The Table of Truth - Chapter Two, Part 1b

The three of us spent most of our time fawning over our two children. Our youngest sister, Elsa, was only four, but she wanted to be a part of the mothering, too, so we made it a family affair. We had grown up competing with each other, fighting over the stupidest things, but now we grew closer than ever.
I never had many friends. I always kept people at school away at arm's length, so my family was all I had most of the time, and even when I fought with my sisters, they were still my best friends.
They didn't like Diego Sr. Whenever he came into a room they were in, he barely acknowledged them, and he usually sat back with a beer and an attitude like he owned the building. Berta pointed out how disgusting it was that he would put a hand down the front of his pants. I didn't know if it was a new habit, or if it was something he always did that I made a point of ignoring. Berta was always less patient than me. And she was never shy about telling me what she thought. She had kicked her own boyfriend out of their house when he tried to run her life. And now he lived in Tijuana while she made enough money painting condos.
But she was right about Diego. I kept hoping he would turn around. I kept wanting him to be the type of warm husband and father I had always pictured. The kind my father had always been for us.
It happens gradually. Selling out to a man like that. First you give into an argument that you don't think is important. You find yourself accepting problems you think are little and ignoring that they are large red flags. You allow a little more. Then a little more every day until it's overwhelming. The next thing you know, you're compromising everything you are for a man you no longer know.
Berta insisted I should give up on him. But I couldn't.
Claudia, the sister closest to my age, was the first to notice Diego Jr. taking his first steps. We were all busy with other things, food, diapers, laundry. But Claudia almost always had her eyes on the babies. I think she wanted to have them more than any of us. That was why it was ironic she had none. Or maybe it was because she had no children that she was so focused on ours. Whatever the case, she gasped with joy and we all turned around to see little Diego standing triumphantly on the cement floor. Wobbling a little. Reaching out for something to grasp. Finding none, he began to kneel.
But Claudia knelt down to his level. “Come on, sweetheart,” she said. “Come on.”
He looked at her. I stepped up behind her. Little Diego looked up at me. And he rose so quickly I thought he would leave his pants on the ground. He swayed a little. Like he was doing a dance. Then he put one shaking foot forward. He confirmed his footing. Then he put another foot forward. We all squealed with delight and Elsa ran into the room to share the moment with us. We went completely silent. The patter of his bare feet against the floor were the only sounds. I beamed with delight.
He began to fall forward and I jumped past Claudia to catch him. I scooped him up in my arms and spun him in the air while my sisters applauded. It was the proudest moment of my life thus far.
I told Diego Sr. about the miracle later that night. He just grunted and shrugged. I began to realize that Berta was right. But he was the father of my child now. And I had a duty to fulfill.
My child was a miracle. But one was enough. I did not want another. Especially with how little help Diego was. He provided some money. But that was about it. And even the money wasn't always very much.
I had been very cautious with birth control ever since I understood it. After I got pregnant, I learned as much as I could. No one ever taught me about it. It was a taboo subject at school. Mother and father did not speak of it with any of us. So now I got some books and read from them. They first suggested not having sex. But that was out of the question. Second, they suggested condoms, but Diego refused to wear them because he didn’t like how they felt. Third, they suggested a pill that would keep me from getting pregnant. I was very careful and made sure to take one of these pills every day.
But then I stopped taking them. I had changed my mind. I wanted a second child. I wanted Diego Jr. to grow up with someone he could rely on, the way I relied on my sisters. I told Diego my feelings and he didn’t respond. I took it as a yes. The next night that he wanted me, I opened up to him freely. I exploded with joy. The anticipation of a full family, of a brother or sister for little Diego filled me with a radiance that can’t be matched by any other kind of orgasm. I felt big Diego fill me up, and I couldn’t wait.
I was thrilled to find I was pregnant again. Little Diego would have a brother! We named him Mario, after big Diego’s father. But he would be our last child. Diego made it clear. I agreed.
I worked extra hard at the restaurant. I flirted freely with the boys. I discovered the power I could have over them. The energy in a slight “accidental” touch, or as I brushed past them. The allure of a glance. The magnetism of a strut. The desire of ever tighter clothing. Most of all, I learned how easy men are to figure out. To manipulate out of money. They’re simple creatures with basic desires. As long as I made them think they were achieving those desires the money poured in.
We moved into a trailer park. It was larger than the apartment. Once Mario grew older he might even be able to have his own room.
Things got even better when an American company moved into town to make a movie about a giant ship called the Titanic. I watched these wealthy people go in and out. They left good tips and I didn’t always have to flirt with them. Most of the time they seemed too tired to care.
I wanted to take big Diego to look at the spectacle. The gigantic boat was beautiful. The excitement around it so energetic. He wasn’t interested. So I took little Diego to see, along with Mario in the stroller.
I pointed the ship out to Diego Jr. “Do you see that boat?”
“Yeah. That's why we came, isn't it?”
“Yes. And do you know why I wanted to show this to you?” He shook his head. “Because one day you and I are going to sail away on that boat together. We'll sail away into the distance until no one can see us.”
