The Instant American

THE INSTANT AMERICAN

Pablo Rendez woke up early on an August morning in 1947, and at that moment he decided firmly that he would become an American. The fact that he had lived his entire life in Texas, as had his parents, didn’t seem to detract from his belief that he wasn’t an American. He wanted to be an American like the white kids.

Pablo reached under his bed and pulled out an old cigar box that his tía Tina had thrown away, and he had retrieved from the trash pit at the edge of the village. It contained a broken watch, two ancient half-pieces of Juicy Fruit gum, and $1.49 in an assortment of pennies, nickels, and dimes. He scooped out the coined wealth, rolled over his brother, and went outside.

Sergio had not yet risen, but a rap on his window brought him outside. It was still summer, and Sergio was certain that Pablo wanted to go fishing this morning. Grabbing a handful of tortillas, Sergio ran outside, barely escaping his mother’s hard right hand. It was one of the few times that he was so fortunate.

“Sergio. My friend. Today, I become an American,” Pablo boasted. His eyes held a peculiar gleam, one that Sergio had seen before. It was like the gleam in Sister Anita’s eyes when she rapped one’s knuckles for some perceived sin at school.

“But you are American,” Sergio said.

“No. No. I want to be an American like the Wurtzles.”

Sergio eyed his friend sadly and shook his head. Pablo was the best of friends, but he was also a dreamer. He liked to read and to write stories. He used English words like paramour and betroth.

“Do you have any money, my friend?” Pablo looked at his friend plaintively, almost sadly, like the beggars in Brownsville on the streets.

Sergio considered lying to his friend. It was an accepted practice in their world, as long as the lie didn’t hurt one’s feelings or besmirch God. In the end, he told the truth.

“I have seven cents.”

“Perhaps you will lend me the seven cents so that I can buy the things I need to be American.”

Sergio scuffed his feet and looked down a moment before speaking. He hated to disappoint such an excellent friend, but he had to.

“Your tía Tina said that she would sell me 3 big pieces of leche quemada for five cents. I must have it for such a price, but I will give you the other two cents.”

Pablo understood the economics of childhood in Arroyo City, and he quickly and gratefully accepted the two cents, vowing to make Sergio an American after he had finished his own glorious transformation. Sergio declined the offer.

“Remember in school what the good Sister Anita taught us? We are all part of the melted pot,” Sergio said.

“Melting pot,” Pablo corrected.

“Ah, yes.”

“And I also remember that you said it was like the mole pot. Sister Anita rapped you smartly on your knuckles for that,” Pablo said, chuckling at the thought of the pain brought on by Sister Anita’s heavy ruler. Sergio chuckled too, for he was a forgiving soul.

“And she also smacked my head with her hand. She has a big ring, you know, probably from the Pope himself. It hurt so much that I had to stay home from school the next day.”

“You stayed home because you are lazy and you don’t like math and reading.”

Sergio laughed.

“True, my friend. It was a glorious day. Mama brought me bean tacos in bed and I went fishing later.”

“And caught nothing,” Pablo countered.

“Better than school.”

The boys walked along the dusty avenue, but Pablo had a purpose while Sergio was content to follow his friend. No one was out, but the smell of beans and tortillas filled the air. Pablo, neglecting his breakfast this morning, felt a rumbling in his stomach. Sergio gave him a tortilla, a sure sign that the boys were staunch friends.

“So, what will you do to become an American?” Sergio bit into another tortilla voraciously. He soon had another one in his mouth, chewing happily and not even thinking of the miseries to come when school started next month. He tended to live his life a day at a time, hoping for adventure but always happily settling for languid days when no adventure was to be had.

“I will eat steak and French fried potatoes. I will have a grass lawn, with an umbrella and a little windmill. And,” he turned to his friend, stopping him in the road, ”I will wear shoes all day long.”

“Ho ho! And this will make you an American? A part of the mole pot?”

Pablo looked at his friend seriously, with a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Sister Anita is wrong. We are not part of it all. They,” he waved vaguely in the direction of the Wurtzle’s house, “are roast beef and we are vegetables. It all makes a great dinner, but everyone prefers the beef to the vegetables.”

Sergio considered this for a moment.

“I am the caldo. The soup. Without me, the roast beef and the vegetables are dry and tasteless. I make the meal worth eating. As long as we have tortillas with it, of course.”

“Ah! The white bread. I must have the white bread with the steak and the French fried potatoes.”

Sergio looked at him quizzically.

“And where will you get white bread?”

“I have $1.51 now. I can buy white bread. And steak. My mama will give me a potato and the lard for frying.”

“I bet she will not, my friend.”

“Well, I will steal these items and she will never know. It is but a small amount.”

