Shipyard gals, p.7
Shipyard Gals, page 7
Somehow the three of them had been assigned to the same shift that day, which meant the two cousins would share a bed. They seemed fine with that. Now all Elena wanted was to get home, pull off her work boots, close the blackout curtains, and sleep for as long as possible.
But she’d promised to meet Gabi, a new worker, downtown at the Richmond branch of the union office. Gabi needed a union card, and Elena had offered to help, knowing it was hit or miss that a Spanish-speaking staffer would be available. Gabi was originally from Zamora in Mexico, and she’d fled Houston with her daughter when her husband became abusive.
Elena had explained that getting a union card would give Gabi some job protection and good benefits, like childcare for her daughter and healthcare for them both. After three months on the job, Elena felt like an expert on the union.
“Listen, Gabi,” Elena had told her, “the Boilermakers’ union practically runs the shipyard. All the workers are required to pay union dues, including the Negro workers who aren’t even allowed to join the union.” She paused. “Who knows why they let us Spanish speakers join. Maybe they see us as less dangerous.”
“Really?” Gabi said. “The Negroes have no union but still have to pay?”
“Yeah, it’s not right,” Elena said, shaking her head. “They have a separate auxiliary union.” Ruby Mae had told her about it. Not the same benefits, but it was better than nothing.
Elena couldn’t fix the whole unfair system, but at least she could help translate. Papá had always reminded her that one small step led to the next one.
Ana and Marisol walked in front, arm in arm, as they arrived at the house. She envied the two cousins, lucky to have each other. Her own little sister and brother were growing up without Elena. Her heart ached, missing them so. Their occasional letters only magnified their absence.
Marisol led them inside. The house smelled like fresh lemons, and there was a plate of iced cookies on the coffee table. Elena picked up a note next to the plate, written in Mrs. Murphy’s careful cursive.
Hola señoritas,
Estoy en la escuela hasta las tres de la tarde. How’s my Spanish so far? You have been good teachers. Please leave me your ration cards. I will go shopping at the market and make you a nice dinner tonight. Mr. Murphy has his bowling game, so I welcome your company.
Hasta luego,
Mrs. M.
Elena showed the note to her roommates and they all laughed.
“She is very kind to us,” Marisol said. “Just not the best cook.”
Mrs. Murphy liked to put them to work chopping vegetables, while she helped Ana and Marisol with their English, coaxing them to practice with her, even after a full day teaching at the high school. It usually went like this:
Mrs. Murphy: “Repeat after me. I am hungry for dinner. I hope we will have chicken and baked potatoes.”
Ana: “Yes, and I hope we have cake and ice cream también.” Then she’d giggle and Mrs. Murphy would make a face, like she’d found one of her students reading a comic book during class.
Marisol: “And I hope we have alcohol. Mucho alcohol.” She and Ana would crack up while Mrs. Murphy shook her head, pretending she was upset, but she had a smile on her lips. Elena figured she must be lonely for adult conversation, since Mr. Murphy’s job as a policeman kept him working long, unpredictable hours. Elena rarely saw him, which was a relief. He basically ignored her and the cousins.
Their landlady was a good baker, but her dinners were too bland. Elena had offered to teach her how to use the spices she loved from home. Not just garlic but ancho and guajillo chiles, achiote, and roasted pumpkin seeds. She’d been so excited when she’d found a Mexican market down in Oakland that sold them. Shopping there on her day off had become a weekly habit, pulling up memories of meals she helped Mamá cook, scenting the kitchen as the flavors blended on the stove, the achiote paste staining their fingers a dark orange as they worked it into the masa for tamales or filled the meat pupusas.
“Save me some cookies, amiguitas,” Elena said now. “I promised Gabi I’d help get her union card. It’s too late for me to shower and change. I better hurry. Last time I went down there, we had to wait two hours, until someone told us we needed paperwork from the shipyard before they’d issue the card. Qué feo, no?”
