Nanowrimo part the Fourth

Here's a generous serving of The Restaurante to tide you over until I am back from my vacation and Blogging again.

To Mario the restaurant business was life and life was feeding people. In Mexico he spent hours in the kitchen while his nanny and the cook gossiped together. He learned how to roast peppers and how to mix tortillas by touch. Afterwards, in America, in Clovis, he worked in the school kitchen to earn free lunches.

While feeding people he learned to communicate with women the way they communicate. He learned to compare stories, one to the other and to sympathize without trying to resolve the problem. And in the kitchen at the school he learned English from the women who fed children so they could feed their children.

Not that Mario always used I statements or preferred to listen reflectively. But it couldn’t be denied he had the ability to reflect and to listen without judging. He was happy to use those skills when he needed to. Always, afterwards, after the women loved him, he could tell them how to fix the problems and they would do it. He could offer his means and resources and skills and they would accept. Overtime he became universally popular—in Clovis. As a young man starting out in business fathers and mothers alike looked past his olive complexion, black hair and accent and considered him a Very Eligible Bachelor. Girls looked past the two room shack the he lived in with his parents and they looked past that his father worked in the fields for their fathers.

People came to the Restaurante out of curiosity and because there was no where else to eat out in town. But as the saying goes, they came back to Mario’s Restaurante because of Mario’s very good food, his gifted conversation and his impeccable manners.

“This Mario could be somebody.” They would murmur as they left the Restaurante.

“Mario…what was his last name? You say you went to school with him?”

“His parents are, who? Really? They work on the Grady farm? Do they?”

Incredulous statements like this flowed from the lack of information—the blindness—of the middle class of this small town in Oregon.

His father, who spent only two weeks as a day laborer in Portland, came to Clovis with an introduction to Mr. Grady. One of the men he waited for work with at the day labor store front in Portland had been his patient in Chiapas. Dr. Gomez had saved his life. It had been a grueling surgery to remove the bullet from his chest. But the good doctor removed it and he staved of infection and this man survived. The man, Hector Luis stood beside him waiting to be chosen to work for one day, and he wept for his friend Dr. Gomez. The next day Hector Luis arrived with directions to the Grady Farm, with a letter of introduction to Mr. Grady and his farm manager and with bus tickets for Doctor Gomes, Sra Gomes and small Mario.

The farm manager studied the letter of introduction and found a place for Dr Gomez in the fields and a place for Sra Gomes in the kitchen of a wealthy neighbor farmer. And because the doctor was a legal immigrant, fluent in English Mario was easily entered into school. Though only eight years old Mario was able to speak with amazing emotional capacity—in Spanish. He was given a job in the kitchen to earn him his free lunch.

During his high school years there were many days that Mario pleaded with is father to leave the fields, to move to the city and work as a translator. But beaten down by misfortunes that his son would never understand and sick with grief over the fate of his brothers in the fields—the ones who couldn’t get their kids into school because they moved with the crops and had no legal right to educate their children, Dr Gomez stayed put. He saw nothing but suffering.

And he didn’t see his son’s great empathy or brilliant mind for science. He didn’t see the makings of a surgeon as skillful as he had been with a care for the patient never seen before. All he saw was the suffering that seemed to be all around him. During the day he saw himself and his co-workers scarred from the poisons that made the vegetables and fruits free from pests and perfect in form. Sickened by the process that made food pretty. In the evenings he saw his co-workers on his back porch where he dispensed as many over the counter medicinas as he could afford. He gave them directions in their mother tongue to ease their illness and despair and to keep the medicine from making them worse through misuse. Eventually Dr. Gomez met a man he only called Raul. And once a month Raul brought medicines down from Canada that could help more. But it wasn’t legal. And that made Dr. Gomez hate himself, Raul and America.

Dr Gomez did not see that in his son he could have every thing he really wanted. A legal physician with a proper clinic that the PLO could not close down for failure to pay protection.

