Enchildas

Enchiladas

My family, the Clarks, lived three miles outside the small town of Lebanon in southwest Ohio, and the only ethnic food choice there was Italian. Because of the expense of feeding four children, we rarely dined out, so it wouldn’t have made a difference if an international food court had been a block away. On Sunday afternoon after church, our neighbors ate a typical midwestern dinner that featured baked ham or roast beef with sides of mashed potatoes, green or lima beans, and sometimes fresh corn on the cob. But not my family. We had cheese enchiladas, refried beans, rice and guacamole. And in case you’re wondering, we aren’t Hispanic. My parents, Delores and Clayton, had migrated from Kentucky to Ohio at an early age when my grandparents, the Clarks, and the Osbornes, took jobs in auto manufacturing and steel fabrication.

In 1969, I was thirteen years old and hated Mexican food, especially the smell of enchilada sauce. Mom would resentfully fix me a hamburger for Sunday dinner, but only after I listened to a five-minute lecture detailing all the great food I was missing out on. I always swore to her I would try her enchiladas one day, but I had never eaten even one bite and planned to keep it that way.

Sunday, July 19, was special because Mom and Dad had convinced Mom’s Aunt Katie to stay Saturday night and join us Sunday afternoon for a special Mexican dinner. Mom had pointed out several times that I should be ashamed that forty-six-year-old Aunt Katie was much more adventurous than me.

Because Aunt Katie was sleeping in my bed, I was allowed to pitch a tent in the backyard and invite my best friends, Kent and John, to stay overnight. We started playing penny poker around 10 pm. After an hour of talking about kids we did or didn’t like in school, John asked me, “That woman you say is your great aunt looks the same age as your Mom. How’s that possible?”

“Mom was born in 1925 and is the oldest of her six brothers and two sisters. Aunt Katie was born in 1923, the youngest of eleven. Most of my family thinks of them as cousins or sisters rather than aunt and niece. Mom says that Katie looks younger and thinner because she’s never had kids. Unlike my mom, she has hardly any gray hair. ”

Ken said, “Damn. They come from big families. You must have a lot of family around here.”

“Not that many in Ohio. Aunt Katie and most of my relatives still live in Harlan County, Kentucky. She and her brother, Uncle Ray, have a thirty-acre farm they inherited from my mom’s great-grandparents, the Osbornes. Uncle Ray started working in the coal mines when he was fifteen and made it nearly thirty-five years before black lung disease forced him to quit. Now, he always stays near an oxygen tank. Since he never married, he depends on Aunt Katie for most things. Uncle Ray told her he’d be fine for the two days she’d be away.”

John asked, “Have you ever been to the farm?”

“Three times. Aunt Katie’s pretty cool. She always gives me a bamboo pole to fish in their pond. I never caught anything, but that’s about the only thing to do. It’s boring as hell.”

Ken said, “Boring? I think a farm would be fun to visit.”

“All they have is an outhouse for a bathroom and a hand pump in the kitchen sink. And only one channel on TV.”

Ken asked, “What do they farm? How about animals?”

“They grow sorghum that they turn into molasses and sell to their neighbors. They have one mule and a couple of hogs. The hogs make the whole place smell like shit. Two or three dogs bark all the time.”

John said, “You’re making it sound awful. Why don’t they move?”

“Mom says they’re poor, and the farm isn’t worth selling.”

Around midnight, they asked me to get each a Coke. We kept soda in an old refrigerator in the basement. Taking soda without permission was a big no-no in the Clark house, so I needed to sneak in and out. Afraid I might wake my parents, I gently opened our backdoor. It led to a landing where one could take the stairs to the basement or up to the kitchen. When I heard voices coming from the kitchen, I froze. It was Mom and Katie. They were probably sitting at the kitchen table.

Mom said, “When did you hear from Hugh last?”

Aunt Katie had married Hugh right after her fourteenth birthday in 1937. When he received his draft notice in 1941, he took a Greyhound bus to Lexington and disappeared on the way to his physical. On rare occasions, people whispered his name and shook their heads. His cowardice was still known throughout Harlan County and would always be a black mark on the Osborne family.

“It’s been three years. I told him never to contact me again.”

“He called you?”

“Yep. First time I’d heard his voice in almost thirty years. It’s always been letters post-marked from a Western state. In 1964, a letter arrived from Utah. Seven years ago, it was Montana. Before those, it was Wyoming, Nevada, and New Mexico.”

“You could never forgive him?”

“When he disappeared, we were living above Lee’s Drugs in Harlan, and I was a sales clerk at the cosmetics counter. Between that and the money he earned at the mine, we did alright. But it was never enough for him. He found something to complain about every day. I guess it wasn’t all bad, but it was too bad too often! So no, there’s no going back. I hate that son of a bitch.”

