Part of the time I had to spend with my mother, reciting my catechism. I already knew most of my prayers by memory. So I would sit with her in the kitchen while she cooked or ironed and she would ask me to recite such and such a prayer and I would. That made her very happy.
“In the spring I will make arrangements for you to start catechism with the padre at the church, and then on Easter Sunday you will make your first holy communion . Just think, Antonio, for the first time you will hold God in your mouth, in your body, in your soul—you will speak to Him, and He will answer—” she said to me. And she smiled, and there were tears in her eyes.
“Then I will have the knowledge of God?” I asked.
“Yes,” she sighed. “I hope you will use your knowledge to carry out God’s will. You are a very bright boy, you understand so much, you can be a great leader, a priest—I do not want you to waste your life in dreams, like your father. You must make something of yourself, you must serve the people.
The people need good leaders, and the greatest leader is a priest—”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“And then in the summer,” she continued, “you will go and stay with your uncles at El Puerto. You will learn their ways, old secret ways in farming, they will teach you. It will be good for you to be out in the sun, working. You have been sick, and you have seen things I would not have wanted you to see, you are just a boy—but that is in the past. Now you have your communion and the summer to look forward to—”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“Now read the prayers to me in English.” She liked to hear me read the catechism in English, although she could not understand all I read, and I myself could not yet read with complete comprehension. Many of the old people did not accept the new language and refused to let their children speak it, but my mother believed that if I was to be successful as a priest I should know both languages, and so she encouraged me in both.
“Ah, such intelligence,” she beamed when I finished stuttering through the Hail Mary in English, “a true man of learning!” And she kissed my head and gave me some empanaditas she had saved from Christmas day.
One thing that helped to break the monotony of being locked in by the storm was the arrival of León and Eugene. They had not come for Christmas and my mother was sad and worried. The only news she had about them was from people who happened to run into them at Las Vegas. León and Eugene never bothered writing.
It was early one morning when we were seated at breakfast that my mother heard a car and looked out the frosty window. “¡Jesús, María, y José!” she exclaimed, “¡el policía!”
We ran and crowded at the window and watched the state police car coming up the goat path. The car came slowly because of the deep snow. When it came to a stop León and Eugene stepped out.
“¡Mis hijos!” my mother cried. She threw open the door and they came in, grinning shyly as she gathered them in her arms.
“Hi, jefa,” they smiled.
“León, Eugenio,” my father embraced them.
“Jefe,” they nodded and took his hand.
“Ave María Purísima,” my mother cried and made the sign of the cross.
“Hey, León, Gene,” Andrew shook hands with them while Deborah and Theresa shouted greetings and tugged at them. We all surrounded them with our embraces.
“But why did the state police bring you?” my mother asked anxiously.
“Was it Vigil?” Andrew asked, and León nodded.
“Was there any trouble?” my father asked. He was at the window, waving at the departing state cop.
“No, no trouble—”
“Greet your Grande,” my mother smiled, “and don’t call her a jefa—” We all laughed.
“¿Cómo está, Grande?” they said politely and hugged Ultima.
“Bien, bien, gracias a Dios,” Ultima smiled, and knowing they would be hungry she turned to the stove to make them breakfast.
“But you haven’t told us why the state cop brought you,” Andrew repeated.
“Tell them, Gene,” León smiled.
“I knew you would return,” my father murmured, “I knew you would come back!” And he hugged them and led them to the table. He took out the bottle of whiskey while they removed their soiled, wrinkled jackets. They looked older than I remembered them.
“Tell us what?” my mother bustled around them.
“Feed them first, María,” Ultima said wisely, she was already setting down plates. León and Gene ate everything set before them like starved animals.