UC-NRLF
B4 098 268





MARIO


Books by Marion Garthwaite
COARSE GOLD GULCH
MARIO
MYSTERY OF SKULL CAP ISLAND


EDUC-
PSYCH,
LIBRARY
MARIO

A Mexican Boy's Adventure
MARION GARTHWAITE
Tiiustrated by Ronni Solbert
DOUBLEDAY & COMPANY, INC.. GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK


EDUCATION LIBH,
THE CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY ARB PIC-
TIONAL WHICH IS TOO BAD, BECAUSE THE
RBAL PEOPLE WOULD HAVE BEEN MUCH
MORE FUN TO WRITE ABOUT.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER 60-12792
COPYRIGHT © 1960 BY MARION GARTHWAITE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA





ola
3
tua
10,))).
A FISH FOR MARIO
V OICES rose and fell from the schoolrooms
V around the open court of the ancient church in
Loreto. The fierce afternoon sun of Baja California
poured down upon the cobblestones and was re-
flected into the open doorways.
Mario waited impatiently for the bells to ring. It


A FISH FOR MARIO
13
fence that leaned this way and that, and sometimes
went down completely in a high wind.
Old trees shaded the house and most of the bone-
clean yard. Three goats had nibbled the leaves and
twigs as high as they could stand on their hind legs,
until the trees looked as though they had been
shaved with a knife.
The white goat and the brown one were good and
gentle creatures, satisfied to stay where they be-
longed, to come when Mario called them to be
milked. The black goat was wicked and possessed of
a devil. Not even the cactus fence that Mario had
mended in a hundred places could keep her in. She
wandered where she chose in the jungle of cactus and
mesquite that bordered the road to San Xavier. Then
Mario must feel all over her legs for thorn wounds,
because she stopped for nothing when the desire to
return to the hut of La Vieja came upon her.
Because she was so much trouble, Mario loved
Negra, the Naughty One, better than both of the
others together.
Mario was small but he was tough as a mesquite
root. Anyone who chops into that wood knows it has


14
MARIO
the strength of iron and burns into the best coals for
toasting tortillas.
He was quick to learn the things he liked, espe-
cially biology, because he wanted someday to be a
doctor like Dr. Gabriel Iturbe. When someone was
hurt at a distance from Loreto, and it was after
school, Dr. Gabriel would let Mario ride out with
him to hold his instruments or fetch water. He
showed Mario how he cared for cuts and poisoned
thorns and broken bones. These things Mario
learned and remembered. But he was slow as the
turn of the tide when it came to learning to speak
English or to read from the one reader in his class-
room.
"You need to learn to read and read fast, Mario,”
warned Dr. Gabriel the day he showed Mario over
the hospital being built out at the edge of town.
“There will be lots of reading before you can be a
doctor. And you will have to learn to speak English
so you can doctor the Americanos who come down
here to fish and hunt, as well as our own people.” Dr.
Gabriel brushed up his mustache with a bent finger
and shook his head at Mario.
But to Mario the English language didn't make


A FISH FOR MARIO
15
sense. One did not know, in that tongue, whether a
chair was a man or a woman. There were too many
ways to spell the same sounds, like the sail of a boat
and a sale in the market. It was a language full of
traps, not soft and beautiful like the Mexican words.
He knew he could earn more pesos if he could
speak the language of the men who came down to
the lodge to fish. They might sometimes choose him
to run their errands instead of the older boys. The
pesos he earned would help buy flour for tortillas
and beans for the bean pot and keep Mario out of
the orphanage in La Paz. Each day he told himself
that tomorrow—mañana-he would learn to speak
English.
Yesterday he had met the American lady-who-
flies-her-own-plane. She was down on the beach
picking up shells. She had a handful of shells
hugged to her chest. Her hands were big and her
feet were big. Not like the dainty feet of La Vieja.
But the grandmother was a tiny woman, hardly big-
ger than a pelican, and old and white-headed and
wrinkled.
This American woman was tall and big-boned,
with hair the color of palm thatch. She strode down


16
MARIO
the beach like a man, her big mouth smiling and her
blue eyes friendly. "Shells!" she boomed in Spanish.
"I've never seen such shells. I collect them. What's
your name?"
"Mario, señora."
“No señora to it. I'm an old maid," she bellowed
cheerfully.
Mario had run all the way home to choose a shell
from his collection in a corner of La Vieja's hut. It
was a creamy white shell with a rose-pink lining.
He took it back to the big American woman-who-
flew-her-own-plane. He liked her and her gruff way.
He was sorry that she was alone in the world, which
was a sad thing.
She was delighted with the shell. “Haven't a
centavo on me, boy. Look! I'm going fishing tomor-
row. Be at the dock when we come in. You can have
the pick of the catch. How about it?".
Mario beamed at her. La Vieja would be glad to
have some tender fish to eat, instead of the hard
beans he had let cook dry yesterday.
As he waited for the bells, his eyes sparkled as he
thought of it. What a fine big fish he would choose!


A FISH FOR MARIO
17
He was outside the walls of the church by the time
the bells had stopped ringing.
Mario turned a deaf ear to the shouts of the other
boys. He ran down the dusty street between the
adobe houses, ducking around the corner to the Post
Office.
The postmaster looked up from his work. “No
letter for you or your grandma, Mario."
"It is not a letter, Tío. It is my shoes. Will you
keep them, por favor?”.
The postmaster leaned over the counter. “Why
then should I keep a pair of dusty shoes? Is this a
shoe shop?"
"Por favor?" Mario's gray eyes were pleading. He
stooped to untie his shoe laces. “See, Tío. Today I
will get a big fish. The American lady, the one-who-
flies-her-own-plane, she has said so. I gave her a
shell—a good one—and she said that she goes with
the boats today. She said I can choose what I like
from her catch.”
"Holá! Then the big boys will not push you away
and take all the fish, verdad?”
Mario nodded. "For a week now, I have tried to
get a fish. La Vieja, she says her jaws ache from


18
MARIO

2.
chewing on the hard beans I cook.” He pulled off
his shoes and held them up. "If I help with the
boat--"
“Sí. The salt water would ruin your good shoes.


20
MARIO
Mario ran down between the adobe buildings
with the sun hot on his back. He hurried by the high
palm trees where the buzzards shuffled and mut-
tered, waiting for the cleaning of the evening's catch
of fish. Mario waved gaily at them. He, Mario,
would have a big fish to clean, a cabrilla-well, any-
way, at least a bonito— "You can quarrel over what
I do not choose to keep,” he told them. “I will make
you a feast.”
As he climbed the steep steps to the concrete
breakwater, the old sea wall that guarded Loreto
from the waves in the time of high wind, he was
talking to himself. “If it is a big fish, it will be
enough for many. I shall keep for La Vieja and me
only what I can cook for three days. I shall give some
to Tío for the shoes. I shall give a piece of this fine
fish to teacher, for the pencil she lets me use, when I
have no peso to buy one. I shall give some to the
padre, and all the rest I will give to Dr. Gabriel.
From the top of the sea wall Mario looked anx-
iously down the beach to the dock that ran out from
the Flying Sportsman's Lodge. There were a few
upturned boats along the beach, but no boats at the
dock. He shaded his eyes and looked out across the


A FISH FOR MARIO
23
At first he was alone, watching the shadows
lengthen as the sun slid down behind the palms.
The waters of the Gulf were green near the shore
where the lazy, curling waves made scallops of white
foam, then green blue, dark blue, and finally deep
purple out by Carmen Island. He watched the island
change to a soft rose and then bone white gashed
with canyons of blue shadow.
Mario thought of what Dr. Gabriel had said of
this land. "Baja California is beautiful-beautiful
and cruel. It is a land barbed with cactus, ridged
with rocky peaks, parched for water. But it is full
of golden light, all but ringed by a sea of a thousand
colors, shadowed in purple and blue.” Mario knew
that the sea, dreaming in the sun, was, like the land,
beautiful and cruel. Beneath the changing colors,
the waters teemed with fish to eat and fish to fear,
and always, he remembered, these same waters were
ready to rise in fury at the call of the wind.
Other boys joined Mario, bigger boys who
grinned at him as if to say, “You here again? What
makes you think we will let you have a fish. Ho! Not
a chance!"
Mario tossed his curly head, his gray eyes snap-


A FISH FOR MARIO
25
the stern of the boat. A wave of laughter ran through
the gathered guests. They clapped each other on the
back and shouted at her.
But the fishermen in the boat looked sullen. The
cook spat into the water beside the dock. “Malo!
Malo! Bad business!” he muttered. “She is bringing
mm
ma


26
MARIO
a shark. A hammerhead. These crazy Americans!
This one is pleased to catch a shark!"
The fish were lifted out of the deep box, carried
along the dock and inside the gate of the lodge. Here
a high scaffold with gleaming hooks and large scales
waited to weigh in the fish.
Mario's eyes were sparkling as he looked at these
fine big fish lined up all across the bar of the scales.
Plenty of fine fish for everyone, the cook, the fisher-
men, and Mario.
Two men muttering, “Mucho trabajo! Too much
work!” brought up the shark. It was too long to hang
on the lower hooks. They hoisted it to the upper bar.
The American lady stood beside it, laughing as the
cameras clicked. The dead shark hung there, five
feet of sooty black body, with tiny, evil eyes glitter-
ing at either end of the blunt, mallet-shaped head.
Mario shuddered. “Malo! Malo!” he muttered.
When the picture taking was done, the fishermen
came up to take their pick of the catch. Mario
watched them choose the biggest of the blue-green
fish. No matter, there were plenty more. The cook
came and chose the next best.
Mario's heart was choking him. He moved to a
ca


28
MARIO
fish half as long as he was. He laughed at Mario as
he passed him. “Shark meat! A shark is a wicked
creature and will stick in your throat. Who wants
shark to eat?"
Nobody, thought Mario bitterly, as he tied a bit
of rope above the tail of the shark. He was bent al-
most double and the rope cut into his shoulder as he
dragged the heavy, black creature behind him down
to the hard sand by the water.
He saw a brown and purple shell at the water's
edge. It was a good shell, maybe even a rare one,
but he did not stoop to pick it up. “Let her find her
own shells!” he muttered. “She who buys fine shells
with shark meat!"