Marisol picked up a cookie and handed it to her. “Here. Take one now, just in case we eat them all.” She laughed and squeezed Elena’s shoulder. “You are an angel, helping people like this.” She grabbed two more cookies and headed for the stairs. “Vamos, Ana. Time for bed.”
“Ay, cállate.” Ana glanced at Elena and followed her cousin up the stairs.
By the time Elena got to the union office, it was past 9:00. Gabi paced back and forth on the sidewalk, and kept looking around, frowning.
“Elena,” she said, rushing up to her and continuing in Spanish. “I’m so sorry, but I just got called in to work early.” She twisted a red bandana in her hands. “They left me a message with my auntie. Something about needing to be screened for disease. I’m scared they will find a reason to send me back to Texas. Or even deport me.”
“Oh, no,” Elena said. “Well, it’s probably nothing serious.” She took Gabi’s hand. “I think they’re worried about tuberculosis coming into the shipyard. Look, I’ve been to the clinic there and the nurses are pretty nice. You can talk to the lady at the front desk. Diana. She often works the day shift. She’s half Mexican.”
“I’m sorry you came here for nothing,” Gabi said, “but I didn’t know how to reach you.” Her eyes teared. “My aunt is tired of watching the baby so much. I need to find a better option.”
“Don’t worry,” Elena said. “We can do this later. Maybe something will open up at the childcare center. I’ll see you at work and we can figure out another time to meet.”
She pulled a pen out of her purse. “Wait, here’s the phone number at the house where I live.” She wrote down the number and handed it to Gabi. “Call if you need my help.” She patted the young mother’s arm. “Your little one is lucky to have you. She will learn how to be strong from you.”
Gabi nodded and hugged her before she hurried down the street toward the shipyard. Elena watched her leave and wrapped her arms around her chest. So many workers she’d met had uprooted their lives and made the difficult journey here, based only on the promise of a job. No guarantees. No fall back plan.
She checked her watch. Waiting for the bus would be worse than putting one foot in front of the other to cover the half mile home. She stopped at the office of the Richmond Independent newspaper to pick up a copy. She’d read it over a cup of tea and breakfast, fry up one of the fresh eggs Mrs. Murphy bought from a local farmer. Then she’d nap on the couch until Ana or Marisol woke up and left one of the beds empty. Two beds for the three of them worked best when their shifts at the yard were staggered. At least the couch was pretty comfortable and neither of the Murphys would be home until later in the afternoon.
When she got home, she slipped off her work boots near the front door and realized she’d sleep better out of her dirty coveralls. The house was quiet. The cousins were already asleep. Her pajamas hung on a peg in their bedroom. Maybe she could just tiptoe up and grab them without waking her friends. Maybe even take a shower, use the oatmeal soap that smelled like roses. Breakfast could wait until she’d cleaned off the grime.
The door to the bedroom was closed, and she heard something on the other side, like someone moaning in their sleep. She opened the door as quietly as she could, and heard a gasp from inside. Light from the hallway illuminated two naked female bodies wrapped around each other on top of the quilt. The other bed stood empty. The cousins. Together? Lovers? She stared at them for a moment, mute, then stepped back and closed the door behind her and ran down the stairs.
Ay, Diós mío. Thoughts raced through her mind. What just happened? Maybe it was something else. What to do? Make a cup of tea, she thought. Manzanilla, what Mamá advised when she was upset, good for the stomach and the nerves. Or maybe a shot of the whiskey Mr. Murphy kept in the cupboard. The floorboards creaked over her head. Definitely time for some whiskey.
***
She stood at the kitchen table, her hands clutching the tin of manzanilla, the teakettle behind her shooting steam into the air. The burned skin on her left hand throbbed. Mr. Murphy’s bottle of whiskey sat on the counter. Just a small shot. He’d never miss it. She poured a bit of the amber liquid into a glass and chugged it, her throat burning. Outside the window, the fog had rolled in from the bay, dense and uninviting. She considered slipping out the back door before the cousins came downstairs.
Footsteps approached and Ana entered the kitchen, alone.