“Not even Mario?”
“Don't be silly! Mario will be with us.”
“And Daddy?”
“Of course... Daddy.”
Soon after, the ship was gone. And so were all the people making the movie... And so was their money.
A few months later I was pregnant again. I didn’t understand it! I was certain I always took the pills. Every day.
I was frightened. We could not handle a third child. But it was too late. If I was an American girl, perhaps I would have gotten rid of it. But where I lived, that was unthinkable. And illegal.
Diego was furious. We could barely handle the responsibilities of two children. How were we going to handle a third? I didn't understand his anger. I took care of the children. I did everything. And when I was busy, my sisters did the rest. Diego did nothing. I suppose he didn't like so much money going to feed them. I was having more and more difficulty explaining to him that we needed less money to go toward beer and more toward food.
He hit me... First with the back end of his hand, then with the front end. A fist clenched tightly that struck my cheek with all his might. He pressed me up against the wall, demanding I tell him it wasn't true. When I refused, he placed my arm against a hot stove and gave me a permanent scar.
I went to live with my parents. My younger sister still lived at home, so it was crowded with all of us, two children, and a third on the way. But we did the best we could. They were just happy I no longer had Diego in my life.
He came by sometimes shouting for me. Both of my parents told him I wasn't there. That in any case he should leave or they will call the police.
“I love you!” Diego shouted one time past them. “I love my children! Come back to me!” My father rose the guitar above his head as if to strike him and Diego ran. But his words got through to me. I began regretting.
Diego Jr. was old enough to ask questions now. He asked me where Daddy was. Why had I left? The less he understood, the more he resented me.
Father came home exhausted every night with his guitar in hand. He usually had a couple drinks, even when the doctors told him he had a bad liver and needed to stop. He said that he needed the beers to unwind. He began teaching me how to play. He sat me in his lap and showed me the chords. He played all day for work, but he was so passionate about the music that he continued to play for us at night. I often heard him play privately for my mother. An American song called 'Pretty Woman'.
It was the bright part of any day when he came home and played something lively for us to sway to, or softly for the children to fall asleep to. Many of his songs were in English. His favorites were from a Mexican who sang American songs, Ritchie Valenz.
Berta had also learned to play, though she wasn't as good as Daddy. She visited a lot with her daughter. Her boyfriend and she were back together, and he came sometimes, too. And by the size of her belly, another member of their family would soon join along.
She sometimes took the guitar and played a tune, inspiring Daddy to take it back and play a song he suddenly remembered. She often sang along as he played. She was open and honest about all of her feelings. And she made it clear just how much she worshiped him.
Daddy made me practice English. He would turn to me and say, “Open the door.” When I returned the gaze confused, he made the motion and would not leave me alone until I opened the door. He then told me to “close the door,” and did not stop bugging me until I closed it. The orders became more complicated, but he would not play his guitar for us until we understood what he was saying in English and do as he asked. In this way I learned the language quickly. The look of pride on his face was far more incentive than a grade in school could ever have given me.
Speaking of school, by this time I had long since dropped out. But my mother was adamant about me completing it. Education, especially for girls, was very important to my mother. She told every one of us that we would have to stand on our own two feet, and that we should never rely on men. Not even if they are our husbands. I wondered if Father found that offensive. But when she said things like that around him, he just went on doing whatever he was doing.
She made me go to night classes while she took care of my children. Elsa was beginning school, and I often saw her coming home while I was going to school. She would hop up and wave excitedly to me. She found it thrilling that we were learning out of the same building.
It was supposed to take me three semesters. But I made Mother proud when I returned with a diploma in two.
I'll never forget that day, because as I showed her one treasure, I found that I had another on its way. Holding my diploma high, my water broke and I began screaming. I dropped my diploma into it. Someone grabbed it and someone else grabbed me and put me in a chair. I could hear someone else calling a taxi.
The cab driver didn't know what he was in for. I only saw his eyes in the rear view mirror, but they were filled with panic as he dashed through the bumpy streets to the hospital. I thought the baby would come out with black and blue lumps from being jostled around in the cab.
At the hospital, my father was by my side stroking my forehead. “Mi bella Marisela,” he said calmly as I pushed, screaming in pain. It didn't show on my face, but his efforts did wonders for me deep inside.
I named the baby after him, Tino.
The house was too crowded with all of us. I had to get out. But my tips had gone down ever since my pregnancy started to show. Even after the birth my body wasn't as tight as it had been. The men were always more willing to part with their money when they were attracted to me. As though giving me more money meant they had a better chance of sleeping with me. I had let them think that and flirted it up with them. But now they didn't care. And the money was drying up.
I began exercising after work. I watched what other people did and I tried to mimic them. I felt like a fool sometimes, stumbling. But the more I watched the people who were successful the better I got. And I felt my body getting into shape. I felt better in general, too. I had more energy. More spirit.
Every day, on my way to the gym, I passed a tattoo parlor. I would peak in and look past the customer wincing on the table at the art on the walls. It was beautiful.