El Andar Award for Literary Excellence

Lessons From Shallow Water

by Rudy Melena

During the sleepy summer of ‘61 Ruby Perez and his best friend Vincent DeHerrera played as reckless as bear cubs and as constant as water tumbling down from Manitou Springs. Scabby knees and skinned elbows were their badges. Breathless laughter their anthem. There were enough hours for idle sauntering and pointed exploration, injury and healing, hurt feelings and ubiquitous mirth that could fill all the hours of a day on Conejos Street.

By the time fall shadows threw a new slant on their neighborhood, the boys would be more sober, less wise and thoroughly confused about their place in the world of adults.

For Ruby the typical morning began with a carefully cut banana in a bowl of Cheerios and cartoons on the Motorola. The couch where he slept was next to the kitchen table which was next to the TV. Once the tube warmed up Ruby paid less attention to eating and watched the black and white images with his spoon suspended before his mouth. Blinky the Clown was hilarious. Ruby wished he could be among the white kids in the audience incited into a screaming frenzy by the baldheaded host. Romper Room’s Miss Susan was a blond beauty. When she bent forward to show kids a picture from a storybook you could see the soft curve of her big chi-chis. During commercials the yellow, sugar-saturated milk at the bottom of the cereal bowl was slurped bowl to lips.

Ruby switched off the TV with Vincent’s knock at the screen door. His cereal bowl placed in the sheets of the couch. Mouth full.

“Hey,” Vincent said.

“Mmmmmm,”

“Whatcha wanna do?”

“Mmmmmm. Mmmmmm. Mmmmmm.”

“Let’s go!”

“Bye, Mama!”

Ruby wore a shock of curly brown hair and a face masked by enormous black rimmed glasses. Vincent was skinny with red hair and constellations of freckles framing a set of huge white teeth. He appearing to be forever laughing. Both boys in sockless US Keds, arms around each other, began their march through the barrio kicking up a swirl of brown dirt.

They heard rock and roll blasted from the am radio at the Gonzalez gas station on the corner. The sounds from the Maestas’ trailer signaled the start of their daily fight. “Come mierda, perra!” shouted Mr. Maestas. Then the crashing of glass.

As Ruby and Vincent walked past kitchen windows, they smelled the aromas of garlic and frijoles in a whistling pressure cooker, tripe in menudo, or roasting red chili cut from a ristra. Mrs. Perkins, the negro landlord, had a barbecue pit of hickory starting to smoke.

They ambled aimlessly past fenceless yards filled with man-sized weeds, greasy car parts, odd pieces of splintering lumber, and odd chunks of metal and pipe. Our Lady of Guadalupe statue sat in a bed of flowers in the yards of the richest Mexicans. The Duran’s statue had pictures of tios, abuelos, and padrinos at its base.

They ate lunch at Ruby’s house. The meal was a bowl of beans with a bologna sandwich. Each bite left a brownish rim on the white bread. On the days when it wasn’t so hot, Ruby’s mama made tortillas. They would wrap the hot tortilla around a slice of cheese and eat the dry burrito with tomato soup. The boys were out the door before being told to wash dishes.

Next door to Ruby’s house was Conejos Park with its dragon-shaped fiberglass slide. The dragon had a tail that intertwined within itself creating a miniature rollercoaster. The slide was the source of various fractures, contusions, and abrasions of the body and mind as kids slid, fought, and jumped their way to exhaustion. Freeze tag usually ended with a argument about who was frozen and who was free.

“I got you!”

“Un unh!”

“I quit!”

“You’re a baby!”

“Chinga tu madre!” All the kids knew it was cuss word. No one knew what it meant.

The day ended with distant calls from Ruby’s Mama. “Get in this house now!” Ruby entered the house with face darkened by dirt set in dried sweat. “Wash your hands!” He rarely got away with the first washing. His arms showed drying riverlets of white where water had run down as he had dried his hands.

Vincent’s house was directly across the street from Ruby’s. It had rusting monuments to Buick and Chevrolet on cinderblocks. The cars sat like bookends on each side of Vincent’s house. The Buick was their meeting place. They had long ago taken the mercury from the engine thermometer on the dash. The seats creaked with every move. When decisions were made Ruby sat in the driver’s seat.