“Elena, por favor,” she said. She’d put on her bathrobe, tied tight. “Please, can we sit down? Let me make the tea.” She saw the whiskey bottle and sighed.
“Where’s Marisol?” Elena looked towards the hallway.
“She’s too upset,” Ana said. “She sent me.”
Elena sat down, fingers gripping the empty whiskey glass, her neck muscles clenched. “She’s upset? What about me?” Whatever was going on, tea wouldn’t make things right. “Hand me that bottle.” She had so many questions. The image of the two naked cousins together kept scrolling in her head. Incest? Two women? Homosexuals?
Ana hesitated then got herself a glass, poured some whiskey for both of them and sat down at the table. When she put her hand on Elena’s, Elena pulled her hand back.
“It’s not what you think, Elena.” Ana drained her glass.
“Pues, entonces, what is it exactly?” Elena stared out the window at the fog. She couldn’t look Ana in the eye. Her body pulsated with the whiskey’s heat. She wished she could go back in time to an hour ago and pretend this had never happened.
Ana got up, poured the boiling water into the teapot, and brought two teacups to the table. Manzanilla, made from chamomile flowers, with its familiar woodsy smell, would fix whatever ailed you. But some things weren’t easily fixed.
Elena poured herself the first cup, before the steeping flowers grew bitter. She waited, her fingers wrapped around the cup. What was Marisol doing upstairs now? Would she come barging in and make things worse?
“I’m sorry you had to find us like that,” Ana said. “We should have told you before now.”
“Told me what?” Elena asked. She drank some tea, but the liquid was too hot and burned her tongue. “What kind of family raises cousins like this?”
Ana shook her head. “No, no. Let me start from the beginning. First of all, we’re not cousins.” She poured her tea and sipped it.
Elena’s eyes widened. She put down her teacup. “Well then, what are you exactly?”
Ana’s face softened. “We are enamoradas. We’re in love,” she said, blushing a deep pink. “We wanted to tell you, but we were afraid.” She leaned closer. “You’ve been such a good friend to both of us. We were scared we’d lose you.”
Elena’s thoughts raced. Oh, so not cousins at all. But two women, in love with each other? Good Catholic girls. Back home that would never be allowed. The church would condemn them.
“What do your families think?” she blurted, imagining her own family’s reaction. Mamá would clutch the gold cross that hung around her neck and sob. Papá would shake his head and then give her one of his stern lectures, about the dangers of committing a mortal sin in a country where a corrupt government would use any excuse to “disappear” a citizen.
Ana sighed. “Our families? They don’t think at all. They only judge us. They go to church and pray for our souls.” She shook her head. “One of my brothers threatened Marisol. And me. We had to leave.”
Elena remembered the two old men who had shared an apartment in her neighborhood. They’d seemed like a couple, though they never held hands or kissed. She would see one or the other man at the mercado or sitting together on a bench in the zócalo, reading the newspaper her father published. They would smile when she passed by, but never engaged in conversation with her beyond “Buenos días.” The boys on her block used to make jokes about the men. Called them names, cruel epithets. Maricón. Culero. One day one of the men disappeared. There were rumors of course, involving la policía, but no one ever knew what happened to him. The other man had moved away soon afterwards.
She shook her head and looked at Ana. “You should go to church and confess. Marisol, too. It’s not too late. God will absolve you, and then you can start over.” She drank some tea, her tongue raw. “I don’t think I can be your friend until then.” Ana and Marisol were the closest thing she had to family here. Tears welled up and rolled onto her cheeks.
“Ay, Elena. Please.” Ana stood up and walked over to the window. The fog had started to burn off, patches of the sky a brilliant blue. “We’re still the same people we were yesterday.” She turned back from the window. “We’ve done nothing wrong. We just love each other.”
“For how long?” Elena thought about those old men.
Ana smiled. “For a year now. We met through friends. That’s all we were at first. Good friends. And then we fell in love. It just happened.”
Elena sat back in her chair. Her tongue pressed against her front teeth, stinging where the tea had burned her. She knew what the church taught, could hear Father Jorge back home urging them to resist temptations of the flesh. Women were meant to be with men. To honor God by creating children. Period.