“SHARK MEAT!"
TOBODY wanted shark meat. Mario stopped on
TV the way home at the brush hut of Luis Diego to
ask if his father would buy the dead shark, for even
a few centavos
"No," said Luis Diego's father. “The lines are
full. The hung meat is almost dry and ready to ship.
I don't want to mess around with just one shark.”
Mario dragged the heavy fish up onto the sea
wall. It was easier to pull along the cement, though
it caught and stuck at every broken hole.


30
MARIO
Two of the bigger boys passed him, carrying a
twenty-pound cabrilla between them. “Hi, shark
meat!" they shouted.
Mario plodded grimly on, with the leaden fish
dragging behind him. God provides fish for the
hungry, thought Mario, but surely a shark was the
work of a devil.
At the street into town he dropped the shark on
the top step of the sea wall. He pushed it off, down
the steep steps. It fell with a sickening plop! down
two steps and lay there. It was the color of a worn-
out rubber tire. It sprawled, half off the step, one
wicked dead eye leering up at him.
"You devil!" shouted Mario. “I'll show you!" He
jumped down and kicked at the big fish. But he only
bruised his toes. The black body lay inert and un-
yielding. He pulled on the rope and dragged the
shark off the steps, through the dust of the road into
town.
He stopped at the Post Office to get his shoes,
tying them by the shoelaces around his neck.
The postmaster snorted when Mario asked him if
he would like some shark meat. “Is that what you
have? It is not worth hauling home. I will tell my


32
MARIO
He cooked the shark meat, making a soft stew of
it. La Vieja ate a little, with much mumbling and
grumbling. Afterward she crawled off to her bed on
a goatskin in a corner of the hut, pulling the woolen
blanket over her head.
Mario wrapped the rest of the meat and the liver
in a cloth, putting it and the earthen dish of stew on
a shelf by the door. He pushed the live coals into a
heap in the middle of the flat stove, made of rocks,
covering the warm glow carefully with ashes. He
took the tin pail from its place in the corner near his
heap of shells. He watered the trumpet vine that
covered the front of the hut and poured the rest into
a stone trough for the goats. With the empty pail,
he set off down the road in the dusk to the nearest
house that had a faucet with running water.
When he returned, the night had shut down
upon the mountains behind the town. The stars
were trembling, white-hot sparks in a dark sky. Be-
low the town and the beach the sea lay like a streak
of silver steel, between Loreto and the island. Mario
stood in the dooryard and sniffed the soft night
wind. It smelled of trumpet vine, of dust, of goats,
and-Mario's nose wrinkled in disgust-of shark.


"SHARK MBAT!"
33
Late that night Mario stirred in his sleep as he felt
La Vieja's hands tucking his blanket about his shoul-
ders.
There was fish stew and hard beans for breakfast.
La Vieja turned her face to the wall when he offered
them to her. He bolted his own breakfast, rolled a
tortilla to put in his pocket for lunch. He milked the
two goats, gave an extra armful of hay to Negra, the
Naughty One, penned now because she would soon
have a baby goat.
He pushed his fists into his pockets against the
cold dawn and went off down the road to school.
In the early morning light the sea held all the colors
of the inside of an abalone shell. The mountains to
the south looked cold and blue and jagged against a
golden sky. All about Mario lay beauty too deep for
words. A mockingbird whistled from a mesquite tree
and Mario whistled back. It was a new day. It was
good to be alive.
The day before and his disappointment over the
shark were behind him. Tonight he would cook the
shark liver for La Vieja. She would like that, he felt
sure. After school he would go over to Señora Paula's
and work for some vegetables to make a good soup.


34
MARIO
But at school Mario found that yesterday was not
behind him. The whole town knew about the shark.
The boys thought it was a good joke on Mario.
"Hi! Shark meat!” shouted Carlos as Mario came
through the archway of the old church into the play
yard. Carlos blew a big pink bladder of bubble gum,
popped it, and sucked it in again. Carlos had money
to buy gum. He brought the gum to school and sold
it for a pencil or a peso. To everyone but Mario.
Mario yearned to blow pink bubbles like the others,
but he never had any money.
"Shark meat! Shark meat!" shouted all the boys.
At Mario's dark flush, the game became more fun.
They made swimming motions like a shark twisting
to attack another fish. They held their noses when
they came near Mario, shouting, “Phew! He smells
like an old pile of shark tails!"
It was fun for everyone but Mario. His smile wore
thin, his hands were clenched in his pockets. The
teasing followed all through the day. Even in the
English class Carlos chose for his word to write on
the board, “Tiburón—shark.” This drew giggles from
the whole class until the teacher rapped for order.
Later, at the same desk with Carlos, when the


"SHARK MEAT!"
teacher's back was turned, Carlos held his nose and
shut his eyes tight. The whole class was fairly burst-
ing with bottled laughter.
That day the doctor brought the American lady-
who-flew-her-own-plane to visit the school. This de-
lighted Carlos. “The woman of the shark,” he mur-
mured, as the class rose to its feet. “It is your shark
friend,” he whispered to Mario.
"Shut up!” hissed Mario.
"Quiet, boys!" warned the teacher.
The doctor was showing the American lady the
pictures the boys had drawn for biology. "This one
of the heart and lungs is Mario's," he was saying.
"I think I am going to make a doctor out of Mario."
“All doctors are sharks," whispered Carlos. He
was pleased with his own wit.
I will punch him in the head, Mario promised
himself, as soon as school is out.
The American lady walked over to the shelf un-
der the window. Here there was a collection of all
kinds of things, the jawbone of a mountain lion, two
bird nests, four stuffed birds, a horse carved of balsa
wood, a dried sea horse, a starfish, and a fine collec-
tion of shells.


36
MARIO
"The horse is the work of Carlos,” explained the
teacher.
Doctor Gabriel took it up in his hands. “This is
good work, Carlos. You should have some modeling
clay."
Carlos shrugged. Where does one get modeling
clay, he seemed to say. He glanced sideways at
Mario. “Then I could model a shark," he said,
raising innocent brown eyes in a straight face.
The class tittered, tried to subside, and then burst
out laughing, to the surprise of the teacher and her
guests.
"Where did you get these beautiful shells?” asked
the American lady.
“Mario brings them in. He finds shells all along
the beach."
"He finds sharks, too,” said Carlos, under cover of
of the questions.
Mario's lips were a thin, straight line of anger.
The American lady reached for a large white shell
with shiny black tips poking out in all directions. “I
have never seen anything like this.” She turned to
Mario. “Will you let me buy this shell, Mario? I will
give you many pesos for it.”


38
MARIO
Mario looked up with hot, angry eyes. “My shells
are not for sale, señorita, if you please.”
"Well—I suppose not. Well-I can't blame you for
hanging on to something so very unusual. If you
ever find another like it, send it to me in El Centro.
Can you remember that? My name is Hattie Blake.
El Centro. That's just across the Mexican border in
Imperial Valley. I would give you a hundred pesos
for a shell like that.”
"A hundred pesos!" The words hissed around the
room. It was a small fortune to most of these chil-
dren. It was a large fortune to Mario, who had
nothing. But he gritted his teeth and tightened his
lips stubbornly.
The American woman walked over to his desk,
and years of training dragged Mario to his feet. “I'll
be hoping to hear from you,” she boomed. She
handed him a card with her name and address
scribbled on it. “I'd love to have a shell like that.”
Mario bowed, took the card, and slid back beside
Carlos. His teeth were still clenched, his eyes
stormy, as the doctor and Miss Hattie Blake walked
to the door with the teacher.
Mario put the card in his pocket and the lessons


40
MARIO
that kind of a day. He expected to be punished for
fighting.
Instead, the teacher handed him a package
wrapped in layers of cloth. “It is your black and
white shell, Mario. I did not know it had so much
value for a collector. You should keep it in a safe
place, not loose on a school shelf. If you need money
you can sell it to Miss Blake.”
"Gracias," said Mario absently.
“Did you keep the lady's card?”
"Sí, señora, I have it."
“Hang on to it. El Centro is not so far away. Who
knows? She will pay you a good price for your shell."
"Sí, señora,” answered Mario, bored with the
whole business. He went off down the road, swing-
ing the little cloth bundle from a careless finger.
He whistled as he trudged through the dust. The
day was not so bad after all. He had punched Carlos
as he had promised himself. Thanks to the surprise,
and the teacher's coming, he had got off with noth-
ing in return. He had somehow lived down the
shark business. He had been offered a hundred pesos
for a single sea shell. He had refused this great sum.
He was a fool. He knew that. But it was glorious to
001


MARIO
grandmother and take her some food. She came to
tell me that La Vieja is very sick.”
Mario's heart almost stopped. La Vieja, the little
grandmother who had loved him and scolded him,
fed and clothed and watched over him all the days
and nights since the dreadful time of the Big Storm.
It was La Vieja who had done the most to keep him
out of the orphanage.
“How sick?” he asked as the car went rackety-
packing over the chuckholes.
“I can't tell until I see her. She is too sick to talk.”
Mario remembered the shark, that black, evil
creature with the malevolent eye leering at him.
"Could it,was it the shark-is it poison-shark?"
"Not that I know of.” Dr. Gabriel's voice was im-
patient. “Probably just old age. She's too old to be
there in that hut, open to wind and weather. With
only a boy to look out for her. At her age still making
tortillas and milking goats.”
“Will she die?” asked Mario.
"Not if I can help it," answered the doctor, “but
I'm not sure I can."



