Chapter 5

Eight children are a lot. Too many for some. Maybe even too many for Pedro. But not too many for his wife, Juanita. Juanita was the foundation of the Fernandez family.

Doña Juanita—as she was known in the neighborhood—watched her family from a wide perimeter. She was engaged, but she was also an observer. For more than a quarter century she had labored and toiled to establish the right amount of confidence for her children, while frequently reminding them of the necessity for humility.

The eldest of the children was Pedro Jr., whom everyone simply called Junior. Though only twenty-two, he carried himself like a man twice that age. He stood five foot four, with a large head set atop compact, muscular shoulders. His raven hair was unruly with cowlicks, prompting him to wear a hat whenever he could. His skin was toasted to an auburn hue from endless hours laboring under the sun, and his cheekbones pressed sharply beneath the taut skin of his round face.

Junior spent most of his days working in the countryside, strip-picking coffee cherries. From October to March he would pick alongside his father at Los Árboles de los Sueños, the family coffee estate.

For years Pedro Sr. would out pick Junior by more than 50 pounds a day. Slowly though, Junior had been getting stronger and faster, and recently he eclipsed his father for the first time, totaling just shy of 200 pounds in his picking bag. Pedro was impressed. Over dinner that night he raised a glass to his son and made sure that everyone at the table knew of his achievement. Junior gulped whiskey. Pedro sipped scotch. Across the table they grinned at each other.

Juanita raised herself from nothing. Fleeing the wrath and abuse of her stepfather, she hopped on a bus at just fourteen, leaving behind her village of San Pedro, along with six siblings. She didn't know where she was going but she knew it had to be better than this life.

The bus driver stared hard at Juanita and asked her if she knew where she was headed.

"Where does this bus go?" she asked.

"Last stop is the Terminal del Sur near Colonia Jardines de San Marcos. Do you know where that is?"

"Of course, I do," Juanita lied confidently.

The driver—knowing that she was making up her answer—thought about calling dispatch and reporting a lost kid, but for some reason, he ended up ignoring his first inclination and told her to get in.

"Can you please tell me when we arrive at the Terminal del Sur?"

"With pleasure."

"Thank you."

And with that, fourteen-year-old Juanita embarked on her journey. She convinced herself that this experience must be thought of as an adventure, otherwise she may give in to the notion to turn back.

Within half an hour, she was fast asleep, with the plastic bag that was stuffed with her remaining belongings serving as her pillow.

As promised, the driver gently shook her shoulder to let her know that they had arrived. It was nearly dusk, and he asked her if she had a place to spend the night.

"Yes, thank you. I'll be fine."

Juanita exited the bus and waited for the driver to retreat to the terminal building before she huddled in the phone booth at the center of the meridian that divided the depot. She stood staring at her reflection in the booth's narrow, paralleled glass.

Who could she call? There was a tattered phone book hanging from a chain that was connected to the bottom of the phone. She thumbed through the book searching for lodging. She came across a listing for the Casa Gigante. There was an icon of a pink shower tree beside the phone number. She dug into her pants pockets and found a single coin. She dialed the number.

"Hola, Casa Gigante, Esmeralda speaking. How may I help you?"

"Hola. I was wondering if you have a room available for tonight?"

"Sí, we do have a couple of rooms available. For how many people?"

"Just one please."

In an instant, rain started to downpour outside of the booth. Juanita waded through the sheets of rain with her bag of belongings held above her head for cover. It was a forty-five-minute walk to the hotel. Juanita was greeted with a welcome packet of slippers, a towel, and a robe, all wrapped in burlap. In her modest room was a small bed, a nightstand, a sink, a shower, and a toilet. On the nightstand was a tray with a plate of refried beans and hand-pressed tortillas. Beside the plate was a cup of lukewarm coffee and a small container of milk.

Juanita sat on the edge of the bed and let her belongings drop to the floor like a wrecking ball coming loose from its chain. She put her hands to her face and took five deep breaths. No tears, just breathing.

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Over the next twenty years, Juanita would start her own business, raise a large family, and build a community. With determination and grace, she would teach her children how to work hard and respect those around them no matter their age or class.

Juanita and Pedro were very different people. Both had hard childhoods, but they viewed the world from opposite vantage points. Juanita rendered each person that she met down to the concentrated paste of their being, by observing, asking, and giving. Pedro was less concerned about individuals and more enthralled by the composite themes of man and woman.

Nevertheless, the two joined in matrimony and lived somewhat autonomous lives throughout their marriage. The draw and connection between them must have been carnal, because in spite of all their differences, every year or two, Juanita would get pregnant again. Before long they were a family of nine. Though Juanita suspected that Pedro was not faithful to her, she tolerated his behavior as long as he kept it completely separate from her and the children.

Pedro tried in earnest to juggle the needs of his eight children, along with quenching his existential independence. Juanita was right though—Pedro had somehow fostered a relationship with another woman from a nearby neighborhood. Her name was Lucia. Pedro was not in love with Lucia, and Lucia was aware of the arrangement. Pedro had fathered two children of Lucia's. He saw them from time to time, but made it very clear to Lucia that his heart was with his wife Juanita and his other children.

Lucia claimed she was fine, but truthfully, she harbored resentment towards the man. She was in love with him, but refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing. Eventually she cut the relationship off when she had learned that Pedro fathered an eighth child with his wife, Juanita, named Carmelo.

Juanita never met Lucia, but with Carmelo nearly a year old, the strain of knowing that her husband was living dual lives finally got to her. She did not formally express her disgust or throw all of Pedro's belongings out of the house while he was out drinking, but she did make a conscious decision to exclude Pedro from her private thoughts or to ever sleep with him again.