She stood up. “I feel like you tricked me. Like I don’t really know you.” She wiped her damp cheeks. “I don’t know if I can trust you again.”
Ana walked over to her and gingerly put her hand on Elena’s shoulder.
“We all have secrets,” Ana said. “Things we won’t speak out loud.”
“What are you talking about?” Elena stepped back and her hand brushed against the teacup on the table, tipping it over. A thin puddle of pale green tea dribbled out. She dabbed at it with a napkin. She had never spoken to anyone about what happened to her the night Papá was arrested. No one knew except those who were there, and they were far away. And one of them might be dead.
She walked unsteadily toward the living room. “I just need to lie down and sleep. But now, where am I supposed to do that? I can’t sleep in that room.” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. “Do whatever you want. Just leave me alone.”
She wished she could slip into her flannel nightgown and bury herself under the quilt upstairs. But instead she climbed onto the couch and pulled the crocheted coverlet around her. Her coveralls rubbed against her skin, and the couch’s pillow was hard and too small. Nothing felt right. Now she’d have to move. Make new friends. When she heard footsteps moving up the stairs, she covered her ears and closed her eyes.
“Elena?” Marisol’s voice was close. Oh God, now she had to deal with her, too.
Elena opened her eyes. “What?” She sat up on the couch, holding onto the coverlet. She did not want this conversation.
Marisol stood in the doorway a few feet away, her arms crossed. “So, are you going to tell Mrs. Murphy?”
Elena stared at her. “Am I what?” It hadn’t occurred to her to do that. She was still dealing with her own confused feelings.
“Look,” Marisol said, taking one step forward. Elena couldn’t tell if she was just scared or angry. Probably both, judging by her strained expression. “Don’t tell her. Ana and I will find a new place. Give us a little time, okay?”
Oh. Maybe she wouldn’t have to move out. They could leave.
She nodded, feeling a wave of sadness wash over her. “Okay. And I wasn’t about to tell her.” She tugged the coverlet tighter.
Marisol looked at her. “I told Ana you wouldn’t be able to accept the truth about us. I was right.” She turned and walked up the stairs.
Elena stared at the doorway, then lay back down. This wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t caused this mess. But now her whole world had been upended again.
CHAPTER 12
RUBY MAE
July 7, 1944
Ruby Mae checked her reflection in the mirror of the ladies’ room at Tappers’ Inn.
“Lookin’ good, girl,” she said out loud, thankful to be alone. She applied a fresh coat of the deep red Heart’s Delight lipstick she’d bought at Woolworth’s. Momma would not approve, but then Momma would not approve of anything about this night.
The dress she’d borrowed from Marcy, with its fitted waistline and bright red flowers set on a black background, complemented her curves. Her friend had promised the dress would fit. The green wool skirt and white blouse she’d dressed in back at the trailer now lay folded in a brown paper shopping bag at her feet. She would change back into those clothes before she left the club. Momma would never know.
The restroom was softly lit, a small vase of daisies nested on the counter next to the sinks. Daddy had promised to get them out of their trailer soon, into a place with running water and a toilet, but meanwhile they made do with a washtub for bathing, the water heated on the wood stove. They used an outhouse for their business. This room felt luxurious.
She blotted her lips and patted her hair into place. She’d scanned the dining room for Freddy when she’d arrived but hadn’t seen him. He was late and she hoped he’d only missed the bus, not changed his mind. Tonight was their first time out by themselves, and she’d promised Peggy to be back to the church in time to walk home together. Home by 10:00, they’d told Momma. Poor Peggy stuck in Bible study. Freddy had offered to bring a friend for Peggy tonight, but Peggy had said no. She was fine on her own. Later, Peggy had confided to her that she didn’t want to get involved with a sailor, or any man who might be killed in the war. Besides, the men she’d met out here were not as polite as the Louisiana gentlemen back home. Ruby Mae didn’t buy it. Peggy was plain scared of men.