Since he did not see the potential his son had to heal the sick of their illness and their worry he did not guide him and help him learn to do this. And so Mario followed the path that was always in front of him. He cooked.

He was fascinated by the properties of food and the power of the kitchen. The reaction of acids to leavening agents and what heat did to protein. And he loved to serve the food to people. To kids in school who seemed lonely he had a smile. And to pretty girls with shining eyes and rosy cheeks he had a smoldering look and a bit of a smirk. Charming like his mother, handsome like his father. He was also then and still, especially with Shannon, every part the aristocrat descended from generations of doctors and Spanish nobility.

Shannon came to work at the Restaurante about the same time that Mario stopped wishing his wife had not left him. Linda had been gone for four years now. He had been a divorced Catholic man, a disappointment to himself for almost three years. He didn’t exactly wake up one morning perfectly fine, not missing his wife or his marriage. He merely woke up one morning and saw a beautiful, lost young lady who seemed more discouraged than he had been. And he realized he could help her.
Helping people seemed obvious and necessary to Mario. Like his ancestral obligation to the people of the village. Like his fathers oath to first do no harm. He just hadn’t felt like it for a few years.

He looked over the job application Shannon had left with him the week before. Of course he could hire her. But the Restaurante is a small operation that runs with a small staff. And Mario preferred to keep service spots open for the kids of the migrant workers. The children, now teenagers, of the friends of his father who he knew on his back porch. He didn’t prefer to ask for papers for his summer staff. No one had ever bothered to come to a place like Mario’s Restaurante in a place like Clovis hunting for illegals. All they would have caught were one or two teenagers making the money that kept their families clothed throughout the year.

Why did this young, beautiful woman with advantages need one of the few positions he had to hand out? He knew she hadn’t gone AWOL. It was on her application and ridiculous for anyone to assume otherwise. He didn’t know why she had found her way to Clovis. He put her application aside and saw to his customers. It was out of his mind until he overheard a conversation.

“That Shannon girl is in for a world of trouble”

“Who?”

“That girl who took a room over at Yvonne’s house.”

“Oh yeah? That pretty brunette? What’s she gone and done?”

“Yvonne told Barb that Shannon got a package from that school on TV. Said it was to learn bartending.”

“What fool idea is this?”

“Who knows what kids are thinking. Barb said Shannon paid her rent for the month, got that package and hasn’t fixed a meal in the kitchen better than a bowl of cereal for two days. Yvonne’s real worried about her.”

Yvonne saw Mario was listening in. “I am real worried about her. And I did tell Barb. This child doesn’t have anyone here looking after her. I don’t know if she wants to learn to be a bartender so she can make herself big tips and disappoint her family or so she can sit at home and drink, pretending she is doing something. Mario, she just needs someone to help her.”

“You are worried that she is desperate. Or destructive to herself.” Mario paused in his cooking to pay attention to Yvonne.

“I am, Mario. I tried as hard as I could to keep my own kids on the right path. They resent me still, but they kept straight. And I can’t stand to see this girl fall away for lack of a mother.”

Lack of a mother touched him. No where to turn touched him. Being alone and vulnerable was not the exclusive condition of the immigrant. He tried to remember the girl who had dropped of the application. She seemed smart, with a military correctness about her. Probably she knew how to work. Part of him wanted to wait until the evening, run over his numbers to see if he could afford help. But part of him just wanted to rescue somebody.

CHAPTER BREAK
It was a hot evening and everyone was very cranky. Shannon was even sweating a little bit, which she hated doing at work.

She had been in Clovis for about four years. Getting to know the town went quickly. But the feeling of being an outsider lasted on and on. Sra Gomez comforted her just recently, or had tried. She said, “For thirty years you may be an outsider, querida. However, when your children marry they will be children of the town. They will not be outsiders. This is the way it is when you live somewhere with few people. It is the same in Oregon as it is in Chiapas.” Sra Gomez spoke warmly. She remembered her father being called brother by the other villagers only after she was married to Dr. Gomez.