“She will know.”

“Maybe, but she won’t care. It is a small amount.”

Tía Tina’s store lay in the dusty distance, a mere two minutes’ walk for the boys but it took them five minutes because Sergio and Pablo stopped so that the boys could finish off the tortillas. It would not do to walk into Tía Tina’s with food in hand. There would be clucks of disapproval and stern looks from tía Tina, and neither of the boys felt like withstanding such withering disapproval.

“I would like to purchase a steak, tía,” Pablo walked up to the counter and stated his desires in a clear, loud voice. Two other customers, friends of Tina and, consequently, friends of Pablo’s mother, looked up in mild surprise and intense interest. Sergio alone noticed their looks and caused him to back away from the counter, distancing himself from the prying, searching eyes of his neighbors.

Tina looked at Pablo with more than mild surprise. She knew of the family’s finances, and she was positive that her sister could not afford this luxury. Unless Rafael, her husband, had stopped drinking, and she knew this to be as likely as the sun rising in the west.

“It is with my own money, tía.”

Even more surprise registered on her face. She demanded to see the money first. Pablo counted out 25 cents and laid it on the counter. Tina swiped up the money with a speed that Pablo didn’t know she possessed and quickly put it in her apron pocket. She went to the back and, amid clattering and door slamming, returned a couple of minutes later with a thin piece of steak that had seen better days.

“That is a fine steak, mijo. For a real man,” Tina smiled, but it didn’t seem like a pleasant smile to Sergio.

“And I’ll need to purchase your finest white bread,” Pablo added, digging out another 15 cents.

One of the old ladies gasped and hurried out of the door. Sergio and Pablo knew exactly where she was going: to the church, to pray. It was just too much to bear, seeing Pablo buying steak and white bread. She must pray for him, and then she must tell everyone about it.

“Now we go to see don Emilio. He has an umbrella and a little windmill for sale,” Pablo said. They stood outside of Tía Tina’s store for a moment, taking in the warmth of the day and letting their eyes get used to the now-bright sun. A dog came by and sniffed at the steak in Pablo’s hand. Sergio petted him and shooed him gently away, promising him a piece of chicken this Sunday.

“Why do you want a little windmill? Are you digging a little well?” Sergio asked earnestly. A little windmill! They had plenty of water already.

“For decoration. The Wurtzle’s have decorations in their yard, so I need decoration."

“And the umbrella?” Sergio could hardly wait to hear what his friend was thinking. No one used an umbrella in their neighborhood, not even when it rained. One simply enjoyed the rain.

“It is a very big umbrella. It will shade many people.”

Sergio thought the idea ridiculous, but he went with his friend to help him barter for the items, and to carry them back. He was hoping that Pablo would give him a piece of his steak when it was cooked.

“And grass. He also has grass seed.”

“Why do you want grass? You have to water it, and you can’t even eat it. My friend, if I water something, I want to be able to eat it later. This is madness.” Sergio complained, but softly.

It took the remainder of the morning and a large portion of the afternoon to acquire these items, but Pablo never tired. His excitement caused him to speak more frankly about his plans.

“Tonight, we will eat steak and French fried potatoes, my friend. We will be under the big umbrella and we will look at our decoration. And the grass will grow within a week, don Emilio guarantees it. And then, you will see.”

“See what?”

Pablo wiped the sweat from his brow and gazed kindly upon his unknowing friend. Sergio had not read books like him, so he just didn’t know about sophistication. To become an American, one must be sophisticated. One needed a giant umbrella and a decorative windmill so that the steak and the French fried potatoes could be enjoyed like a real American.

“Then, Liesl Wurtzle will notice me, and she will become my betrothed.”

“Hmm. What is betrove?”

“Betrothed. A fiancée. She will marry me one day.”

Sergio stopped hoeing the dirt for the grass seeds, put his hands on his hips, and laughed out loud.

“Ho ho! She will, will she? Just because you eat a fine piece of meat and have decorations in the yard? You should marry Alessandria.” Sergio smiled slyly at his friend. “She kissed you on the cheek the last day of school, my friend.”

Pablo nodded, more intent on getting the umbrella to stay up than in recounting the past glories of cheek kissing.

“I kissed Marisela on the cheek that day, too.” Sergio said.

Pablo looked up from his task.

“Really? Did she slap you?”

“No. She ran off with her friends, giggling.”

“That is a good sign,” Pablo said, returning to the all-important task of keeping the umbrella upright.

“Yes. She will be my wife,” Sergio said placidly. It was a done deal to him, and it was the right thing to do. You kiss a girl if you intend to marry her. She also made her intent clear by not slapping him. Sergio had an unshakeable faith in this matter.