I couldn’t believe she had cussed. I didn’t know her well, but she was always soft-spoken, kind, and cheerful. I’d never heard her use an angry voice. It was okay when Ken, John, and I added a bit of foul language in our conversations, but Aunt Katie's cussing didn’t feel right.

“What did he say when he called?”

“Oh, the same old crap, how he sorry was, how he didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“Do you believe him?”

“It doesn’t matter if I do or not. Only thing for certain is that I don’t want to see him and sure don’t love him. He can go straight to goddamn hell.

Mom laughed. “Can’t say I blame you, but you sound awful bitter still. Sad you never got a chance to be a mother.”

“Once it got out that he’d not shown up for duty, women whose men were in the Service would come into Lee’s and cuss me out. A couple slapped me. One even spit on me. Behind my back, people murmured, ‘The woman married to the Harlan deserter.’ It’s best an innocent child wasn't subjected to that.”

The anger faded from Aunt Katie’s voice and transformed into a near-whisper. “That’s how I ended up working as a waitress at Rita and Jonnie’s Friendly Restaurant in Hazard. No one knew me there. I had no friends and no family. The sixty miles from Harlan was like being on the other side of the world.”

I couldn’t see her, but imagined tears in Aunt Katie’s eyes.

 “I didn’t know you had it that hard. You didn’t do anything wrong to be ashamed of. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend.”

“Honey, you weren’t but sixteen. Not much you could do. I didn’t want anyone to worry about me or to know how ashamed I was. Dad died in 1952, and I moved back to take care of Mom before she died in fifty-five. It was right after that Ray moved in.

“I love you, Katie. Me and Clayton would do anything for you. You’ve had a hard life these last thirty years.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Me and my brother are fine.” She laughed, “When we’re not fighting. Though sometimes I get a little jealous of you and your family.”

“Jealous of what? Me and Clayton live paycheck to paycheck. I spent my twenties and thirties changing diapers, washing clothes, cleaning the house, and cooking. And next month, I’m starting on the assembly line at the Bluebird Pie Factory in Blue Ash.”

“Except for the pie job, all those things are what I wanted to do. And you raised four wonderful children. Though I admit, I favor your youngest. He looks a lot like your grandfather. He has that same kind nature and soft blue eyes. You can tell he never wants to hurt anybody.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that. It’ll go to his head. We better get to bed. We don’t want to fall asleep in church.”

 I heard chairs moving and footsteps. After a few minutes of silence, I snuck downstairs, grabbed the Cokes, slipped out the door, and returned to the tent.

On the way to church Sunday morning, Dad dropped Kent and John at their homes, and we spent the next hour listening to the preacher talk about sinners going to hell. I wasn’t sure if cowardice was a sin, but I thought Hugh deserved to go there.

That afternoon, I sat at the kitchen table with Aunt Katie while Mom stood over a large saucepan on the stove.

 “What exactly are you fixing, Delores?” Katie asked as she watched Mom add chopped onion and garlic to the hot grease in a 3-quart saucepan.

“It’s something I learned from the Mexican family who lived next door to me in Albuquerque. Back when Clayton worked on the railroad.”

“That was ages ago. I’d forgotten.”

“Just about twenty years. Clayton Junior was born there in ’49.”

“It must have been hard being so far from home, especially with two children and one being an infant.”

“Well, it was tough, but you do what you gotta do. I missed Mom, Dad, and my brothers and sisters. Though it was nice not having to deal with Clayton’s mother, Pearl,”

“You still don’t get along with her?“

“As long as we don’t see each other, we get along just fine.”

With that, Mom dumped three tablespoons of flour into the saucepan and, three minutes later, reduced the heat. When the mixture had cooled a little, she added five tablespoons of ground New Mexico red chili pepper. The pungent aroma filled the kitchen. Sitting ten feet away, Katie and I looked at each other like a skunk had sprayed the room.

“Delores, don’t be offended, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat this stuff you're fixing.”

 “You’re not like Mark there and afraid to try it, are you? I’ve told him all week how much more daring you are than him.”

She smiled at me and said, “I’ll give it a try if Mark will.”

Mom said, “That sounds fair to me. How about it, Mark? Are you going to be brave or be a coward?”

Aunt Katie’s smile faded when Mom said the word ‘coward.’ For a moment, I saw the burden of being ‘the woman married to the Harlan deserter’ for the last thirty years show on her face. Feeling as though I had to do something to relieve her pain, what I said next changed my life. Without thinking of the consequences, I said, “Sure. You only live once.”

Before the main meal, Mom cut one cheese enchilada into small bites and said, “Try one bite.”

Katie said, “Are you ready?”

I replied, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

We smiled at each other and then took a bite at the same time. I was shocked. It was the best thing I’d ever eaten. I ate six enchiladas for dinner. Fifty years later, I still make a point of eating them twice a month.

And Aunt Katie? She ate a hamburger that Sunday and never tried Mexican food again.