"Mario, the troops are flagging. What can we do? Maybe give them free cervezas?" Shannon wiped her brow with a paper towel. She tossed the towel into the garbage. "It's just so hot."

"You think I am made of beer, mi amiga?" Even Mario sounded grumpy this evening.

"I just think beer would be cheaper than central air." She poured herself a cup of ice water and had a drink.

"Now, that is not a nice thing to say, this hot, it makes you mean to me. I will fix the central air tonight. It's only been off for two hours. I don’t hurry to fix it now while there are customers to serve. I don’t want to throw my good opportunities after bad."

"Well, Bill and Joe and Sadie are out there and they aren't going to stay for dessert.
I thought maybe a free drink would get them to stay for some ice cream too." There was nothing to do this evening for any of them. It was a shame to send friends home early because it was too hot.

"That it might. I suppose it could not hurt to ask. But you must ask. They will surely say yes if I ask and I don't want to risk having to give them a free beverage just so they will buy a two dollar dish of ice cream. I am always thinking like a business man."

She stood at the bar looking at her friends while they chatted and munched on chips with fresh chipotle salsa. "Joe, you were just saying that Mario is always the businessman first, weren't you?"

Joe took a quit drink of coke. "That's Mario, ain't it? He's always the business man. If by business you mean giving your only shirt to the first naked person who walks by."

"Shannon knows first hand, don't you?" Bernie said laughing from behind his broom.

"Don't we all." Shannon smirked at Bernie. "But it sure is hot. And I think Mario was willing to give away business just so he could close up and fix the furnace. I told him, 'Mario, your customers need you. Not one of those three can cook worth a bean. Why don't you give them a beer so they can cool down and eat a little more food.'" Shannon winked at Joe and handed out three pints.

"And Mario always wants to help out a poor sap so he says 'give mis amigos a beer querida Channon' doesn't he? Well Shannon, we think you are a real sport. Don't we? Thanks for the beer. We'll tip real good since he's gonna take it out of your check." Bill winked at Shannon. He pushed away his coke that had warmed up over the course of dinner and took a long drink from the Corona.

"You really think he agreed to this, Bill? I have my doubts. Mario's not the kind of man to give us a fish. He can’t take the time as he’s on call twenty-four hours a day hoping for a chance to teach us poor folk how to fish." Sadie laughed and then took a drink off the top of her pint. But she left it on the bar with a five to pay for it and a bit of tip too. "Good night Mario. I'm not in the mood to put you out of business tonight. But I do want to see the air back on tomorrow."

Mario leaned his head around the door. "I have much to teach la senorita still, don't I? But I will owe you a drink now, since it has been offered. I expect the first day of the summer when it is over 100 degrees that the three of you will return with your familias for the complimentary drink of your choice. Even the children may have their juice."

Bill said, "That's it. If you are wishing children on me at this point of my life, I'm leaving too." But, the way that he took Sadie's elbow indicated they were ready to limit their company to each other for the night.

"Buenas Noches, amigos." Mario called out after them.

"Well, you tried to keep the customers in, Shannon. But it wasn't happening. Turn that sign around, would you?" Yvonne sounded grumpy but the heat does have a way of getting to her.

"I always say a man can take a hint. But it’s hardly fair to give him a free drink on one hand and turn out the lights on the other. I'm gonna wait to hear what the man has to say. See if he can get his women into line.” And Joe leaned back in his chair, tipping it on it's back legs. He was taunting Mario and drinking his beer very slowly.

"Jose, amigo, our business hours are when you need us. Stay as long into the night as you wish. Mi Restaurante es su restaurante." Mario came out into the dining room with the bucket and rag that was usually Shannon's domain. He smiled at his friend and handed over a rag.

"Say, Mary," Joe said, "I know what you mean when you say this restaurant is mine too. And I'm not in the mood to push a mop. But I'll be back tomorrow before you open, if you can wait that long to fix the air. I've got a couple of hours free and can bring my equipment." Joe owed Mario for his free and ready business advice as much as anyone else in Clovis. And he was willing to pay it back.

