Free The Memories of Ana Calderón by Graciela Limón Page A

us and to what was happening.
    When we crossed over into California and into the Imperial Valley, Reyes stopped at the Salton Sea. We all loved it there because it was the first time we had come close to water since we left Puerto Real. I looked around, however, and saw that behind me was all desert, and that it was different from the cove of my memories.
    We went to Coachella and Indio, and when we got to the orchards where the fruit of the palm trees is cultivated, Reyes made a special stop just so we could taste that fruit.
    As we moved closer to Los Angeles, I noticed that more and more people looked like the Carney family and the officer who had scared us because he was so tall. I liked to listen to those people speak; I liked their language. I didn’t know then that soon I would be able to speak with them.
    â€™Apá became more silent; he spoke very little and he seemed to be shrinking. He never spoke to me except to tell me to help César or to move over in the truck. He didn’t look at me at those times, either. I mean, he didn’t look at my face when he spoke to me, as if I had been invisible. Now and then when he did look into my eyes, I knew that it had been an accident because I could feel the icicles that were inside of his eyes.
    When we got to Riverside, Reyes told us all to relax because soon we’d be in Los Angeles. He didn’t call the city by its name. Instead he always said L.A., so we lived for years thinking that we lived in a town named L.A.
    My first memory of the fringes of Los Angeles is of long tracks of flowers on the left side of the road as we headed for Reyes’ house, and to the right of us were sloping hills that looked soft and golden in the declining sun. With the desert of
the Yaqui River Valley still in our mind, the sight of those strips that alternated in red, white, lavender, amber, and then red again filled us with excitement. There were so many flowers that none of us could see where they ended. Jasmín came back into my mind because I remembered that ’Amá once told me that she had named my sister after a flower because she was born at dawn, when the sky was the color of lilacs and lilies.
    As the truck slid alongside the flowers, I stretched my neck over to the driver’s side of the cab and shouted to Reyes, “Is this where we’re going to live?”
    â€œNo,” he yelled back. “It all belongs to Chapos. They’re the people who grow flowers and sell them at the main market in town.”
    I told myself that I would like to work with those people, even though at that time I didn’t know what a Japanese person looked like.
    When Reyes saw how excited we all were because of the flowers, he stopped the truck and stuck his head out the window. “This road is called Floral Drive because of all the flowers.”
    Soon after, we went down a steep hill to where the truck made a turn on Humphrys Avenue, and there Reyes stopped. He jumped out and announced, “We have arrived!” He shouted out his wife’s name, and in a minute a very pretty woman came out of the front door. She was followed by several children, girls and boys, and they all looked just like Reyes.

    â€œIt’s only a garage, Rudy, but you and the kids can stay here until we find you a job. Tomorrow I’ll take you over to some of the junk yards. I think something will turn up.”
    â€œâ€™Apá, where are we going to eat?” Zulma blurted out what everyone was thinking, but her father ignored the question.
    Rodolfo, with the children huddled behind him, stood in the middle of a rickety garage with a dirt floor. “Gracias, Reyes. I’m grateful. As soon as I can work, maybe we can find a house.”
    â€œYeah.” Reyes looked at Zulma and said, “You can eat inthe kitchen with my kids. We got a lot of rice and beans.” Then turning to Rodolfo, “In the meantime, my wife told me that the older kids better