The Red Dress
Jalisco, Mexico 1958
When Nufo looked out the window the sun’s rays were just beginning to shimmer over the rough angles of the mountains. It was his first glimpse of his homeland in four years. Somehow he had managed to sleep through the night in spite of the incessant roar of the Douglas DC 6’s four propellers, the hours of shuddering and shaking.
It was his first flight on an airplane, and he should have been terrified. Yet already exhausted by his sixteen hour work day, he was more calm than he had expected. Nevertheless, the race down the runway in Los Angeles had caused his heart to accelerate as if to keep up with the plane. It was some consolation that the passenger on his right - a man about his age, who introduced himself as Paco - was running the beads of his well-worn rosary through his well-worn fingers while his lips were silently praying for safe passage. Somehow the miracle happened. The plane levitated, with Nufo, Paco, and 48 other passengers inside. It was raised into the heavens as if by God’s hand.
That first view out the tiny window - the twinkling lights, the cars becoming like streams of ants, the mighty Pacific extending beyond sight - he carried for the rest of his life. Like himself, Paco was heading for Guadalajara, to family.
Nufo scanned the horizon. He thought that this indeed was a miracle - looking through a magic mirror at one moment over the ocean, and in the blink of an eye over the mountains of his home. But the biggest miracle of all was crossing the border so effortlessly after a lifetime of harrowing experiences.
As the plane began to descend, he excused himself and climbed past Paco. He went to the tiny cabinet of a bathroom, carrying a bag, Once inside, after relieving himself, he unbuttoned his shirt and reached into the bag. He carefully wrapped it’s contents around his waist, under his shirt. He produced three safety pins from his pocket, and fastened the fabric as snugly as he was able. Then he smoothed the bundle around his waist, adjusting it so it would lie evenly. Buttoning up his shirt, he returned to his seat.
Paco had scooted himself to the window and was looking out. Nufo took Paco’s seat, allowing his new friend to wonder at the miracle. Paco let out a low whistle of amazement. “ ¡Ay! No te creas...”
“Sí, la Patria!”
“Por fin!”
While they waited to leave the plane, Nufo learned Paco’s story. Sadly, Paco’s mother had passed away the week before. She was buried the next day, so he was not able to say goodbye. But it had been ten years since Paco had been able to come home, and he was looking forward to visiting his father, his brothers and sisters and the whole family, cousins, aunts and uncles.
“Well, this is the easiest border crossing in my life,” said Paco.
“Me too. But we’re not home free yet are we? Papers, señor, por favor.”
Paco laughed. “I got my green card last year, gracias a Dios. But I shouldn’t laugh - they can always get you. How about you?”
“Ciudadano de los Estados Unidos.” His smile revealed both pride and a little bit of mischief.
“Where did you buy your birth certificate, Mano?”
“Surprisingly, I was born in Los Estados. I say surprisingly because I didn’t even know it until I was 20 years old. It came as a big shock to find out. You would think that would have made border crossing easy, being a citizen, but in many ways it just made it harder.”
At that moment the plane intercom blared out some noise that was so distorted they couldn’t tell if the pilot was speaking Spanish or English. In a few minutes the door of the plane opened, and in stepped two uniformed federal policemen. One carried a clipboard, both carried guns on their belts - which seemed to Nufo to be much too big to be real guns. The Federales looked to him like cartoon figures with oversized toy guns.
A thick hush fell on the airplane as the two slowly came down the aisle. The officer with the clipboard was glancing down at his clipboard, then up scanning the passengers. His partner followed behind him, his hand on his holster. It seemed obvious that they were looking for a particular face. The whole plane was filled with Mexicans. Fortunately none of them seemed to match the photo on the clipboard.
When they left, the hush turned into a rising tide of murmurs, and when the two cartoon characters were sighted out the window walking away across the tarmac, the sound of shrill whistles - the kind that one hears at a soccer match when the referee makes a bad call - broke out. An anonymous voice shouted “¡Bienvenidos a Mexico!” and the whole plane broke out into laughter.
Nufo leaned towards Paco and said in a lowered voice “I hope there aren’t any undercover rats on this plane, because if there are we may be paying for this at the customs hall,” Paco winked back at him, now a co-conspirator.
“Got any contraband in your suitcase, Mano?” Paco was glancing side to side in an exaggerated, comical manner that got a laugh out of his partner.