"Thank you Jose, I will see you in the morning then. I have no idea how to fix a broken air conditioner. But do not tell the senoras, si? They think I am like a Hercules and can do everything." Mario kept a very serious face. Joe played along and left some cash on the table to pay his friend for the after work entertainment. He also didn't have a wife to go home to and preferred to socialize with his friends at Mario's before a quiet night at home.

Shannon and Bernie put a nice shine on the dining room. They mopped the floor and waxed it, as they did every night. They cleaned the tables, even the ones that had not been used. They put fresh cloths on the tables for the lunch service, with white paper over the top. Votive candles in the center of each table in a simple glass holder. The room exuded clean and stylish sophistication.

Yvonne was also hard at work. The copper bottom pots gleamed in the kitchen and the stainless counters were spot free. This was a professional kitchen first. It was a place to fulfill the spiritual needs of everyone who Mario met, a very close second. No where on the list was Mario's considered a dive, a dump, a pit stop or any other derivate. Families touring the beautiful high desert east of the Cascade Mountains would stop at Mario's expecting a plate of penne with pesto, it so resembled a trendy urban Italian cafe.

“Shannon, don’t go home tonight. I will be such a lonely man if you go home now.” Mario was sitting on a bar stool admiring her as she put on her coat. He wasn’t trying to make love to her. Generally speaking however, he was a romantic man.

“I guess I don’t have anything better to do. It’s kind of pathetic in fact. I was just going to hurry so I could get home to watch a show. I can watch TV at your place though, eh? You’re TV’s not broken.” She shrugged on her purse and went back into the kitchen. “Do you have anything to drink up there? If it’s this hot down here we’ll melt upstairs.”

“Bring whatever you like, querida. Mi cocina es su cocina.” Mario got up and put out the lights all around restaurant.

“I’ve heard that somewhere before. But I already did the mopping. What do you want for dinner? I’ll fix.” She was looking in the fridge for leftovers.

“No me gusta. You are my guest still. Come on up and we will see what there his.”

They went upstairs together. She settled on the sofa with the remote and a soda. His house was a second home to her. It was so easy there. For a time she had worked on developing girlfriends. The trouble was, she was single and they were married. She worked days and they were home with their families at nights. She worked at the only restaurant, so where would a couple of girls go out for coffee after work, if they did want to? It was nice to be friendly with the girls in town. Sometimes they took trips to the city to shop. But when you needed to not be alone in the evening all that remained was Mario. Most women (sometimes even the married ones) wouldn’t have seen this as a last resort. And it wasn’t necessarily last for Shannon either.

He handed her a plate. She looked up at him, “Make yourself comfortable.” She took a bite of the sandwich he gave her. They ate their dinner and watched TV. He took their plates to the kitchen and washed up. She didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. Mario didn’t mind. He glanced into the living room, at her sitting on his sofa. Her hair was shining, with wispy bits falling out of the pony tail, all around her face. Her eyes were deep and black. The heat of the day made her cheeks so red she looked unreal. She was stunning. His waitress. His friend these last few years. She was a stunning beauty.

He sat down close to her and put his arm around the back of the sofa. Around her shoulders, of course. She leaned into his arm and relaxed. Try as she might to think otherwise, this was the most comfortable place she’d ever been.

That was all. They sat there comfortably. She didn’t think about how nice it would be to be at home here, although she could feel it. And he thought exclusively about how beautiful she was. He didn’t move a muscle. He thought if he had to stop touching her, he might die. He fell in love with her that night. The night she tried to give away his beer and then came upstairs for dinner, like so many other nights.

All of this happened in the apartment above the restaurant. They got in the habit of spending time together there when she rented a room from Yvonne. It was easier for both of them to be together without company. Yvonne was good natured and well intentioned. But like many motherly women she made a great show of letting them “be along together.” The implications were too much for Shannon and frankly they were too much for Mario as well. He was surprised after his first attempt to date Shannon, that he only felt relief from her rejection. He liked being free from the need to make a relationship work for a lifetime.