The Colorado Electric power plant was across the tracks beyond Vincent’s backyard. Within the fenced confines of the plant, separate mountains of coal and sand lay side by side like a pair of enormous black and white chi-chis on the earth. Ruby and Vincent would painstakingly climb the sand peak with their bikes. The initial push over the edge and rush of air was like jumping off a cliff. They would plunge to the bottom still riding or rolling next to a tumbling bike.

And there was the creek.

They loved Manitou Creek. Its banks, cut like the sand in an Etch-a-sketch, looked different daily. The two friends played along its twisting course with surprises at every bend. There were stolen treasures hidden under bridges by winos for later swap, empty bottles that served as targets for rock bombs, heavy shiny stones that had waited patiently for discovery, and tattered remains of “dirty” magazines that the boys leafed wide-eyed and gap-mouthed. Sometimes treasures were carried their way. Pieces of polished wood, animals that had surrendered to the water’s dizzy flow, and then one day the briefcase.

“What’s that?” shouted Ruby in the midst of their search for snakes that August afternoon.

“What?”

“Come here! Down there!” Though captured in the tangle of a fallen tree branch over the water, the case was easy to spot. Its shiny black surface twinkled differently in the sunlight as it rocked on the creek’s surface.

Without a word, both boys grabbed the base of the fallen branch and shook it. The case came free and floated away. Instinctively, the boys raced after it in what Ruby thought was a hopeless chase because it rode the middle of the creek.

Running on the inside of the creek’s curves, Ruby gained ground. He threw himself flailing wildly into the dirty water, and snatched the briefcase. The current carried him gently until the creek widened, and he felt bottom. Pulled along by the buoyant case, he gradually tip-toed and then in shallow water walked to shore. When Vincent caught up, he found Ruby lying on his back clutching the case. Vincent plopped down beside him.

Both boys lay breathless, staring at the thin clouds swimming by. Ruby was content to hug the briefcase until Vincent whispered, “Let’s open it!”

The latch was simple and opened easily. There were six sealed plastic bags filling three compartments. “Man! Oh, Man! Oh, man!” Each boy pulled out a bag and opened it by their own method. Vincent tore haphazardly. Ruby, like the way his papa unwrapped Christmas presents, carefully pulled away black tape and unfolded the plastic. Their efforts revealed tight bundles of twenty dollar bills.

Without a word, Ruby picked up the briefcase and moved to a line of trees away from the bank.

Under cover, the boys searched the rest of the briefcase. Wet documents disintegrated to the touch, but most of the money was dry. The boys sat facing each other and divided up the dry bills evenly. The wet money went back into the briefcase. The dry twenties were rewrapped and stuffed into jeans.

“It’s probably from a bank robbery!”

“Don’t tell anyone! Especially Chris!” Ruby hissed, gritting his teeth with authority.

Chris was Vincent’s thirteen year old brother, their constant enemy and rival. Chris had broken Ruby’s glasses three times in meaningless chingazos. He had poured hot water into Vincent’s fish bowl causing the goldfish to swim briefly at world record speeds. Vincent had a scar on his cheek that blended nicely with his freckles. Chris had shot him with a BB gun.

“I won’t!” Vincent said, stung by Ruby’s statement of the obvious.

“Let’s hide it in my grandpa’s shed.” said Ruby.

“We better wait here ‘til it gets dark.”

In Ruby’s backyard the boys stepped inside the shed. Newspapers and magazines were stacked to the rafters. Broken toys, rusted tools, and worn furniture filled the creaky floor. Old license plates tiled what wall space showed.

The briefcase and two separated bunches of bills went into various compartments of an old, disconnected potbelly stove.

Ruby worked up cascading tears as he entered the kitchen where his mama, papa, sister, and abuelita sat.

“What happened to you!” his mama exclaimed.

“Chris pushed me in the creek! I’ve been hiding from him

because he wants to get me!” Ruby’s shivers were real.

“We’ll see about that!” Mama hissed, pushing back her chair.