MARIO TAKES TO THE AIR
L
TA VIEJA was very sick. Even Mario could see
that. The doctor knew it, too. As he examined


44
MARIO
her with gentle hands, La Vieja did not move or
speak. Her face was ash-colored. Her old veined
hands were hot as fire when Mario reached down to
touch her.
The doctor rose from his knees and brushed the
dust of the earthen floor from his trousers. He peered
at Mario through the thick lenses that made his eyes
look small and sharp. "She must go to a hospital,”
he said. “The hospital here is not ready. We will
have to take her to Tijuana. Once before, when she
was sick, I talked with your Aunt Lucita who lives
there. She will take La Vieja after the hospital has
made her well.”
"And I, Señor Doctor?"
"You will go with us. Your aunt will be glad to
have you to help her with La Vieja. Your grand-
mother will need someone to bring her back to
Loreto. You are a big boy-how old, Mario? Eleven.
That is big enough. You are the man of the family.
You must make this decision.”
“And if we stay here in Loreto?"
“La Vieja will die.” The words were hard and
harsh and clanged through the hut like a slow
church bell ringing for the requiem Mass.
“Then we must go,” said Mario.


46
MARIO
"You are a brave boy. Me, I would be afraid to
fly.”
Up to that minute, Mario had not thought about
flying. On the way home he looked up at the stars, so
bright, so far away. Flung across the heavens in a
careless pattern, standing still, yet changing through
the night, through the seasons. What would it be
like, flying in the sky?
The teacher said that men were getting ready to
fly to the moon. Even now, man-made silver balls
were circling the earth. If you flew in the sky, would
you see them? Would they pass you in the heavens,
like cars passing on the road to San Xavier?
Mario shuddered. His world had turned upside
down. La Vieja, whose scolding and kindness had
governed his world, was laid low, and he, Mario,
must take to the air. He must have courage enough
for two. He must be a man. Eleven was a big boy,
the doctor had said. But eleven, Mario thought, was
nowhere near being a man.
When the doctor came back to the hut, he was
worried. “I have plane seats for us, and an ambulance
to meet us. But I could not reach your aunt. We
W


MARIO TAKES TO THE AIR
47
will have to call her when we arrive in Tijuana.”
He and Mario took turns all night, dozing in the
one chair. The doctor woke Mario at daylight. “You
must watch La Vieja every minute. If she seems
worse, give her this pill in a little water."
“Does she know where we are going?”
"No. And if you would save her life, say nothing.
She has never been outside of Loreto. It would be
enough to scare her into heaven. I must see my other
patients before I leave, and talk with my nurses. I
will come for you in plenty of time."
Mario was wide awake and afraid. Each labored
breath from La Vieja made him ask himself, is she
worse, should I give her this pill? How can I tell?
Old Domingo came early to milk. He left some
milk in a brown bowl beside the door, but Mario
forgot it. The time went slowly by.
The doctor came back later. In his hand was a
rolled tortilla filled with cheese and hot sauce. “I bet
you haven't had a bite to eat, Mario. Here, get this
down, and some goat's milk. We'll get some sand-
wiches later on the plane."
At the last minute Mario picked up the cloth
bundle that was wrapped around the black and





50
MARIO
Mario sat across from them, his eyes as big as
saucers, trying to take in everything on the plane at
once. The engines roared. The plane was moving,
bumping along the airstrip. Faster and faster, a
quick turn that scattered pebbles and dust, a frantic
run. Mario's heart lurched as he realized that he
was looking down on automobiles, on people stand-
ing at the gate. He watched the cactus and mesquite
trees grow smaller. He looked down on the old mis-
sion church, the mother church of all the California
missions, where he went to school. Then suddenly
the dark blue water of the Sea of Cortez, the Gulf,
was glinting in the early sun. The plane was over
the sea.
Mario's heart was pounding. Would the saints
bring him and La Vieja back alive? He looked ahead
to where the great silver wings stretched out on
either side. They didn't flap like a bird's wings.
They were still, steady, solid. What held them up?
For the first time in his life, Mario could see the
whole length of Carmen Island, and blue sea be-
yond.
A pretty Mexican girl in a uniform stopped to ask


52
MARIO
nose, frowning. "It looks like that ambulance at
Tijuana is going to have a long wait.”
The Mexican stewardess was moving slowly down
the aisle. Her face was calm and there was a smile
in her eyes. Behind her she left confusion, loud
voices, angry questions.
When she reached them, she spoke quietly to the
doctor. “We are going to Guaymas, in Mexico,
señores,” she told them.
"But why?” demanded the doctor. “This is a mat-
ter of life and death—” he waved his hand at the old
grandmother
“Sí. I understand. But there is too much wind be-
low, señor. We could not land at Santa Rosalía be-
cause of this wind."
The doctor looked down at the calm blue water
below. “Wind, nothing—” he began.
She lowered one eye slowly and touched her lips
with a rosy fingernail.
“I see,” said Doctor Gabriel. He turned to Mario.
"We will land in Guaymas, in Mexico, Mario."
Mario watched the blue water below. The plane
was close enough so that he could see the waves.


54
MARIO
stared down at the water coming closer and closer.
His hands were cold and clammy. When he was
sure they were going to crash, he looked up to see
the doctor grinning at him.
“You can stop worrying, Mario. Relax! We are
coming in."
Houses and islands swept past below them. The
plane circled above rocky hills, gliding down until
the wheels bounced on the earth, rose and bounced
down again, as it taxied toward a small building.
La Vieja woke up as the engines slowed. “Mario!"
she croaked. “Madre de Dios! Where am I?”
Before Doctor Gabriel could stop him, Mario had
blurted out, “We are in Guaymas. In Mexico.”
The old woman struggled to sit up.
“There! There! señora,” soothed Doctor Gabriel.
The old lady collapsed into her pillows, her face
screwed up like a child about to cry. She clutched
her rosary to her lips.
"Everybody must leave the plane,” said the host-
ess, but she shook her head at Dr. Gabriel and
Mario.
“May I telephone for an ambulance?" asked Doc-
tor Gabriel, his voice tense.


56
MARIO
reach her, you must call this number until you do."
Doctor Gabriel wrote on a card.
"Where do I stand when I call out this number?"
Doctor Gabriel stared at Mario. “Madre de Dios!
Haven't you ever used a telephone?”
“No, señor. I have seen one in the airplane office.
I have heard the bell ring. I have seen people talk
into a little black flower in front of a box."
The doctor held his head in his hands. He
straightened up. “Mario, listen very carefully. I will
write a letter. You are to give it to one of the airport
people in Tijuana. They will take care of you. Here
is your aunt's name and address. Under it is her
telephone number. Give it to one of the guards with
the letter I am writing. I am telling them about you
and about the ambulance.”
“Can't I stay here in Guaymas to watch out for La
Vieja? Por favor?"
"I don't know where. La Vieja will have good
care in the hospital. You need to be some place with
relatives.”
“Let me go home to Loreto.” Mario's voice was
desperate. “Can't I look out for myself, and the
goats? Until La Vieja can come?"


MARIO TAKES TO THE AIR
57
Doctor Gabriel shook his head. “No. The town
would never stand for it. They have been saying all
along you should go to the orphanage in La Paz.
This would settle it."
"Oh! Señor!"
“I know. It's a tough spot. In my small govern-
ment quarters I have no room. Look, Mario! Get to
your Aunt Lucita. Blood's thicker than water. She
is willing to help, and she is kind and good, like La
Vieja. Stay there until the grandma is ready to come
home. Okay?"
“What if La Vieja doesn't get well?” Mario's
voice was choked with tears.
“I will get well,” said a cracked voice behind
them.
Mario turned and stared down at La Vieja. Her
black eyes twinkled back at him from her nest of
pillows. “Have no fears, my son.” Her face wrinkled
up in a wintry smile. She ran her tongue over her
cracked lips. She closed her eyes. “Vaya con Dios.
Go with God.”
A long glittering ambulance was backing up to the
airplane steps.
"Here's the letter, Mario. Stay on the plane until


58
MARIO
you get to Tijuana. Here's some money. I will call
Tía Lucita as soon as I reach the hospital.” He
turned to La Vieja. “Come, then, señora. Here are
the ambulance men to help me get you off the
plane."
Mario watched the ambulance wheel around and
drive off down the road into Guaymas. With it went
the last two people who belonged to the world he
knew.