“Well I got a couple of Hershey bars and a transistor radio.” Nufo confided.
“That should do it. The customs agents love chocolate. But you will be saying goodbye to your radio.”
“Yes, that is so sad. I have had that radio for years. Two years ago it broke. It’s totally useless. But for sentimental reasons I held onto it hoping someday when I would cross the border again I could give to some deserving customs agent.”
They both laughed.
* * *
As they walked with their suitcases towards immigration and customs, the anxiety was building in both of them. Nufo was already sweating, palms slick, as they waited in line. Paco turned around to Nufo and tapped his finger on Nufo’s bulging waistline, saying “ ¡Cuídate Gordo!”
Nufo was in a panic. Was it that obvious? He looked down at his shirt and to his horror he saw that he had missed a button hole. A small wisp of red was visible in the gap. He turned his back to the line and hurriedly rebuttoned his shirt, making sure he did a better job than the first attempt. Although it was muggy and he was already sweating, he put on his jacket.
“Tell me you won’t turn me in, Mano” Nufo pleaded, knowing his friend would never do that.
“No, don’t worry. However I would suggest that we not speak to each other once we are inside. I think the agents target two guys traveling together more than a couple strangers. They probably already have seen us talking and you doing your little dance just now so we may be in for it already. So good luck, and see you on the other side my friend.”
By the time he made it up to the immigration counter Nufo was soaked with sweat. The agent looked at his birth certificate and passport up and down. Then he looked at Nufo up and down. Then he looked at his documents up and down. This went on for a while. Nufo glanced across the room and saw that Paco had made it past immigration and was heading for customs.
Nufo felt as bad as he looked, so he played his last card. He didn’t want to take any chances that his performance would not be convincing. He took a deep breath in, swallowing his own saliva into his airway and burst in to a violent fit of coughing.
The Immigration officer handed him back his documents and waved him on.
The customs hall was the last and most difficult hurdle. He knew that the customs agents had pretty much free rein to confiscate anything of value. Supposedly they were looking for goods which were being smuggled across the border for resale. He had a friend who had bought new clothes for the trip home to Mexico. The agent gave him a hard time, the clothes were ‘too new’. His friend exclaimed “I am coming home to see my family, do you think I want to dress like a slob?”
Nufo took off his jacket and used it like a towel to wipe himself down. There were long lines everywhere. He chose the one with the most women and children. Not because they were not any less scrutinized - their bags would be searched as thoroughly as anyone’s - but a couple of cranky kids could move the line a little faster. He chose a mom with four small children who looked as if she was already at the end of her rope after a night of no sleep.
When his turn finally came, he laid down his jacket on the counter first, making sure the Hershey bar spilled out of the pocket in front of the agent. Not very subtle, but the agent took the bait and set it to one side as he went through Nufo’s suitcase. The transistor radio was somewhat hidden in a side pocket. When the agent found it, he looked at Nufo with a disapproving, severe look. He put the radio to the side with the Hershey bar. He finished by checking the suitcase exterior and the jacket for slits or other irregularities.
“All electric devices are contraband” the agent said without looking up.
“And the candy bar?” Nufo pleaded.
“Also not permitted.”
Nufo gave a deep sigh. The agent pushed the suitcase and all its entrails to one side and motioned for the next passenger.
Nufo shoved his clothes back into the suitcase in record time. He was out the door, and he couldn’t have felt more alive than had he been released from four years in prison. He found Paco waiting for a cab. Paco was grinning.
“Hey, I’m going to the Central Camionera, you want to split the cab fare?”
Nufo had been planning to go to the bus station and get a ticket to Lagos de Moreno, so he gladly accepted.
“But you have to tell me first what you got around your waist, Mano.”
Nufo laughed heartily. He unbuttoned his shirt, pulled out the shirttails, undid the safety pins, and produced a lady’s red dress. Beaming, he held it up for his friend to admire.
* * *
Once they had bought their bus tickets they went out front of the Central to find something to eat. By this time they were famished, almost desperate. The sweet smell of mesquite, tortillas, and carne asada led them to a street vendor. They each bought a handful of tacos, then returned to the bus station to wait for their buses. Paco’s would leave first, boarding in about an hour and a half.
“So tell me about this red dress, Mano. Looks a little small for you.”
