapter sixteen, verses six to eight.” Looking at Ana, Amy said, “Ana, this might just be a way for the Lord to be speaking to you, so listen real hard.”

  Taking a deep breath, she began reading. “Then Sara humiliated Hagar, and she fled from her. Afterward an angel of the Lord found her beside a spring of water in the desert, the spring on the road to Sur.” Amy looked up, her small blue eyes bright with anticipation. After a moment, she returned to reading, “He said, ‘Hagar, maid of Sara, where have you come from and where are you going?’ She answered, ‘I am fleeing from my mistress Sara.’ The angel of the Lord said to her, ‘You are with child, and shall bear a son; you shall call him Ismael…’”

  Amy interrupted her reading when she saw that Ana was engrossed in what she was hearing. Putting down the book, she abruptly asked her, “Do you know the meaning of the name Ismael, Ana?”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

  “Well, I do. My Pa had a dictionary of Bible names and I just about memorized all of their meanings. Ismael means ‘Let the Good Lord Hear.’ Isn’t that just something?”

  Ana’s mind was absorbing every word uttered by Amy because she felt that they contained a special message for her. How could a name have meaning? What did her own name signify? What name would she give her child when it came? She saw, also, that she was like the maid Hagar, humiliated and running away.

  Her mind was racing, darting in different directions, when Franklin’s voice broke in. “Amy, aren’t you going to finish the reading? I mean, I think I remember that there’s a bit more about Ismael.”

  “You’re right, Franklin. I guess I just got carried away. It ends like this, ‘He shall be wild, his hand against everyone, and everyone’s hand against him; he shall dwell apart, opposing all his kinsmen.’ There, that’s all there is to the verse. It ends kind of mysterious, I must say. Why should anyone who’s real ornery and who separates himself from family have the ear of the good Lord? That’s what I always ask myself about Ismael.”

  “Maybe it’s because it was to Hagar’s pain that the good Lord listened, and not to Ismael himself. What if the angel gave that name to her son just to remind Hagar that she really wasn’t alone, that God heard her crying?”

  Ana was shocked to hear her voice blurting out words that had formulated in her mouth before she had even thought of them. Franklin and Amy sat up and stared at her as if she had just appeared in their midst out of nothing. Then they looked at one another, their eyes wide open. Long moments passed, their minds digesting what Ana had said.

  “Why, Ana, that had never occurred to me.” Amy’s voice was soft. “I always thought that it was Ismael who was heard by the good Lord. But…Well…It could be so…”

  Amy sat back in thought. When she finally spoke, her voice was filled with conviction. “No! Let’s just wait a minute here! It really
doesn’t make sense that a slave girl should be more important than her son, because, you see, he’s the one who went on to become the head of a big tribe, or something like that. That’s why the good Lord saved her; only so that she could have the baby.”

  “I don’t think so, Amy. It seems to me that the Lord saved Hagar because she was important on her own; because she was who she was. She came first, and God needed her so that her son could exist. That means that Hagar was more valuable than her son.”

  Ana, no longer afraid to say what she was thinking, spoke quietly. “Besides, I think that the story is of something more important than a tribe. What I mean is that maybe it’s about Hagar, and about how God wanted to save her for something other than just having Ismael.”

  Amy leaned back in her chair, making it creak against her thin back. The light shed by the kerosene lamp hanging from the middle rafter cast bluish shadows on her hair and on her high cheekbones. The expression on her face showed keen interest. “Could it have been, then, that it was to Hagar’s anguish that God listened, and not to her son’s discontent? If that’s the case, it’s possibly as you say. Hagar is more important than Ismael.”

  Amy glanced over to Franklin who also seemed caught up with the new way of looking at a story he had heard over and again ever since he was a child. Amy suddenly said, “Franklin, had you ever thought of it that way?” When he remained silent, she closed the Bible, turned to Ana, and smiled, “Well, now, I’ll just have to give this whole thing a bit more thought.”

  Ana slept fitfully that night. Visions of tents, tribes, and angels glided through her sleeping mind. She was Hagar and she had been cast into the wilderness not by Sara, but by her father. Laughing shepherds stood by jeering as they pointed at her distended belly. In her dream, she was dying of thirst in a desert filled with machines that made shoes, and where women workers mocked her with cracked, parched lips; their soiled bandannas flapping in the arid breeze. She screamed and asked for someone to rescue her from the sun that was burning her with shame and humiliation. But it was only Doña Hiroko and Doña Trinidad who heard her cries. One gave Ana a tiny cup of green tea to drink, and the other sheltered her in an embrace.