MARIO MEETS A STRANGER AT
TIJUANA
AARIO sat on the steps of the Guaymas airport,
M I in the shade of the small porch. He could
hear the airport people talking inside the small room.
Typewriters clicked. A telephone bell jangled.
Outside, the sun beat down on the airstrip, while


MARIO
the mechanics climbed ladders up to the engine of
the plane. Most of the passengers had already driven
off in cars to the town, several miles away. Two of
them had urged Mario to go with them.
"It will be hours before we fly," one of them said
in Spanish.
"There's no food,” said another. “Come on. We'll
get you back in time.”
But Mario knew that even in Loreto nobody
rode for miles in a hired car for nothing. He knew
that no one, certainly not an eleven-year-old Mexican
boy, could buy food in a strange town for nothing. He
had the money Doctor Gabriel had given him, tight
in his pocket. But he would need it at Tijuana. It
was not wise to spend what you had just for a trip
into town. Money in the pocket was a good thing. It
made eleven seem nearer to being a man.
"Gracias, señores, but I will stay here,” he said
politely.
The cars had driven away, full of chattering pas-
sengers. Most of them were Americans who had
been visiting in Baja California. They had stopped
fussing about the change of plans. They seemed to
n


MARIO MEETS A STRANGER AT TIJUANA 61
think it was a good joke to be over on the mainland
of Mexico.
At one o'clock the men of the airport came out
and locked the door behind them. The mechanics
climbed down the ladder. It was siesta time, time for
the midday nap. Mario felt that all people of good
sense understood about that.
He leaned his head against the pole by the steps.
Over his head, under the palm-thatched roof of the
porch, flies circled and buzzed. The plane shim-
mered in the sun. Heat waves rose from the gasoline
drums stacked up beyond. In the sky two buzzards
moved in lazy flight.
Mario closed his eyes. He sent a prayer of thanks
for their safe arrival and a plea for help for La Vieja
and himself. He had had little sleep the night be-
fore. He had been up since long before dawn. It was
wiser to sleep, he thought, than to stay awake and
worry.
Two hours later the mechanics and airport people
returned. The passengers drove back, loaded down
with gay baskets packed full of things they had
bought in the stores of Guaymas.
One of the Mexican men brought back to Mario


MARIO MEETS A STRANGER AT TIJUANA 63
a small tray. With them she brought him a paper
cup of some cold, brown liquid that bubbled in his
face and stung his nose when he drank it. It washed
down the dry sandwiches and he was sorry when it
was gone.
"Fasten your seat belts, please.”
Mario fumbled with the belt. The doctor had
done it for him before. The hostess came to show him
how it worked
The last of a flaming sunset had died out over the
Pacific Ocean. It was nearly night when they came
down over Tijuana. Now a thousand lights were
winking and gleaming on the hills below.
Mario had thought of Tijuana as a town only a
little bigger than Loreto. A few more adobe build-
ings, perhaps. A larger church. His heart was a knot
in his chest as he looked down on the big sprawling
city flung across a dozen hills. How could he find an
aunt he had never seen before in this big place? How
could she find one small boy from Loreto?
The plane bucked and bumped over deep arroyos
and swooped down to bounce gently along an air-
strip, up to a brightly lighted building.
The hostess came to help him unfasten his seat


64
MARIO
belt. She handed him his roped cardboard box.
“There now! Off you go. Somebody meeting you?”
"Sí, señorita, muchas gracias," said Mario, hoping
with all his heart that it was true.
The passengers walked through a door and into a
room lined with desks and counters. It was a huge
building, thought Mario, just for people to walk
through.
“Here, you!" A big man stopped Mario. “Baggage
inspection.”
"Qué cosa, señor?" asked Mario. "What is it,
señor?"
"I have to open your box.”
Mario watched him untie the ropes. All along a
low table suitcases were being opened while men in
uniform examined the contents.
“All you have?" asked the man.
"Sí, señor. Can you tell me,por favor—_"
"Tie it up, muchacho, and move along."
Mario folded his few belongings back in the bat-
tered cardboard box and tied it up again. He carried
it with him into the middle of the big room.
He looked around but he could not see anyone
who might be his aunt. Every woman seemed to


66
MARIO
was squinting down at some figures on a paper. “Por
favor-señor--"
“Un momento-one moment. Sixty-five, seventy-
two, seventy-six, ninety-three. Whew! That's done.
Now I can go home. You want a ticket for tomor-
row?"
"No, señor. I must find my aunt."
"When did you see her last?” The man squinted
at Mario, blinked his eyes, and put the last of his
papers in a drawer.
“I have never seen my aunt. She was to meet me
here."
"She'll turn up. Big traffic jam in town. Hot jai
alai game. I got my money on Pablo.”
"Could you read this letter, señor?"
“Certainly, my son. Did you think I could not
read? M-m-m-mmmmm. That ambulance went
back at noon. No, nobody's left a message. I'll ask
in the office."
"Gracias, señor."
"De nada. Stay here. I'll be back. This your aunt's
name and number?"
"Sí, señor."
"You stay right here. I'll call her.”


MARIO MEETS A STRANGER AT TIJUANA 67
Mario leaned on the counter, his cardboard box
at his feet, still clutching his little bundle of shells.
He felt better than he had since he had watched the
ambulance drive away from the plane down the road
to Guaymas.
The man with the blinking eyes walked off, the
ing his head. “No message. And I called this number
three times. No answer. She's probably on the way
out here. Met the plane this morning, I bet. Now
she's gone home to get dinner.” He dug in his pocket
and drew out a chocolate bar. “Here. This will keep
you busy while you wait.” He grinned and added in
English, “Live it up!" He squinted at Mario, patted
him awkwardly on the shoulder, and turned to go.
Mario put the letter back in his pocket. “Muchas
gracias, señor."
"De nada. Stay here in the light, where she can
see you. I have to run if I want to get to the game.
She'll turn up."
Mario felt lonelier than ever when the little man
trotted off. When the man had plunged out of the
big door, Mario peeled off the covering of the choco-
late bar. He nibbled at the candy as slowly as he


70
MARIO
a couple down the street here. Not too bad. Not too
expensive."
Mario thanked him. He didn't want to tell this
stranger that he didn't know how to use the tele-
phone. He didn't want to say he didn't have enough
money for a hotel. He sat down on the curb and
waited until the man had driven away. He picked up
his bundles and walked down the street.
There were lights overhead, and lights in all the
store windows. These were filled with more things
than Mario had ever known there were in the whole
world. He came to a small park.
In the moonlight he could see a bandstand with
benches in front of it. This would be a good place to
sleep. It would cost no money. He did not mind
sleeping out in the open. After all there were cracks
aplenty between the reeds of La Vieja's hut. There
was not much to choose between her earthen floor
and a wooden bench.
He went into the middle of all the benches, so
that the lights from passing cars would not shine in
his eyes. Many people walked along the sidewalks
around the park, under the trees, but he did not


MARIO MEETS A STRANGER AT TIJUANA 71
think they would notice a small boy asleep on a
bench.
He took some of the clothes out of his box and
rolled them into a bundle to tuck beneath his head.
He took off his jacket and draped it over him for a
blanket.
He woke in the early morning, stiff and sore, and
very hungry. The birds in the trees were singing the
sun up. It was cold and Mario brought his knees up to
his chin, his back to the back of the bench. He tucked
his jacket around every corner, but the little gusts of
cold wind found the uncovered spots. He could not
sleep for shivering.
He sat up and put the jacket on. He packed the
clothes back in the box and picked up his bundle of
shells.
It was then that Mario saw that he was not alone
in the park. On another bench not far away sat a
small man with black sideburns down his cheeks and
a pencil-thin mustache. He was peeling an orange.
When he saw Mario looking at him, he looked
away. His eyes were mere slits as he watched a
scrawny cat walk across the open space in front of


my a
uspeo
wym
very wresto mo

son mwyama squid
warming
We are
Wh



TOO FAR TO GET BACK
THE MAN walked over to the bench and Mario
I moved over to make more room. “Buenos días,
señor," said Mario gravely.
The man broke off half of the orange. “A bite?"
The orange was gone in one gulp.
"Hungry, eh? What's your name?"


78
MARIO
said she has gone across the border to the U.S.A. on
a visit.”
"For how long?"
"Quién sabe? Who knows? They gave me her
address. She went to the Imperial Valley. To El
Centro. You know El Centro?”
Mario shook his head. The only time he had even
heard of a place called El Centro the American
woman had mentioned it. He set the thick coffee
cup down on the counter. He needed both hands to
hold his head while he thought about this latest
trouble.
Felipe sat beside him, looking at him out of the
corner of his eye. He leaned closer and spoke into
Mario's ear. “I can get you across into that Imperial
Valley, and it won't cost you a centavo."
Mario looked up at him, his eyes sick with worry.
"How much does it cost to cross the border?"
“Regular? Plenty. You have to have papers. You
have to have a vaccination—".
“I have a vaccination.” Doctor Gabriel had seen
to that.
"You're lucky. Most of the ones who want to go
across never heard of it. It costs plenty besides.


80
MARIO
"Wetbacks?"
"The ones without papers. In some places the
border's a river, and they swim across. They call
them wetbacks because their clothes are still wet
when the trucks pick them up. You can find your
aunt easy in El Centro. She'll take you back home
with her.”
Mario thought about this. He was afraid to go
to America. How could he find his way around
when he knew so little of their language? How
could he explain if they asked him about papers?
But if Aunt Lucita was there and wanted him to
come? She could tell them. I am the man of the
family, he told himself. I must make decisions.
Mario did not know where to find someone else to
help him.
He was afraid to go to the Tijuana police. When
they found that he was homeless, with no relatives,
no friend to take him in, they would send him to
La Paz, to the orphanage. Sebastian had said it was
barred, like a jail. Perhaps there was an orphanage
here in Tijuana, where homeless boys could be sent.
At the thought of the orphanage that was like a jail,
Mario's mind was made up.