Nufo laughed. With a satisfying meal in his panza and the border crossing behind him, he was feeling joyful, light and alive.
For the next hour and a half they shared their stories. Paco’s mother, it turned out, was a young girl during the Cristero war. She had to hide in the corn baskets when the Federales came through her small town, looking for food and other things. Paco’s father was almost hanged during this time. He was a mere eight years old. Curious and inventive, he lashed a small pipe onto a piece of wood in an attempt to make a gun. He almost killed himself back in the corral when he lit some powder at one end of the pipe to fire a pebble out the other end. The only reason the Federales didn’t hang him was that his Abuelita shamed the soldiers for bullying an eight year old boy.
“Yeah, had it not been for my dad’s Abuelita I wouldn’t be here.”
Nufo’s family had left Mexico during those troubled times and moved in with his Tía Mercedes who lived in Escondido California, where Nufo was born. But shortly thereafter, the wars ended and Nufo and his family moved back home to their village where he was raised. He had no knowledge of his U.S. citizenship. As a young man he crossed from Mexico to California many times and many ways. It was always dangerous and fearful.
“Yeah, the darn thing was that even after I found out I was a citizen and had my papers it was no different trying to cross la línea. If anything they would hassle me more. It was before I could speak English. I was raised in Mexico and was a Mexican but with papers. So they were very suspicious.”
Nufo reached for his wallet and pulled out an ancient, folded piece of paper to show Paco.
“You see this,” he said pointing to the scorched and blackened corner of the document. “When this gringo migra cop asked me for my birth certificate, he held it in front of me and the cabrón lit the corner with a cigarette lighter. Just to mess with me.”
Like so many of his countrymen, Nufo shouldered these hardships and indignities to be able to support himself and his family. He worked many different jobs - harvesting tomatoes, oranges, lettuce; cleaning stables, training horses. Eventually he saved enough to buy an old car, and he did delivery, office cleaning, and gardening. On the weekends he would go to the swap meets to buy and sell. He would send money home every month to his family.
He bought a truck and started a gardening business. Things were going well. He returned home one summer and met the woman he would marry. Her name was Catalina, and she was as pale and fair as Nufo was dark. She had long brownish red hair that she kept braided. The first time he saw her with her hair free, wild, spilling over her shoulders - he was done for.
“And that is the long road that finally leads to the red dress.”
Paco pretended to look at his watch. “Well hey Nufo, that was a great story but I gotta catch my bus....” They both laughed.
* * *
Alone now on the bus, Nufo watched the countryside become more and more familiar. He was coming home, and home to his sweet Catalina.
It had been four years. It wasn’t supposed to be four years, but right about the time he was intending to make the trip to be with her, his truck with all his tools and equipment was stolen. That was a hard thing, probably the hardest thing in his life. But what do you do? After his anger and frustration burned itself down to ashes he got up and went to work. He had done it before, he could do it again.
Nufo and Catalina had had very little time together. The courtship was hampered by the supervision of an aunt or a cousin who was required to be in their company at all times. Thank God for Catalina’s cousin Leticia who mercifully turned a blind eye when it was most necessary.
The wedding was in the parish church. They made their promise to each other surrounded by their families: all the cousins, tios, abuelos, in-laws and outlaws. An uncle had allowed them to stay in a small adobe house that had once been the home of his parents. It was modest but sufficient. Nufo and Catalina lived together as man and wife for the month of July. They savored one another and their love not knowing it would be four long years before they would next be together. Nufo returned to his business with the intention of saving enough money to bring his bride to California before the end of that first year, but it was to be otherwise.
* * *
They say that when you die your whole life passes before your eyes in an instant. Nufo walked up the dusty road with his suitcase, weary but happy. Up ahead was the house where he had spent the happiest time of his life. He took a deep breath, and the scent of the grass and the wildflowers made his memories of their month in July swirl within his heart. He knocked on the door.
“Yes?” her voice was faint, barely audible through the thick mesquite door.
“It’s me, Nufo”. He paused, swallowed hard to hold back the tears, but his
voice quavered. “Your husband.”
It took a long while, but finally there was the sound of the metal bar creaking and groaning. The door very slowly swung inwards.
Nufo had played this moment over and over in his imagination. He knew it would be overwhelming. He stepped inside. The room was dark, after having stepped out of the bright afternoon sunlight. But as his eyes adjusted he saw her face - tears flowing down her beautiful face, hair unattended and wild. She was sobbing, weeping. As he stepped across the threshold he froze, suddenly paralyzed. In that instant his world turned inside out.