“Sientate,” his papa, Big Ruby, ordered without looking up from his plate. Ruby’s mama sat. Abuelita put her hand over Ruby’s sister’s hand. Before eating beans scooped with a tortilla, Big Ruby added, “Change those clothes. No, get outside and take your shoes off first!”

Ruby got clean clothes from the dresser he shared with his sister. The bathroom door separated him from his family at the table by four feet. In the silence of the meal, he was sure they all heard him removing his dirty clothes.

When Ruby got back to the dinner table, his mama was putting dirty plates into the sink. Big Ruby was perched before the TV on the couch reading the evening paper. Abuelita sat on a doilied chair with her ankles crossed. She knitted and listened. Ruby saw that his mama had saved him a dish of fideo and beans on the stove. She had covered it with a warmed tortilla.

While Ruby ate, he thought about the money and his papa. Ruben Perez Sr. didn’t talk much, but what he said he meant. Ruby knew that the Air Force had shaped his papa into a proud man with many rules. Rules that the family never questioned. If his papa found out about their treasure, Ruby knew he would be forced to do something honest like call the police or newspaper. How was he going to make his family rich with a papa stuffed full of rules?

“We could buy two cars!” said Vincent. Both boys sat in the Buick with their chins weighted in the palms of their hands.

“I’m don’t think there’s enough money.” replied Ruby.

“How about two TV’s?”

After a long pause Ruby asked, “What do we say if the people ask us questions?”

“I don’t know.”

Their dreams started to shrivel like bacon frying in a skillet. By mid-morning a plan had percolated and brewed into a short trip. Each boy carefully removed one bill from the stove.

The trek to Super Save took fifteen minutes. They walked by the grocery store twice daily during the school year. Sometimes they went inside to casually ogle the isles with candy and small toys. They both liked the comic books at the metal racks near the front door. They talked each other through the marvelous pictures they leafed. Their visits were usually cut short by the glare of a manager or a stocker.

With a twenty in pocket they entered the store with new purpose. They became selective and methodical as they pondered merchandise. Their attention to detail was stirred with a hint of guilt.

After painstaking deliberation the boys carried their precious purchase to the checkout counter. Eyes downcast, the boys dropped Eskimo Pies, comic books, candy cigarettes, miniature wax bottle pops, and potato chips before the pimple-faced clerk.

After several cranks on the metal cash register the clerk said, “That’ll be $4.27 with tax!” His crew-cut was standing so short and straight that freckles on his scalp showed like minnows underwater. Two twenty dollar bills were slowly pulled out of pockets simultaneously, unfolded, and set on the counter.

“Where’d you get this much money?” asked Mr. Crew-cut. Vincent stared past Mr. Crew-cut avoiding eye contact. Ruby reached for the money. Mr. Crew-cut slapped his hand over the two bills and said, “Hold on, boy.” Ruby backed away and pulled on Vincent’s shirt.

“Let’s go,” whispered Little Rudy.

The boys turned and ran out the door brushing by shoppers. Ruby imagining the Police, F.B.I., Army, and Marines hot on his poor Mexican cola.

They sprinted down alleys filled with trash and old tires, through obstacle-course backyards with clotheslines of hanging wash, around chained barking perros, over the train bridge, and back to the creek. They laid in tall grass waiting expectantly for the sound of sirens, bloodhounds, and guns. As the shadows of the day grew longer, the only sounds Ruby heard were the rumblings from his stomach.

“Now what?” Vincent whined.

Sitting on his corner of the shared bed and putting his shoes on the next morning, Chris DeHerrera noticed the twenty dollar bill. It was stuck to the bottom of his ragged sneaker with hardening gum.

Vincent opened one eye a slit as he heard his brother suck in a breath of surprise and saw him tip-toe to the bathroom.

When Chris returned to the bedroom, Vincent, propped up on one elbow and asked, “Whatcha gonna do today?”

“None of your business!” was Chris’ reply.

“Where you think he’s going?” asked Vincent as he and Ruby trotted in a crouch through a yard with cornstalks waving in the morning breeze.