They stopped gong to Yvonne’s because there were far too many mornings at the restaurant with Yvonne asking why he hadn’t stayed for breakfast. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t that kind of man. That in any case he wouldn’t have stayed the night. At the end of the work day they were already at his place, right above the Restaurante. What could be easier?


CHAPTER BREAK
The Restaurante anchored the downtown of Clovis. It had traditional Kelley green awnings with Mario's Restaurante in clear white print. The specials menu was carefully printed on an immaculate blackboard that Shannon placed on the sidewalk every morning. He didn't have outdoor seating, but that was the one piece missing from the picture of a down town café. The picture of the ideal night out with your sweetheart.

Mario's, as it should be, was on the corner of Main Street and Oregon. It was a stop sign intersection, but that didn't particularly slow down traffic. Mario's neighbor to the west was the Mercantile. It was the original Mercantile from back when Clovis burst forth around the copper mine. Close to a hundred years ago it had met all the shopping needs of the small boom town. Food stuff, soft goods, nails in barrels. All the classics. It maintained its status as the only place to buy groceries long after the copper mine played out. The Clovis Cooperation, centered back east like all such concerns, pulled out the mining operation. But the Mercantile remained to fill the needs that the ranchers and farmers couldn't grow and didn't have time to send away for. By careful management the Merc did fine. It stopped selling fabric and notions when the Wal-mart moved in, 80 miles away. But nobody seemed to sew anymore, Wal-Mart or no Wal-mart.

Barb and David Johnson had bought the Merc from the family who had owned it since its opening. They were actually horrified when they learned that Mario Gomez was going to open a Mexican restaurant next door. They petitioned for a town meeting to put a stop to this perceived atrocity. It was a very heated affair. When the name Gomez was mentioned as a topic, the Hispanic community swarmed to his defense. There were as many Hispanic residents living full time as workers on other farms as there were residents in the town proper. It seemed that every single one of them came to the meeting.

The first point that the Johnson’s put up was that parking for the restaurant traffic would interfere with the ability of their patrons to enter the store.

"I can see why that would concern you. But you have not yet seen the plans for the Restaurante." Mario smiled calmly, even though this was a hurdle, it would certainly attract attention to his venture. Newspaper coverage, even. There was a chance people would drive from away to eat at his restaurante because of this free advertising. Advertising was something he could not afford to purchase right away. "I will rent this space from George Spalding. It will be rented for one year with an option to buy. In the agreement, he will clear the property to the North, adjacent to the building on Oregon Avenue. This will accommodate the parking needs of my patrons." Mario sat down as a murmur ran across the crowd, especially loud on the side of the townies.

"George Spalding would clear out his junk-heap garbage-pile fire hazard if you rent his building? That's a bigger concession than the town council has been able to get from him in twenty years. Even when he had that cigarette shop there he wouldn't clean out the Oregon Avenue property." Sadie Olson spoke for the crowd when she expressed her approval of at least that portion of the plan.

"But" interjected the moderator, “will Mr. Spalding follow through with this commitment? What real interest does he have in cleaning out his property to provide you a parking lot?"

"I am paying him for it, of course." And with that charming smile again, a laugh rippled across the crowd.

Dave Johnson raised his hand. The moderator recognized him. "The question of parking was only one part of the concern that our town should have. What kind of restaurant will this be? What kind of crowd will a Mexican Bar bring to town and how will that affect out tax base? Does Clovis really have the resources to deal with an increase of drunken driving and fighting and lewd behavior? This is a family town." That brought a murmur of disapproval across the crowd. Both sides of the room sounded insulted.

The moderator responded, "Mr. Gomez, how do you respond to the legitimate civic concerns that the secretary of the town council brings up? How do you plan on retaining a family friendly clientele?"

Again, this was met with a general sound of disgust. Mario, sincere and yet discreet and in control of himself, furrowed his brow, a look of gentle concern. "I will pay my business taxes on time and in the irreproachable manner in which the Gomez family has always conducted themselves."

