A foul odor was in the air as we walked towards my aunt`s house. The instant Raul and I
reached the corner, near where my new home to be was located, a nauseating stench assaulted my nose. Aghast at the sight of a Cemetery in front of my eyes across the street, I felt I could have waved the terrible smell away with my hand. It was that thick in the hot air that there was no doubt in my mind where it was coming from. My empty stomach churned and revolted, threatening to deposit on the ground whatever it could. I felt sick as I looked up at Raul. He said, "No, its not coming from the dead in the Cemetery, look", as he pointed away from the Cemetery. I followed the direction of his finger and saw it. A block and a half away from the far corner of the Cemetery was an incinerating plant. It was not difficult to see the tremendously large piles of trash and garbage scattered by the building. People were on the piles of trash. On the top of the high brick stack was a screen mashed opening that allowed the smoke of burnt garbage to escape into the air for the people close by to breathe and inhale. Even a child like me had to wonder how grown ups, including my aunt could live here.
My aunt Hortencia, the oldest of my five aunts was told by Raul`s mother, or by my grandmother, about the vicious beating that my aunt Elvira had inflicted on me. Learning what she was told, that I had simply vanished from the care of my aunt Elvira and was running wild in a pact of neglected children on the railroad tracks, I assumed she was concerned for the safety of her sister`s child. So she set out to find me. I think that psychologically, for a child who had never been physically abused, the brutal assault that I endured at the hands of my aunt Elvira left a mental fear in my heart and damaged any trust I would have on adults from that day on. I was terrified when I walked into the yard of my aunt Hortencia`s house. I felt a chilling fear of the unknown that awaited me in this house.
The thought of my mother returned as I was beginning to think more and more of her. I found that I could not cry any more like before, but instead I was developing this mistrust and anger towards these adults. I wanted to run away and be at the railroad tracks. It was the only place where I knew peace of mind and felt happy.
Despite any distrust or suspicions I carried into that house it turned out that my aunt was not an evil woman. Her husband Frank was away North she told me. She said that Frank was very distraught and crazed for his inability to join the military due to an accident he had suffered years before. Losing four of his fingers on his right hand was a loss that caused for the military to reject him as any type of soldier. He just drifted away from the family soon after the Government had issued the rationing of food mandate. He had been away for some time after becoming desperate like many others during that time. For whatever reasons my aunt used to take me under her care, she could not feed me. She had two young daughters and a son my own age. Rachel and Hortencia were two and three years older than me. There was very little in that house that could be described as food. It was here that I first saw the ration coupons that my aunt could use to buy very small items of food or other basic necessities. The one most important thing that happened to me in my first day in that house was clothes. My aunt found some hand-me-down clothes belonging to my cousin Frankie. We were exactly the same size. I even had shoes for the first time in my life. I had never owned shoes, or if I did I did not remember. Despite of my new clothes, I felt caged and restless. I had to find my mother.
The minutes turned to hours and days in that house for me. I must have been living in my aunt`s house for weeks it seemed to me. I had to sleep at night in the front room on the floor using a blanket as a mattress, and no pillow. It was hot as always and the doors were open, the screen door locked only with a small latch. Any noise in the darkness would send a chill over me and the fear convinced me that I had to go back to the railroad tracks, where I had been happy and where I knew no fear. Each time I heard the whistle of a train I saw myself jumping in joy.The Cemetery was one thing I could not understand. I just knew ghosts and corpses walked during midnight asking forgiveness for their sins. I sincerely believed that one night I would see some deceased person at my door. I had to get away from this house.
One morning the house was so quiet that I decided to walk outside and explore my surroundings. Making sure that all ghosts were sleeping in the Cemetery I wanted to try to find out if the stench in the air was causing the discomfort I suddenly felt in my throat.
Someone asked me in the comments section of my previous diary if the name of this Cemetery was The San Fernando Cemetery. I cannot honestly answer that question because I do not remember. I assume the person who asked is from San Antonio. Maybe you will recall what follows:
My aunt`s house is located on Tampico Street on the opposite side of the Cemetery. So this particular morning I walked out into the street and proceeded to my left towards the incinerator plant. Passing the end of the chain linked fence of the Cemetery I reached an old wooden bridge. It had rotten sides and under ran the Alazan Creek. It is the same creek in this story and it curls heading to where Jesse and I jumped over to reach the homeless illegal settlement of shanty houses earlier. So I am actually only a few blocks away. Walking over the wooden bridge I reached a large swat of open smelly land where dump trucks would unload garbage, dead animals and everything that was burned causing the sickly smoke to invade this community. My earlier assumption that people were among the strewn piles of trash and garbage materialized and it was true. They searched among the trash for anything salvageable to sell or eat. It is here that I met Augustine. He was eleven years old. Flung over his shoulder was a brown potato burlap sack. He collected old rags and cloth material to sell. He lived in the shanty house community where Jesse and I had been days before. I went with him and remained there living among the illegal squatters. My new friend was simply "Rags" by name, as it stuck on him forever.