“I don’t know, but stay back,” answered Ruby.

“That was my money!” protested Vincent.

Ruby stopped and looked at Vincent. “You wanna figure out how to spend the money?”

After a brief pause, Vincent with his forever grin responded, “Ok.”

Keeping well behind, peeking around trees with an occasional giggle, the boys’ amazement grew as Chris’ path led them back to Super Save.

The boys watched Chris stroll inside. They waited across the street just down from Super Save. They pretended to windowshop before an auto parts store.

“What’s taking him so long?” asked Vincent.

All conversation stopped with the arrival of the white police car. Rudy saw Vincent shaking his head as it parked directly in front of the Super Save entrance. Vincent closed his eyes and whispered, “Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.” Ruby took shallow breaths and back into shadows as a blue-clad cop entered the grocery store.

“Jesus,” said Ruby. With lips pinched, Vincent began a soft cry. Ruby reached over and touched his shoulder.

Moments later, the boys watched helplessly as the same cop exited with Chris. He held Chris by both arms. Chris walked on tip-toes and shook his head from side to side.

Mr. Crew-cut, white chest showing around a torn shirt, stomped behind them. A crowd gathered. The boys heard the commotion down the block.

As Chris was pushed into the back seat of the police car, Mr. Crew-cut approached the back window on the opposite side and shook the twenty dollar bill. Mr. Crew-cut hit the window with his fist.

The cop looked up and said, ”That’s enough, son. Back away!”

Later that afternoon, the boys sat in the cinderblocked Buick. They had skipped lunch and avoided all family. Only puffy eyes remained of Vincent’s tears as he bit his nails. Ruby’s right leg ticked uncontrollably on the gas pedal as he looked through the newspaper he had snuck out of the house.

“There ain’t nothing here.” said Ruby.

“You sure?”

“I looked yesterday too.”

Ruby replayed the scene at Super Save over and over like a newsreel at the show.

“I wish Chris coulda gotten the cop’s gun and shot them all!” Vincent said.

“No you don’t,” replied Ruby.

“What do you think is happening to him now?” Vincent asked.

“I’m not sure.”

During the afternoon prophetic scenes played before them through the windshield. They saw the balding, eighty year old Senora Salazar walking down the street. When her dress blew up with a gust of wind revealing blue-veined legs, she stopped and stared right at them. They slunk down into the cracked naugahyde. A brief storm approached. A ristra strung with bright red dried chilis blew off Vincent’s porch and hit the windshield. The chili shattered leaving a scattering of seeds resting on the glass looking like eyes peering into the car. With sunshine brilliant, a short burst of hail created a machine gun racket in the car.

Across the street a cab pulled up. The boys saw Mrs. DeHerrera yelling inside the cab. When Vincent’s mama was mad she talked fast in Spanish like angry squirrel chatter. They heard the screechy attack when the cab door opened. Chris walked toward the house, but stopped and looked toward the Buick. A fleshy slap on the back of the head propelled him toward the house. The last the boys heard Mrs. DeHerrera say was, “You wait til your papa gets home!”

On the last day of August 1961, Ruby and his best friend Vincent stood on the train bridge overlooking the creek, determined and solemn-faced with the burden of their problems in hand. They leaned on the railing watching the rushing water below.

They looked nine years plus generations old. Outlines formed under eyes where later bags would swell. Edges of mouths were weighed down with worry. A slump in shoulders spoke of a magnitude of calamity.

Life had become serious. They had cried together for Chris, their families, and themselves. Chris was ordered to appear in court even though a twenty dollar bill was never reported stolen.

There were sleepless nights filled with the imagined tortures inflicted on their brown bodies if anyone discovered their secret. Ruby had nightmares of a laughing Mr. Crew-cut pushing Vincent into the old potbelly stove with tentacle flames licking out. He woke in a sweat with the sound of Vincent’s screams.

Their dreams sailed in a high arc away from the bridge and over the water. The source of their tears was weighed down with rocks and guilt. Quickly settling into a dive, the container of false hope hit the water and disappeared beneath the surface with a splash.

“Wanna break some bottles?”

“Let’s go!”