TOO FAR TO GET BACK
83
against a rock. Felipe stopped the car. Everybody
poured out of the truck, glad to stretch cramped
legs.
"That was a close one!" moaned Felipe.
"This road! It is like leaping from rock to rock.
Must we travel such a goat track?" demanded the
man from the front seat.
Felipe mopped his face with a bandanna. “Would
you have a paved road, José, to lead the Border
Patrol to our way out of Mexico? They would like
nothing better than to find out where we come and
go."
They all climbed in again. The truck took up
its painful journey over the ruts and bumps, creak-
ing and groaning. The men were awake now. Mario
could hear them talking and quarreling.
The road wound up and up through the hills.
They battered and banged their way around curves
and over boulders. Sometimes the road led between
piles of rocks, or steep, colored cliffs that looked as
though they might crumble at any moment. Surely,
thought Mario, this is a country forgotten by God.
By the time the sun was setting, they had driven
into a camping spot. A circle of oaks and shrubs, at


TOO FAR TO GET BACK
85
the foot of a high rocky cliff, made a natural hide-
out. A tiny, smokeless fire burned on a built-up pile
of rocks. A coffee pot had been pulled away from the
heat and stood at a tilt behind a pot of bubbling
beans. The ground had been swept as clean as a
floor, with a broom of twigs that Mario could see
leaning against a tree. The earth had been sprinkled
with water, so that it was cool and fresh. Chairs
were up-ended fruit boxes. Close under the cliff
there was a screened box with water dripping down
the sides through gunny sacks hung from a shallow
pan of water.
An old Mexican woman was slapping tortillas
between her hands, pulling the thin rounds like
stretched rubber, patting them on the back of her
wrists. Mario's heart gave a lurch and he swallowed
hard. She was bent and wrinkled and old. She was
so like La Vieja in the dusk beneath the trees that his
breath caught in his throat.
La Vieja! Except for his dream where he could
not reach her, he had not thought of his grand-
mother all day. Doctor Gabriel had said she would
have good care. Soon she would be well again. Soon
le



OVER THE FENCE
THE LOST Ones! It was a good name, Mario
I was thinking, for a place to cross the border
with no papers. He felt lost himself. He did not
know where he was going. He could not go back
where he had been. He was truly one of the Lost
Ones.


OVER THE FENCB
Felipe dumped the suitcases and bundles out on
the ground and each man picked up his own. He
ran the truck up under the oak trees and Mario
could see that the car was well hidden from both the
air and the road. Felipe lined up the men, his pudgy
hand tight on Mario's shoulder.
"Follow me, amigos. You first, Mario. You, José,
you have been here before, you last. The rest any
way you like. If you can't keep up, it's too bad. No-
body's going to wait. If we hear a plane, fall flat on
your face. You got it?"
They grunted. In the gloom it was hard to see
the nodding heads.
“How far to the fence?" asked one man.
“Never measured it," answered Felipe. “We walk
until we get there. If I need to send word down the
line, you come up close and quiet. Pick up your big
feet. Don't roll any rocks.”
"It'll be dark in half an hour," complained one of
the men.
“Bueno! Good! Dark is a good thing for us.
There's star shine. No cliffs or swamps. We go
straight up a canyon, sandy at first, rocky up where
it gets steep."


90
MARIO
“What about snakes. Any rattlers in here?"
"Under every rock. But I'll hear them before you
do. Cut yourself a stick if you feel better. Talk low
if you like. It will scare them into the bush.”
“Maybe somebody else hears this talk."
"If they're that close, it's too late.”
Mario broke off a long branch from a bush, strip-
ping off the leaves. He knew how easy it was to kill
a rattlesnake. He tied the small bundle of shells to
his belt and twisted a stout stick through the rope
around his box for a handle.
They set off single file up a road of sorts. This
soon became a sandy wash between high walls, and
later a rough climb over boulders.
Mario was used to walking long distances. He
who has no car, no horse, must walk. But the sand
of Loreto was smooth and hard packed. The sand in
this arroyo was loose, with half-buried rocks to stub
a toe and fall headlong.
They came to the fence sooner than he expected.
Suddenly there it was, silver in the moonlight, with
the wicked barbs at the top, set close.
Mario watched while Felipe draped coats and
leather jackets over the barbed wire and then held


94
MARIO
and crossed two shining rails, which seemed to dis-
appear as they melted together in the distance.
Mario knew from his teacher's talk that these rails
must be for a train. Mario had never seen a train.
He would have liked to sit beside these shining rails
and wait to see a train.
Felipe hurried them across the tracks and over
the second fence. Half a mile beyond, Mario saw a
canvas-covered truck under a tree beside the road.
A man waited, sitting on the ground beside a pile of
cardboard cartons.
Felipe lined up the tired men and counted them
off. As he called off each man's name, that man
climbed into the truck with his suitcase or bundle.
Felipe handed the truck driver a roll of money. The
man counted it slowly, licking his finger as he peeled
each bill off the roll.
“How about the boy?” he asked.
Felipe drew him aside and they talked in low
voices. The truck driver laughed and Felipe clapped
him on the back. “Hop in, Mario. He'll take you to
El Centro to find your aunt.”
Mario climbed into the truck. The bed of the
truck was lined along the sides and front with car-


OVER THE FENCE
95
tons like those on the ground. The small space on
the floor was packed with men and boxes, bundles
and canteens, packed as tight as a box on a fishing
boat after a good catch. He moved himself and his
box over as far as he could to make room for Felipe.
Felipe had turned to help the driver load the
boxes on the ground into the back of the truck. They
left off a row of boxes at the top for an air space.
Felipe climbed up to fasten down the canvas. In
the dim light from the moon, Mario could see his
pudgy face looking down at them.
"Adiós, amigos," said Felipe. "Good luck in the
fields. You will be filthy rich when you get back
home.” He waved a fat hand and laughed. “Keep
your heads down or you will be back in Mexico
sooner than you wish.”
He pinned down the last of the canvas and was
gone. The engine started up. The truck backed and
turned. The engine began to purr.
Mario braced his feet against the boxes. They
seemed heavy enough to stay where they were.
“Empties, nailed to the floor,” explained the man
next to him. Mario recognized the voice of José.


96
MARIO
“Just a few at the back are full of stuff in case we
are stopped.”
"Is Felipe up front with the driver?" asked Mario.
"Not that one. He goes back to get his truck and
go to Tijuana for another load.”
Mario's voice quavered. “He does not come?"
"No. Like I say. He's gone back.”
"Will we get to El Centro soon?”.
“El Centro? We do not go to El Centro. We are
going by back roads to a ranch near Brawley to work
for a man Felipe knows. Me, José, I go there every
year to pick cotton.”
Mario tried to keep his voice steady. He did not
want to let these men know he was frightened.
“How far is Brawley from El Centro?"
“About fourteen miles."
"Felipe said this truck would take me to El
Centro.”
José laughed.
"I must find my aunt, señor."
“A good joke, that. You will not get to El Centro,
amigo, until you pay this driver, and Felipe, and the
man at the ranch for bringing you across the border.”


OVER THE FENCE
97
This voice in the darkness was high, and the laugh
behind it was unkind.
“You think you get all this for nothing?" asked -
another voice. “Nobody gets anything for nothing.”
Mario felt suffocated in the close darkness of the
truck. “How much will it cost to pay these people?”
His voice was pitched high above the sound of the
engine.
“You pay it out of the cotton money.”
“I cannot stay to pick cotton. I must find my aunt
in El Centro before she goes back to Tijuana. Felipe
called my aunt's house. They told him where to find
her, in El Centro.”
The unkind cackle of laughter started all the men
laughing. The hot, dark space inside the truck was
filled with hateful laughter.
"This innocent thinks they will let him go for
nothing! After they have risked their necks to get
him across the border!"
"Your aunt is not in El Centro," said a voice
across from him. “Felipe did not even try to get her
on the telephone, eh, José?"
“Mario, the wetback," answered José. His voice
was not unkind like some of the others. “You will


100
MARIO
too far. Less than halfway from Loreto to San
Xavier. If the padres could walk from Loreto to San
Xavier, and carry besides a heavy load for the mis-
sion, he, Mario, could walk half that far with his
box and his bag of shells.
In El Centro was where the American woman
lived, the lady-who-flew-her-own-plane. She had
given him her name and address on a card. It was in
his pocket with the letter that had the number of Tía
Lucita. The American woman would pay a hundred
pesos for a single shell, the very shell he had brought
with him, tied in the bundle at his belt. Mario's
fingers found the bundle and felt the rough spines
of the black and white shell through the layers of
cloth that wrapped it.
A hundred pesos was a lot of money, thought
Mario. Surely such a vast sum would pay all of his
debts, and his way back to Tijuana besides.
There was another thing he must do. He must
keep out of the way of the truant officers, whoever
they were. This he could see. But how did you know
who was a truant officer? If the law ever caught up
with him, Mario felt sure he would land in a receiv-
ing home. This was, in Mario's mind, the same


OVER THE FENCE
101
thing as landing in jail. Some voice in the dark of
the truck had said so. “There are bars on the win-
dows, like a jail,” the voice had said. “They will lock
you up if they catch you.”
It wouldn't even be a Mexican jail or orphanage.
It would be an American jail. The terrors of that
were beyond all imagining.
He would keep his head on a hinge, like the little
owls that lived in the cardones. He would listen
for those words with both ears. “Truant officer."
He would hide in the cotton. They would never
catch him.
He would work until he had paid these debts,
debts he did not know he had until now. He would
sell his shell and go back to Tijuana, on the other
side of the border. He would find Tía Lucita. He
would find La Vieja, and they would go back to
Loreto. All would be as it had been.
With this firmly settled, Mario put his head
against the jiggling boxes and slept.



sh
THE COTTON CAMP
M AARIO awoke, dripping wet, in the fierce heat
M of the late morning. The truck had started
down a steep grade. The inside of the truck was like
an oven, the dead air reeking.