That night, Pablo and Sergio dined on burnt steak and oil-soaked potatoes. The umbrella blew over in the slightest of breezes, and the decorative windmill did not spin at all. The grass, which grew in the next spring, was full of weeds and thorns. Pablo poured gasoline on the grass and burned it.

Pablo did not spend his entire fortune that day. He had 23 cents left over, so he and Sergio bought a massive amount of leche quemada, ate it all in one day, and got sick that night. It was a glorious day.

The story of Pablo and Sergio dining on burnt steak and soggy fries spread rapidly through the community. The boys taunted Pablo unmercifully for his actions, but Sergio staunchly defended him, even when the taunting turned to fisticuffs. That August was full of fights for the two boys, much to the amusement of the adoring Marisela and Alessandria.

The incident was to become part of Arroyo City’s stories that were told by the men when they drank at night. Don’t be like Pablo, they would say. Be who you are and nothing more. The wives would roll their eyes at having to hear the story repeatedly, and the kids would try to figure out what was so great about the story that the men would tell it over and over.

Pablo gave up his pursuit of becoming an instant American, but he never gave up his books or his writing. He would write stories and read them to the younger kids, at night, and watch their eyes as they oohed and aahed. Sergio complained that the stories were too scary, and that he had trouble sleeping after hearing them.

“Why don’t you write about how mean Sister Anita is, my friend? Or about the dog that stole my mother’s rabbit stew last year?”

“Maybe I will, one day. When it suits me.” Pablo drank from his soda slowly, trying to make it last. Tía Tina gave each boy a soda that day to clean out her storeroom, a job that took three hours. They each received a soda and five cents, and they promptly spent their money on leche quemada.

The boys walked along the river until they found their usual fishing spot. Sergio caught some crickets and impaled one on his fishing pole, generously doing the same for Pablo’s pole. Both boys dipped their makeshift poles in the water and settled back, hoping for a bite but not really caring if they got one. They were full of candy and soda, and school would start soon, so they wanted to do as little as possible before they had to face the terrors of Sister Anita once again.

“Remember last year, when we ate that steak? It was terrible wasn’t it?” Sergio mused.

“It was one of the worst days of my life, my friend. Everyone hated us for trying to be different,” Pablo said. A fish nibbled his line and he jumped up, giving the pole a swift jerk. The fish got away with the cricket. He put another cricket on his line, teasing the top of the water with it, hoping to attract a nice, fat catfish.

“I thought it was a fine day. We had an adventure, and then we defended ourselves against those idiot Sanchez’. And against the Ramirez’.”

“And others.”

“Yes. A glorious end to last summer, don’t you think? I started school with a black eye, and you had a bruised cheek. Ah, but Marisela made they eyes at me. And Alessandria kissed you again!”

“Sister Anita gave us the evil eye because of our injuries. As I recall, she rapped your knuckles almost every day.”

Sergio shrugged lightly.

“Yes, but that had to be because I fall asleep in class all the time. She must do her duty by God and punish me.”

Pablo looked at his friend in surprise.

“That is philosophical, my friend.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it is the way of the world. Sister Anita was sent by God to punish us, and we were created by God to enjoy our summers.”

Sergio proceeded to pull in two catfish in a matter of minutes, declaring that he was like Jesus, except that Jesus caught men and he, Sergio, caught excellent catfish. Pablo had to smile at this and acknowledge the truth of it.

“And so, do you now feel American, my friend? Or shall we do crazy American things like last summer? Perhaps dig a hole in the ground and swim in it instead of swimming in the river,” Sergio poked at Pablo.

Pablo ruminated on this question, the question that he had been avoiding since that fateful night when all went awry. Liesl would never look at him, he suspected, no matter how many fine meals he might produce one day. The Americans on the other side of the tracks, he figured, were not to be trusted, but they were harmless. Besides, he didn’t think he could get used to eating white bread and shrimp fried in oil, or the other strange things they do to their food.

“I am part of the mole pot, my friend. Sister Anita is part of the melting pot because she is very close to God.”

Sergio thought that Sister Anita was much closer to the devil but he said nothing because God might punish him even more than Sister Anita would for such impure thoughts.

The two lifelong friends ate their fish with Spanish rice, beans, and tortillas, never once desiring any more than they had. Pablo later gave his tía Tina the windmill in exchange for two pieces of leche quemada. He gave the giant umbrella to Sister Anita, who eyed him with great suspicion for the offer but took it anyway.

The summer ended thus for the two boys, with the implicit promise of leche quemada, catfish, and tortillas for the boys next summer. It would be, in Sergio’s words, “a glorious time for two American boys.”

Pablo, smiling wanly, was forced to agree.