She was unmistakably pregnant.
* * *
Escondido, California 2010
It was my Dad’s birthday. The kids were excited to be going over to Papa Nufo’s house to celebrate their Grandpa’s 85th. It was a hot day in July and they loved Papa Nufo’s swimming pool. They almost lived there during the summertime. I was very happy to know the time spent with their Grandpa would be a memory for their entire lives. It was precisely for that reason that my wife and I had decided never to have a pool at our own house, although we very easily could have done so.
“How are you doing Gina?” I called into the bedroom. “We should be leaving soon.”
Like most women Gina took a long time to get herself together, but it was always worth the wait. She came around the corner flashing a brightly colored sundress. Swirling around like a model on the runway she struck a pose, then another.
“I like it. You always look good in red.” I put my arms around her as she looked at herself in the mirror, and nuzzled her neck. “It gives me ideas....”
“Stop that - your messing up my hair.”
“I like to mess up your hair, that’s my job.”
She escaped. “What about your Dad, do you think it is a little too much?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well - you know the color, the red dress. He’s from a small town and kind of traditional and such.”
“I’ll let you make the call. But if I my know my Dad I would say he wouldn’t mind at all.”
I wrangled the kids while Gina put on her final touches, apparently going with the red dress. Isabelle, at 13 was our eldest. She took after her mother in temperament as well as skin color. She was darker than the other two, and self confident and outspoken. The two boys were lighter, like me. Mario at 8 was artistic and sensitive like his Mom, but also very, very funny, like his Dad; or at least very, very funny like his Dad thought himself to be. And little Arnie at 5 was unstoppable, a dynamo, like his Grandpa - Papa Nufo - whom he was named after and whom he adored.
Well, we sort of named him after Grandpa - whose name was Arnulfo but was shortened to Nufo for obvious reasons. We came as close as we could by calling our child Arnold (Arnie for short). Papa Nufo was very pleased and I think he really loved little Arnie in a special way. When it was time for Arnie to go to preschool we were glad we saved countless teachers the task of trying to manage “Arnulfo” - and the playground would have been worse.
Later my Dad confessed to me “You know Mijo, you did a good thing calling him Arnold. I never in my life ran into anybody else named Arnulfo.”
“That’s what I thought Dad - you are one of a kind.”
The kids had excitedly filled Papa Nufo’s piñata with candies, grabbed their towels and snorkels and loaded up the van. As we were driving down the freeway Gina asked me “Well, did you pass your DNA test?”
“No dear, unfortunately I flunked miserably because apparently I’m not related to you.” It was meant as humor, but fortunately before we came to blows Isabelle piped up from the backseat.
“Of course! You two are not related to each other genetically. Married people aren’t.”
Mario’s turn; “What’s a DNA test Dad?”
“Well your Mom got me a DNA test for my birthday. That’s when you spit in a tube....”
“UGH THAT’S GROSS!” Arnie’s contribution to our discussion.
“Yes Arnie, it is really, really gross but you spit into a tube and send it in the mail to a laboratory. There is a computer that can figure out where your parents and grandparents came from.
“For example, your Mom’s family came from southern Italy, and my parents came from Mexico.”
Mario: “But didn’t you already know that?”
“Yes, we did, but not about my great grandfathers, and my great great grandmothers. I found out in my test that somewhere in my family I had Native American ancestors, as well as Spanish, English, and Arab.”
“Do you mean you are an Indian?” Mario asked, incredulously.
“Part Indian. And guess what....you are too!”
Arnie let out an Indian whoop. “And you too, Arnie, and all of you children share whatever ancestry that belongs to both your father and mother.”
There was a lively discussion for most of the remaining trip, When it finally died down Gina asked if I had considered whether Dad would be interested in getting a test for his birthday.
“Probably not, I think it is kind of a generational thing - kind of like computers. Like you say, he is more of a traditionalist. I think he’ll love the Team Papa Nufo jerseys. That’s more than enough. “
“But I could run it by him.”
* * *
My Dad lived alone now. He had sold his gardening business, trucks and all to a young man. My Dad liked the new owner who was honest and hardworking and had a sweet young family to support. Papa Nufo was at peace, and slowing down. The only gardening he did these days was around the pool. Whenever the kids came over, they were ebullient, splashing and frolicking together like penguins.