104
MARIO
wheels of the truck crunched over a gravel road and
came to a halt. Someone came to pull down the
boxes. They climbed out, stiff and sore from the
long ride. The sunshine was blistering and blinding,
but better than the oven of a truck.
They had driven into a large field of green plants,
on both sides as far as Mario could see. White puffs
showed between the withered leaves. Mario knew
that this was cotton. It did not look so hard to pick-
cotton.
Along one side of the road was a long row of
wooden shacks. They were all alike, both in the way
they were built and in their paintless, ramshackle,
hopeless sag of roof and tin chimney. The space in
front of the cabins was littered with papers, old
clothes, empty tin cans, and other trash. Behind the
cabins there was an open irrigation ditch where a
handful of children were screaming and playing.
Two old cars, rusty and dented, rested on wheels
with no tires. Among them were better cars, some
shiny and new. Sagging lines held diapers and limp,
faded clothing. Some small children hanging about
the doorways stared through red-rimmed eyes and
straggling hair. Some of them looked like the chil-


108
MARIO
At first it seemed easy. But the sun was burning
hot. Mario's muscles, still sore from the long,
cramped ride, began to ache. His fingers were
scratched and bleeding from the sharp points of the
cotton bolls. His bag grew heavier and heavier as
it dragged over the rough clods of plowed ground
behind him.
He had to kneel to get the cotton that grew low on
the stalks. His knees went from soreness to rawness
on the broken ground. The last hour of the day was
pure agony.
José came back dragging a plump, full sack. He
reached down and prodded Mario's bag. "You won't
get much for that, amigo." He stripped three bushes,
pushing the cotton into Mario's sack. All the way to
the wagon he picked cotton. He seemed to dance
about the bushes, his hands moving too quickly to
see.
"It is like magic!" said Mario.
José grinned. “Each kind of work is an art, amigo.
You do it well or you do it badly, according to your
pride. Me, I am a cotton picker. One of the best.
Each man should have some one thing he does well.
Then he can look the world in the eye and say,


110
MARIO
"You don't need money. You can take home what
you want and pay with your work.”
"I am already owing too much money.”
"What for?”
"For the trip from Mexico. For the house. For the
cotton bag. The men say this.”
José spat on the ground. “You don't owe anybody
anything. You were hijacked out of Mexico. You
didn't ask to come, did you?"
“I agreed to come, to find my aunt Lucita.”
"You didn't agree to pick cotton, eh?"
"No, señor. I haven't ever before picked cotton.”
"You could send Felipe to jail for that. Only
you'll never catch him. The houses are beastly holes.
Most of us bring canvas and rig up tents. The cotton
bag you can turn in when you are through. It is
only a loan."
"I do not have to stay here and work to pay back
all this money?"
“No. Felipe brought you over the fence because
he had promised the ranch so many pickers and he
did not have them. You don't owe him a peso."
They stopped talking when they reached the
truck. Mario's bag weighed so little the weigher


112
MARIO
to take some bananas, but Mario did not want any-
thing more set down against his name.
If he did not owe these people the large sum of
money he had been worried about, then he was free
to go away when he chose. If the cotton rows could
hide him from the truant officer by day, they would
surely hide him from the man in charge of the pick-
ers in the dark.
He ate some bread and meat and wrapped the rest
back in the bread paper, putting it among his things.
The cardboard box was too battered to use further.
Even the ropes would not hold it together. So Mario
rolled his few belongings in the blanket and tied it
neatly with the rope. He fastened his shells to his
belt. He planned to leave some money for the food
and the blanket. José had said the cotton would pay
for the bread and meat. That left only the blanket.
How much did a blanket cost? If he got the hundred
pesos for the shell, he could pay for the blanket. He
needed to keep what money he had.
He waited for several hours, listening to the
voices shouting, singing, quarreling. When he was
sure the tired workers were asleep, he slid out the
door and crossed the bridge over the ditch. He


THE COTTON CAMP
115
earth beneath him, on a bed of rustling grape leaves,
than a dirty mattress on sagging springs.
He woke while the stars were still shining, but
they were different stars than the ones he had
watched when he fell asleep. It was comforting to
know that the same stars rose and set over this Amer-
ican desert that wheeled through the night over
Loreto. He pulled the blanket over him and snug-
gled down under its welcome warmth.
He thought of La Vieja. Was she well again?
Doctor Gabriel would see that she was in good
hands. Had Doctor Gabriel talked to the telephone
to let Aunt Lucita know that he, Mario, had come to
Tijuana? He wished that he could have left word
somewhere, somehow, so that his people could know
where he was, that he was safe in the hands of God.
But how? He had thought that he was on his way
to Aunt Lucita when he crossed the fence with
Felipe. But all the time it had been a cruel joke.
He thought of the American woman. He had the
shell she had liked. The money for the shell would
get him back to Mexico again. He sent a little prayer
for help to guide his steps to her.
At the thought of this big, strong woman who
M
IO


116
MARIO
could help him, Mario threw back his blanket and
jumped up. He brushed the leaves from his clothes
and straightened his jacket. He ran the pink cellu-
loid comb, that Dr. Gabriel had given him, through
his hair. It was the best he could do.
He rolled his belongings into a neat, tight roll and
roped it. Stooping to pick it up, he saw on one of the
grape vines close to his bed a bunch of grapes over-
looked by the pickers. After he had eaten some bread
and the last of the tinned meat, he picked the
grapes. With his shells swinging at his belt, his
blanket roll over his shoulder, he walked south down
the road. The grapes in his hand were almost as dark
as raisins, sweet as wild honey.
Ahead of him the mountains of Mexico were
clear-cut in the early dawn. The few stars above him
still trembled in the dark sky. It was cold and crisp
and clear. A cock crowed in a farmyard. A turkey
gobbled in answer. Mario's feet almost danced along
the road.
A mile or so beyond where he had slept, a pickup
truck came out of a driveway too fast for Mario to
duck into the ditch. When the truck stopped at the
gate, Mario's back stiffened. He tried to walk on by


118
MARIO
as though he knew exactly where he was going and
how to get there. Out of the corner of his eye he
watched the driver lift down some heavy cans and
leave them at the gate.
"Going my way, pal?" asked the big, gangling
man.
Mario's heart was pounding as he looked into the
weather-beaten face of the farmer. He noticed the
sandy eyebrows and the sandy hairs on the freckled
hands lifting the big cans.
"I'm headed into El Centro once I get this cream
unloaded. Give you a lift?"
Mario understood much of this. He knew the man
was offering him a ride, and that he was going to
El Centro. But did he want to go with anyone?
Wasn't he safer alone?
He looked up into the man's kindly face, with
laugh wrinkles around his mouth and sun wrinkles
around his blue eyes. Just as he had felt that he
could not trust Felipe, Mario sensed that here was a
man he could
"Sí, señor. Muchas gracias.” He climbed into the
cab of the small truck, his roll beside him.
“What's your name, pal?”


THE COTTON CAMP
119
"Mario."
"Mine's Bill. Goin' on a Scout hike, huh? They
sure do a lot for kids nowadays. Scouts, Campfire,
4-H clubs. Wish I'd had some of it. I wouldn't be
such an old stick-in-the-mud. Wore my nose clean
off on a grindstone. I tell Liddie-that's my girl-I
say, Liddie, you can have rabbits or pigs or raise
yourself a calf to sell. But, honey, don't you ever
learn to milk a cow. You'll be tied to their tails the
rest of your life, I told her. You ever milk a cow,
pal?"
"Perdóneme, señor?".
"I guess I talk too fast. You're not over here very
long, I can see that. What I said was," he repeated
it very slowly, “—ever milk a cow?".
Mario understood the word for milk and the word
for cow. It pleased him to understand this question.
He chuckled. “No, señor. No vaca. No cow. I meelk
-- Oh!” he groaned. His long lashes swept his
cheeks in agony of soul. He could not think of the
word he wanted “How do you say-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-
eh?” He gave the plaintive call of a milk goat.
The farmer roared with laughter. "Goats, eh?”
“Sí! Sí, señor!" Mario was beaming. “Gots!"


120
MARIO
The way he said it sent the driver off into fresh
spasms of laughter. From then on they were two
farmers together, bowling along the highway into
town.
When they drove into El Centro, already busy
and full of cars, even before the sun rose, Mario's
heart quailed. The traffic seemed a hopeless snarl,
with cars missing each other by inches. This was
another huge city stretching out on the flat desert, as
Tijuana had been flung across the hills.
"Where you want to go, Mario?"
Mario's answer was a mixture of Spanish and
what English words he could dredge up. “Do you
know an American lady named Señorita Blake?”
“Hattie? Sure, everybody knows Hattie.”
Mario drew the card from his pocket. “It says
here, señor, Hattie Blake, El Centro. Even it says
her street."
"Where'd you run into Hattie? She's a character.
Heart of gold. But you kids gotta mind your P's and
Q's from now on. No more hidin' in the cotton.
Hattie flies that plane of hers over a cotton field like
a jack rabbit jumps a tumbleweed. No place to hide


THE COTTON CAMP 121
from Hattie. A truant officer like Hattie means busi-
ness."
Mario's heart turned over with a sickening lurch.
These were the words he had been dreading. "Seño-
rita Hattie?” he asked. But he knew before the
farmer answered.
"Sure. Hattie Blake's our new truant officer.”