A few voices piped up in agreement, "Si! Si!"

Mario turned from the moderator’s table to the room full of people. The citizens mostly supported the crazy idea of a going concern taking over an empty dump of a building. He smiled a little and put up his hand in thanks. He continued, "I believe the atmosphere of the restaurant I intend to run will not attract a rough crowd. My business plan includes lunches and dinners in the middle price range. Nothing over seven dollars and nothing below three, excepting the menu especially for children. There will be no happy hour to encourage drunkenness." A sole voice piped up to boo, and then laugh. Mario smiled at the laugh. "There will be cloth on each table and the staff will be in uniforms, white shirts and black trousers with aprons."

"Now wait!" Barb was barely holding herself together as Mario described his benign vision. "This will be a Mexican restaurant with chips and salsa and beer and greasy smells that are just going to ruin the atmosphere of Main Street. We can't possibly let this happen."

The crowd hadn't had such a scene at a town meeting since the fire fighters union met to discuss closing their Clovis location. They wanted to merge units with the nearest town. That serious matter of town safety was nothing compared to a new restaurant. The crowd was tense with excitement, eager to get their opinions heard. People in the far back chatting about the old days agreed that this was more fun. However it lacked the drama of the fire station, since that had been an important matter. This seemed to rest wholly on the Johnson’s at the Merc not wanting the Gomez kid to have a café.

"I hear you are concerned about the smells of the cooking food and the quality of the items we will serve." said Mario. “I am pleased that we have come to the heart of the matter. You would like to be assured that I will use proper ventilation and that the food I prepare will be delicioso and that your fine mercantile will not float down Main Street on a river of grease. And possibly also, you are concerned that you will be uncomfortable with some of the people who eat at my restaurant, people you are unfamiliar with. I think I can make you more comfortable."

Barb and David stiffened in their seats. They did not like the implication that they were prejudiced. It was far too close to their wild hippy sixties. Back then they had fought for the rights of the blacks. But these people weren't blacks. They were Mexicans. And they could ruin the atmosphere of this comfortable, small town. But they didn't want anyone else to know that is what they were thinking.

"Be at peace, my friends." Mario smiled again, one hundred watts right at them, "I will give you, as well as the other businesses on the street, vouchers for free lunch. Then you will know for certain that you have nothing else to fear."

The moderator was as fidgety as the Johnson’s. He was also not excited about attracting the Mexican laborers to the heart of Clovis. But he didn't mince words like the Johnson’s did. He felt free to say he just didn't like Mexicans.

"Thank you for all coming here tonight for our meeting.” The moderator chose to cut the meeting very short and not open up the floor for discussion. It seemed ridiculous to have an open discussion with a room full of people who didn't speak English.

This, of course, was his ignorance and prejudice. Many of the men and women in attendance that night could speak fluently in both languages and were more than willing to interpret. Of course a great cry of dissatisfaction rose from the crowd.

“I will not address a riot group and I speak for the whole of the council when I say that a matter of a new restaurant in town is a serious consideration. We will review all of the permits as they are available and make the decisions that need to be made.” The moderator was really blowing smoke. None of the permits needed to go through the council. And they would only be available as they were approved by the state and therefore made public.

Mario alone in the room understood this. His posture relaxed almost imperceptibly. His wife Linda, may have been the only one to notice. “Thank you for your time, gentleman of the council. I will not delay in answering any of your questions or concerns.”

Mario, Linda, and Sra Timotea Gomez left the room. Dr. Gomez had not felt the matter of the restaurant warranted his leaving his porch dispensary where he had a fairly critical case. He was helping a young pregnant woman who was fighting a UTI. She was unable to drive to the city to get regular obstetric care. Dr. Gomez feared a kidney infection in her future.

Linda was mortified that her father in law wouldn't stand beside Mario as the town council tried to attack him. But Mario understood. And his next step for the evening was to take his mother home and determine whether his father had been able to convince the expectant mother to go to the hospital that evening.