The evening of his birthday party Dad was not his usual self. It was if he had aged considerably since I had last seen him, only two weeks ago. His movements seem to indicate he was in some kind of pain, and I was concerned. After dinner the kids went inside to watch a movie by themselves leaving Gina and Dad with me on the patio.
“Hey Pop, let me take your blood pressure. Have you been watching it?”
“Ay Mijo, I’m not getting any younger, am I? Look, the Good Lord has given me another birthday, and that is indeed a gift in itself.”
His blood pressure was higher than it should have been. “Pop, it’s been a big day, do you want to go and rest? Maybe we should be going.”
“No, please stay a while. Just a little while.”
Gina felt the same discomfort I was feeling. “Are you OK Pop?”
“Yes, but just be with me a while, I have something to tell you. Both of you. I heard little Arnito talking about this DNA thing that is happening. May I ask what is this about?”
“Nothing Pop, it was a gift to me for my birthday. It’s kind of a thing, to get to know about where your family comes from and all that.”
My father looked like an older man than I ever knew him to be. He looked at me pensively, seeming to search for the right words but not finding them. A long moment passed between us.
“Is it that you want to know about your mother, my son?”
Gina shot me a look of shock, despair, agony - all those emotions in that single glance. In a split second it all fell into place. My whole life people commented about the contrast between my Dad and myself. His skin color was dark, mine was white. Sal y Pimienta. Salt and Pepper. I had always been told I took after my mother, Catalina.
“No Pop, nothing like that, it’s just... It’s just.... a thing.” Now I was groping for words. The look on his face seem to bear witness to a long sorrow never forgotten, a sorrow that I had never had the eyes to see nor the heart to feel. I could see that he had been carrying a great burden all these years which had now finally become too heavy to carry another step.
Tears were welling up in Gina’s eyes. She felt it was her doing. She felt crushed that her birthday gift to me, the DNA test, had inadvertently set in motion this unexpected chain of events.
* * *
My Dad raised me, but I grew up without a mother. My aunts took care of me when he was off working. I never thought much about it, it just was the way it was. My cousins were more like brothers and sisters; we all grew up together.
My Dad’s house was right next door, so I could go back and forth to my tías’ house. I understood that my mother Catalina, Mama Cata, had died giving birth to me. Somehow I believed she died so that I could live. I would pray to Mama Cata every night for her to help and guide me. I loved her, and I felt her love every day of my life.
Pop leaned in close to us, grasping each of our hands in his. Hands rough with years of hard work, hands that cared for and took care of me since before I had memories.
“Mijo, I have loved you with all my heart. As long as the good lord wishes it to beat, it will be yours, and Gina’s and all your beautiful children’s. I was so proud of you when you graduated from high school, being a simple man myself with little education. When you graduated from college I felt that I was the luckiest man alive, as this wonderful thing had never happened to any of my family.”
As he was saying this his eyes glistened, shining. His hands grasped ours, tightly. He held us so tightly.
“And when after so many years of effort and study you were able to become a doctor, and besides that a heart doctor - I felt the joy of knowing that for all the aching pain my heart has endured in this life, it has been blessed with these hands of yours which heal the pain of so many other hearts.”
“You must understand something that I have not until this day shared with you. I know that you love your Mama Cata as best you are able, and I know also she looks down on you and your wife and your family with great love and tenderness.
“I want you to always know that your Mama Cata carried you with love all the months you grew within her. But what you must know is that when I returned to her after those four long years that we were apart..... I was too late to be her son’s father.”
He said it. Those words hung in the air, the warm summer night air breathing over us, the shrill cry of crickets now deafening, now that he had said it.
Nufo looked at Gina, Gina in her red dress. He regarded her as if he were seeing her for the first time, or as if she were a distant memory. His eyes were fixed, he gazed deeply into her eyes. He seemed to be searching, searching for something, perhaps someone. Gina, more beautiful for the tears streaming down her cheeks, feeling his pain, offered him her embrace - her consolation for the lifetime of carrying a burden which now at last he was able to share with the ones who loved him.
I reached out and wrapped my arms around them both: a long hard hug, clinging to one another as if in a driving storm wind, which at long last could be calmed.
“Thanks, Pop.”
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