THE TRAP
123
ing place where he couldn't be seen, even from the
air. He was sure he could find a place to hide before
this man could turn his car around, or park this truck
and come after him.
"It's locked, son,” said the quiet voice beside him.
“I wouldn't care to have anybody jumpin' out while
she's movin’.” He drew over to the curb and stopped.
But he made no move to open the door.
Mario tried the handle again. “Por favor, señor?"
he quavered.
"Well-but just a minute. Let's have a little pa-
laver. You in trouble with Hattie? Been cuttin'
school, maybe, huh?” Bill put his big front teeth
over his lower lip and raised a pair of sandy eye-
brows.
Mario was silent. His knuckles were white where
he had his hand pressed against the door handle.
What was the use of telling people things? He had
told Felipe, and look where it had brought him. And
now this man would take him into the very jaws of
the law itself.
Bill waited patiently, his eyes on the drawn face
of the boy beside him. He put a freckled, work-worn
hand on Mario's knee. He could feel the tensed mus-


126
MARIO
pesos." He put the card and shell together. "One
hundred pesos, señor."
Bill understood. He took the shell gently in his
big hands. “Yeah. This is really a sockdologer. She
collects 'em. Puts 'em in the hobby show every year.
I just bet she did want this one. But she's sure poison
to you, pal, as far as I can see. Something to do with
this truant business.” He rubbed the day-old stubble
along his chin. “Shoulda shaved before I left home. I
knew it. Always get caught. I was scared I'd miss the
cream truck."
Mario listened. He could not understand what
Bill was saying. But somehow his first panic was
gone. Once again he had decided to trust this long,
lanky farmer in his bibbed overalls and smile-lined,
puzzled face
The two of them sat together in the locked cab of
the pickup, both of them thinking what to do, what
to do.
Suddenly Bill struck the steering wheel with his
big, freckled hand. “I got it, Mario. We're not very
far from Miss Hattie's house.” At the puzzled look
on Mario's face, he tried again. "See here! Miss
Hattie-you savvy Miss Hattie?"


THE TRAP
127
"Sí, señor.” Doubt again had crept into Mario's
voice.
"Don't panic. It's okay. Now listen. I'll take this
shell—_" he held up the shell-he pointed down the
block and around the corner. “To Miss Hattie.
You got that?” When Mario nodded, Bill went on.
"You won't have to go, see? You-no! Me-yes! I'll
get the hundred pesos." He pointed to himself and
patted his palm. Then he pointed to Mario. “I'll
bring you the money. You won't have to see Miss
Hattie, Mario.” He spoke with great earnestness.
"On my word of honor-okay?"
Mario stared down at his brown hands. Was this
another trap?
The big man beside him reached across Mario
and unlocked the car door. He unlocked the door on
his own side and slid out from under the wheel. He
came around the pickup and casually opened the
door beside Mario. Then he closed it again, but
Mario could see that he didn't lock it.
"I'm going to walk around to Hattie's house," he
said slowly. “I'll take her the shell. I won't tell her
where you are, Mario. And you're free to skip and





134
MARIO
They stopped at a big building. Bill poked his
head in the door of an office on the first floor. “Any-
body here speak Spanish?"
"We're not even speaking English this early,” the
girl told him. “Go on down four doors. There might
be somebody there."
"Okay. Come on, Mario.” Bill counted four doors
and knocked.
“Come in!” boomed a hearty voice.
They walked in. Seated at a desk, with a pile of
papers in front of her, a scrap of a hat sliding off her
high braid of hair, was Hattie Blake.



MISS HATTIE
A ARIO!” Miss Hattie beamed at them. “Hey!
IVI Where you going? Bill, grab him. Don't let
him get away. I want to thank him."
Bill caught Mario by his jacket and held him.
Mario fought like a wild cat, kicking and clawing,
sobbing and shouting, “All the time it was a trap!"
This was the American woman, the truant officer
who would put boys with no relatives in the receiv-


136
MARIO
ing home, a wetback boy who had climbed the
fence, in jail.
Bill held him at arm's length to save his own
shins, pinning Mario's arms to his sides. “Gosh
aʼmighty!” he said unhappily. “Wouldn't of had this
happen for ducks.”
Miss Hattie shut and locked the door. “No use
rousing the whole place.”
At this, Mario wilted. The trap was sprung. He
wrenched away from Bill and sat down on a chair by
the desk. He put his head on his arms and cried all
the bitter tears he had kept bottled up since Doctor
Gabriel had told him La Vieja was so sick they
would have to leave Loreto. He had tried, he had
really tried to do all the right things. All this trying
had led him straight to this woman, a woman big
enough and powerful enough to lock him up. She
was the Law, with the power to put him in jail for
the things he had not meant to do.
Miss Hattie sat down beside Mario and patted his
shaking back. She pressed her big, strong fingers into
the nape of his neck and rubbed it with firm strokes.
She slid her hands to his shoulders, and her big
thumbs moved up and down his aching spine. She


138
MARIO
money. I wasn't really awake yet, or I would have
known it was Mario."
Slowly but surely the racking sobs had quieted.
Miss Hattie went right on rubbing.
Mario sat up and pushed her hands away. His
face was bloated with crying, his eyes red.
Miss Hattie reached for a paper handkerchief,
but Bill offered the bandanna. “For a major mop-up
like this, he needs a man-sized swab." Mario took the
bandanna
Miss Hattie gave him one last pat and sat back.
“Sit down yourself, Bill. Got time?"
He grinned. “You know me. Milkin's all done for
this morning. Only a thousand undone jobs leering
at me.” He sat down across the room. “But I gotta
see this thing through. This kid's got a problem.”
She nodded and turned to Mario. "First of all,
Mario,” she said in Spanish, “I want to tell you how
much I like that beautiful shell.” She had toned
down her big, booming voice until it was low and
friendly
Mario said nothing, staring down at the red ban-
danna. His eyelashes were still tangled with tears,
his lips were pressed tight to control their trembling.


MISS HATTIB
141
"You will not put me in jail?”
Her big laugh boomed out. “Heavens, no!"
Mario put his hand in his pocket and pulled out
all his money. He laid the Mexican money and the
American money all together on the desk. “Is it
enough?” he asked. Bill reached over and added the
two dollars Mario had given him.
“You won't need any money.” She pushed it back.
"We'll get you across. I'll see the border people. But
I do have to know one thing, Mario. Where do you
plan to go when you get to Mexicali?"
"Mexicali, señorita? My aunt, Tía Lucita, she
lives in Tijuana. Here is her name and where she
lives and the number that talks to her. Nobody
could reach her, but this is the number. Not in
Mexicali. In Tijuana.”
“Tijuana is a long way from here. It's over on the
coast. How do you figure to get from Mexicali to
Tijuana?"
"I shall walk, señorita.” Once he got on the other
side of the fence, Mario was sure he could walk to
the moon.
"That's a long dry walk. You haven't money
enough to buy food or put a roof over your head.”


142
MARIO
"I do not need a roof, señorita. I have my blan-
ket.” He put two of the paper dollars to one side.
"Señor Beel says this much will pay for this blan-
ket.”
"What's all this about a blanket, Bill?”
"Darned if I know. It's no great shakes as a blan-
ket. He gave me as much as it's worth. Only I can't
get out of him where to send the money. Somehow I
don't think he snitched it.”
“I'll find out. But I'll have to go slow. He's like
one of the Kaibab deer. They're used to people and
they come to the tents for food, but they're ready to
take off at the first false move. I think I'll take a
chance and call this aunt. But first I'm going to make
him a certificate. It won't get him much of any-
where, but it will give him peace of mind."
"Anything more I can do?”
"I don't think so, Bill. I think we can straighten
this out. If he gets away, it shouldn't be too hard to
pick him up."
Bill stood up. He started over to shake hands with
Mario and then thought better of it. He waved, un-
locked the door, and stood there for a moment. “Tell
him sometime, will you, that I really didn't mean to


144
MARIO
"You sign them, too, Mario. Then you keep one
and I'll keep one.”
Mario was proud to have the yellow paper. He
folded it carefully and put it on top of his money.
"Now the next thing is to call your aunt. Hand
me the card, Mario. I'll get the number and you can
talk with her.”
When a voice answered, Miss Hattie asked for
Lucita García. She nodded and smiled at Mario.
"She's there all right. Pull your chair over here so
you can talk when I get through. Hello? Lucita
García? This is the aunt of Mario from Loreto?
Good! He is here in El Centro. He is safe. Oh, yes,
a long way. Oh! I'm sure you have been worried to
death. Oh! That's why they couldn't get you. You
did not know he was coming. Of course not. And
the grandma? Wonderful. Think of it! Walking
about already. No, it was better not to tell her. She
will go back to Loreto? Good! Good! He is right here
beside me. I will let him talk with you. Hold the
line."
She turned to Mario. “She is so excited. They
have all been sick with worry. Here, hold this to
your ear, and talk into this.”


MISS HATTIB
145
Mario almost dropped the phone when he heard
the excited voice of his aunt Lucita. He poured into
the phone the whole wretched story.
Miss Hattie glanced at the clock and shrugged.
“I'm getting my money's worth!" she muttered.
When Miss Hattie finally persuaded Mario to say
good-by, Mario was bubbling. “That was my aunt
Lucita. Think of it! Miles and miles away and she
sounded as though she were here in this room!"
"We forget," said Miss Hattie, “the wonder of it.”
“And La Vieja is almost well again!"
"That's the best news of all, isn't it?” Miss Hattie


MISS HATTIR
147
had talked with Tía Lucita. La Vieja was nearly well
again. In his pocket was his permission printed on
yellow paper. It was a wonderful thing to have a
paper.
He licked the last of the ice cream very fast to
keep it from melting. Miss Hattie showed him
where to drop the stick when he had licked the last
smear of sweetness from it, in a can with a swinging
lid that stood right there on the street for peelings
and papers. This was a good thing, he thought, in a
city that had no burros or buzzards to eat such
scraps.
When they got back to the office, Bill was waiting
for them. "Forgot I had Mario's stuff in the car.”
"Gracias, señor." Mario had forgotten it, too. He
reached for the little bundle of shells. The big shell
was gone, but there were some small ones, exqui-
sitely coiled and colored. If these kind people would
not take money, perhaps they would like his shells.
He unwrapped them carefully, spread the cloth on
the desk, and laid the shells out on top of it.
"Mario!" exclaimed Miss Hattie. “What beau-
ties!"
"Is good?” he asked shyly.