He walked into the fresh night air, so long ago, pulled his beautiful wife closer to his side and kissed her neck warmly. “You see, mi vida? It will all be well. We will soon own our American dream.”

She smiled up at him. She loved him, but her heart was not content. Clovis was such a small town and it was so hot. And the people...the hatred, or fear, of the crowd of farm workers had been palpable in the small room. There was also the fear that the workers themselves had of others. They were on their guard, full of the fear that they were hated. Then there were the looks. The whispering. Could this really be 1990? There seemed to be no integration in this town. Mario and Linda had the only obviously interracial marriage.

Things had been so easy when they fell in love in college. And their Portland years were a dream. That time together was when they truly fell in love. Their real courtship. It had been deceptively easy to be with Mario in Portland. He was smooth and handsome and smart. Brilliant really. He could be, do, or have anything he wanted. He had her didn't he? He even had the heartfelt admiration of her parents. Few young men had attained this. When he parents consented, even participated, in their Catholic wedding she knew all of her dreams were coming true.

But in all of their daydreaming and planning for themselves, he kept coming back to Clovis. To his parents and to this dream of a restaurant. She loved it when he cooked for her. But this life they had now was so different. They were oppressed by the heat of the summer and the open hostility. In this town the people who would bother to know her lived in two room shacks. The people who wouldn't bother to know her were hardly better off. She was overwhelmed, undone. And they were both very young.

She had heard the story of Mario’s life in full. Even words of their lives in Mexico from his own father. She was very close to fluent in Spanish and so could communicate deeply with him. Yet she was too young to understand that he would be able to take care of them there. Of her.

Quite in opposition to her tall, strong, lean body, strength developed over years of competitive athletics, she was a very weak young girl. She wanted to go home to her mommy and daddy. Wanted to take herself and Mario home, where they would be safe and loved.

Mario was equally blinded. He didn't see how scared she was. He didn't understand that her many years of comfort and ease hadn't prepared her for real life. Her competitive edge was limited to the track and field. Her strength solely for the body. He assumed that like him, all people who had reached twenty-five had seen and done and learned enough to make a stand in the world and follow their heart. Few had. Linda had not.

He held his arm around her waist as they walked down the block to his car. “Our dream is happening, mi vida. We will have everything we have wanted. Can you taste our success? Are you ready for our lives to unfold?” He opened the door of his Honda and helped her in. He was clueless as to why she wept as he drove to his father’s house. He did not see that she was weak and young and scared. She wept, and would not speak. And would not be comforted.

Sra Gomez sat in the back of the car, forgotten by the young people for the time being. She understood this young Linda. She had lived close with the extremes for so many years, first under the rule of stern, harsh parents. Then she had lived for a time with the rush of love and excitement in a whirlwind romance. In the highpoint of life she had even held an exalted position in her community. This greatness was followed by almost twenty years of the heat and the snow, the extremes of climate and community. With the people who would not speak with her and the people who would. She had to learn through pain the difference between the two. She had lived in Clovis long enough to know there was truly nothing to fear. And yet she understood. Learning that everything would be surpassable in the end is a very hard lesson.

Back in the barrio, Dr. Gomez met his wife with a kiss. His tall, golden daughter-in-law sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. She waited silently while the men spoke.

“No, the patient still refuses to go to the hospital.” Dr Gomez face was a study in concern. The young woman seemed so very alone. In all the world right now she had this porch to take care of her. It was not enough “Yes,” he said “She would follow any directions that he gave for her.” That night Sra Gomez made up the bed that used to be Mario’s and put the patient in it. From dispensary to clinic to hospital was nothing to her. She would care for the young woman as though she were the daughter the Gomez’s did not have. This motherless daughter would soak up the love and care. She would wish that the blonde woman at the table did not exist, that she was Mrs. Mario Gomez instead of an abandoned daughter and forgotten lover left behind as the crops changed seasons.

Mario brought the groceries in from his car. “I have the things you asked for, Padre. There is cranberry juice, vitamins, whole milk. I have the Tylenol as well. Is there anything else I can bring? I can come back out tomorrow morning.”

“No nececisito nada manana. We have everything we need. She will rest tonight. I will ask an amigo of mine to look for her family. If they will take her back with them to their next farm she will be better off. This season is long enough. If they take her back the new farmers can help her and she will have the baby there. Then they will have American baby and it will be a different life for them.” He said all of this where the young woman could hear him. It was mostly a myth. It was possible she would live through the pregnancy. It was not very likely she would have her baby in a hospital. And then there would be no birth certificate. There would be no services and there would be no better life.

All of those ifs hung on finding her family. If they did find the family they still didn’t know if she would be welcomed back. She was an Indian girl, from Oaxaca. Spanish was not her first language. As hard as he tried, Dr. Gomez could not understand if she had run away or been sent away. If she had been sent away there was no hope for any of this.

“Papa, eschuche, por favor. If you wish it, when she falls asleep tonight I will deliver her to the hospital. They will treat her. You will not have these two lives on your hands.” Mario had leaned close and spoke with care, though the girl in the bed could not understand his words in English.

“This is what I hope for Mario. But not today or tomorrow. I want to try make her well. But if she is not well the day after tomorrow, when she is asleep we will take her to the hospital.” He shook hands with his son, understanding that the offer was a solemn promise. Mario and Linda left the casita.

Mario hesitated, not knowing how to address his wife’s great discomfort. But he knew he had to talk to her. “This was a very stressful night. How are you feeling?”

“How dare you take that woman to the hospital? You shouldn’t get involved with your fathers activities. What would the town council think?” She snapped these words at him. Her mouth was a thin tight line like the blade of a knife. She turned her head to the window.

“You are afraid I could get into trouble because he hands out medicine?” He spoke calmly but he was irritated by her selfish response. She was mad before they got to the casita. They should be talking about whatever caused that earlier anger.

“I’m not afraid! I know you will get in trouble. That girl is illegal. You shouldn’t have anything to with her. For the love, you put her up in your parent’s house! What’s going to happen if INS comes looking there? They could loose everything, get deported. You shouldn’t risk your neck for her.” She was forcing herself not to cry. Yelling at him about his parents instead of crying.

“Linda, she is a sick young girl with no one to help her. My parents are naturalized citizens, you know what this means, don’t you? They are Americans. They will not get sent to Mexico.” It took considerable effort for Mario to pursue this pointless argument in a nice voice. He wanted to yell at her in Spanish. To call her a selfish child and ask her what she would do if that girl was her young sister Tanya. Would she want someone to help Tanya if she was alone and sick? He winced. What if her answer was no? What if she would not want someone to help Tanya?

“Yes, dear.” She said her voice cracking like ice. “I know that they are naturalized citizens. But he is practicing medicine without a license on illegal immigrants. Do you think any good will come of it?”

“I think that people who hurt feel better when they go see my father. I think you are mad at me and I don’t know why. I think you are hiding something important from me behind this fight about my father. What are you really thinking about right now?” It was risky for him to shout at her. He knew better than to confront a woman with direct questions about her prevarication.

“That’s rich.” She said, as the tears started to fill her eyes. “You help your dad harbor illegals but I’m the one in trouble for hiding things.”

“Please, mi Linda. Forgive me and tell me what it is that worries your heart. Let me make it better.” He saw her tears and softened his voice. He didn’t want to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt.

“I—I hate Clovis.” A tight fist closed around her heart. It was a physical pain to say that. She loved Mario. Mario loved Clovis. Was it impossible for him to love her now that she had said this?

He reached across the stick shift and grasped her hand. “It has not been easy for you yet. But time will make it better. You will be so very happy here.” It relieved his mind to hear that the town was the cause of her pain. He spoke his comfort confident that he was right.

She turned away from him looking out the window. She hated his confidence. He would not be right. It would be impossible to be happy in Clovis.