148
MARIO
“Is simply beautiful!"
“Is for you and Señor Beel.”
Bill started to say, “We can't take your shells—”


MISS HATTIE
149
He caught a warning glance from Miss Hattie.
"Well, gee whiz! That's mighty fine. Mighty fine!"
"Help yourself, señor.”
"Suppose I just take one of them to Liddie? She's
never seen shells like this.”
That was fine with Mario. He had shared what
he had.
"I'm going to try to talk him into staying here un-
til the grandmother gets settled in Loreto with the
aunt," Miss Hattie said to Bill in English. “Think I
stand a chance?”
“I dunno. He's pretty homesick. Did you find out
about the blanket?"
"Not yet.” She turned to Mario. “Bill says he
doesn't know where you should send the money for
the blanket. Tell me in Spanish, Mario, so I can tell
him.”
Mario explained about the store and the food. He
was sure his work in the cotton field would pay for
the meat and the bread. But he wasn't sure it cov-
ered the blanket. “It is not good to go away owing
money for a blanket.”
Miss Hattie nodded. “That's right.” She ex-
plained to Bill.
"I'll be darned. But,” he added, “tell Mario we


152
MARIO
Mario set to work happily.
“I got most of the story when Mario was phon-
ing,” Miss Hattie told Bill. “Some trader in wetbacks
picked him up in Tijuana. They told him his aunt
was over on this side and wanted him to come. Once
they got him here they scared him into picking cot-
ton with threats of jail and debts and the new truant
officer.”
“No wonder he was scared stiff. I'd hate to be a
kid out enjoying myself picking cotton and you
breathin' down my neck.”
"Go sit on a tack," she answered amiably. “I'll call
his aunt and tell her we'll keep him a week. We
don't have to find this ranch right this minute. I
have a good hunch where it is, out north of your
place. It'll give me a chance to visit some of the other
camps out there and round up the kids.”
Bill came over to Mario and reached out a hand.
Mario rose to shake hands with him. “Miss Hattie'll
see that you get out to the camp to pay off. When
you're out that way, stop by my place and we'll dig
some ice cream out of the freezer.”
Miss Hattie explained all of this in Spanish to
Mario.


MARIO COMES HOME
155
“Just-how shall I say it?-I owe you many
thanks, señorita—Tí’Attie.”
“Don't try to say it." Her voice was gruff. “It's my
job to straighten things out for kids like you. Next
time I need to stop and catch my breath-when I
can't stand things another minute—I'll fly down to
Loreto again. You can show me where to find those
sea shells. You have something down there, Mario.
Life's not such a rat race. You take time out to enjoy
the beauty around you."
“This is beautiful here, too,” said Mario.
“All desert country is beautiful if you look at it
with the right slant in your eye. Hot? Sure. So's
Egypt. So's India. People save up for years to get
there. It's beautiful right here. Look at that field of
cabbages. Ever see a prettier color?"
Mario looked at the field of purple cabbage. “Sí,
Tí ’Attie. It is the lovely color of the Loreto moun-
tains at dawn."
“Yes, it is. Beautiful!"
They stopped on both sides of the border and
Mario came back to the car with all the papers he
needed. In Mexicali he listened to the Mexicans
OU


156
MARIO
talking on the street. It was good to hear his own
tongue.
I am in Mexico, he was thinking. I am on the
other side of the fence. I can run if I want to. They
could never find me here among my own people.
But he trotted back to the car with Miss Hattie.
Mario had papers. He could visit in America be-
cause the permit said so. But he was free to go home
when he chose.
“Whew!" Miss Hattie's face was beet-red in the
midday heat. “I'm bushed!”
“What does it mean-bushed?"
Miss Hattie laughed. When Miss Hattie
laughed, it was an explosion of sheer joy, and noisy
besides. Every Mexican on that street in Mexicali
laughed with her.
"These Mexicans!" she chortled. “They're so
much fun! ‘Bushed? Well, it's slang. It means tired
out, done in, worn down. I'd like to teach you some
English before you go, Mario, but not slang. The
Mexican youngsters around here speak both lan-
guages. They do better than we do."
Mario tried to think in English. “I es-speak Amer-
icano-poco—_” he broke down, laughing with her.
"You'll have to do better than that. Come on, let's


MARIO COMES HOME
157
get a bite to eat. There's a good place down the street
for enchiladas and tostadas.”
As they made their way back to the car, after some
hot Mexican food, Mario had trouble keeping his
eyes open. He hadn't had much sleep for several
nights. There had been days of worry about La
Vieja, about the plane, about the law. There had
been bruising rides over rough roads in an airless
oven of a truck. The cotton picking had been back-
breaking work.
In El Centro he stumbled after Miss Hattie up
some steps into a cool and airy house, a house with
many rooms and all with doors. A quick glance
showed him there were no bars on the windows.
“I have to go back to the office, Mario. Take off
your shoes and go wash up. I'll put a cotton sheet
blanket over the spread so you won't have to worry.
You can have a shower later. You've had it, boy!"
“Hokay, Tí ’Attie,” murmured Mario. “Me, I'm
bushed."
That night while Mario sat beside her, Miss Hat-
tie talked again with Tía Lucita. She made arrange-
ments to keep Mario for a week.
Tía Lucita told Miss Hattie that she was giving


MARIO COMES HOME
159
knob and there were voices singing, or people riding
horses or shooting guns on a glass plate set in a box.
Often they held up cans of beer or cigarette boxes
where the cigarettes popped up by themselves. A
white tub filled itself with hot water, with cold water
in a stinging spray from a pipe. He watched Miss
Hattie stack dishes trimmed with gold in a green
basket and shut a door on them. They came out hot
and clean and dry.
He did not understand how these things could be,
but they were all part of this strange land. He looked
and listened and learned the English words for many
of the things he saw.
He traveled out in the country with Miss Hattie.
They went to cotton camps where Mario watched
the children disappear like magic when the men saw
Miss Hattie's car. He stopped at Señor Bill's ranch,
and here Mario saw the cows being milked by ma-
chinery. He shut his mind against this. It seemed
wrong to him.
He went to schools with Miss Hattie. There was
a desk for every child, and books and paper and
pencils. There were pictures on the walls, made with
colored crayons. In the schoolyards there were rings


164
MARIO
his right hand. “My boy! My boy! Your return
brings us new life.”
“I have been away too long," said Mario in Eng-
lish and laughed at their surprise.
Mario and Miss Hattie climbed into the doctor's
car and drove into Loreto.
"I do not think Loreto has changed much in two
weeks,” said Doctor Gabriel, his eyes twinkling be-
hind his thick glasses.
“I don't think Loreto has changed much in two
hundred years!” boomed Miss Hattie. “Mario is the
one who has changed.”
The doctor peered at Mario over his glasses. “I
hope not too much. This would be a shock for La
Vieja. Her life would be dull without a bribón, a ras-
cal, to scold!"
Mario shrugged. “I do not think the hospital has
much changed La Vieja. One learns not to listen.”
As they drove down the street, people shouted
greetings to Mario. “Hi, shark meat!" shrilled
Carlos, ducking behind a tree outside the mission.
Mario grinned. He did not mind the teasing. Was
he not returning from a long journey? Had he not
traveled in a foreign country, with papers of permis-


MARIO COMES HOME
165
sion? Did he not have in his pocket a knife with
seven blades?
Mario looked about at the few buildings, of adobe
mostly, with palm-thatched roofs. He looked at the
matched stone of the old church, built hundreds of
years ago by the padres and the Indians. At the foot
of the street, beyond the palm trees where the buz-
zards roosted, was the sea wall that guarded the town
from the sea in the time of high winds. Beyond the
blue line of the Gulf was the long ragged shape of
Carmen Island.
It was good to come home from foreign lands to
the things he knew.
At the hut of La Vieja the brown and white
goats ran to meet them. The black goat, Negra,
stood back, eying Mario with distant, amber eyes.
Then, with a flick of her short tail, she daintily
stepped aside. Cuddled in a nest of straw, between
the roots of the old olive tree, were two fuzzy black
kids. They sprang to their feet at the sight of the
strangers. They danced, as light as leaves blowing in
the wind, over to hide behind Negra. From this safety
their tiny hard round heads, with slit eyes in sly
faces, peeked out on either side.


MARIO COMES HOME
167
"Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh!" bleated Negra im-
portantly.
Mario shouted with joy. They are like toys, he
thought, like the toys in the big store. But these were
live toys, their coats as soft as silk, their tiny bodies
full of steel-spring, wiry strength.
He hugged the black mother goat and made much
of her. “I leave three goats,” he said to Doctor Ga-
briel and Miss Hattie, “and I come home to five.”
Miss Hattie knelt beside him to touch the tiny
creatures. She was as pleased as Mario.
Mario's heart was bursting. Was he not a man of
means, with such increase in his flock?
In the doorway of the hut stood La Vieja, a little
more wrinkled, a little more bent. Her old eyes
smiled on Mario, but her tongue was as sharp as
ever. “Must you kneel then, struck dumb over a pair
of kids, while you keep us waiting?"
From the town, on the clear air, came the clamor
of church bells.
Mario heaved a long sigh. He was home. He was
content.
OD OV
was
Tas
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